jellybean_slash: Thy Kingdom Come (LM/HP, NC-17)

Title: Thy Kingdom Come
Author: jellybean_slash
Pairing: Lucius Malfoy/Harry Potter
Rating: NC-17
Set: 50.4
Prompt: #13, "Faith"
Word Count: 1,189
Summary: The way Harry worships his new God is so very different from before, and yet so much the same. First in the Lord's Prayer series.
Warnings (this part): Dubious consent, drugging - potion, bondage, D/s, BDSM, blasphemy - religious kink.
Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter, its characters and settings are the copyrighted works of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., her publishing companies and affiliates. No profit was made from the writing of this story.
Notes: Thank you to the wonderful hel_bee for helping me out with my silly question about punctuation. Title and last line taken directly from the Lord's Prayer.

When Harry was a young boy, no more than four or five, his aunt Petunia would make him pray each night before bed. She would make him kneel at the edge of his cot and clasp his hands, then she would tell him to pray for God to remove the strange evil that plagued his soul as it had his mother's -- to cleanse him of his wickedness. Harry never prayed for those things, though. Instead, he prayed for Santa to visit him at Christmas and for Dudley to grow tired of his newest toys so that they would be passed down to Harry, broken and scratched, but still great fun for a boy that spent most of his day in the cupboard under the stairs.

As he grew older, started his schooling, he would pray for his hair to grow back when aunt Petunia would cut it short with her scissors. She would snip away nearly all of his hair, leaving him with patches missing and a very lopsided fringe, and all the other children would laugh. He would pray that his teachers would stop ringing the Dursleys to tell them how well he was doing in his lessons, because that just earned him more chores.

Sometimes, when he felt particularly lonely or sad, he would pray for friends. He would ask God to send him just one friend, one person who really liked him and would play with him on the playground during break. Eventually, he stopped trying, though. Any friend he ever made, Dudley stole from him, or drove away with terrible lies about how Harry still sucked his thumb and wet the bed and picked his nose when nobody was looking. It seemed that not even God could stop Dudley Dursley from being a mean-spirited little prat.

Harry hardly ever prayed when he went to Hogwarts -- the other boys certainly didn't, and he didn't want to look stranger to them than he already did -- but when he did pray, it was for things much more important than toys or friends. He would pray that the friends he had made would be safe, and that the sense of family and belonging he was experiencing would never leave him. As time went on, he prayed for Voldemort to be defeated, prayed for a man to die, and simply hoped he would survive through it if his prayer were answered.

God finally did answer that day in June of his seventh year. He led Harry to each of the horcruxes, steadied his hand in destroying them, and then guided him through the Hogwarts safely to where Riddle stood, awaiting him.

It wasn't until the spell was cast and the war won that he realised he had been fooled.

That day, that whole life, are far behind him now. Occasionally, he'll hear certain words that sound so familiar to him and he'll try to remember why, but thinking about them, trying to grasp onto the thin, almost invisible thread of a memory, is quite pointless. It feels rather like he's digging through the solid, cold ground in winter, fingers digging at the hard earth beneath them, clawing viciously but making very little progress towards their ultimate goal. He'll see glimpses of places and people he feels like he should know, sometimes, before the fierce ache starts up behind his eyes, throbbing in time with his pulse. Dizziness overwhelms him, then, forcing him to release the thread once more.

One thing he hadn't lost was religion. It had changed a fair deal from his last life, but it was certainly there, obvious in every day.

Now when Harry knelt down at the edge of the bed each night, it was to suck the cock of the man before him. Instead of clasping his hands in quiet offering and submission, he will hold them as his Master instructs and remain perfectly still as they are bound tightly behind him. It is almost as though his Master expects him to resist or attempt to run, but Harry hasn't done either in longer than he can remember. His fingers will tingle and ache as they begin to numb, and he must use his lips and tongue to worship the flesh before him, offering lip service prayers in the most literal sense. The hissed encouragement and pleased moans are his daily blessing, and the thick, white come that shoots forth in warm spurts onto his tongue and chin and cheeks is like holy water, cleansing him of his sins as it is smeared over his face by smooth, familiar hands.

Harry thought of his Master as Lucius in his mind, but he never spoke the name aloud. Master did not allow Harry to address him in any other way, and such blatant disobedience would surely earn him a severe punishment. Harry had never made the slip, but he knew from experience that punishment would see him counting aloud each of the lashes he received -- like the beads of a rosary -- as penance. Master's orders were like the Commandments: set in stone and never to be broken. Truthfully, Harry should not know his Master by any other name as all those around the man referred to him in the same fashion; Lucius was Master just as surely as Jesus was Lord. He had never been told, he just seemed to know.

Every night, Harry offered his body to his Master like a sacrifice, desperate to please. His voice was hoarse as he begged for absolution with his pleas for more and deeper and harder. On those rare evenings when Lucius would pour a glittering, crimson liquid into his mouth -- the bitter elixir pooling on his tongue before he swallowed, still riding high on the force of his orgasm, if he had been granted one -- he would think of it as forgiveness being bestowed upon him. Euphoria would overwhelm him as the warmth seeped through his veins, and he knew peace.

Occasionally, when Master left him alone to tend his business affairs, Harry would grow restless with his relative freedom. His thoughts would wander back to that day in June, so long ago, when everything changed. His memory of the day is nowhere near as buried as his others, and he could easily reach it if he tried, but it is fuzzy when he re-lives it. He has to concentrate to see the images, blurred just so in his mind.

He can recall Lucius removing a mask from his face, smirking as he watched a grotesque, skeletal man fall to the ground, red eyes lifeless. He knows that there were words and laughter, but try as he might he cannot summon up a memory of them. Flashes of green light, people begin falling around him. Just as Harry begins to understand, feel sadness and anger and hate for the first time in what must be years, Master is back, the ringed fingers of his hand sliding through his pet's hair, and the weight of them makes Harry forget once more, falling to his knees to worship his new God.

For Thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory, forever and ever. Amen.

Later pieces in the Lord's Prayer series:
Lead Us Not Into Temptation
Hallowed Be Thy Name