It's maybe half past ten and the only sound in the room comes from the old radio tuned to the WWN that's playing some damned incessant warbling waltz that seems to have been going on for hours. Draco's latched drunkenly onto his father, his arms around his neck, and they're swaying drunkenly about the room in what Harry can only describe as a bizarre travesty of ballroom dancing; they're all ice-blonde hair and flowing black robes, like glorious brandy-soaked and incestuous twins as they hold each other close, fingers twined, foreheads resting together in the light of half a dozen silver candelabra. And for all his trying, Harry can't keep his eyes off them.

Darkening green eyes trace the line of a jaw, a cheekbone, as if from a hundred miles away, through mist. Lucius' skin glows golden in the candlelight and his grey eyes twinkle as he shifts slightly, gracefully, to gaze over the shoulder of his beautiful son, that soul-deep gaze alighting now on Harry. Lucius whispers something to the boy in his arms and Draco laughs, the sound somehow more melodious than the violins on the wireless but infinitely colder. He casts a glance back over his shoulder and grins over at Harry without really looking at him at all. There's villainy in that smile, in the sharp white teeth and kiss-reddened lips.

Then Draco's by the fire and he's pouring out another glass of brandy, or maybe it's wine, but Harry doesn't care and doesn't really look because Lucius is standing there under the low, dimly lit chandelier, the light of a thousand crystals shining in his eyes. He has a bite mark on his throat and blood in his hair. Or maybe wine. Harry finds he wants to taste it and when the beauty in the midst of all those twinkling lights crooks a finger to him he finds he's already on his feet, floating dimly toward him. There's something in the back of his mind shouting 'moth to a flame' but the voice is a hundred miles away, through mist.

He stepped into serpentine arms that wound about his waist and slipped into his hair, let his head rest heavy against the plush velvet of a shoulder, pressed his lips lightly to the long, graceful neck. Lucius swayed out of time to the music but it didn't matter, he was holding him close and hot, letting Harry's teeth rest against the mark on his throat, letting Harry's fingers tangle in the ends of his long blonde hair. Draco laughed, and he kept on laughing, vague, loud, delirious, far away. Lucius' fingers played at the nape of his neck and Harry sighed.

It could have been an hour or a minute that they stood there, swaying, Harry's tongue darting out from between lightly-bitten lips to flicker over the bite, licking up the drying blood, tasting the copper bright against the salt of Lucius' skin as Draco whirled manically by the fireside, flames licking, reflected in the deep blue wineglass he held loosely in his hand. Lucius' fingers trailed down his back and Harry shivered. Draco laughed harder and threw his glass into the fire, eyes wide, smile etched in place.

Draco kissed him, hot and wet and tasting of fine red wine. Harry didn't bother to kiss back, just opened his lips and let Draco savage him, nipping at his lips with sharp little teeth, raking fingernails hard down over his still-clothed back. Then he was whirling again and Lucius was chuckling down deep in his throat. Harry felt it in his chest and he broke away, picking up his brandy and returning to his place by the window.

Draco kissed his father, and Lucius kissed back. They were wound together again, under the shimmering crystal and bathed in firelight, lips and hands and bodies all crushed one against the other. Draco had a new glass in his hand, shining sapphire blue and spilling wine onto the floor. Harry watched it seep into the thick sheepskin rug and sighed. He couldn't believe it had come to this. Somehow their glacial beauty was intriguing and disastrous together. It hurt his eyes to look at them.

When he went to them, when they took him in their arms and kissed him, Draco's teeth grazing at his throat, Lucius' dark mouth seeming almost to suck the very life from his body, Harry could only lean into the embrace and let his arm hang back, glass dangling precariously between his fingers. His eyes were on that glass, watching the liquid twirl, feeling the all too familiar tightening in his stomach, the curl of arousal that the pair wrought from him. He gave himself over.

It should have worried him that he cared more about spilling the brandy than he did about either Malfoy. But it didn't. Harry looked into Lucius' eyes and felt nothing at all. And that was just the way he liked it.