Dominus

by spinner

"Take off your clothes."

The first request was fairly standard, so standard it hardly seemed worth mentioning.

"Put these on."

The second request wasn't peculiar either. As a hired companion at Madam Bridlewreath's infamous Three Sheets, he was often asked to wear costumes or uniforms as part of his job. It was never something he disliked. Whatever he was given to wear off gave him a clue about who he was dealing with for the night.

As he retrieved the clothes from the outstretched hand of the man, the companion got a better view of him. In his line of work, looks never made one iota of difference. He was contracted to share his body, and the asking price had been paid before he had even entered this room. Bridlewreath took a small cut, and he pocketed the rest. He made nearly ten times as much as those who worked alone on the streets or in similar establishments, and he knew it was because Bridlewreath looked after her charges with all the attentiveness of a scrupulous headmistress, but she was also widely-appreciated for her discretion above all else. Still in yet, he couldn't help but judge someone based on their looks because that was the beginning impression he got of his customers. Sometimes the first impression was correct, and sometimes not. He hoped not, in this case.

The man had dark, shoulder-length hair and a hooked nose, and he was old enough to be the companion's father. His customer was dressed in an elaborate white toga with red trim that made the tunic he had given the companion appropriate in context. There were people who might have found his severe expression attractive if they were the sort who yearned for a good reprimand. Perhaps he was slightly annoyed or embarrassed having to come here, or perhaps he was merely in a very bad mood. The companion decided to pretend he was a senator, a statesman, perhaps a rich citizen of sorts. He was a magistratus, to be sure.

After slipping into his simple, homespun tunic, the companion stretched a hand invitingly towards the magistratus, only to be rebuffed with anger for his insolence.

"Don't touch me! You're here to service him, not me."

That was his third request, and it had been a stunner. The companion moved further into the darkened room in the direction indicated, letting his eyes adjust to the absence of light. A voice called from the short column in the center of the stone floor. As if sensing that there wasn't enough light, the magistratus raised the candlelight by a few small degrees.

"Wait a bloody minute. That wasn't the plan!"

It was the voice of a much younger man. He was wearing a centurion's golden helmet with ornamental crest, and a blood red cloak was sweeping around his naked body. His face was shielded under the helmet by a half mask that concealed his eyes and nose. Perhaps he was blindfolded under the helmet for a reason—to conceal his identity as well as his sight. His wrists were bound by a leather strap held by a heavy chain that was attached to the short stone column. His feet and shins were clad in appropriately gear. The magistratus whirled on the young centurion, and stalked over to him, going past the companion without giving him a second glance.

"You sought to come here and break your solemn vow, did you?"

"As did you, I thought," the centurion grumbled. The companion was studying their body language, and he was smiling to himself. They were definitely familiars if not friends.

"You are mistaken, I'm sure. I gave my word to the….Emperor, and I will not break my oath."

"But you said," the centurion whined just a little. He was subordinate to the magistratus, but he was not an easy one to keep tamed.

"I promised you would come tonight, not that I would be the one making you do so."

"Oh, for crying out loud," the centurion continued to grumble.

"You expected I would allow you to break your solemn vow?"

"I hoped you had figured out a way around it, you being the clever sort and all."

"You will keep your vow to the Emperor, and to me, or we will both be punished," the magistratus warned the centurion in a firm tone. "You don't want that, do you? He might be all sunshine and lemon drops, but I promise, he can be very exacting if you displease him."

"Look, that's all well and good, but I didn't follow you here so I could get lectured about breaking vows and then be rogered by a complete stranger."

The companion didn't bother to stop his smile at this comment. The magistratus leaned closer to the centurion, and his face warred with gentle emotions he wasn't comfortable showing to anyone.

"He's not going to roger you," the magistratus explained slowly.

"You damned right he's not," the centurion growled. "I don't even know the bloke's name."

"Call me 'Lucius'."

"I'm outta here," the centurion blurted, tugging on the leather band around his wrists in a motion some might consider frantic.

"Is that really your name?" the magistratus asked, concerned he was doing everything wrong tonight. He put a hand on the wrist restraint and it disappeared entirely.

"No, but I thought it fit the scene," the companion answered truthfully. "It's a very common Roman name."

"What's your real name?"

"Cosmo. My father was an astrologer."

"Cosmo—also very Roman sounding, wouldn't you agree?" the magistratus asked the centurion, who was rubbing his wrists.

"I suppose," the centurion muttered.

"May I know your name?" the companion asked, putting a hand forward and touching the young centurion on the shoulder. The smaller man leapt back from him like a frightened cat.

"It's all right," the magistratus soothed. "It's all pretend, remember? It's all pretend."

"Sure, fine, yeah, pretend. I can pretend. I can pretend I'm not here under false hopes. Pretend you're not making a fool of me in front of a stranger. You can pretend I'm not going to poison your tea in the morning if I find your cup unprotected in the faculty lounge."

The centurion recovered himself very quickly, his anger rising to the fore. The magistratus chuckled at him, nipping tenderly at his ear.

"Hey, sacred vow and all that rot. Hands off," the centurion insisted, moving away from him.

"What do you want me to do?" the companion asked.

"I'm so sorry about all this," the centurion whispered. The companion stepped closer to him, sliding a careful hand onto his.

"Nothing to be sorry about."

The magistratus stepped slightly away from them and moved to one side, drawing out his wand and touching it to the companion's shoulder. A brief aura echoed back to the magistratus, and he moved further away still. The companion leaned down towards the centurion and tried to remove his over-sized helmet.

"It has to stay on," the magistratus commanded from a comfortable distance. So it was a voyeurism thing, was it? The companion nodded to him in the dim light, and nuzzled against the centurion's lower jaw and neck. The centurion had several small dots—scars from a bite mark of some sort—on the junction between his shoulder and neck. The companion licked these next, and was rewarded with a gasp.

"Shall I continue?" he asked. The centurion gave a cautious nod. He was a compact man, well-muscled without being bulky. With a cautious hand, the companion caressed the centurion's half-erect cock, studying the strange parallel lines on either side. A barely-audible mew escaped the centurion's tense throat. Caressing the white lines elicited more sounds. "What interesting scars you have," he murmured, hoping to flatter. The centurion choked somewhere between a moan and an ironic laugh.

"Why are people so fascinated with my scars?" the young man whispered, laughing again. It took the companion a few seconds to realize his flattery was annoying the centurion. What kinds of games had these two enjoyed before, he had to wonder, dotting a kiss on one side of the centurion's neck, then the other, moving slowly downward. He landed a kiss on his shoulder, on his chest, on his waist as he knelt in front of him. He caressed the centurion's slim body, and kissed the newly-healed, star-like scar on his right hip. Caressing around the centurion's waist and down over the curve of his arse revealed another star-like scar on an intersecting course. He kissed the front scar again, nuzzling dark body hair and licking fire-hot skin.

The centurion mumbled something unintelligible when the companion licked the end of his cock. He was testing, touching, tasting. He mouthed between and around the centurion's balls, and the young man's arms coiled around his neck and shoulders. The magistratus was chuckling in the shadows.

"Perhaps you should ask him to sit down if you're going to do that sort of thing?" the older man mused. The centurion was frowning in his general direction.

"I am so going to get you for this," he growled. The companion turned that ominous growl to a whimper by sucking on the tip of his cock. He pulled the centurion to the floor, easing him down next to the short column. The magistratus was chuckling again, but the tone was scraping his throat painfully.

"You'll have him eating out of your hand in no time," he encouraged the companion. The centurion's knees gave way with an indelicate thump. Flexible little dear, wasn't he, the companion thought. His wonderful thighs and toned body tensed and quivered and reacted to Cosmo's kneading and searching hands. Was the young man a famous quidditch player, trying to hide his face to avoid being recognized? Perhaps a seeker, by the size of him. Was this young man old enough to be in here, wearing this centurion garb? The Roman Room wasn't as popular with the young crowd. Well, the companion knew that Madam Bridlewreath wouldn't have let him through the front door if he was underage. That much was certain. But whenever he had crossed the line into legality, it hadn't been that long ago.

"If you can make him last five minutes, I'll pay you double," the magistratus teased, his voice like the purr of a dangerous jungle cat.

"Bastard," the centurion whispered, moaning and laughing. "Wait till I get my hands on you…..oh……"

The companion gingerly tormented the centurion until he was half in a frenzy, knowing that the more the young man writhed and panted, the closer the magistratus was moving to the two of them. He could feel the jealousy in those dark eyes and wanted to know exactly how far he was going to be allowed to venture before the magistratus would stop what he was doing, or before he would start telling him what to do to and with the centurion.

He started pumping the centurion's cock in a steady rhythm, getting him to arch his hips further and further off the ground, before putting one hand into position and capturing his balls with a less than gentle tug that made the centurion call out loudly and claw at his face. The companion jerked back barely in time. The magistratus was muffling a chuckle again.

"Stop," he murmured.

"No, oh, don't stop," the centurion whispered, pleaded. "Sorry…."

"Stop," the magistratus ordered more sternly.

"So going to kill you when we get home," the centurion grumbled hoarsely as the companion waited on the magistratus for further instructions.

"Five minutes was up," the older man said mirthfully.

"Bastard," the centurion moaned. A silken voice dropped words in the companion's ear from less than an inch away as a flask of oil was slipped into his hand.

"Beautiful, isn't he?"

The companion nodded, admiring the centurion, who was straining to hear what was being said as his cock bounced against his abdomen with angry interest.

"I want you to exhaust him."

"And you want to watch?"

"As far as you're concerned, yes, that's all I'm going to do."

The companion shrugged that it didn't matter either way to him.

"The only limitation is that you may not hurt him in any way."

"Understood," the companion whispered back.

The magistratus moved away again into the shadows, as the companion moved over the centurion and began devouring his mouth with a lusty kiss. He tugged the smaller man up to a seated position and maneuvered him back against the short column.

"Shall I bind your hands, dominus?" he asked the centurion. A little Latin was never a waste in this room, he smiled to himself.

"No, that's really his thing more than mine," the centurion answered. The companion picked up the chain and wrapped it around the young man's neck. It cinched itself and drew tight when he touched the links together. There were a few tense seconds when he thought the centurion was going to try to bolt away from him, but he caressed his chest, rubbing his nipples in slow circles, relaxing the young man once more. The centurion breathed shallowly, and had stopped trembling.

"What shall I call you, dominus?" the companion asked.

"No names," the centurion replied, smiling slightly.

"The jealous sort, is he?" he asked, parting the young man's knees again and nuzzling down his chest. He teased the centurion with a lick or two while pouring oil into his own palm. This was fine lubrication—and he ought to know! When he touched it, admiring the smooth, slippery texture, all he could think about was how good it was going to feel. He let the oil trickle down his hand and between the centurion's legs, through his body hair. The centurion quaked unexpectedly, and bit his mouth closed to stifle any sounds he might make as the companion prepared his body with confident, easy strokes.

The companion could hear the magistratus breathing raggedly from far behind him in the darkness. He wondered again about their relationship, what it could be that did not allow them to touch one another when it was clear they were on familiar terms. Was the older man a team manager or something? Was the older man his superior at work? Had the magistratus cast a spell upon the companion in order to feel what was passing between the younger men?

The companion guided the centurion up onto his knees, moving the voluminous red cloak out of his way. He maneuvered himself behind the centurion, and edged between his legs, teasing his entrance with the head of his cock while stroking the centurion back to full hardness. The cold chain was pinned between their bodies, unyielding and tempting at once. Putting both hands on the centurion's shoulders, he pushed him towards the floor, and caught the dark eyes of the magistratus as two things happened at once. The centurion started arching backwards towards him in eager anticipation, and the magistratus growled with jealousy.

So, that answered two questions for the companion. No, this young man was not a virgin, and yes, he might very well be risking his life if he managed to harm the young man even by accident. The companion put the head of his cock inside the centurion's entrance, whispering the necessary spells and pushing at the same time. The groaning and whimpering that resulted took him a little by surprise, as did the internal scars that he rode across as he seated himself inside the slender body. No, definitely not a virgin by any stretch of the word.

He grasped the centurion's slender hips and held him still, grinding inward and thrusting once, and again, before moving his hands downward, getting a better grip on hips and thighs at once. The centurion was squirming and moaning, doing his best to balance himself on his hands and arms. The companion pushed upwards and rocked forward with several thrusts in a row, testing, teasing, pushing to the limits he could find. The centurion went down onto his elbows, cheek against the cold stone. The chain clanked together melodically with each thrust from the companion as he rode the young centurion. Keeping his eyes on the magistratus's face, the companion continued thrusting, slowly increasing in intensity until the controlled moans and careful wriggles unwound into more and more wanton growls and groans. He found the centurion's pleasure spot and worked around it, near it, against it when necessary, not wanting to drive him to come too soon, but knowing the young man wasn't going to last forever on him.

When it was clear from the rising cries that the centurion was quickly coming undone if not totally apart, the companion wrapped his arms around the centurion's chest for a better grip. He lifted him onto all fours and began pounding into him, relishing each collision of flesh against flesh, and the rushing of his blood pounding behind his temples. He kept wishing he could get the magistratus to do something more than sit there and watch them with his dark, jealous eyes. He thrust and pushed, and at the last minute, sank his teeth into the centurion's shoulder as he felt himself explode inside the young man.

The centurion gave a genuine cry of pain and surprise, and spattered semen against the stone floor and the voluminous red cloak that was spread across his chest and one shoulder. The companion withdrew from the quivering young man and stretched back a safe distance to collect himself, all the while watching them. The magistratus was by their sides at once, caressing the centurion's face and cheek where he lay on the floor, panting and sweating.

The older man gave the companion a chilling glare, and bent to kiss the centurion's bitten shoulder, whispering healing words even while he dotted away the trickle of blood with his own lips. The centurion's shivering slowed, and the companion understood he had been startled but not actually hurt by the bite. The young man was beginning to chuckle.

"Mmmm. Oh, yes. That was nice."

"Greedy, greedy boy," the magistratus intoned. "Too much is never enough for you, is it?"

"Mmmm," the centurion groaned again.

"Shall I have him fuck you again, greedy urchin? Is there another itch you'd like to have scratched? Another rule you'd like to break?"

"Yes, please," the centurion whispered. The magistratus was caressing the chain now, using it to pull the centurion upright, using it to line his spine up with the short stone column. He teased the cold chain against warm skin, watching in delight as the centurion shivered, as his nipples grew taut when touched with icy metal.

"As much as I like you in this, I don't want to take the chance of you choking to death," he said, removing the links from around the centurion's throat and kissing where bruises marked his pale skin. The centurion was tisking at him.

"You said no touching," he reminded the magistratus.

"Yes, well, if you don't let me heal those bruises right away, you're going to have a lot more explaining to do than I am."

"Kiss me," the centurion whispered, nudging his way up onto his knees and against the magistratus. "One, tiny, teeny….."

"If you don't stop at once, when he's done fucking you to complete exhaustion, I'm going to paddle you until you can't walk," the magistratus threatened hoarsely, putting one hand over the centurion's mouth and using the other to retrieve his wand and heal the centurion's bruised neck. A cleansing spell washed over the centurion.

"One, tiny kiss. I'll even use dirty words if you want."

"No," the magistratus refused, annoyed.

"Fucking bastard," the centurion blurted, then he squeaked a quick chortle, unable to control the grin on his face that made him seem like such a young boy suddenly.

"I'm afraid you miss the mark entirely when it comes to the difference between dirty words and dirty talk," the magistratus scolded like a school master. "You miss the point entirely. It's not about using dirty words. It's about how you employ the words you do use."

"Why oh why am I in love with a such an uptight son-of-a-bitch?" the centurion asked.

"One more syllable from you, and I'm going to shove a bar of soap down your throat."

"Is that the best thing you can think of?" the centurion quipped, rising upwards towards the magistratus and pecking him on the cheek. "You spend staff meetings daydreaming about how much you want to come in my mouth. The very least you can do is kiss me."

The magistratus touched the tip of his enormous nose to the centurion's smaller beak and whispered delicious, smooth words as he nearly smiled.

"If you had to suffer through as many of those staff meetings as I've had to suffer through, you too would resort to daydreaming to alleviate the mind-dimming boredom," he taunted.

"One kiss," the centurion begged.

"Will you kiss this vile brat before I choke him?" the magistratus spoke to the companion with such suddenness that he made the man jump. The companion scooped the centurion into his grasp and paused for a moment. He couldn't help feeling the magistratus's icy glare on him as he touched a small, nearly gentle kiss to the centurion's tense mouth.

"It's not the same," the centurion whispered, rather close to sulking now. "You're very good. Don't get me wrong."

"I'd better be," the companion mused, not offended in the slightest.

"I'm paying to watch him fuck you, not to watch you chat him up," the magistratus interjected with acid snideness.

"One more outburst like that, and you're going to be paying to watch him wank, because I'll get up and leave," the centurion threatened, shooting his unseeing head towards the other man as though the blindfold made no difference whatsoever.

"In that?" came the reply.

"It's nearly Halloween. This hour of the night, I doubt anyone will notice. I'm starting to like these shoes, actually."

"More fucking, less talk," the magistratus ordered. The companion kissed the centurion before he could come up with another nasty retort.

* * *

Later at the bar, the doors open from the dance floor, the companion was tipping back his second drink, watching the night's customers as they slowly tip-toed away. He recognized several whom he knew, some whom he had serviced, one or two he never wished to service again. It was nearly closing time, and everyone must be gone soon. He might have already missed them, and it was probably futile to be waiting here, but his rapacious curiosity overwhelmed him.

There were men and women, women and women, men and men—and one fellow with a white beard and a goat. Cosmo waited, took another sip, and waited some more. Maybe they had already left. He was about to give up when a familiar voice echoed down into the hallway.

"Fancy meeting you here."

"Yes, what a coincidence."

The companion stared in disbelief as an older man with dark hair and eyes and a beak of a nose adjusted his black cloak on his shoulders. Standing next to him was a younger man, dark hair, nearly identical black cloak. Harry Potter? It had to be! It wasn't possible, was it, that Cosmo had just spent the better part of the night shagging the daylights out of the Boy Who Lived?! Cosmo tipped over his drink in surprise, and the bartender rushed to wipe up the mess and refill it for him. A third voice joined the two men in black at the front counter, where Bridlewreath was giving them a cheerful goodnight.

"Here you are, finally. I was beginning to worry I'd have to start searching room to room."

"Owen. I thought you were going upstairs too."

"I think not. Are you trying to get me killed?" the frowning man mocked.

"Thank you as always, and good night, Madam," the older man said, bowing his head to Bridlewreath and disappearing into the darkness of Knockturn Alley.

"Good night, Professor," Harry purred to him. The older man paused on one foot but did not turn and acknowledge the words.

"You should be ashamed," the bulky red-blond man scolded Mr. Potter, tugging his cloak straight on his shoulders and testing the clasp. Judging from the smile on Harry's face, shame was the furthest emotion from his mind.

"Owen, we met on the stairs. You saw us," Harry pointed.

"If you intend to keep on lying to me, I'll have no choice but to turn you over my knee."

"I'd've never guessed that was your game," Harry chuckled.

By this point, though, the large Scotsman was blushing hotly and dragging Potter out into the night. Cosmo ventured to the front counter and watched them a bit longer until the front doors closed. He felt Madam Bridlewreath's hand on his hand, and he looked towards her.

"Discretion," she cautioned. "It keeps customers coming back."

"Discretion," he agreed with a nod, because no one would have believed him anyway.

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Author Notes:

I've been dying to finish this story for a long time! Hope you liked it!