Chapter 6: Chapter 6
Rabastan followed her gaze. "Ah. The brooding uncle graces us with his presence. Shall I fetch Lucius? He’s arguing the finer points of art deco fruit bowls with your mother inside." He sounded delighted by the prospect.
"No!" Cassiopeia snapped, then softened it. "Just… give me a minute." She took a shaky breath, smoothed her sundress, and walked towards Sirius. The crunch of gravel under her sandals seemed unnaturally loud. The scent of cut grass and hot tarmac mingled unpleasantly with the dust.
He didn’t move as she approached. His jaw was tight, a muscle ticking near his temple. He looked… dangerous. More so than last night. The anger was banked now, replaced by something colder, more focused.
"Sirius," she said, stopping a few feet away. Her voice was steadier than she felt. "What are you doing here?"
"Checking on you," he replied, his voice low and rough. He didn’t look away. "After the… spectacle last night." He pushed off the gate, unfolding his long frame. He stood close enough now that she could smell the leather of his jacket, the faint tang of cigarette smoke clinging to him. "Lucius put you up to that little display? Provoking me?"
She bristled. "No one puts me up to anything, Sirius. Least of all Lucius." The lie felt thin. Lucius hadn’t forced the confrontation, but he’d certainly orchestrated it. Reveled in it.
Sirius gave a short, harsh laugh. "Right. You just happened to be fucking your boyfriend in the study where Rabastan could conveniently catch you? And you just happened to bring up your… activities… at dinner?" He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a near-whisper that vibrated through her. "He knows what he's doing, Cassie. Playing games. Using you."
The use of her childhood nickname, thick with a mix of anger and something else, sent a jolt through her. "He's not—"
"Using you for what, precisely, Black?" Lucius's smooth, amused voice cut through the tense air like a knife. He emerged from the shadow of the garage doorway, holding a hideous turquoise vase. He looked effortlessly cool in linen trousers and an open-necked shirt. "To remind you of your own unfulfilled desires? Or just to enjoy the look on your face when reality fails to match your puritanical fantasies?"
Sirius whirled, his hand instinctively clenching into a fist. "Keep your poison to yourself, Malfoy. This isn't your concern."
"Isn't it?" Lucius set the vase down on a wobbly card table with exaggerated care. He moved closer, positioning himself slightly behind Cassiopeia. Not touching her, but his presence was a palpable shield – or a cage. "Everything concerning Cassiopeia is my concern. Especially," he added, his gaze flicking to her face, then back to Sirius, a knowing glint in his pale eyes, "when it involves family members harbouring… complicated feelings."
The accusation hung in the dusty air. Sirius’s face flushed darkly. He didn’t deny it again. He just stared at Lucius with pure, uncompromising hatred. Cassiopeia felt pinned between them, the heat of Sirius’s anger radiating towards her, the cool, possessive aura of Lucius behind her. The hum of the garage sale faded to a distant buzz. She saw the pulse hammering in Sirius’s throat, the tight set of Lucius’s jaw. That illicit thrill, the one she’d felt when Sirius hadn’t denied Lucius’s accusation at dinner, surged back, stronger, hotter, coiling low and insistent.
"Jealousy is such an ugly colour on you, Sirius," Lucius continued, his voice a velvet purr. "Green. Suits my eyes better, don't you think, darling?" He finally rested a light hand on Cassiopeia's shoulder. She flinched, not from the touch, but from the electric tension it ignited within the charged space between the three of them.
Sirius’s glare snapped from Lucius to Cassiopeia. His gaze raked over Lucius’s hand on her shoulder, then down her body, lingering for a heartbeat too long before meeting her eyes again. There was fury there, yes. But beneath it, raw and undeniable, was the same heat she’d glimpsed the night before. The same heat that answered the one flaring inside her. His lips parted slightly, as if he might speak, might unleash the torrent she could feel building behind his clenched teeth.
But he didn't. He just held her gaze, the air crackling with unspoken words and forbidden currents. Cassiopeia felt her own breath quicken, her skin flushing under the dual scrutiny. The chaos of the sale, the shouts of bargain hunters, the dust swirling in the sunlight – it all receded until there was only Sirius’s burning eyes, Lucius’s possessive touch, and the terrifying, exhilarating realisation that the game Lucius was playing wasn’t just his game anymore. She was in it. Deeply. And the man whose anger she feared most was staring back at her with a look that promised not just fury, but something infinitely more dangerous. Something she desperately wanted to understand, even as the ground seemed to shift beneath her feet. She lifted her chin, almost defiantly, the silver intimacy bracelet Lucius had given her weeks ago suddenly cool and heavy against her wrist. The silence stretched, thick as the garage dust, charged with everything left unsaid and everything her treacherous body was screaming to feel.
The silence stretched, thick as the garage dust, charged with everything left unsaid and everything her treacherous body was screaming to feel. Lucius’s fingers tightened almost imperceptibly on her shoulder before sliding away. "Rabastan," he called, his voice cutting through the static tension like a bell. "Be a darling and distract Cassiopeia for a moment. Sirius and I require… privacy."
Rabastan materialized from behind a stack of old National Geographics, grinning like a wolf spotting wounded prey. He didn't hesitate, striding over and catching Cassiopeia’s wrist before she could protest. "My pleasure, Lu. C’mon, Cas, let’s leave the grumpy uncles to their dick-measuring contest." He tugged her firmly towards the dimmer recesses of the garage, near a pile of dusty tarps and an ancient workbench. Sirius glared after them, muscles coiled, but Lucius stepped deliberately into his line of sight, a cool, immovable wall.
"Let her go, Malfoy," Sirius snarled, low and dangerous.
Lucius merely smiled, a slow, unsettling curve of his lips. "She’s perfectly safe. Rabastan’s an excellent… playmate. Besides," he added, his pale eyes fixed on Sirius with unnerving intensity, "if Cassiopeia is a really good girl today, I might just let you have her later. Reward her obedience appropriately." The implication hung, obscene and deliberate.
A violent shudder ripped through Cassiopeia, half-terror, half-electric arousal. She felt Lucius’s eyes on her back, knew he saw her reaction, knew the dark thrill it gave him. He shouldn’t be this turned on by dangling Sirius like forbidden fruit, but the predatory satisfaction radiating from him was undeniable. Rabastan, oblivious or uncaring of the undercurrents, backed her against the rough wood of the workbench. Its edge bit into her thighs. The smell of old oil, stale sawdust, and Rabastan’s musky cologne filled her nostrils. "Lookin’ a bit flustered, love," he murmured, his breath hot against her ear. He didn’t wait. His lips crashed down on hers, hungry and demanding, tasting of stale coffee and cigarettes.
She gasped against his mouth, her hands fluttering uselessly against his chest. His tongue invaded, rough and insistent. One hand tangled in her hair, holding her head still; the other slid down her side, over her hip, and hiked up the skirt of her sundress. Cool air hit her thighs. His fingers, calloused and impatient, pushed aside the thin barrier of her underwear. She cried out into his mouth as he found her, already slick with the tension and the terrifying promise Lucius had uttered. "Fuck, you're wet already," Rabastan groaned, pulling back just enough to stare into her wide eyes. "Knew you were a filthy little thing."
He dropped to his knees before her, the concrete cold even through the knees of his trousers. His gaze burned as he pushed her legs further apart. There was no preamble. He buried his face between her thighs. The sudden, intense heat and pressure of his mouth, the rough drag of his tongue against her sensitive flesh, was overwhelming. A sharp cry escaped her, echoing slightly in the confined space. Her head thudded back against the wooden shelves behind her. Sparks ignited behind her eyelids. She fisted her hands in his dark hair, not sure if she was pulling him closer or trying to push him away. Her hips bucked involuntarily against his mouth. "Oh god… Rab…" she whimpered.
A flicker in her periphery. A subtle distortion in the air near the garage door entrance, just beyond Lucius and Sirius’s frozen tableau. Like heat haze, but wrong. Sirius. Her mind screamed it. He was there. Watching. Hidden. The realisation slammed into her with the force of Rabastan’s tongue circling her clit. The shock, the sheer, voyeuristic violation of it, collided violently with the physical onslaught. Her climax detonated without warning. Her back arched off the workbench, a raw, guttural moan tearing from her throat as waves of pure, blinding ecstasy obliterated thought. Her thighs clamped around Rabastan’s head as he lapped greedily at her, drawing out the shudders.
"Please," she gasped, chest heaving, staring directly at that shimmering patch of air where she knew Sirius stood. Her voice was wrecked. "Rabastan, please… fuck me. Now." The words were a challenge, an invitation, aimed at both the man between her legs and the invisible observer.
Rabastan surged up, fumbling with his belt buckle. "Been waiting for you to ask proper," he growled, his own breath ragged. He spun her around roughly, bending her over the workbench. Dust puffed up under her cheek. She heard the rip of fabric as he tore her underwear aside completely. The blunt, insistent pressure nudged against her entrance. He pushed into her in one deep, brutal thrust, forcing a choked gasp from her lungs. "Tightest fucking cunt I've ever had," he grunted against her ear, already setting a punishing rhythm, pounding into her with hard, jarring strokes that shook the workbench. "Squeezin' me like a fucking vice."
Cassiopeia braced herself on the splintered wood, the relentless thrusts driving her forward. Her eyes stayed locked on the slight blur in the air by the door. She imagined Sirius’s eyes, burning into her, witnessing her being taken so roughly, so publicly, just feet away from Lucius. Rabastan’s grip on her hips was bruising, his grunts primal. Every slam of his body against hers echoed off the garage walls, a brutal counterpoint to the distant murmur of the sale still happening outside. She stared defiantly at that shimmer, at where she knew he watched, letting Rabastan ravage her, claiming her with every driving stroke. The friction was intense, raw, the air thick with the sounds of their coupling and the scent of sex mingling with dust and oil. Rabastan's hand snaked around her hip, fingers finding her clit again, pressing hard. "Yeah, take it," he rasped. "Show your uncle how good you fuck." The pressure built again, terrifyingly fast, coiling beneath the brutal invasion. Her vision blurred at the edges, fixated on that ripple in the air. She could almost feel Sirius's gaze.
Rabastan pounded into her, each thrust slamming her hips against the workbench’s unforgiving edge. Dust coated her cheek, gritty under her skin. She kept her eyes locked on that shimmering distortion near the garage door, imagining Sirius's gaze burning into her exposed back, witnessing this raw, public claiming. "Harder," she gasped, the word ripped out of her, a direct challenge to the watcher. Rabastan grunted, obliging, his rhythm becoming brutal, relentless, his fingers digging bruises into her flesh. The cheap wood groaned under their weight with every jarring impact.
"Filthy little show-off," Rabastan rasped against her ear, breath hot and ragged. "Loving this, aren't ya? Knowing he’s seeing you get wrecked?" His hand snaked down, fingers finding her swollen clit again, rubbing hard circles just as he drove deep. "Cum for your fucking uncle, Cass."
The combined assault – the relentless intrusion, the crude words, the knowing – detonated her. Her vision whited out as her body convulsed, a silent scream tearing from her throat as she clamped down hard around him, shaking uncontrollably against the workbench. Rabastan cursed, hips stuttering as her climax pulled him over the edge moments later. He buried himself deep with a final, guttural groan, spilling inside her.
Before Cassiopeia could catch her breath, before Rabastan could even pull out, Lucius moved. He’d been watching Sirius’s hidden position the entire time, a predator tracking prey. One moment he stood near the card table; the next, he blurred across the short distance. Not with magic, but with startling, controlled violence. His hand shot out, not towards empty air, but unerringly towards the shimmer where Sirius stood concealed. Lucius’s long fingers clamped like steel bands around Sirius’s upper arm, yanking him violently out of whatever Disillusionment Charm he’d woven.
Sirius stumbled into solid visibility, face contorted with shock and fury. The sudden reveal was jarring – one second empty air, the next Sirius Black, tall and imposing but caught off-balance. Lucius used that momentum, twisting Sirius’s arm sharply behind his back and slamming him chest-first into the rough wooden doorframe of the garage entrance with a sickening thud. Dust puffed from the impact. Lucius pressed his entire weight, pinning Sirius against the splintered wood, his forearm braced across Sirius’s shoulders, his other hand still locked on the twisted arm.
"Enjoying the view, Black?" Lucius hissed, his voice low and venomous, his lips close to Sirius's ear. Sirius struggled, muscles straining against the pin, but Lucius held him effortlessly, a sleek, powerful force. Cassiopeia froze over the workbench, Rabastan still slumped heavily against her back, both of them slick and exposed. Her eyes widened, fixed on the scene – Lucius pressing Sirius into the wood, the raw power in his frame, the absolute control. Sirius’s furious snarl echoed in the sudden, charged silence. Lucius leaned closer. "I told you I'd let you have her later if she was good. Seems she earned it." He glanced back at Cassiopeia, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. "Didn't you, darling? Showed him exactly what he’s been craving."
The garage air hung thick with dust, sex, and fury. Lucius’s grip on Sirius’s arm was iron, pressing him harder into the splintered wood. Sirius’s ragged breaths fogged the dirty paint. "Enjoying the view, Black?" Lucius hissed again, venom dripping. "I told you I'd let you have her later if she was good. Seems she earned it." His pale eyes flicked back to Cassiopeia, still pinned under Rabastan’s spent weight against the workbench, sundress rucked up, skin gleaming. "Showed him exactly what he’s been craving."
Cassiopeia’s gaze met Lucius’s. A tremor ran through her, part residual shock from the brutal climax Rabastan had wrung from her under Sirius’s hidden gaze, part terrifying anticipation. She gave a single, jerky nod. Sirius snarled, a raw, animal sound muffled against the doorframe. "Fuck you, Malfoy!"
Lucius’s smirk widened, cold and triumphant. His free hand snapped out, fingers closing around Cassiopeia’s wrist where she still clutched the workbench edge. Rabastan grunted, pulling away from her with a wet sound. The world dissolved into crushing pressure and blinding disorientation – the scent of oil and dust replaced abruptly by bergamot, polished wood, and the faint, lingering trace of her own arousal. They slammed back into solidity.
They stood in the cool, elegant silence of Lucius’s study – their room, now. Sunlight streamed through tall windows onto Persian rugs. Sirius staggered a step, free from Lucius’s grip but off-balance, his back to Cassiopeia. His shoulders were rigid, fists clenched at his sides. The expensive wool of his trousers strained unmistakably over the hard, thick outline of his erection. He stared fixedly at a shelf of leather-bound books, refusing to turn.
Rabastan, appearing beside them with a soft pop, blinked, taking in the scene – Sirius’s rigid back, Cassiopeia flushed and disheveled, Lucius’s predatory calm. "Well," Rabastan drawled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, "that escalated." He reached towards Cassiopeia’s hip.
"Out, Rabastan," Lucius commanded, his voice soft but absolute. He didn’t look at the other man. "Now."
Rabastan’s hand froze mid-air. He glanced at Sirius’s tense form, then at Lucius’s impassive face. A flicker of understanding, then annoyance, crossed his features. He shrugged, a lazy, insolent movement. "Your party, Lu. Don’t break the furniture." He Disapparated with another soft crack, leaving only the scent of musk and stale cigarettes behind.
Lucius turned his full attention to Cassiopeia. His gaze swept over her – the torn underwear, the dust smudged on her cheek, the wildness still lingering in her eyes. He stepped close, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead. The touch was deceptively gentle. "Take care of him, Casiopeia," he murmured, his voice a low purr that vibrated through her. His eyes held hers, intense, commanding. "See that his… frustration… is properly addressed." He didn’t wait for a response. With a final, lingering look at Sirius’s rigid back, Lucius turned and strode silently from the study, closing the heavy oak door behind him with a soft, definitive click.
Silence crashed down, thick and suffocating. The only sounds were Cassiopeia’s own unsteady breathing and the faint tick of a mantle clock. Sirius hadn’t moved. He remained a statue of furious tension facing the bookshelf, radiating heat and suppressed violence. The outline in his trousers was impossible to ignore. Cassiopeia stood frozen near the large mahogany desk, the cool air raising goosebumps on her exposed skin. Her mind raced, replaying the garage, Lucius’s words, Sirius’s hidden watching, the raw intensity of Rabastan taking her because Sirius was there. A fresh wave of heat pooled low in her belly, sharp and demanding, warring with the sheer awkwardness of the moment. How did you approach this? How did you touch the uncle who’d just seen you fucked raw against a workbench? Who was visibly, painfully hard because of it? Who refused to even look at you?
The silence stretched, taut as a wire. Dust motes danced in the sunbeam cutting between them. She took a hesitant step towards him, the plush rug muffling her footfall. Then another. The scent of him reached her – leather, anger, and something else, primal and male. Her pulse hammered in her throat. She stopped a few feet behind him, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. Her mouth was dry. The question formed, born of that terrifying mix of shock, lingering arousal, and a desperate need to shatter the unbearable tension. Her voice, when it finally came, was a husky whisper, barely audible in the vast, silent room.
"Did you like it?"