THE MASQUERADE
By Lady Bastet and Your Cruise Director

Harry smiled to himself as he looked out over the ballroom. The party was turning out to be a success – no tension and not even a hint of animosity yet. Everyone seemed intent on just having a good time now that good times could be had. No one needed to worry about Voldemort intruding; he was not invited, and also, he had been quite dead for three months. Harry had seen to that himself.

The room was filled with an assortment of fantastic costumes. There were figures from a vast array of cultures and ages, legends and literature. In the cases of some of them, Harry had no idea who they were supposed to look like -- perhaps some Wizard or hero from an obscure past -- and some of them he recognized as being Muggle-inspired, so the wearers were most likely either half-bloods or Muggleborns.

From Harry's vantage point, the guests formed a palette of bright colors that swirled and moved in lazy patterns. He hadn't greeted them all in person; with so many partygoers, that would have exhausted him, and he had run out of pleasantries and platitudes. A blanket greeting from the dais where the orchestra was seated had been offered, and Harry thought that it would have to be enough. This was not an evening for political games. He wanted to think of this as the beginning of something new.

Unfortunately, he couldn't help feeling somewhat alone in this sea of celebrants. Breaking it off with Ginny once and for all had been the right thing to do, and he had no doubt that it had been kinder to do it before the new year, to let them both start afresh. But it meant that he had no date for his own victory party. He didn't feel comfortable mingling in this crowd where everyone would recognize him after his greeting, while he could guess at the identities of almost none of the guests.

Instead of filling a plate in the banquet hall where dozens of dishes had been set out, Harry circled around the back of the ballroom and wandered toward the hotel's elaborate pool, lit by wall sconces that reflected off the water in golden ripples. The pool was heated magically from below, creating waves of warmth that seemed to emanate from the mouth of the sea monster mosaic at the bottom. The walls were covered in Byzantine tiles with gilt trim. It was odd to see partygoers wearing nothing but swimsuits and narrow masks, but none of the guests seemed to be defying the edict that the disguises should remain in place until the stroke of midnight.

"Oi! Harry!" Even though the faces were hidden behind elaborate headpieces, and although it was conceivable that some other pair of revelers might have dressed as Castor and Pollux, Harry would have recognized the Weasley twins by their simultaneous greetings. There were several other Greek legends come to life and wandering about the party, yet Harry had to admit that Fred and George looked particularly fine in their togas which left more than half of each chest exposed as well as a great deal of thigh.

Glancing around, Harry expected to see Angelina and Alicia, but the twins appeared to be on their own this evening. "Where's Ron?" he asked, feeling rather foolish.

Both twins jerked their right hands over their left shoulders. "Chasing Sophia," snickered Fred.

Harry frowned; he didn't know a Sophia. "The Goddess of Wisdom," added George with a grin. Oh, of course -- Ron would be looking for Hermione. "Hey, where's your date?"

"Didn't bring one," Harry shrugged.

"Didn't want to limit yourself to just one, eh?" Even though Harry had so recently broken off with his sister, Fred smiled his approval.

"Erm...right," said Harry and blushed. He didn't want to admit that he hadn't even known who to ask. He'd figured that everyone he knew was already invited and had dates for the evening. "So...why are you hiding away in this hall?"

"What, us, hiding?"

"We could ask you the same!"

"Oh. I'm not hiding." Harry gave the twins what he hoped was an innocent look. "I was wandering around and thinking." He wasn't lying, exactly. He had been thinking.

"This is not a time for brooding," Fred said and put his hand on Harry's shoulder, sounding serious before he suddenly pulled his surprised host closer.

"This is a time for celebrating," added George, and Harry found himself standing between the twins, practically sandwiched between them.

"Oh. Um." Fred's hands were on his upper arms and George's were around his waist. "I, ah, well. What did you have in mind?"

Draco wanted the god.

Cernunnos moved through the room the way Draco's father would have moved -- his antlered head held high, his broad, elegant shoulders parting the crowd. Both women and men stared as he passed, admiring the body draped in lush furs, the walking stick shaped like a ram-horned snake. That, too, reminded Draco of Lucius Malfoy. He longed to put himself in the masked god's path, to feel that snake-head push him aside...or, better yet, draw him in.

Draco watched the horned one over the rim of his glass. He watched him in a slow dance with a scantily clad woman and was relieved when the god passed her hand to someone else. It would have been a disappointment if someone like her caught his interest.

Slowly, Draco moved closer through the crowd, receiving quite a few offers of entertainment; several women, and men as well, tried to order the near-naked "slave" to an alcove for some carnal pleasure, but Draco evaded them. There was only one person he wanted to belong to this night.

He knew the instant the god noticed him, although his head was half-inclined away, displaying his profile to the casually admiring glance of a woman dressed as a Valkyrie. Perhaps it was she who had first attracted Cernunnos' attention, for the diaphanous gown that covered her glittered in the candlelight and her straight blonde hair resembled that of all the Malfoys. But the fierce eyes beneath the stag disguise fixed on Draco, studying the jet-black hair that adorned his head for the evening, examining the golden half-mask and the torque about his throat -- the only things Draco wore above his waist.

The god did not come over right away. He remained nearby, circling one of the tables laden with fruit and slivered nuts, nodding politely to the many people who offered him welcoming, vulgar smiles. Draco did not feign interest in the food, but he moved as well, striking deliberate poses when he felt the man's eyes upon him. He felt himself begin to harden when that gaze swept across his nipples; he undulated his hips and arched his back, the only hint the slave boy would offer of his desperate willingness to be claimed.

It seemed to have the desired effect, because the god continued to look at him, his gaze caressing Draco from a distance...but then he glanced away as someone tried to strike up a conversation. Draco pouted slightly and drained his glass, turning away from the laden table. He gave a small start when he felt a warm hand placed on his lower back, and then a low, slightly muffled voice in his ear declared, "Pretty slaves shouldn't be left without a keeper."

Draco didn't have to turn around to know who it was. He didn't recognize the muffled voice, but it had just that hint of authority and natural dominance that he would expect from an antlered god. He turned slowly to give the masked man an inviting smile. "Perhaps you would like to protect me, then?"

The man laughed, a deep, rich sound that sent a spark of excitement down to Draco's groin. Could it be? But it was cut short too quickly...it had only reminded him of his father, that was all. Still, the man wore a magnificent costume and he truly did have the confidence and the air of power needed to carry it proudly. Draco thought about how it would feel to be taken by this image of a god and arousal warmed his body.

"Protect you? I think it would be better if you were protected from me." There was hunger in the eyes that regarded him.

Smiling, Draco remembered only after a few moments to feign shyness and deference. "I meant protect me from overstepping my place," he improvised. "I haven't been a slave for very long...I don't always remember to be submissive." Oh, the god liked that! He straightened, tapping the bull-headed serpent thoughtfully, bending his head so that his eyes could sweep Draco from head to toe. "I'm well-trained," Draco added hastily. "If you gave me an order, I could try to..."

Abruptly the god's staff was pressed into his hand. "I think I'd like some wine." Picking up a goblet, the man maneuvered it beneath the bottom of his mask and drank deeply, then offered it to Draco. "Oh dear, and I've left your hands full." Turning the heavy cup, he raised it to Draco's lips and tilted it so that Draco's mouth came down on the spot still damp from the god's lips. He allowed himself a sultry grin as he took a sip.

"Thank you, my Lord," Draco said and seized the opportunity to take a closer look at the ornamented part of the staff. It was different from his father's not only in that this snake-head had horns, but the mouth was closed and the gems of the eyes were a different color. Still, it was close enough to feed his fantasy.

Being so near the man he had set out to attract, Draco felt the urge to be claimed even more strongly. He had deliberately chosen his own costume, knowing the role that would be expected of him: to play the slave. Now he realized that he wanted to submit to this particular god...and, being in disguise, he could, without restrictions.

Snape had never seen such a perfect werewolf. The right build, the right height, the right feral eyes beneath the mask, which unfortunately covered the human mouth with its artificial snout...still, that meant he could see no hint suggesting that the man within the costume was not the man he imagined it to be. He felt those feral eyes upon himself and turned slightly, making certain that his own mask hid any trace of his identity. The werewolf knew that he was being watched.

Snape had not wanted to come to the party -- it wasn't as if he would have been missed, for although it was quite apparent that the Minister of Magic was dressed hideously as Tiresias, it wasn't as if Scrimgeour had the perception to guess which of his minions was hidden under which costume and which had foregone the reception altogether. Yet Snape was rather skilled at guessing who lay beneath the masks, and he knew that in the hour before midnight, it would be most entertaining to see which unwitting witches and wizards went off together to the sumptuous beds and baths and balconies. Such knowledge might prove useful later.

He had lost sight of the werewolf -- whom he wasn't exactly watching, he reassured himself -- when a group of cheerful people passed between them. When the crowd had finally moved on, the furry beast was nowhere to be seen and Snape frowned. He left the corner where he was standing, having decided to make McGonagall happy for once by following her advice and mingling. Not that it would cheer him up -– he had the beginnings of a quite severe headache, he thought -– but at least he wouldn't have to listen to her telling him that he should have tried to have fun.

Snorting disdainfully, Snape headed for the opposite corner. A waiter came up to him and he took the offered glass of champagne. Perhaps alcohol would make the evening more pleasurable? Then he stopped as someone glided up next to him and clinked glasses with him.

"Nice party, don't you think?" The headdress was muffling the tone of the voice, but the words were clear. The werewolf turned its head slowly, as if scanning the room before looking at Snape.

Snape automatically took another mouthful of wine before replying. "It's crowded. And how are you going to drink that?"

"Oh, I'm not. I'm just holding it for now." Snape couldn't be certain, but it sounded as if the man under the mask was smiling.

"You could ask for a straw," Snape said dryly as he examined the man's form more closely. He was perhaps a little taller than Snape, slightly stooped shoulders...and quite revealing trousers, as he noticed when he looked lower.

"No need, I've already had a few glasses."

"Fortifying yourself for the new year?"

There was something quite familiar about the chuckle that answered his question, though Snape still could not recognize the voice through the distortion of the mask. Perhaps the man was affecting a tone he believed suitable for a werewolf.

Of course, the only werewolf Snape knew was unlikely to approach him so cheerfully at a party. Rumor had it that he had recently been left by one Nymphadora Tonks and was likely at home sulking. No, the height and build were close, but Snape couldn't imagine Remus Lupin greeting a stranger so brazenly, wearing such tight clothing, joking about how much he'd drunk.

"Interesting costume," the werewolf told him, lowering his head so he could see through the mask. Snape had the distinct impression he was being surveyed from head to foot.

"You're familiar with the work of Gaston Leroux?"

"No, but I've seen the theatre posters in London." The werewolf hummed a few bars of music and Snape felt himself redden beneath his mask. "An interesting costume for a masquerade ball. Are you planning to force us all to perform in your opera?"

"I loathe musicals," Snape said, putting down his glass on the nearest table. The room had suddenly become impossibly warm and stuffy. Even the music from the orchestra seemed cloying.

"I see." There was still a hint of amusement in the werewolf's voice. "Then would you like to take a walk instead?"

The boy might have been dressed as a slave, but it took only one glance for Lucius to see that the apparel served as role-play as well as disguise. His exposed torso was smooth and well-toned, his hands and sandaled feet bore no calluses, and his posture, above all, revealed him to be a master rather than a servant. This was no serf, but a young man acting out a fantasy...likely a pureblood. It was impossible to be certain, but Lucius could see that this boy had not grown up in Muggle London, nor had he ever been the laughingstock of any Hogwarts gobstones team.

No, with such a physique, the young man might well have been a Quidditch player. He had moved swiftly and assuredly from the moment he had spotted Lucius, easing his way through the crowd, posturing. The hair color was obviously not natural -- that pale skin was too fair for such black locks. And there was something familiar about the line of the forehead, the way the hair swept down one side to brush the edges of the golden mask that tantalizingly hid all but the eyes. Even in the dim room Lucius could see that they were blue.

A young man very close to Draco's age, then, very similar in bearing and stature, and something in the tone was similar as well -- bold and consenting all at once. Reaching out, Lucius placed his hand over the boy's on the head of his staff, wondering whether the boy knew that he was fondling the shaft in a most enticing manner.

The hand stilled and the slave boy looked up at him again. This young man was truly delicious, and resembled Draco enough for Lucius to want him. He had lusts, yes, but he always turned them towards boys and young men whom he could take. And this one looked as if he could use some ravishing.

Lucius let his eyes rest on what little clothes the boy was wearing and smiled to himself. The bits of fabric did little to hide the burgeoning erection. "It's rather warm in here, don't you find?" he asked conversationally. "Though perhaps you don't find, seeing as you are wearing so very little." Lifting his staff, he nudged it against one of the boy's nipples and was gratified by the sudden gasp. "Perhaps we might step outside for some air. I'm sure the balconies are heated, and it will be so much quieter on the upper floors."

The boy nodded eagerly, apparently oblivious to the glances he continued to attract. Lucius had noticed that since he had begun to speak to the young slave, the boy's eyes had never wandered. "Yes, my Lord," he said, sounding so very like Draco saying Yes, Father that Lucius felt his own groin throb.

"Come, then." He took a last swallow of the wine, left the goblet on the nearby table and placed his hand on the boy's shoulder, steering him toward the doors from the banquet hall.

Snape wondered briefly if this really was a good idea as he let himself be led upstairs, but it was a masquerade, and if they were finished before midnight neither of them needed to find out who the other one was.

"Here," his companion said and pushed open one of the doors left partially ajar in the corridor. It led to an opulent bedroom complete with a huge bed. Snape turned to face the masked man, but whatever he was going to say was forgotten when he felt his crotch cupped by cunning fingers, fingers that squeezed lightly and massaged and made his already interested cock grow and harden.

The door was kicked shut and they were alone at last. The candles in the wall sconces dimmed a bit, apparently attuned to the presence of anyone in the room. They cast golden beams onto the mirrored wall behind the bed and dark, seductive shadows into the corners. "Past the point of no return," the werewolf whispered, urging him back toward the mattress with its ornate duvet and pillows covered in velvet and silk. Then his tone changed into something very like a growl. "I want to put you on that bed and play alpha wolf."

Snape hesitated only for an instant before unfastening and flinging his cape aside. This man could not have guessed his true identity and would never find out; there was no reason not to accept what they both obviously wanted. On all fours, he would be able to watch everything the costumed wolf did to him in the mirror and imagine himself in the thrall of another wolf of his acquaintance, though unfortunately one who was never likely to unleash his animal lusts on Severus Snape.

The wolf stepped close again and made as if to sniff at Snape's neck. All an act, of course, but still enough to send a shiver through him. There would be no kissing with the masks, only rutting out of lust and temporary need, but that didn't stop either of them from sliding their hands over each other to explore what they could.

Snape had just managed to free the other man's cock -– and what a magnificent cock it was, he thought, he could barely wait to feel it inside him -- when there was a growl in his ear.

"Take off your trousers and get up on the bed!"

Turning, Snape kicked off his shoes, dropped his trousers to the floor and scrambled on all fours toward the headboard. He was pleased to see in the mirror that the mask continued to hide his expressions even from himself. Behind him the werewolf mounted the bed and moved forward on his knees, looking tall and imposing with his cock sticking nearly straight out from his body. The mask and the tight costume over the chest gave him an untamed, dangerous ferocity.

Then the wolf-head ducked, sniffing loudly at Snape's arse before the other man pronounced, "You smell hungry. I'm going to fuck you just like this until you come, and then I'm going to fill you up so that you smell like me, instead."

Snape moaned and nodded his assent. He didn't know where this man had got his ideas about how werewolves acted, but it fit his own fantasies pretty close. There was something dirty about the whole act, how he was treated and what was said, but it excited Snape. This was his chance finally to be fucked by a werewolf and satisfy those filthy fantasies once and for all!

He spread his knees a little more, pushed his arse back slightly and was rewarded with the feeling of a slick finger entering him. Slick? he wondered briefly and turned his head. On the small table next to the bed stood a small bottle, unstoppered. Of course such a prestigious hotel would offer everything needed for a delightful evening.

A smirk graced his face for a moment before the finger bore deeper into him and everything else lost its importance. The man he was with knew just how to touch him, and it was somehow no surprise when Snape felt teeth scrape his shoulderblade before a series of small bites began to progress up his back. Again he groaned, swaying back and forth on his knees to make the finger slide in and out. After a moment it was joined by another, just as the teeth reached the juncture of Snape's neck and back and latched on a bit harder, tugging the skin.

One of Snape's hands shot out to clench a pillow; he felt his fingernails digging deep into the plush material as the sweet torment went on. The werewolf was once again making growling noises, curving his fingers inside Snape's arse to find the perfect angle and barking a laugh when Snape cried out. Evidently the man was in no hurry, though Snape could feel the head of his erect cock prodding into his thigh while those long, practiced fingers stretched him open. When he could spare the concentration for a glance in the mirror, Snape could see that his partner was bent over him possessively, like an animal claiming a mate.

"Yes," he groaned, thoroughly enjoying the thought of being taken by this beast. He wanted to be owned, claimed, if only for the night. "Yes," he moaned again as the cock was pressed more firmly against his leg. "Fuck me!"

Snape's cock moved every time he rocked against the hand, bouncing slightly, and every such move made him more and more aware of just how horny he was. It seemed to him that it had been a very long time since anything, or anyone, had been able to turn him on this much.

"Merlin! Give me that cock!" Fingers weren't enough, would never be enough to satisfy this raging need inside him, Snape knew, and his desperation grew. Intellectually, he knew that no man had ever died from not being fucked up the arse, but he was damned if he was going to risk it.

The fingers were pulled back, leaving Snape feeling empty, and there was a short laugh again. "You want it badly, don't you?"

"Yes!"

It was colder on the balcony than in the interior rooms, though even the parapets were heated by the magical fires that would burn through the night until the first dawn of the new year. Draco felt his nipples grow taut in the chill, though they had been tingling already, his entire body aching with anticipation. His cock was so stiff already that not even cool air could diminish the erection he had watched the older man's eyes return to again and again as they spoke inside.

"Put your hands on the railing," the aristocratic voice told him softly. So familiar, yet he could not be certain, with the mask distorting the tone, just as he could not know whether his own father would recognize him behind his costume and wig. Trembling slightly, Draco obeyed, the cold metal against his hands sending a sobering shock through him. He felt exposed like out there, in plain view should anyone care to lift their eyes while crossing the small garden or if anyone should pull back a curtain behind them. But it was also part of the thrill; he was here, the Egyptian slave, with the strongest and most magnificent of all the guests -- the Horned God, the Stag. They would envy him!

Draco shivered as warm and smooth fingers trailed his spine, causing him to arch his back in response. "Please, my Lord..." His own voice sounded alien to his ears, low and breathy. He wanted to feel more of those soft hands, wanted to feel them around his cock, gripping his hips, he wanted --

"Shhh. Silence." The gentle puff of air that preceded the command and warmed the side of Draco's face made it thrilling, for the sound was so like the one his father had always made to quiet him as a child, with his fingers sometimes lightly brushing over Draco's lips... He could not hold in a soft moan, and the man's hand moved to cover his own, bending his fingers firmly around the smooth metal beneath. "You're very demanding for a slave," the warm breath gusted into his ear. "I can't permit such insolence, you understand..."

He felt a sudden movement behind him as the man drew his wand, and suddenly thin cords had wrapped around both his wrists, tying him to the railing. The man's free hand traveled from Draco's wrist all the way up his arm to his face, where those graceful fingers pressed his mouth to keep it quiet. Draco could not help himself. He let his tongue escape between his lips, tasting the fingers, shuddering with a silent moan, and his feet moved further apart on the magically warmed stone beneath them.

"So eager. Perhaps I should have used your pretty mouth first..." Two fingers pushed between Draco's lips into his mouth, and Draco sucked greedily at them, trying to make as little noise as possible. Sucking this man's cock sounded like a marvelous thing, but he also wanted to be fucked. Wasn't life awful, demanding that he choose between pleasures? He swirled his tongue around the digits, hoping that the antlered man would feel the sensation all the way down to his cock.

Then the fingers withdrew, and Draco gave a small, disappointed sigh that turned to a gasp when he felt them, moist and warm, between his arse cheeks. "Yes," he whispered before he could stop himself, and bent forward a little more. The fingers circled with a maddeningly light touch around the hole, teasing, slicking the surface, and he had to struggle to stop himself from shoving his hips backward to impale himself upon them.

Once more a moan escaped Draco's throat. A firm hand slapped one of his buttocks even as a fingertip pressed inside him, making him cry out much more loudly. "You're still a very disobedient boy," the low voice taunted in his ear. Oh, his father would never punish him like this, but how Draco had wished that he would! He thrust his hips back again, making the finger slide deeper into his body. "You need to be disciplined, is that it? Have you been a very spoiled boy? Perhaps I won't touch you at all until I've finished using you."

Draco whimpered. He hated the thought of not being touched, but at the same time, he found it exhilarating that someone wanted to control him like that. He knew that his father had spoilt him, and he had to admit to himself that there had been times when he had disobeyed him in the hope of being spanked.

"I've been a spoiled boy," Draco whispered quietly, knowing that the man would hear him. "Please, my Lord..." He jumped as the rebuking hand came down to smack his arse again. The sensation went straight to his cock, making it throb with need.

"I think I need to have a word with your owner...when I'm through with you." The dark voice seemed to promise everything that Draco had ever fantasized about. A foot pressing at his ankle forced him to spread his legs even more widely as a second finger breached his body, stretching him while using his own saliva to ease the way. It was somewhat uncomfortable but also electrifying; no one ever touched Draco Malfoy so incautiously! He released the groan that rose in his chest, guessing that if his sounds truly angered the man, he would have been gagged already or silenced through magical means.

The man released a hissing noise, moving his fingers in and out of Draco to open him more widely, and for the first time Draco felt the bulge in the man's tight leggings press against the curve of his arse. "Oh, yes," breathed Draco. "Fuck me, please, my Lord...use me! Make me your slave!"

Severus Snape was begging for his cock. Begging. Snape couldn't have known that the werewolf he was with was, in fact, a real werewolf, nor that the heightened sense of smell and careful observation of people he had cultivated over many years had made Lupin able to recognize the professor from the moment he strode into the party, theatrical cloak billowing behind him. It had surprised Lupin that Snape would attend such a gathering and he had quite a chuckle at his former colleague's choice of costume.

Lupin's own costume was a private joke of sorts, but it did not surprise him in the least that Severus responded to it. He had always been aware of the arousal underlying the Slytherin's hatred for him -- it was something he could almost taste at the back of his tongue whenever he stood too close. Now it was filling his senses, and he could not get enough -- those little bites he placed along Snape's neck, the scent of perspiration in his hair, the eager pleas and movements of his arse only made Lupin want to devour him.

"Give it to me," Snape demanded again in a ragged voice that Lupin had never heard from him before. "Stop teasing and fuck me!"

Lupin would have drawn it out longer, waited until he had Snape sobbing his pleas, but the hour of midnight was drawing closer and he knew that the act had to be completed by then, when the masks would come off. Stroking some oil over his aching cock, he pressed against the eagerly twitching hole and pushed.

It was hot. It was tight. And he slipped right inside, Snape apparently being more than ready for it. Lupin leaned forward so he could grab Snape's shoulders, and pulled him back against him in that manner, thrusting hard into his greedy arse.

The loud moans were like music to Lupin's ears; definitely more appealing than any other mystical and magical music of the night that this party had to offer. They accompanied the sound of slapping bodies beautifully as Lupin fucked the eagerly moving man under him. Who would have dreamed that Severus could be so shamelessly vocal! Lupin had always assumed that even with a stranger, the man would maintain his control, allowing himself only minimal pleasure. Instead Snape was clawing at the pillows, wantonly crying out and begging for more.

"Touch yourself," he ordered roughly, sinking his teeth once more into the soft skin at the base of Snape's neck. In the mirror he could see Snape spread his legs more widely, reaching between his legs to stroke the very stiff cock sticking up toward his belly. Lupin could not resist the temptation to close his own fingers over Snape's, to feel the frenetic rhythm with which he pleasured himself as Lupin moved in and out of him. An animal howl rose in his throat and he released it, feeling Snape buck and shudder. Their eyes met in the mirror, and for a moment Lupin was certain that Snape knew who he was.

"Come for me!" he growled, still holding Snape's gaze, and Snape complied, his eyes falling shut. The hand sped up a fraction more, then slowed, and jets of hot come spurted over their entwined hands and the bed, while Snape groaned loudly.

It was the most exciting thing Lupin had ever experienced: ordering someone to come and being obeyed. That, in combination with the rhythmic clenching around his cock, made is nearly impossible to hold back his own orgasm. With a harsh cry, he slammed hard into Snape's arse and did as he'd promised earlier: he filled him with his own come, marking him as his own.

Their fingers separated and slowly fell away as Lupin slumped over his lover's back, pressing them both to the wet covers. He could no longer see Snape's mask in the mirror but he could feel him breathing heavily and bent his head to kiss the red marks his teeth had left on the back of the man's neck. Snape shivered silently, undulating beneath him, and Lupin moved his mouth toward his ear.

"Now, you're mine," he said and took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of his lover. It was heady. Different from what he'd ever felt from this man before, because this wasn't arousal and hate, this was sex and satisfaction.

Lupin realized that they had probably taken long enough, and he should withdraw, straighten his clothes, and leave, before it was time to remove the masks.

Lucius bit back a moan as he rubbed his aching cock against this young man's arse. It wouldn't do to lose control this soon, to let the wanton "slave boy" know the depth of the effect he had on him. To tell the truth, it wasn't entirely because of the boy, but because he reminded Lucius so much of a boy he could not permit himself to touch like this.

The hushed pleas sent a shiver down his spine. Oh, he would make this boy his slave, all right. He would use him for as long as he wanted -- all night if he enjoyed him enough. To hell with Potter and his costume party when he had a hot, squirming body like this to possess!

The young man seemed ready, begging for it already, and Lucius withdrew his fingers to open his now much too tight leggings and free his cock. He focused for a moment to cast a silent charm on his erection, making it slick with oil, before putting his wand away in the back of his costume. As he took his cock in his damp hand, aligning it and nudging against the swollen pucker, he reached up to grasp a handful of the black hair falling across the boy's neck. It was the wrong color, but the dark locks appeared unnaturally shiny in the firelight and Lucius knew that this was no more a real brunet than a real slave, not with these fine smooth hands and the unscarred body of a pureblood, not with confident shoulders and bright, hungry eyes that gleamed beneath the half-mask across the boy's face.

"Hold still," he ordered and pressed forward, pushing into the irresistible heat of the firm young body. The young man let out a mewling sound but he did remain still, gripping the railing so hard that Lucius could see his knuckles whiten. "Shhh," he murmured again, stroking the skull beneath the soft hair and feeling the boy tilt his head back into his touch. Slowly he sank deeper into the slick channel, allowing himself a groan of pleasure.

Lucius could feel the boy trembling under him and rubbed his hand over the small of his pale, slim back to make him relax. There hadn't been much preparation, so he waited until he felt the muscles around him loosen their grip slightly before beginning to move. But when he did, he showed little mercy to the boy. He pulled back and then pushed back inside again -- slowly, agonizingly slowly -- and the move had the desired effect. The slave whimpered and moaned as his arse was slowly impaled again; he even tried to push back, showing his impatience and need.

With a resounding crack, Lucius punished him by smacking a buttock, then gripped the slim hips firmly and began to fuck the pliant body in earnest. He loved spanking the young man and listening to his wails -- he had never dared to spank his own son, fearing that he would be unable to recognize when it had gone on too long, when the slaps had become too little about Draco's discipline and too much about his own pleasure.

Here, however, there was no need to disguise his enjoyment. This "slave boy" cried out shamelessly, "Please" and "Yes" and "More," as Lucius slammed in again and again, his thighs smacking the buttocks now instead of his hands. Despite this effrontery, he could hardly be displeased at the begging, and what a pleasure it was to find the young man so responsive. Had he truly been a slave, Lucius would have bought him from his owner and taken him home as a pet. Yet it was equally delightful to know that this was a young aristocrat playing servant to him, for the boy had chosen him as surely as he had chosen the boy.

Lucius felt orgasm approaching, and although he was enjoying using the captive arse for his own pleasure, he wanted to feel the cock he had seen swelling beneath the scant covering over the boy's groin. Sliding a hand from hip to pelvis, he pushed cloth aside and felt the silky warmth of young flesh surging against his fingers. This young man was surely no older than Draco, his lower abdomen felt firm and was furred with thick curly hair, his cock pulsed at the briefest of touches, his balls grew tight...

"Father!!" the boy cried, straining against the cords at his wrists as he bucked, spurting hot jets of come over Lucius' hand.

It was not the sudden clenching of the tight channel around Lucius' cock but the shock of that word that shattered his control, making him slam in one last time and cry out wordlessly as his balls emptied in a series of hard spasms that shook his entire body.

Lucius was still bent over the boy, embracing him, trying to catch his breath, when he heard the first tolling of the bell as the clock struck midnight. Fumbling with his costume, he found his wand and released the boy's wrists from their confinement. He knew that it might be wise to leave before the bell rang out for the final time, welcoming in the New Year and the enchantment that hour signaled. It was mandated by ancient tradition that he remove his mask and kiss the nearest person in greeting when the moment came. Did he wish to reveal his face to this impudent boy?

Harry had always thought it was a myth that the penthouse floor in expensive hotels had huge bath tubs and round beds. He'd been wrong. He knew that now. This particular hotel was the best, though, because it also had a set of naked twins, tangled limbs and big smiles, blue eyes directed at Harry.

"I think my disguise fell off a bit early," said Fred.

"Fell off? You threw it across the room!" snorted George. He began to make fake clanging noises as he held his somewhat-worse-for-wear mask askew over his eyes, then pulled it away.

"Merlin! I'm having it off with my own brother!" he shrieked in mock terror.

Harry collapsed backwards, laughing. He couldn't imagine how he could have spent a more enjoyable New Year's Eve than with the Weasley twins. At first he had been a bit reluctant to go along with what they seemed to want, though it had been so tempting, with the warm touches, soft fingers, hot breath on his skin...but he'd been tense and unsure of what to do.

"C'mon, get between us. We're not really Siamese twins, you know," Fred had whispered.

"Though we are sometimes joined at the waist," added George.

"Or somewhat lower."

The laughter had melted the tension and awkwardness and Harry had let them do whatever they wanted with him, which was apparently quite a lot. Though the kissing had started in an alcove near the swimming pool, it had quickly become apparent that they needed to go someplace much more private before Harry found himself in a Weasley sandwich on the front page of the Daily Prophet. He had the keys to the penthouse, a gift for the evening from the hotel management, and he grinned as he held them up.

"Want to see what the top floor looks like?"

"Wicked!" said George and Fred simultaneously before George continued, "Is it true there's a tub like in the prefect's bathroom at Hogwarts, only with champagne in the taps?"

"I don't know, we'll have to find out," replied Harry and arranged his costume so he would be able to walk past the guests without announcing that there had been as much groping as kissing.

The tub had sadly not doused them with champagne when they tried it out, but there had been enough bottles of it around to make up for that. Fred had opened the bottle in the bathroom and filled three of the four glasses on the silver tray. It looked like it wasn't completely out of the ordinary for an untraditional number of people to bathe together. The room was also well-stocked with potions for lubrication, contraception and easing sore muscles; Harry wondered whether the whole hotel had been as well-stocked or if the fancy rooms came with particularly fancy benefits.

"Victory!" George cried cheerfully, clinking his glass against Harry's so hard that some of the champagne sloshed into the water and down Harry's chest. This did not cause a crisis, since Fred leaned over to lick it off, and after a moment his twin moved to the other side so that Harry had one Weasley teasing each nipple.

After his hesitant, half-hearted experiences with Ginny, so much stimulation was almost more than he could bear and he was afraid of coming the moment either twin touched his cock. "Guys," he gasped.

"Hmm?" They grinned up at him simultaneously and Harry couldn't help smiling back. "Want our mouths somewhere else?" inquired Fred.

"I'll take the front, you take the back," George ordered his brother and began to pull Harry upright, until he was standing thigh-high in warm water between the Weasleys. Harry groaned at the mere thought of that and had to hold on for dear life as two tongues began exploring and teasing him.

Miraculously, he didn't actually come immediately. Not even when George took him into his mouth and sucked him like he'd never been sucked before. George obviously had a lot of practice, and knew exactly when to ease off, much to Harry's frustration.

The tongue that teased between his buttocks didn't make things easier. For a moment, Harry felt a bit scared, but he soon forgot his shame and indoctrinated feeling of being dirty. Fred moaned and pulled his arse cheeks apart to get better access, and if Fred enjoyed doing it, then Harry could enjoy it too. Ginny had never touched him there with more than a hesitant finger on the surface, and it was a revelation to discover how sensitive the puckered skin back there was to teasing.

He gasped when the exploring tongue slipped inside him, certain that Fred was about to pull back in disgust, but Fred didn't seem at all traumatized to be licking actually inside Harry's arse and began to slide the tongue in and out as if it were a finger or a cock. With a load groan, Harry glanced down, only to see George smirking up at him around his cock and humming as if to say he knew what Harry was thinking.

Crying out, Harry grabbed George's shoulders to keep his feet steady on the tub bottom as he shuddered between the two mouths. He felt Fred slide his hands up to hold Harry's hips, still tongue-fucking him, and could hold back no longer; with another shout he bucked and began to spurt into George's mouth while his arse convulsed around Fred's tongue.

Snape very nearly protested when he felt the man draped across his back begin to slide away. The sex had been extraordinary; somehow this stranger had known exactly what he needed, both how to touch him and what to say. It was slightly unnerving; Snape wondered whether Legilimency could have occurred using the mirror as a conduit, and if that might be why he hadn't felt it, but he didn't think the man beneath the mask had been trying to probe his mind. Maybe he assumed that anyone who chose a partner dressed as a werewolf wanted to be claimed in such a manner.

Flushing slightly, Snape found himself grateful to be wearing a mask as the man withdrew and urged him to turn over. In silence they regarded one another, disheveled yet still hidden behind what remained of their costumes. The former Death Eater was glad the faded mark on his arm remained hidden, for he could see scars on the other man's body that might have meant he was an Auror.

For some reason, he felt that had they not been masked, he would have wanted to end this encounter with a kiss...there should have been a kiss somewhere in the heated passion, really. Then he berated himself. It was nothing but a chance encounter, even if he had given himself completely to this stranger, and they would never meet again; there was certainly no need for kisses.

"I'd..." the werewolf had begun to say when he was abruptly cut off by a loud noise that made them both look around. It was the first chime of the bell in the hotel's great tower, pealing so loudly that it would be heard in every room, heralding the New Year.

Quickly Snape reached for his trousers while his companion pulled out a wand, casting a spell to clean Snape a moment before he turned the same spell on himself. Though he appreciated the courtesy, Snape found himself regretting that the other man had moved so quickly; he had had a rather perverse desire to return home with the stranger's smell overwhelming him.

They were both standing by the fourth chime, fully dressed by the seventh; there was plenty of time for them to say their farewells and depart in opposite directions down the corridor before the clock had finished tolling the hour. Yet neither of them reached for the latch on the door, and as the ninth ring reverberated, the stranger asked quietly, "Do you really want to see this wolf unmasked?"

Snape looked at him, trying to read the look in the eyes that were barely visible through the mask. Did he want to know who it was? It would be safer to leave, never to know...but a part of him wanted to do this again. The war was over, he could look to his own needs, and if they included being shagged through the mattress by someone, why not by a person he knew could satisfy him?

The clock struck ten, then eleven, and Snape was running out of time! He nodded stiffly, and the wolf stepped close. "If you're certain, Severus," said the masked man softly, lifting his hands to remove the Phantom's mask from Snape's face.

Snape froze, momentarily uncertain whether to reach for the stranger's mask or his own wand. The man had been using Legilimency after all! Or perhaps this had all been a trap sprung by one of his old enemies -- a onetime Death Eater or a friend of Dumbledore's, perhaps even Potter himself. As the last chime struck, fury seized him, and he reached up with both hands to grasp and tug at the wolf's head. "Who are you?" he spat.

He knew the answer before the mask had come free from the familiar face, where it had evidently been held in place by an enchantment that faded with the tolling of midnight. Lupin was smiling at him, shyly, perhaps a little sadly, though at least he was not gloating.

"I might have known," hissed Snape, hoping that Lupin would believe the blush on his face beneath his own mask had been caused by anger rather than the inexplicable excitement he felt at discovering just who had been fucking him. "Is this yet another example of a Gryffindor prank?"

"No, Severus. No prank." The smile seemed to turn sadder. "The time for pranks is long over." Snape's mask was in one of Lupin's hands, and there was nothing to hide his face behind anymore. "It's traditional to kiss as the New Year begins..." Lupin said softly, and before Snape could protest (as he knew he surely must do), soft lips claimed his own, and he could say nothing.

Even as he felt Lupin press closer, Snape struggled to clear his thoughts. Perhaps Lupin had not known who he was until he had been close enough to smell him; perhaps the animal had only realized who would share the bed with him when it was too late to back out gracefully.

And Snape had behaved shamelessly -- he had practically begged to be fucked! There was no way that he could feign disinterest in werewolves now, and Lupin surely had already guessed why his costume had intrigued Snape. He was kissing him as if he expected to be welcomed, lips sliding softly around Snape's own; Snape found that he had opened his mouth and was greedily sucking on his tongue before his mind caught up with his body's responses.

Pulling back, he stared at Lupin, but there was still no cunning in the earnest gaze. "Why?" Snape demanded.

"Why the costume, or why I pursued you?"

"Yes." Snape didn't know which question he wanted answered first. He was embarrassed and that also made him angry. Lupin's calm face made him angry. His own response to the kiss made him angry.

"Because I wanted you. I wasn't lying earlier. I wanted to feel you come and to make you smell like me."

Snape felt his breath catch as his face heated again. How could Lupin stand there saying such things to him so serenely? "And now you..." he started to snarl, but Lupin didn't wait for him to finish. He leaned over and kissed Snape again, taking his head in his large hands and lacing his fingers through the hair that clung to Snape's head where the mask had flattened it.

Why was Lupin still kissing him when it was after midnight? Snape couldn't think with that mouth moving over his. He reached up to grasp Lupin's shoulders, unwilling to let him dominate the kiss, pushing against him just as firmly.

Lupin growled and refused to let go of Snape's head. "You want this as much as I do, Severus. I know you do." He looked steadily into his eyes. "You enjoyed it earlier. Why would you refuse yourself more pleasure?"

That growl had Snape thoroughly distracted. "Why are you talking so much?" he hissed, shoving his body against Lupin's to show that he was not intimidated. This was, perhaps, not the wisest course of action, as it brought his newly invigorated groin into contact with the impressive bulge in Lupin's outrageously tight costume.

Lupin moaned and renewed the kiss, thrusting his tongue between Snape's parted lips and stroking his own tongue with it in a way that was absolutely maddening. The slow rubbing of his cock made it even more difficult to think clearly, and Snape decided that the intelligent thing to do would be to leave. He had to, before he made a bigger fool of himself! But when he moved, it was in the opposite direction, to push Lupin towards the bed again.

Then again, perhaps the wisest course of action would be to show Lupin that this had been Snape's wish all along.

Draco rubbed at his wrists, wishing he could will his heart to slow as he heard the chimes of midnight begin to ring out. His throat burned; he knew that he had not held in the cry before the most powerful orgasm of his life that would have told his lover whose face he imagined lay under the mask of Cernunnos. Though the man had followed him into ecstasy, he might have been disgusted. And if he recognized Draco, there might be questions, even blackmail. Did either of them dare stay?

"Turn around," the god whispered, pulling on Draco's shoulder to make him obey, even though the masquerade had ended with the first chime and Draco was under no obligation to follow any orders. Turning, he tried to search a pair of eyes that were all but hidden by the stag's head. Feeling suddenly bold, he reached to touch the disguise at the same moment the man's hands came up to lift the golden mask covering Draco's own face. The clock struck an eighth time, then a ninth, as they pulled away one another's false faces. Blond hair tumbled free from beneath the stag's horns. "Draco," whispered Lucius Malfoy, his lip quivering in what might have been thrill or trepidation.

"Father," Draco said again. Then the bell tolled a final time. As if a spell rather than a custom governed their next movements, they leaned in and kissed on the mouth as if they had always done so.

It felt more intimate than being fucked...his father's lips on his, claiming him as he never had before, though Draco had dreamed of this since he was very young, when the idea of sex was something vague and far off. With a soft groan he twined his arms around his father's neck, aware that he might be pushed roughly aside in anger or disgust at any moment and unwilling to let this glorious closeness end. He had given himself to his father as he had longed to do for so long, and his father had accepted everything he offered, even if Lucius could not have known that it was Draco he was taking.

The final peal of the bell reverberated endlessly while Draco stood with his lips locked against his father's. He dreaded its ending and what would follow; whether his father was furious, repulsed or merely upset with himself for not having guessed at the ruse, this wonderful familiarity would be replaced by cold distance. He wanted to apologize, to tell his father that he loved him...

The tolling had faded to silence. Lucius still had not moved. He was still in Draco's embrace, lips parted softly, kissing him.

Somehow, after stumbling out of the tub and drying off, Harry and the twins had found their way onto the bed. They had more champagne, and it seemed as if the twins preferred to drink it off Harry's body because they kept pouring it over him into his navel and then licking it off.

The buzz in Harry's head made him feel light and playful, and it wasn’t long before he was the one with a cock in his mouth and a finger slowly moving in and out of his arse. He could hear kissing going on above him, and it turned him on immensely to think of Fred and George together like that. He let go of Fred's cock with a slurping noise and looked up.

"Can I watch?"

Fred put on a thoughtful expression. "We usually charge extra for that," he said.

"But, seeing as you were our financial patron...I believe we can make an exception." Slowly George withdrew his finger from Harry's body, leaving Harry feeling slightly empty but very excited. He scooted up toward the pillows as George slid down to put his mouth where Harry's had been, making enthusiastic slurping noises as he took Fred in.

Fred threw his head back and groaned, playing with his own nipples. Harry's tingled in sympathy and he tweaked them discreetly, then rubbed his cock which was hard again and aching for attention. He thought that Fred might be watching him out of his slitted eyes as Fred slowly thrust in and out of George's mouth, but a muffled "Get down here" made the upright twin shift and lie flat, pulling on George's hip so that he could suck him while George continued to do the same to Fred.

Just knowing that George was sucking his brother at the same time made this even hotter than before, and when a hand -- was it Fred's? -- found its way down to stroke his cock, Harry whimpered around George. It was fantastic!

"If we'd known you were so enthusiastic about this idea, we would have done this a long time ago, Harry." Harry just nodded in response; no use in even trying to talk. Maybe it would have taken his mind off things when he'd needed that, but he would take this as his reward after a job well done instead. "Want more?" he heard one of the twins ask and nodded vigorously.

Sitting up, Fred reached for one of the jars on the bedside table amidst the mints and folded towels. "Maybe you should be on top," he suggested, politely declining to ask whether this was Harry's first time with a man, which of course it was. Harry liked this idea for two reasons: he was a little bit nervous about having something as large as a cock inside him, but more, he loved the idea that if he wasn't in the middle, one of the twins would be inside the other!

"Tell me what to do," he said, taking the jar from Fred, who had already scooped out a handful of the thick, slippery potion and was nudging at George to get him to roll onto his belly. The substance felt rather cold when Harry first touched it, but it quickly warmed up as he rolled it in his palm while watching Fred smear the potion liberally over the surface of George's arsehole, then slide a fingertip inside while George made enthusiastic noises and pushed back onto the finger.

Winking at him, Fred turned so that his backside was practically in Harry's face and said, "Just use a lot and go slow." Cautiously Harry extended two fingers and smeared some of the oily stuff down the crack between Fred's buttocks. He was afraid of doing something wrong and hurting Fred, but at the same time he was extremely excited by the noises George was making as Fred pushed a second finger into him. George had no objection to being stretched like that! Pressing down, Harry felt his fingers slide into Fred's body and almost pulled them out again right away, but Fred made an encouraging noise. "Ooh! Like that. Ohhyeah."

George twisted his head around to look at the two of them and winked at Harry. "He likes it hard. Hold-onto-the-headboard hard." Harry couldn't help groaning at this revelation, for it gave him an immediate picture in his mind of George shagging Fred in the latter's bed at the Burrow with a gag over Fred's mouth to stop him from alerting the entire household and a charm on the bed to stop it from banging into the wall.

Feeling Fred wriggling back toward him, he tried adding a third finger and even though it felt very tight, Fred continued to moan happily. "Now your cock," he panted. "Puts lots of the stuff on it. LOTS of it. And make sure you hold it steady when you put it in me, or it'll go sliding all over the place."

Withdrawing his fingers, Harry scooped out some more of the potion with his clean hand and stroked it up and down until his cock was glistening and he thought he'd burst if he touched himself again. Meanwhile Fred was doing the same to his own cock while George wiggled impatiently. "Just stick it in me and let Harry make you move. And don't forget to give me a hand!"

With a firm grip on his cock, Harry moved forward, pressing the head against the opening he'd had his fingers inside just a moment ago. He was slightly surprised, because he hadn't expected it to feel like that, as if he was sinking into something incredibly tight and yet welcoming, hot, almost pulsing... He stopped to breathe calmly, trying to not come again. It would be too embarrassing if he came too soon.

Meanwhile, Fred whispered, "Now stay with me," and pressed himself forward into George, who pushed back eagerly, as if he couldn't wait to have his brother inside him. "Ohhyeah," he groaned, just as Fred had earlier. "In deep!"

Harry could feel Fred's arse stretch as he reached over George's hip and began to rock slightly with the rhythm he was using to stroke George's cock. It was much too arousing for Harry to stay still, and he drew his hips back, then thrust them forward, feeling that tight space shape itself around his cock.

"Oh! My! God!" Harry wondered what good deeds he had made to be allowed to experience such bliss and absolute pleasure, but whatever it was, he'd do it again.

"Oh, I agree," groaned George. "Fuck him, Harry!" Harry wasn't late in obeying that request, and continued to thrust into Fred, pushing him in turn into George, who moaned shamelessly. He could feel tightness building in his balls and was terrified of finishing before the twins, but then George reared up against Fred's chest, gasping, "Coming -- oh -- oh!"

The sound of Fred's hand on George's cock changed as George spilled over it, making Fred's fingers wet, and Fred let out a wail. "Ah -- Harry -- can't hold on..." A moment later, the snug channel into which Harry was thrusting squeezed his cock in a quick erratic rhythm and both Fred and George grunted, "Unnh!"

It seemed as if Harry's head was bursting as well as the liquid pumping out of his cock into Fred's arse. He opened his mouth in a soundless scream, gripping Fred's hips, and practically fell down on top of the twins when the excruciating pleasure finally began to fade. Fred was panting heavily, slumped over George, who had raised his head.

"Look! Out the window. Fireworks." So Harry hadn't imagined it! Blearily he raised his head.

"Happy New Year," said Fred, or rather groaned Fred, who slid heavily to the side, detaching from both Harry and his brother. "Oof. Wow."

The fireworks were pretty, but Harry still thought that the fireworks he'd had with the twins were a lot more impressive. "I'm thirsty," he mumbled.

"Have some champagne." Fred stretched over the edge of the bed and took a hold of the bottle and handed it to Harry.

"The whole bottle?" Grinning, Harry took a sip, coughed at the bubbles, then handed the bottle to George, who took a much bigger gulp. Passing the bottle back to Fred, he flopped backward with his hands above his head. "I'm buggered," he said and grinned.

"We both are," agreed Fred.

"I'm not," said Harry and lay down, halfway on top of the closest twin, reaching out to touch the other as well. "But that can be arranged."