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Title Malfoy Post Bellum
Author by Ravenna C. Tan
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Consensual incest
Summary: On the last night before Lucius is returned to Azkaban after the war, he and Draco spend some quality time.
Notes: This fic is a gift for
thepinkrabbit, whom I met at the post-DiaconAlley pub meet in London and who lamented that there is not enough Lucius/Draco out there. To which I replied "I should write mote of it." So I did. A classic L/D theme set post-war.
Malfoy Post Bellum
by Ravenna C. Tan
There are no Dementors in Azkaban when Lucius returns to the prison for the last time. But that doesn't mean that the Ministry has turned the place into a good spot for a jolly holiday. Maybe the stone itself holds nightmares, after being steeped in them for so very long.
He holds off the nightmares as best he can with memories, so clear and colorful in his mind when he first enters his cell, like this one, of just last night:
"Draco. If you would."
His son recoils a moment from the proffered scissors, then steels himself, drawing his wand from his sleeve. Lucius watches carefully, trying to discern if the horror on Draco's face, quickly schooled away, is from the crude tool or from the idea that Lucius need be shorn. Draco is getting better at hiding his feelings again and this heartens Lucius. Draco was stripped far too raw for far too long, and Lucius takes it as a sign of healing that his son can once again hide his true feelings when he puts his mind to it.
Draco ignores the scissors and raises his wand. "How short do you want it, Father?"
"Short enough that filth won't cake in it," Lucius says, though what he is thinking is this: short enough that some Muggleborn won't decide I'm now his woman. There is no guarantee that Lucius will be held in solitary confinement as he was before. He is not sure which would be better, isolation or contact with the general population. Neither holds cheering prospects.
The grim look on Draco's face as he considers where to start makes Lucius wonder if perhaps Draco isn't imagining something dire. But then Draco runs his fingers through the blond locks and his face softens, clearly pleased at the invitation to this unexpected bit of intimacy. Lucius wonders how things might have been different, in a world without the Dark Lord.
Draco begins to spell the hair in his hand, combing out section after section with gentle brushes of his fingers, and then spelling away the excess. After much of it is done, he trims a bit more at Lucius's temples, evening the sides, and then the back of his neck.
Draco's magic feels like love, leaving Lucius tingling and warm.
"Mother would probably be better at this than I..." Draco says, as he examines his handiwork with a critical eye.
"Your mother cried so hard when she last tried that she nearly took my ear off," Lucius murmurs, only partly in jest. "Your hand is steadier."
When it is done, Lucius catches that hand in his and holds it tight, not yet ready to let Draco recede into the aloofness with which he has held himself since the attack on Hogwarts.
Draco's face is unreadable, but the way his breath catches, the way he shifts even closer, is not.
Lucius grimaces. "I am a failure as a father."
Draco opens his mouth to protest, but Lucius hushes him with a slight cock of his head, saying, "I have failed you in several specific ways. I failed to protect you from the Dark Lord's attentions. And I have failed to provide you with a proper coming of age."
"Father?" Draco looks surprised.
Shaking his head, Lucius answers. "I had always intended to initiate you to certain aspects of pureblood pleasure when you were of age. However, while we were at war never seemed the time for it."
Draco's sudden blush reveals that he has some inkling of what Lucius speaks. "I... Father--that is..."
Lucius lets him sputter, intending to apologize in a moment, but then Draco blurts out, "I am a virgin still, you know."
Lucius raises an eyebrow. "Why, no. I had assumed you would have--"
"Never seemed the time for it," Draco spits, eyes downcast. "And though avoiding the physical attentions of Macnair and Rabastan Lestrange last year required some machinations on my part, I managed it."
Shaking his head again, Lucius chuckles low in his throat. "Commendable, but I could yet be years behind bars. You must not wait for me. And you are a callow youth no longer, my son. You need no one to lead you by the hand to a suitable assignation."
Draco snorts. "Or Potter might get his way after all, and you'll be back in six months." He pulls his hand free and slips his wand back into his sleeve. Lucius has noticed Draco's wand-carrying habits have changed, his wand never far from his hand, though he is unsure if those habits changed after the war or during.
He also notices a wince of regret on Draco's face.
"What is it, my son?" Lucius's voice is soft, rather than hard, but his question no less deniable. Malfoys rarely ask such direct questions.
Draco shakes his head. "It's noth--" He stops before he finishes the lie. "I shouldn't have pulled away just now. You're about to spend... some amount of time without a scrap of human contact and here I am, denying it to you."
Lucius turns in the chair, away from the mirror to look directly into his son's face. "You mustn't blame yourself. For anything."
Draco still looks pained. Lucius takes both of his hands then, and kisses the backs of Draco's knuckles playfully the way he did when Draco was a child and he used to tickle him that way. He expects Draco to pull away again, ticklish as ever, and is surprised when instead, Draco only squeezes harder.
Lucius looks up into eyes much like his own, grey and slightly haunted.
"You don't leave until the morning," Draco whispers, as if he dares not speak out loud.
"That is true," Lucius says, his voice deliberately neutral. "But neither can we leave nor entertain visitors tonight."
Draco's blush deepens. "You never told me..." He trails off, unable to bring himself to finish the sentence, squeezing Lucius's hands in his as he swallows.
"Never told you what?" Lucius prompts.
"Which... what kind of coming of age... er... event... is the Malfoy tradition." He clears his throat uselessly. "I mean, there were times... stories went around... about some pureblood families..."
Lucius chuckles, choosing his words carefully. "I think I know what you are getting at," he says, "though I am unable to quite discern what your opinion is about that which you cannot bring yourself to say."
Draco finally musters the courage to look up, fearful but hopeful at the same time. "That's because... I can't... tell what you think about the idea either."
"Then let us agree not to judge one another if we disagree," Lucius says. "Pureblood tradition has certainly landed us in enough trouble these days and in light of that I will not censure anyone at the moment who may decide against." He allows a tiny quirk of a smile onto his face, acknowledging his own prior hypocrisies. "However, when it comes to seeing to one's own son's sexual awakening, well, there are many ways families have gone about it in the past, none of which I would deny you, Draco, if you wished for one in particular." Lucius's voice is cool as he speaks these words, but he feels the sweat prickling at his collar, and a flicker of hope tickling the back of his mind.
"I would gladly let you choose to initiate me however you saw fit," Draco answers, "but it would appear only one avenue is open to us in the brief time we have."
One night, at the Manor, alone... Lucius's heart leaps into his throat for a moment before he swallows it down. "If we are to do this, Draco," he says, "I must be absolutely clear that we have no misunderstandings about it."
Draco's only answer, though, is a grim nod.
Lucius can hardly blame him for passing the quaffle once again. Truthfully, Lucius, being the more experienced one, should be the one to speak the terms, anyway. "Very well. You want me to bed you tonight?"
Draco repeats the nod, then his eyes widen. "Unless... unless I would be taking you away from Mother?"
Lucius grins. "I have already sated your mother, just a short while ago, else I would not have shortened my hair. But Draco, are you sure? Your virginity, once taken from you, cannot be given back. And even among purebloods, this form of initiation has become rare."
But Draco's hand slips along Lucius's scalp, through the shorn silk of Lucius's hair, and says, "You are rare."
"As are you," Lucius answers. "Kiss me."
Lucius lets Draco be the one to set the pace of the kiss, the depth and duration... this time. "You can tell me to stop at any time," Lucius adds, slightly breathless. "If you change your mind." It is a choice he has allowed to no other lover other than his wife. Not Rabastan, not Severus. Once Lucius's passions are inflamed he is accustomed to stopping only once they are extinguished.
And it is so very long since he could allow his passion free rein. This will be nothing like the wistfully gentle love-making he engaged in earlier this evening with Narcissa. He knows it the moment he pulls Draco down into a harder kiss, into a claiming of his son's mouth that inspires Draco to begin making hungry, desperate sounds.
Lucius pushes him a step back when that kiss ends. "Take off your clothes and leave them by the vanity."
Draco's fingers shake as he undoes the buttons on his shirt, and although normally any sign of ungainliness in a lover would put Lucius off, Draco's awkward hurry to comply with the order only makes Lucius's eagerness surge to meet his son's.
When Draco is in nothing but his luminous skin, his wand in one palm, Lucius beckons him close. With his hands cupping the globes of Draco's arse, he pulls him between his knees. Sitting in the vanity chair as he is, Lucius is at just the right height to suckle at Draco's nipples. And he does, one then the other, teasing with tongue and teeth and suction.
He smiles against Draco's skin when he hears the pained cry Draco lets out when Lucius bites him.
He looks up and sees Draco's eyes are shining, as if a few tears came forth. "This is an initiation, Draco. No initiation is ever painless."
Draco swallows. "Y-yes, Father."
"It's important you not think of me as a lover," Lucius says. "Else you end up with corrupted families like the Gaunts. A wizard's main source of erotic pleasure should not be someone of his own blood." He regrets saying it immediately, as he sees the hurt in Draco's eyes, imagining future rejection. Lucius tries to keep him in the moment. "Spell my clothes away. Go on."
Draco takes a step back and flicks his wand. Lucius feels a momentary breeze, then nothing. Draco gasps, having just revealed Lucius's eager erection.
Lucius cups Draco's balls, massaging gently. "For tonight, at least, I am still the lord of this manor, and regardless, I shall always be your father. Show your loyalty to me, Draco."
Draco sinks to his knees, his eyes never leaving Lucius's until the time comes to shift his focus to the prong of heated flesh protruding from Lucius's lap.
Lucius groans as Draco's tongue makes an exploration of the spongy head. Lucius cups him behind the ear, encouraging him gently to take it into his mouth. Draco's eagerness gets the best of him as he goes too fast and gags. Lucius strokes his cheek, murmuring encouragement and approval. If he had any doubts about Draco's willingness, they disappear under the hungry assault Draco makes with his mouth.
All too soon, Lucius finds himself having to push Draco away, tugging him by the hair when a push at his shoulder was not enough of a cue that he should stop. Lucius shudders, dangerously close to coming far too soon to satisfy either of them. He is not a young wizard any longer, and having seen to Narcissa's needs already tonight, he dares not allow himself release.
"Your demonstration of filial piety is greatly appreciated," he tells his wary-eyed son as he keeps hold of him by the hair. "However, it is time to move on to other things."
"Yes, Father." Draco's reddened lips shine with dampness and Lucius cannot help but kiss him again. Then he lets go. "Get on the bed. Wand on the side table."
Draco sets his wand into the empty wand-holder shaped like a small dragon. He climbs up onto the white four-poster bed. He looks back for more of a cue as to how Lucius wants him.
Lucius gives him none, waiting to see what Draco will do. Draco eventually settles on his side, head under one elbow, his cock ruddy against his fair skin and his ankles crossed.
"On your stomach," Lucius says in a gentle voice. He picks up Draco's wand and uses it to summon something from the wardrobe before setting it back into the dragon's waiting claws.
Draco freezes for a moment when he sees what it is Lucius has in his hand. A leather belt. Lucius folds it over, holding the loose ends together.
"Have I been--" Draco chokes. "What did I do to deserve--?"
"Hush." Lucius strokes Draco's back with the palm of one hand. "This isn't a punishment, though it may look like one. You've been perfect, my son. Everything I could have hoped for. But I said an initiation requires pain. And I would prefer to give you pain with this..." Here, he lays the belt gently across Draco's flanks, dragging it over Draco's skin and making Draco shiver in anticipation. "Than with my cock."
Draco bows his head, thrusting his arse into the air a bit. "Thank you, Father."
"Thank me when I'm finished," Lucius corrects. "How old are you now, Draco?"
"Eighteen, Father."
"Then you can take eighteen strokes."
Draco's only answer to that is a whimper.
Lucius draws back his arm and lets the belt crack loudly against Draco's bottom, and Draco cries out more in surprise than pain, as he no doubt expected it to hurt more. But that was just a measuring blow. The second strike also elicits a surprised cry, this one surprised that it hurts much more that the first, as the blow was delivered twice as hard, and against freshly struck flesh. The rest follow at that level, Lucius pausing between each one and the next to give Draco a moment to breathe, to centre himself. Draco is sweaty and panting hard by the tenth, gritting his teeth and making high-pitched, helpless noises while he tries to catch his breath.
But he takes all eighteen without changing his mind or begging for mercy. Lucius is pleased.
He is even more pleased when Draco, voice nearly too shaky to speak, manages to gasp out, "Thank you, Father."
He brushes Draco's sweaty hair back from his face and holds the belt to his lips. Draco kisses it without hesitation. Lucius tosses the belt aside and leans over to lick the welts. That provokes a yelp from Draco, but it quickly becomes a happy moan. Lucius's tongue is generous, and Lucius climbs onto the bed to ensure his tongue has complete access to all of Draco's parts.
Soon he has Draco up on his knees while Lucius's tongue wets and loosens Draco's fundament. There are charms for this, but Lucius would rather not use Draco's own wand for such a purpose. The wand is still new, after all, and wands have been known to change allegiance for lesser dominations than the one he is about to deliver to his son.
Before he knows it, he is fitting his cock into the wet crack between Draco's arsecheeks, rubbing it slickly up and down.
Draco throws his head back like a nervous horse, one eye showing wild white.
"Do you need something, my son?" Lucius asks.
"Just... you said..." Draco breaks off to groan at how good these faux thrusts feel. "Will it hurt, Father? You said--"
"It will likely hurt a little," Lucius says. "But only a little, if I have prepared you well. Which I have." As if to make sure, he slips a finger into Draco, who lets out a lustful groan.
Lucius can wait no longer. He lines up the head of his cock and pushes until the head has buried itself in Draco's heat. Draco squirms under him, like a pinned butterfly, beautiful and helpless.
"Does it hurt?" Lucius asks.
Draco shakes his head and pushes himself back, taking more of Lucius's cock in.
Well then. Lucius thrusts the rest of the way home. Despite having come earlier, he knows he will not last long. Hopefully long enough to sate Draco. There are no words for a while, just rutting like animals, grunting and straining. Lucius barely believes it when Draco's cries begin to rise in pitch. "Come for me, my son," Lucius whispers, and is gratified when Draco does, both semen and a scream jetting out of him, it seems.
Now there is just Lucius to finish. He is speeding himself toward completion, into the warm, sweaty body in his arms, when Draco clenches tight again.
"Promise me," Draco says, eyes closed but pushing back to meet Lucius's thrusts.
"Promise you what, my dearest?" Lucius asks.
"That we'll do this again when you get out of Azkaban. I mean, that is... I promise, I'll do it again, when you are set free. Whenever that is."
"You don't know what you're saying," Lucius gasps, unable to stop thrusting even as he tries to answer.
"Yes, I do," Draco says. "You need something to hold onto while you're in there. Hold onto this. Hold onto me."
"Yes-s-s-s-s," Lucius agrees, as he begins to come. He will hold onto this memory. "Oh, Draco, yes." He feels the pull all the way to his toes as he pushes himself to finish deep in that sweet arse. He will hold onto desire.
He will hold onto love.
The spasms subside slowly, and he kisses the back of Draco's neck while he lingers inside him as long as he can. At last their bodies uncouple, though, and Lucius slumps to one side, pulling Draco against him, a charmed, swan-feather duvet coming to rest atop them.
The memory is sharp and bright and Lucius hopes that like a coin it will remain so if he rubs it every night rather than growing dull and tarnishing. In his cell he curls under a thin blanket, holding onto hope.
-the end?-
(I feel like perhaps this one-shot wants to blossom into a series...)
Author by Ravenna C. Tan
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Consensual incest
Summary: On the last night before Lucius is returned to Azkaban after the war, he and Draco spend some quality time.
Notes: This fic is a gift for
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Malfoy Post Bellum
by Ravenna C. Tan
There are no Dementors in Azkaban when Lucius returns to the prison for the last time. But that doesn't mean that the Ministry has turned the place into a good spot for a jolly holiday. Maybe the stone itself holds nightmares, after being steeped in them for so very long.
He holds off the nightmares as best he can with memories, so clear and colorful in his mind when he first enters his cell, like this one, of just last night:
"Draco. If you would."
His son recoils a moment from the proffered scissors, then steels himself, drawing his wand from his sleeve. Lucius watches carefully, trying to discern if the horror on Draco's face, quickly schooled away, is from the crude tool or from the idea that Lucius need be shorn. Draco is getting better at hiding his feelings again and this heartens Lucius. Draco was stripped far too raw for far too long, and Lucius takes it as a sign of healing that his son can once again hide his true feelings when he puts his mind to it.
Draco ignores the scissors and raises his wand. "How short do you want it, Father?"
"Short enough that filth won't cake in it," Lucius says, though what he is thinking is this: short enough that some Muggleborn won't decide I'm now his woman. There is no guarantee that Lucius will be held in solitary confinement as he was before. He is not sure which would be better, isolation or contact with the general population. Neither holds cheering prospects.
The grim look on Draco's face as he considers where to start makes Lucius wonder if perhaps Draco isn't imagining something dire. But then Draco runs his fingers through the blond locks and his face softens, clearly pleased at the invitation to this unexpected bit of intimacy. Lucius wonders how things might have been different, in a world without the Dark Lord.
Draco begins to spell the hair in his hand, combing out section after section with gentle brushes of his fingers, and then spelling away the excess. After much of it is done, he trims a bit more at Lucius's temples, evening the sides, and then the back of his neck.
Draco's magic feels like love, leaving Lucius tingling and warm.
"Mother would probably be better at this than I..." Draco says, as he examines his handiwork with a critical eye.
"Your mother cried so hard when she last tried that she nearly took my ear off," Lucius murmurs, only partly in jest. "Your hand is steadier."
When it is done, Lucius catches that hand in his and holds it tight, not yet ready to let Draco recede into the aloofness with which he has held himself since the attack on Hogwarts.
Draco's face is unreadable, but the way his breath catches, the way he shifts even closer, is not.
Lucius grimaces. "I am a failure as a father."
Draco opens his mouth to protest, but Lucius hushes him with a slight cock of his head, saying, "I have failed you in several specific ways. I failed to protect you from the Dark Lord's attentions. And I have failed to provide you with a proper coming of age."
"Father?" Draco looks surprised.
Shaking his head, Lucius answers. "I had always intended to initiate you to certain aspects of pureblood pleasure when you were of age. However, while we were at war never seemed the time for it."
Draco's sudden blush reveals that he has some inkling of what Lucius speaks. "I... Father--that is..."
Lucius lets him sputter, intending to apologize in a moment, but then Draco blurts out, "I am a virgin still, you know."
Lucius raises an eyebrow. "Why, no. I had assumed you would have--"
"Never seemed the time for it," Draco spits, eyes downcast. "And though avoiding the physical attentions of Macnair and Rabastan Lestrange last year required some machinations on my part, I managed it."
Shaking his head again, Lucius chuckles low in his throat. "Commendable, but I could yet be years behind bars. You must not wait for me. And you are a callow youth no longer, my son. You need no one to lead you by the hand to a suitable assignation."
Draco snorts. "Or Potter might get his way after all, and you'll be back in six months." He pulls his hand free and slips his wand back into his sleeve. Lucius has noticed Draco's wand-carrying habits have changed, his wand never far from his hand, though he is unsure if those habits changed after the war or during.
He also notices a wince of regret on Draco's face.
"What is it, my son?" Lucius's voice is soft, rather than hard, but his question no less deniable. Malfoys rarely ask such direct questions.
Draco shakes his head. "It's noth--" He stops before he finishes the lie. "I shouldn't have pulled away just now. You're about to spend... some amount of time without a scrap of human contact and here I am, denying it to you."
Lucius turns in the chair, away from the mirror to look directly into his son's face. "You mustn't blame yourself. For anything."
Draco still looks pained. Lucius takes both of his hands then, and kisses the backs of Draco's knuckles playfully the way he did when Draco was a child and he used to tickle him that way. He expects Draco to pull away again, ticklish as ever, and is surprised when instead, Draco only squeezes harder.
Lucius looks up into eyes much like his own, grey and slightly haunted.
"You don't leave until the morning," Draco whispers, as if he dares not speak out loud.
"That is true," Lucius says, his voice deliberately neutral. "But neither can we leave nor entertain visitors tonight."
Draco's blush deepens. "You never told me..." He trails off, unable to bring himself to finish the sentence, squeezing Lucius's hands in his as he swallows.
"Never told you what?" Lucius prompts.
"Which... what kind of coming of age... er... event... is the Malfoy tradition." He clears his throat uselessly. "I mean, there were times... stories went around... about some pureblood families..."
Lucius chuckles, choosing his words carefully. "I think I know what you are getting at," he says, "though I am unable to quite discern what your opinion is about that which you cannot bring yourself to say."
Draco finally musters the courage to look up, fearful but hopeful at the same time. "That's because... I can't... tell what you think about the idea either."
"Then let us agree not to judge one another if we disagree," Lucius says. "Pureblood tradition has certainly landed us in enough trouble these days and in light of that I will not censure anyone at the moment who may decide against." He allows a tiny quirk of a smile onto his face, acknowledging his own prior hypocrisies. "However, when it comes to seeing to one's own son's sexual awakening, well, there are many ways families have gone about it in the past, none of which I would deny you, Draco, if you wished for one in particular." Lucius's voice is cool as he speaks these words, but he feels the sweat prickling at his collar, and a flicker of hope tickling the back of his mind.
"I would gladly let you choose to initiate me however you saw fit," Draco answers, "but it would appear only one avenue is open to us in the brief time we have."
One night, at the Manor, alone... Lucius's heart leaps into his throat for a moment before he swallows it down. "If we are to do this, Draco," he says, "I must be absolutely clear that we have no misunderstandings about it."
Draco's only answer, though, is a grim nod.
Lucius can hardly blame him for passing the quaffle once again. Truthfully, Lucius, being the more experienced one, should be the one to speak the terms, anyway. "Very well. You want me to bed you tonight?"
Draco repeats the nod, then his eyes widen. "Unless... unless I would be taking you away from Mother?"
Lucius grins. "I have already sated your mother, just a short while ago, else I would not have shortened my hair. But Draco, are you sure? Your virginity, once taken from you, cannot be given back. And even among purebloods, this form of initiation has become rare."
But Draco's hand slips along Lucius's scalp, through the shorn silk of Lucius's hair, and says, "You are rare."
"As are you," Lucius answers. "Kiss me."
Lucius lets Draco be the one to set the pace of the kiss, the depth and duration... this time. "You can tell me to stop at any time," Lucius adds, slightly breathless. "If you change your mind." It is a choice he has allowed to no other lover other than his wife. Not Rabastan, not Severus. Once Lucius's passions are inflamed he is accustomed to stopping only once they are extinguished.
And it is so very long since he could allow his passion free rein. This will be nothing like the wistfully gentle love-making he engaged in earlier this evening with Narcissa. He knows it the moment he pulls Draco down into a harder kiss, into a claiming of his son's mouth that inspires Draco to begin making hungry, desperate sounds.
Lucius pushes him a step back when that kiss ends. "Take off your clothes and leave them by the vanity."
Draco's fingers shake as he undoes the buttons on his shirt, and although normally any sign of ungainliness in a lover would put Lucius off, Draco's awkward hurry to comply with the order only makes Lucius's eagerness surge to meet his son's.
When Draco is in nothing but his luminous skin, his wand in one palm, Lucius beckons him close. With his hands cupping the globes of Draco's arse, he pulls him between his knees. Sitting in the vanity chair as he is, Lucius is at just the right height to suckle at Draco's nipples. And he does, one then the other, teasing with tongue and teeth and suction.
He smiles against Draco's skin when he hears the pained cry Draco lets out when Lucius bites him.
He looks up and sees Draco's eyes are shining, as if a few tears came forth. "This is an initiation, Draco. No initiation is ever painless."
Draco swallows. "Y-yes, Father."
"It's important you not think of me as a lover," Lucius says. "Else you end up with corrupted families like the Gaunts. A wizard's main source of erotic pleasure should not be someone of his own blood." He regrets saying it immediately, as he sees the hurt in Draco's eyes, imagining future rejection. Lucius tries to keep him in the moment. "Spell my clothes away. Go on."
Draco takes a step back and flicks his wand. Lucius feels a momentary breeze, then nothing. Draco gasps, having just revealed Lucius's eager erection.
Lucius cups Draco's balls, massaging gently. "For tonight, at least, I am still the lord of this manor, and regardless, I shall always be your father. Show your loyalty to me, Draco."
Draco sinks to his knees, his eyes never leaving Lucius's until the time comes to shift his focus to the prong of heated flesh protruding from Lucius's lap.
Lucius groans as Draco's tongue makes an exploration of the spongy head. Lucius cups him behind the ear, encouraging him gently to take it into his mouth. Draco's eagerness gets the best of him as he goes too fast and gags. Lucius strokes his cheek, murmuring encouragement and approval. If he had any doubts about Draco's willingness, they disappear under the hungry assault Draco makes with his mouth.
All too soon, Lucius finds himself having to push Draco away, tugging him by the hair when a push at his shoulder was not enough of a cue that he should stop. Lucius shudders, dangerously close to coming far too soon to satisfy either of them. He is not a young wizard any longer, and having seen to Narcissa's needs already tonight, he dares not allow himself release.
"Your demonstration of filial piety is greatly appreciated," he tells his wary-eyed son as he keeps hold of him by the hair. "However, it is time to move on to other things."
"Yes, Father." Draco's reddened lips shine with dampness and Lucius cannot help but kiss him again. Then he lets go. "Get on the bed. Wand on the side table."
Draco sets his wand into the empty wand-holder shaped like a small dragon. He climbs up onto the white four-poster bed. He looks back for more of a cue as to how Lucius wants him.
Lucius gives him none, waiting to see what Draco will do. Draco eventually settles on his side, head under one elbow, his cock ruddy against his fair skin and his ankles crossed.
"On your stomach," Lucius says in a gentle voice. He picks up Draco's wand and uses it to summon something from the wardrobe before setting it back into the dragon's waiting claws.
Draco freezes for a moment when he sees what it is Lucius has in his hand. A leather belt. Lucius folds it over, holding the loose ends together.
"Have I been--" Draco chokes. "What did I do to deserve--?"
"Hush." Lucius strokes Draco's back with the palm of one hand. "This isn't a punishment, though it may look like one. You've been perfect, my son. Everything I could have hoped for. But I said an initiation requires pain. And I would prefer to give you pain with this..." Here, he lays the belt gently across Draco's flanks, dragging it over Draco's skin and making Draco shiver in anticipation. "Than with my cock."
Draco bows his head, thrusting his arse into the air a bit. "Thank you, Father."
"Thank me when I'm finished," Lucius corrects. "How old are you now, Draco?"
"Eighteen, Father."
"Then you can take eighteen strokes."
Draco's only answer to that is a whimper.
Lucius draws back his arm and lets the belt crack loudly against Draco's bottom, and Draco cries out more in surprise than pain, as he no doubt expected it to hurt more. But that was just a measuring blow. The second strike also elicits a surprised cry, this one surprised that it hurts much more that the first, as the blow was delivered twice as hard, and against freshly struck flesh. The rest follow at that level, Lucius pausing between each one and the next to give Draco a moment to breathe, to centre himself. Draco is sweaty and panting hard by the tenth, gritting his teeth and making high-pitched, helpless noises while he tries to catch his breath.
But he takes all eighteen without changing his mind or begging for mercy. Lucius is pleased.
He is even more pleased when Draco, voice nearly too shaky to speak, manages to gasp out, "Thank you, Father."
He brushes Draco's sweaty hair back from his face and holds the belt to his lips. Draco kisses it without hesitation. Lucius tosses the belt aside and leans over to lick the welts. That provokes a yelp from Draco, but it quickly becomes a happy moan. Lucius's tongue is generous, and Lucius climbs onto the bed to ensure his tongue has complete access to all of Draco's parts.
Soon he has Draco up on his knees while Lucius's tongue wets and loosens Draco's fundament. There are charms for this, but Lucius would rather not use Draco's own wand for such a purpose. The wand is still new, after all, and wands have been known to change allegiance for lesser dominations than the one he is about to deliver to his son.
Before he knows it, he is fitting his cock into the wet crack between Draco's arsecheeks, rubbing it slickly up and down.
Draco throws his head back like a nervous horse, one eye showing wild white.
"Do you need something, my son?" Lucius asks.
"Just... you said..." Draco breaks off to groan at how good these faux thrusts feel. "Will it hurt, Father? You said--"
"It will likely hurt a little," Lucius says. "But only a little, if I have prepared you well. Which I have." As if to make sure, he slips a finger into Draco, who lets out a lustful groan.
Lucius can wait no longer. He lines up the head of his cock and pushes until the head has buried itself in Draco's heat. Draco squirms under him, like a pinned butterfly, beautiful and helpless.
"Does it hurt?" Lucius asks.
Draco shakes his head and pushes himself back, taking more of Lucius's cock in.
Well then. Lucius thrusts the rest of the way home. Despite having come earlier, he knows he will not last long. Hopefully long enough to sate Draco. There are no words for a while, just rutting like animals, grunting and straining. Lucius barely believes it when Draco's cries begin to rise in pitch. "Come for me, my son," Lucius whispers, and is gratified when Draco does, both semen and a scream jetting out of him, it seems.
Now there is just Lucius to finish. He is speeding himself toward completion, into the warm, sweaty body in his arms, when Draco clenches tight again.
"Promise me," Draco says, eyes closed but pushing back to meet Lucius's thrusts.
"Promise you what, my dearest?" Lucius asks.
"That we'll do this again when you get out of Azkaban. I mean, that is... I promise, I'll do it again, when you are set free. Whenever that is."
"You don't know what you're saying," Lucius gasps, unable to stop thrusting even as he tries to answer.
"Yes, I do," Draco says. "You need something to hold onto while you're in there. Hold onto this. Hold onto me."
"Yes-s-s-s-s," Lucius agrees, as he begins to come. He will hold onto this memory. "Oh, Draco, yes." He feels the pull all the way to his toes as he pushes himself to finish deep in that sweet arse. He will hold onto desire.
He will hold onto love.
The spasms subside slowly, and he kisses the back of Draco's neck while he lingers inside him as long as he can. At last their bodies uncouple, though, and Lucius slumps to one side, pulling Draco against him, a charmed, swan-feather duvet coming to rest atop them.
The memory is sharp and bright and Lucius hopes that like a coin it will remain so if he rubs it every night rather than growing dull and tarnishing. In his cell he curls under a thin blanket, holding onto hope.
-the end?-
(I feel like perhaps this one-shot wants to blossom into a series...)
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Date: 2011-08-05 05:52 am (UTC)And should it blossom into a series, I look forward to reading the rest.
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Date: 2011-08-05 05:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-06 04:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-06 04:22 am (UTC)