Title: A Father's Love
Author: Starkiller ( starkiller@iprimus.com.au )
Pairing: Lucius/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Draco asks for a different sort of birthday present. Incest.

A Father's Love

A father loves his son.

Fathers protect their sons from harm, from the world, from themselves.

I watch my beautiful son grow up from a gauche boy to a handsome, intelligent young man. It is like looking into a mirror, like watching myself grow.

I have sown the seeds of his growth, and he has responded to my nurturing care.

He is seventeen today; and his party has been huge and lavish. The guests arrive, bringing with them expensive gifts. He smiles, he laughs, he says his thank yous, always with an air of aloofness that is endemic of the Malfoys but one that he has made HIS.

After several hours, the guests leave. We are alone. His mother is in London, visiting friends and could not make it back for his party. It feels good to be alone, alone with my son.

With a smile and a brief "Happy birthday," I retire to my study with a glass of seventeen year old Cognac, bought the day he was born.

I gaze out upon the moonlit grounds of the Manor and reflect over the last seventeen years.

My son has become a powerful wizard. He is respected and feared by his peer group. He is popular, desired, and hated. He tells me that he has no interest in any of the girls in his house or the school. This should concern me.

But it doesn't.

He is still mine.

The moon bathes the grounds with its milky light, and the richness of the gardens are turned into stark shadows of black and silver. Innocent in the sun's light, the garden becomes something else at midnight, something otherworldly. Filled with secrets and mysteries.

I hear a slight noise behind me and I turn.

"Father."

My son stands in the room, looking at me with calm eyes that say nothing and yet say everything. I am silent and merely watch him move towards me.

He takes the glass out of my hand and sets it on the cabinet by the window. I raise my eyebrow at him, and then he speaks.

"We need to talk."

I remain quiescent, waiting. My enchanting son, washed in the candlelight of the room and the moonlight streaming through the window, looks like a work of art.

Silence stretches between us. We do not move. It feels like time has stopped.

After several minutes, I clear my throat. "What is it, Draco?"

He smiles then and moves closer to me still. "Perhaps I should show you."

I say nothing in reply, nor do I move. He is so close to me now that I can feel his breath on my face. He leans in and he kisses me, softly, carefully, unsure of how the gesture will be received. For a moment, I do not react. I am too surprised.

Fathers should protect their sons from themselves.

I try to be strong. I try to fight the desire that rises up inside me. I cannot.

My arms slide around his shoulders of their own volition. I seem to have lost control over my body. I pull him close to me, deepening the kiss, sliding my tongue over his lower lip, feeling him tremble against me as his own arms glide up and around my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair.

He nibbles on my lower lip and I groan in spite of my feeble wish to attempt to stop this, to stop him. He seizes the opportunity to slip his tongue inside my mouth and to turn the kiss into an intensely passionate one, an embrace of fire and heat, desire and want. Of need.

Fathers give their sons whatever they want.

He pulls me down to the floor and pulls me on top of him, his mouth still glued to mine, his tongue still exploring my mouth, his fingers still locked in my hair. I allow his tongue the freedom to taste me before I kiss him back.

Now it is my turn. I trace the edges of his teeth, running my tongue again over his lower lip and then up over his top lip, before plunging back into his warm, sweet mouth. I lightly run the tip over his palate and feel him whimper into me, feel him clutch me convulsively - pulling me closer, holding me tighter.

Eventually, my senses regain control of themselves, my brain starts to function again, and I pull myself off of the deliciously intoxicating body of my son and stare at him, troubled.

He says nothing at first, merely reaching up a hand to stroke my cheek, his other hand still cradling my neck. Does he know what he is doing to me? I sigh in both resignation and lust.

"Father you still haven't given me a birthday present." His tone is reproachful.

I laugh. He and I both know that I have given him enough presents to fill his room from floor to ceiling. But I will play along.

A father should always humour his son.

"Indeed, Draco?"

He nods firmly. "Yes. And I want this. I want you."

I shudder in his grip.

"Draco why?"

He smirks up at me, such a cheeky young man, so sure of himself, so cocky. "Because I am perfection, and as such, I require equal perfection. Therefore I require you."

His hands are roaming over my body now, his soft fingers tracing words I do not want to think about over my skin, he is pushing away robes and fumbling with clasps, looking up at me with heavy lidded eyes. I swallow. I should stop this. I should at least TRY to stop this.

But I cannot. Fathers are only mortal, after all. Only human.

As he removes my clothes, so I remove his. Soon we are skin to skin, mouth to mouth. Hands tracing every bone, sinew, crevice and curve. Tongues duelling sweetly - first passionate, then gentle - then in a dance of the dominator and the dominated.

I can feel him beneath me, I can feel his erection pressing against my hip. He moves his legs so that I am between them and he wraps them around my waist. I am unable to stop this now, even if I wanted to.

His fingers move between our bodies, softly caressing me, as he moves us both so that I am entering him.

A father does not hurt his son.

He cries out at the first sensation of pain and I smooth his hair, whispering into his flesh, murmuring soothing words, calming him. He clings to me, wrapping himself ever tighter, even more permanently around me.

He is liquid silver beneath me. He is mercury. He is beautiful, responsive -- as his pain gives way to pleasure, to sensation... to lust and heat. As I fill him tightly and completely, he screams.

There is no coherence. It is the primal scream of absolute pleasure: of desire, of fulfilment, of absolute passion, pure and heated to the boiling point. The sensations running through me are intensified by the knowledge that he wants me, that he has wanted me this way for who knows how long. I do not care about the details. All I care about is his pleasure and giving him what he wants.

Fathers should always make their sons feel good.

I thrust deep inside his body, changing the angle of thrust and hitting his prostate. He howls again, digging his nails into my skin, drawing blood. These little wounds, this tiny pain keeps me anchored to the here and now. This is my son, I will not hurt him. I will never hurt him. I will love him for as long as I am able.

I reach my hand between our bodies, taking hold of his erection, stroking lightly and gently, building up the tension and the speed to match the rhythm of my thrusts inside him. He is weeping now. Whether they are tears of pain or pleasure, I can no longer tell. He is uttering nonsensical words -- in English, in French... all incoherent except for "father," "please", "more", and "oh!"

I move off of him then, though I am still buried deep inside him. He is close to orgasm, and he whimpers as I move off of him, placing my hands palm down on the carpet on either side of his head, gazing at him.

"Draco?"

"Fatherpleasedon't stop" He is begging me. Never before have I seen Draco beg for anything. It humbles me.

We come apart and move back together, intertwined. It is a gentle, loving embrace. He clings to me now, clings to me in fear of my leaving him, even though I never will, never could.

He sobs into my shoulder as he orgasms with my fist around his erection, and my hand is coated with his fluid. It is too much for me to take; I orgasm deep inside his body, crying out his name.

He continues to clutch onto me as I kiss his cheeks, his tear dampened eyelids, his nose, his forehead. He gasps raggedly as I slowly and gently pull out of his body. As I kiss him, in a gesture I intend to be chaste, he deepens it, pulling me closer and holding on tightly, as if for reassurance.

We part for air. He is aroused again. I can feel him against my stomach. I confess that this sensation has the affect of arousing me in turn. I gaze at him, stroking my right index finger down his jaw line, across his bruised and kiss-reddened lips. He opens his mouth and sucks my finger, his tongue dancing over the digit in a promise of what is to come.

I shudder. He pulls my finger out of his mouth with a soft pop' and smiles mischievously up at me.

"More."

I burst out laughing and kiss him, moving to lie by his side on the carpet.

"As you wish, Draco."

He snuggles into my body, his fingers running over my chest, burying his head in my shoulder, twining his legs with mine.

"I wish it, Father."

I hold him close, and say nothing.

For a father should always love his son. -*-