Title:And I Will Bare My Soul in Time (When I'm Kneeling at Your Feet)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Char/Pair: Arthur Weasley/Lucius Malfoy
Prompt: Breakup at 1theme on livejournal
W/C: 576
Warnings: Non-graphic sexual relationship between men
A/N: Established relationship, though this doesn't necessarily play with the other A/L fics I've written.

The Burrow is quiet for once, uncharacteristically so and it's nice, wife and kids gone for the day. You're not alone though. His hands smell like coffee and you realize that you've never seen him actually drink it, wonder how he can stomach the bitterness. When you ask him about it he says that it helps him calm his nerves. You don't bother to ask him what he has to be nervous about, you just lie there with his head in your lap.

You don't remember falling asleep, but you wake up suddenly when you realize the spot next to you has gone cold, a slight popping sound resonates through the air and you don't stop to think that maybe this is what it all comes down to.

-----

You should be working, something about a case of charmed stoves to work like the Floo Network and a Muggle being scared out of his wits when he went for his roast and found a face instead. But it's hard to concentrate when you've got a tongue (that, if you think about, tastes a lot like silver, but you don't think about it because you're supposed to be past that) shoved down your throat and a denim clad thigh wedged between your leg. Hard to concentrate when you're anywhere near that which is Lucius Malfoy.

It's dangerous to be doing this at work, anyone can walk in and see you and you know that in the end, if it ever came down to someone finding you, out of either you would be the one to lose everything. Still, you don't reach over to close the door.

-----

It's not supposed to be like this. It's always been you flat on your back on the bed, or the desk in his office at the mansion. Your arms spread in front of you against the wall. Always you, willing, accepting, taking everything he has to give. Always hurried, rushed, coming before someone comes.

This? This is languid and slow and maybe a little bit cold if you stop long enough to shiver. He's beneath you and the irony of that isn't lost on you as you slip inside for the first time, unsure of your strokes, where your hands are supposed to go. If whether that's a tear in his eye or just a reflection of your own. You fuck like it's goodbye.

-----

"Narcissa's pregnant."

And there it is. Everything you were trying to deny was going to happen, in two simple words and maybe the sob that escapes your lips makes him look at you with a little bit of disgust, but you don't care, he's always looked down on you after all.

"That's --"

"This has to end."

It's a simple statement that you've repeated to yourself every time the two of you got together, somewhere in the deepest part of your brain, at the forefront of your heart. It has to end. It never should have started. Doesn't keep you from begging. Doesn't keep you from clutching at his hand as he gets up to leave. Doesn't keep you from seeing the wounded look in his eye as he snarls down at you before Apparating out of your life for good.

-----

Your youngest son brings a friend home from school one summer, he smells like coffee from his Muggle family. You miss the look on their faces as you run from the cluttered room.