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When Angels Deserve To Die	By : Anath Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 5885 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Title: When Angels Deserve To Die
Author: Anath de Malfoy
Pairing: Lucius/Draco
Summary: A wife and mother's coldness drives a father and son into each other's arms
Rating: NC-17
Warnings for this chapter: m/m sex, incest, chanslash
Disclaimer: The characters are not mine, they are J.K Rowling's. I'm just allowing them to have a little extra-curricular fun. Suing is therefore a waste of her time and mine as I'm not profiting from this even one tiny bit.

Part 2: By A Faunlet Enchanted

[Lucius' POV]

Since that first night, the night of the storm, Draco has slipped into my bedroom every evening so that we can share our nakedness, our desires, our love. We have progressed to new levels of ecstasy each time, from pleasuring each other with our hands to taking each other's erections in our mouths and slowly, deliciously sucking them to bring rapture. Draco has begun to enjoy the taste of my seed, and prides himself on being able to swallow all of it to show his adoration of me. However, I have delayed as yet from bestowing upon Draco the ultimate proof of my love. Waiting until he is a bit older, more physically able to handle the searing heat that is the lust of a full-grown Malfoy male.

He is now in his first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Although he would most likely have had a better quality of education at Durmstrang - the Hogwarts Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, is such a Mudblood-lover and is possibly, in my opinion, approaching senility by now - the thought of sending my beloved so far away was torture for me. And surprisingly, his mother objected to Durmstrang for precisely the same reason. In her case, more out of fear that the pattern of her life would change irrevocably than out of affection for our child. Of late, Narcissa has grown obsessed with stability and sameness, phobic in the extreme of any variance to her carefully prepared routines. Draco in the background of her life is as much a part of those as is her ever-growing doll collection. Having Draco absent for shorter periods, and home for most holidays, is only a minimal disruption for my increasingly neurotic wife. No more a ripple in her existence than the acquisition of yet another china doll.

Even with the relative closeness of Hogwarts, the initial four months without Draco have been sheer hell (I was discouraged from visiting during this time so that Draco could "settle in"). After Narcissa and I retire to our separate rooms when night falls, I lose myself almost immediately in stroking my hardness, recalling the enticing scent and soft caresses of my son, crying his name as I climax. I seek no other bedmates during this difficult period - neither the rouged, perfumed kisses of women nor the hirsute strength of adult men, or even the more exotic experiences rich wizards like myself can easily purchase, could ever satisfy me. I crave only the unique perfection, the unparalleled beauty that is my precious child.

Fortunately, my work has not prevented my darling Draco from returning for the Christmas holidays. He has grown a little taller, and adopted a most admirable aristocratic demeanour (a refinement on the haughty Malfoy mien he already displayed before he went away). Although his form is still childish, and he still has that alluring puckish grace, he is quite the young man in many respects of his behaviour. He has taken to addressing me as "Father" in public, dropping the infantile "Daddy" he had always previously used. But I, of course, can hardly wait for our private times, secluded in my bedroom; I long to hear him call me Lucius again in the throes of passion, to see him laid bare for me on silken sheets and begging for my touch.

It is a joy to experience the Christmas festivities with my child. Although the holiday has no spiritual significance for us, Draco delights in the presents and the feasting, and I greatly enjoy seeing him have fun. I spend every moment I possibly can in Draco's company - walking in the spacious grounds of Malfoy Manor, or soaring on our broomsticks, wrapped in furs against the chill of the frost; testing our skills at wizard chess or engaging in mock magical duels between his wizard dolls. Draco still adores these toys; he now has a collection almost as large as his mother's extensive troupe of porcelain girls - but the doll resembling myself, the one I gave to him on the day of our first love-tryst, and which he named after me, remains his absolute favourite, with special pride of place amongst his treasures. And although Draco has friends of his own age (much of his spare time at school is spent with Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, sons of old friends of mine) I am still his preferred companion and most favoured playmate.

On the whole, Draco is enjoying school - apart from an enmity he has developed with Harry Potter, a Gryffindor, the notorious so-called "Boy Who Lived". My son was Sorted into Slytherin, my old school house, and it is a point of pride with him, as it is with me also. However, I must admit that I had some concern for my son when I heard what house he was in. Slytherin has always been a hotbed of youthful passions, where sexual precocity is very much the norm (I myself first had sex with another male during my first year at Hogwarts, and lost my virginity as far as females are concerned near the end of my third year). Malfoys are especially irresistible to both genders, and I want to keep my Draco all to myself...but I need not have worried. Although Draco has received many desire-filled glances and whispered invitations from schoolmates (Marcus Flint, the Slytherin Quidditch captain, in particular) and even some of his Professors (especially Severus Snape the Potions Master, head of Slytherin and another old friend) the power of the Malfoy name and fear of my wrath have prevented any attempts to molest my son.

His knowledge of matters of the flesh has increased considerably, though, during his time in that atmosphere. As he reveals on Christmas night, in the sanctuary of my room.

Although outside the weather is bitterly cold, inside the manor the temperature is enchanted to an almost tropical warmth. Exactly right for Draco and I to strip naked and caress each other all over, our fingers and lips exploring, stimulating, pleasuring. As I touch my glorious, exquisite Draco everywhere, marvelling at the beauty of this perfect being in that fleeting, exciting phase between childhood and adolescence (just beginning to grow the finest, sparsest faint silvery down between his thighs), that delectable faunish sensuality that sends me reeling with a lust that verges on complete worship, he tells me of how he observed his friends Crabbe and Goyle, very well-developed boys for their age, in a secluded part of the school where they fancied themselves unseen. Unbeknownst to them, Draco had watched Crabbe push his hardened cock into Goyle's opening.

"I want you to take me like that, Lucius," Draco whispers, kissing my lips and throat, sliding his fingers ever so softly over my chest, slowly downwards over my body to stroke my leaking, rigid member. "I only want to do it with you - because I love you so much."

"Are you sure, my darling?" I ask him, looking deep into his passionate eyes, answering his touches by gently rubbing his throbbing young cock and lightly cupping his balls. "I too desire that with you - it is, after all, the sweetest, most intense way to show love - but you are so young and I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't hurt me, lover," Draco purrs, bending to kiss my nipples and tenderly bite them. "I've ached for this with you for so long. Your huge, thick cock so deep inside me, filling me, making me scream for more...please, Lucius!"

I cannot resist him. My own sweet precious little son, a mere boy-child, is seducing me so skilfully that I am willingly ensnared, ready to give the sun and stars to him should he request them. But he vastly prefers the pale light of my moon-bright hair, kissing its cascades upon the pillows before I lift him, first to suck at his youthful hardness, then to turn him, spreading his pert little cheeks to lick the delicate puckered orifice between them. I love the taste of him - so clean, fresh and sweet as I push apart the rosy folds with my eager tongue - and he wriggles delightedly as I pleasure him this way. But even more delicious for him is when I start to put my fingers inside, whispering lubrication spells to slick his clenched inner muscles with warm oil. Moving within him, lovingly forcing him open, until he is fully prepared, and I position him so he is sitting upright and astride me. I hold his hipbones carefully as he straddles my cock, whimpering slightly as I thrust it all the way in, lifting my own hips so my length can slide so deep within his lusciously tight channel. He is so relaxed and aroused as he moves on me that he seems to feel very little discomfort, despite the sensation of being stretched so wide and filled so completely. He is moaning as I fuck him with all my tenderness and passion, calling my name, his eyes slitted with lust, his head thrown back, his body arching gloriously, his silky hair dampened with the sweat of his desire. His modest shaft is at full stand, his ass so wonderfully tight as I groan and push in further, telling him how beautiful he is and how hot he is making me. "Ride me, my dragon!" I scream, and he slams his tight body upon me, driving us both over the edge. My release surges into him, and he lets his own youthful seed flow over me - the first such emission I have ever seen from him.

All night we lie cradled close in each other's arms; our mutual desire and affection ever deepening. I have taken my son's virginity, and with this comes an understanding beyond all else:

I do not merely love my son - I am in love with him.

To be continued...
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When Angels Deserve To Die