bottom_draco

Title: How Can I Live
Author: Anath de Malfoy
Pairing: Lucius/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Written for the

hpchan Fiction Challenge; Challenge #9 by

little_needle: A lyrical observation of Lucius Malfoy bringing himself to orgasm clutching at a delicate pair of Draco's underpants. Draco is in his first year. Lucius is desperate and guilty here.
Stipulations:
- R - NC17
- Lucius is in Draco's empty room
- Daylight
Warnings: M/M slash, incest, chanslash, masturbation, slight angst, PWP
Possible Spoilers: Books 1-5
Disclaimer: All characters and profits belong to J.K. Rowling. I wish I owned Lucius and Draco, but I don't. Sigh...

"Do you think of me
do you dream of me
I always dream about you..."

- from "How Can I Live" by Ill Nino

- Lucius' POV -

As the first light of dawn touches my eyelids through the dark satin of the master bedroom's curtains, I slip silently from the bed I share with my wife and, moving swift and shadowy as a ghost, find myself entering my son's empty chamber. Desolate without him, I lie down upon the deep green velvet of his bedspread, pulling it back to bury my face in his pillow. Searching for a trace of his scent, my eyes suddenly wet. The alabaster silk pillowcase, its filigree edging wrought into childishly decorative patterns, floods my mind with memories of his pale and porcelain perfect skin. Draco, my exquisite child, my beautiful little lover...

Yesterday at Platform 9 and 3/4, as he waited to board the train to Hogwarts for his first year of wizarding school, he seemed relaxed and animated, speculating with his young friends Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle about the upcoming term, hoping aloud that he would be Sorted into Slytherin the way all members of the Malfoy family have been for centuries. But his eyes retained vestiges of haunted longing, glancing back towards me again and again, belying the nonchalant, proud posture I have taught him all too well to assume in public. It was all I could do not to swoop down on him and carry him home with me, telling him that he need never leave my side again... I was sorely tempted, but I knew that I had to let him get on that train. He must fulfil his destiny, study to become a powerful wizard and learn to be a great man, one who will bring further glory to the already illustrious Malfoy name. As his mother and I left the platform, I struggled to retain my composure, to prevent myself from weeping out loud. At that moment I felt a surge of gratitude towards Narcissa for vociferously vetoing my earlier idea of sending the boy to Durmstrang for his education.

The sun has fully risen now, sending bright beams into every corner of Draco's empty room. I slowly stand and pace around every part of this deserted chamber, touching with trembling hands the few things my son has left behind. His first real broomstick, which he was not permitted to bring to Hogwarts with him, and some objects from his earlier childhood; a rocking horse, dolls of Merlin, Ptolemy and Salazar Slytherin, a toy black cat made of the softest, plushest wool... and discarded in the corner, no doubt for being too small to wear, a pair of white silk underpants, almost girlish in their delicacy. The sort that Draco habitually wore at ages nine and ten, beneath floating, diaphanous robes that made him seem androgynous, angelic. Qualities he will no doubt seek to discard in the rough and tumble environment of the Slytherin boys' dormitory... My eyes once again misty and damp, I scoop the filmy scrap of clothing from the floor and curl up on Draco's bed, clasping the soft remnant against my tear-stained face and at last finding the faintest hint of my son's sweet body-scent. The pure, untainted fragrance of a beautiful child, warm and luscious as a summer morning, more precious than the breath of my own life.

Desperation and guilt battle with desire inside me as I dishevel my sleeping robes and grasp my rapidly hardening cock with one hand, still clutching Draco's little underpants in the other. What if my wife should waken, and discover me in this shameful state? And it is the thought of my own son, my very own flesh and blood, which arouses me so passionately...

But all scruples fade as I begin to stroke myself, recalling Draco's matchless beauty, his tender innocence laced with subtle intimations of sensual Malfoy decadence. The gentle glimmer in his clear grey eyes all those times he sat in my lap, feeling my hardness pressing against him, asking for more kisses, more of the delightful caresses that made him whimper in pleasure, parting his lips like petals of palest pink. Seeing him so rapt, so blissful as I stripped him bare and took the delicate blushing peak of a tiny nipple in my mouth, my hands wandering slowly, teasingly over the ivory and rose perfection of him. Lightly cradling the warm, flushed swelling of his little balls and his pushing, demanding young erection. Hearing his soft cries as his baby orgasm throbbed, heated but without emission, against my palm. All fleeting pangs of remorse and reluctance were dashed aside each time he pressed his silken mouth against mine, open, moist and wanton. My tongue would lovingly, exquisitely seek his as I held him close, adoring him completely, my own lust secondary to offering him worship and fulfilment.

Sliding my sweat-dampened hand up and down my aching shaft, I remember the night before my son's departure, rocking him against the warmth and strength of my bare chest, kissing his pale silken hair as the salty sweetness of his tears fell hot upon my skin. Whispering words of comfort, I had slicked one fingertip with scented lotion, caressing the tiny sensitive pucker of his entrance, titillating it softly and easing my finger slowly within him, making him gasp and coo at this new delight. Feeling my own climax drawing close, I picture the dawning ecstasy on his face at the tenderness of this intrusion; and I know inevitably, as my blood seethes in my veins and my heart races, that as soon as he returns for those two precious weeks of the Christmas holidays, I must possess him fully.

No matter that both the wizarding and Muggle worlds frown upon sexual love between man and boy, between father and son. I must make Draco entirely my own, my lover in all senses of the word. I cannot allow him to grow away from me, seek other paramours, for how can I live without his perfect devotion, the purity of his rapt gaze upon my face as if I were the centre of his world? Whether such a passion is right or wrong is no longer of any consequence to me. The carnal nature of our new love will have to be kept secret, but that new love must come to pass. Under the fairy lights of Yuletide, as the snake-eyed Slytherin moon, resplendent in silver, climbs ever upwards in the sky, I shall undress my Draco and myself in this very hallowed chamber of his innocence. I shall speak softly to him, words of solace and fatherly affection, as I lie upon my back and have him sit astride me, and I slowly and lovingly thrust my leaking, aching hardness into the tight, heavenly heat of his slick channel.

The forbidden, poignant rapture of this image shatters my tense nerves, sending me over the edge into a maddening bliss, and I come hard into my perspiration-soaked grip, crying my son's name aloud, feeling the small silk undergarment next to my moistened cheek, letting it absorb my falling tears.

Gradually my breathing resumes its normal pace; I set my robes in order, hurriedly exiting my son's forsaken bedchamber. I swiftly cleanse my hands and face in the closest bathroom, needing the shock of cool water against my skin in lieu of a Cleansing Charm.

Thankful that my wife has not yet awakened, I move to my study, and sit behind my splendid mahogany desk. Placing a roll of parchment in front of me, and dipping my best eagle-feather quill in ink, I begin to pen what will be the first of many love-letters to my son.

~ Fin.

Love & Serpents' Kisses,
Anath.