Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

When Angels Deserve To Die	By : Anath Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 5884 -:- 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
- 1
- 2
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 1: Prisoners in the House of Dolls

[Lucius' POV]

Never have I felt the need for belief in gods, devils or angels.

The chaste angels with wings and harps in Muggle churches deserve to die, for they are weak. The black angels or demons my Dark Lord once claimed connection to, the Dark Lord I once served so faithfully and without question, seem so distant to me now. What supernatural being could possibly be greater than pure-blood wizardkind? We Malfoys, being a law unto ourselves and above the paltry regulations of those who would seek to bring us beneath their rule, could be said to synthesise the best qualities of the angelic, the demonic, and the godlike. It is our nature to be thus. Just as it is impossible for a Mudblood to know the truest wonders of the magical, so it is impossible for Malfoys to be anything other than what is natural for us - far ahead of and far above our so-called peers.

Given these thoughts, I cannot therefore condemn my wife for what she is; I know that it is not in her nature to be warm or display the softer sentiments. I can understand her frigidity towards me, for our marriage was virtually arranged, an alliance between two of the greatest pure-blood wizard families. We have not lain together as man and wife since our son was born, which is no hardship for me, since I can always find discreet pleasure and release in the arms of whores, or occasionally with a trusted friend such as Walden Macnair (gender has never been relevant with me in choosing a companion for the night).

But what brings me endless sorrow and suppressed grief tinged with rage is Narcissa's coldness to our child. My precious, most beloved little Draco. As far as affection and attention are concerned, I have had to be both father and mother to our sad, forlorn offspring. Oh, she gives him plenty of lavish gifts, material things, almost as many as I myself bestow upon him - but she offers nothing of herself, her feelings, to the boy. All those times his small hands have reached for her, his eyes imploring for her love, and she has pushed him away lest he dirty her silk dresses or brocade robes - it's enough to break even such a heart as mine. Narcissa would rather spend time with her jewels and her ornaments and her roomfuls of china dolls than with her own son - our beautiful, perfect son.

Those dolls... at first I thought Narcissa preferred them because she wanted a daughter. But she refused to let me touch her after Draco came... besides, he is prettier and more refined than almost any girl-child. His day-clothes aoyisoyish enough, but when dusk falls he loves to put on little nightshirts so ruffled and lacy they seem almost gowns, adding a hint of androgyny to his graceful, lithe young form.

No, it is something else, something more sinister, that leads Narcissa to remain for hours with the dolls. She is withdrawing from the sheer reality of a flesh-and-blood child, his emotions and his needs. They seem so messy and impure compared to the perpetual calm of her rows upon rows of artificial, porcelain children, each one eerily resembling herself as a girl with their long golden curls, pale ceramic faces and soulless eyes of blue glass, smiling and preening in their satin and taffeta frocks, moving their parasols and fans and clicking their eyelids open and shut.

It has always fallen to me to give Draco love, to take an interest in what he feels and thinks. This I do willingly, for not only is he my son, he is perfection. To the world, he is a proud Malfoy, instinctively knowing that it is proper to hide what we are truly feeling from outsiders, but with me, he is open and trusting. He may have his mother's exquisite bone structure and appreciation of finery, but he has my temperament as well as my colouring. A cold surface without, but a furnace of passion within. Draco is well named indeed - he is my little dragon, and he has a flame inside him.

I know this because I hear his raw, anguished sobs in the night, each and every night. The cries that neither magic portraits nor mirrors may reveal, the cries that house-elves know better than to speak of. And it is I who give him comfort, stealing into his room to cradle and rock him in my arms, kissing the tears from his woeful little face, smoothing the tousled strands of his white-blond hair. Whispering my adoration for the only being I love without reserve. And receiving his undying devotion in return; as he snuggles against my chest, his soft little mouth seeks out my nipples - I loosen my robes so he can suckle at them as a newborn would. Sighing in ecstasy, I hold him closer, melting at the simple act of tenderness that gives me a sensual thrill deeper than any I have ever known.

***

Today, I have something very special to give to Draco. I have been away on important business, and on my return I have brought back a unique gift specially ordered from the finest collectables shop in Hogsmeade.

As well as enjoying the usual pursuits of young wizards and witches, such as Quidditch, Gobstones and wizard chess, Draco has developed something of his mother's fascination with dolls. Not the bland Victorian child-beauties that Narcissa favours, but figures of grown-up wizards with actual miniature wands that send out miniscule sparks, and replica broomsticks that can really fly. Projections of what he himself will someday become...

The doll I bring him now is unlike any other in the shops; it is custom-made, one of a kind. A handsome wizard with a mane of silver-blond hair, wearing robes in elegant dark colours, his cloak held in place with brooches in the style of coiled serpents. He carries a long, smooth wooden cane, tipped with a silver snake's head, its mouth wide open to show its fearsome fangs. Draco squeals in delight when he sees the doll, and flings his arms around me, Malfoy propriety momentarily forgotten. I am so thrilled to see his rapture that I do not reprimand him for his slip in decorum.

Tucking Draco into bed this night, I notice that he is still inseparable from the doll, who sits propped up on the next pillow, turning his nose up proudly and brandishing his cane at me.

"What have you named him?" I inquire, stroking my son's pale hair, so much resembling my own, and the doll's.

"Lucius, of course," Draco replies, his grey eyes intense and serious. "Because he looks just like my Daddy - and my Daddy is the most beautiful wizard in the world."

With this, Draco throws his tiny arms around my neck and kisses me. Not on the cheek, as a dutiful child would kiss a parent, but on the lips like a lover. And I cannot help but moan and open my mouth, allowing the sweet fluttering and probing of his little tongue against mine.

Alone in my own bed, sleep eludes me, despite the comfort of the sumptuous black silk sheets and velvet draperies. I toss and turn, unable to stop thinking of my son. So innocent, yet unwittingly sexual, awakening desires in me I never knew I had. Not for ages have I touched and made love to a boy so young, so perfect. But he is my own child; both wizard and Muggle worlds shun such lusts as wrong...

No. This could only be pure and right. He loves me, and I love him more than life itself. And Malfoys are, after all, a law unto themselves...

The sweltering summer heat brings forth lightning from the sky, and the storm strikes with a thunderous crash in the small hours of the morning. Swift sounds of small feet pattering on the carpet, and Draco hurtles into my room, onto my bed, into my arms.

I know not whether fear of the storm or longing for me, or both, has brought my son here, but I no longer care. All that matters is the passion of our embrace, his rosy lips parted and locked to mine, his tongue entwined with my own. His startled cry of excitement when he discovers that I sleep naked. In a moment, he strips off his nightshirt and is bare beside me. My mouth and hands move tenderly, worshipfully, over every inch of his smooth, sleek, exquisite little body, lapping at the pale buds of his nipples, tracing fingertips over the slim hipbones, kissing the swelling of his boyish member and his pink, hairless little ball sac. He sounds so delightful, so sweetly precious, as he entreats me to kiss him everywhere. I cannot resist turning him to press my lips to his back, brushing feather-light kisses down his spine and planting hard, hot ones on his luscious ass-cheeks. I nibble, kiss and lick along his legs, massaging his feet and sucking each of his dainty little toes, before I gather him up and kiss the top of his head, inhaling the glorious perfume of his cornsilk hair. His tiny hands tentatively rub my lightly muscled arms and chest; he giggles as I start to caress the silken curves of his perfect little buttocks, dampening a finger with saliva before sliding it into the crevice between them, stroking the delicate nerve endings of his incredibly tight young entrance. As he whimpers his pleasure, I guide one small hand to my achingly hard cock and show him how I like it to be touched.

"Oh Daddy - my beautiful Daddy - love you," Draco coos as his fingers bring me bliss with the sheer tenderness and innocence of their caress. As Draco becomes more rapt and fascinated with my hard shaft in his hand, I slowly, gently push one finger into his ass, taking care not to hurt him, thrusting it lovingly in and out, reaching for that sweet spot inside of him. When I find it, his whole body writhes in utter lascivious delight... the sight and sound and touch of him is driving me so wild that I explode my seed all over his hand and my skin. Draco's eyes widen as he contemplates the spurt of pearly droplets.

"Oh Daddy - that's pretty. So pretty..." he whispers and bends to kiss and lick the hot fluid from my flesh. I carefully slide my finger out of him and bring my mouth to his, tasting myself on the innocent lips and tongue of my child, my lover.

"Draco, my darling," I tell him softly, running light fingertips across the fineness of his cheekbones, "I love you very, very much....you're a good boy, the best son in the world. But we can't tell anyone else about this, all right? It's our own special secret - just ours."

"All right, Daddy," Draco agrees and embraces me tighter, laying his head on my chest. I smile down at him and whisper:

"Whenever we're here, alone together like this, Daddy's going to let his Draco have a special treat. When we're in bed all by ourselves, you're allowed to call me Lucius, just like a grown-up. But only here, you understand?"

"I understand - Lucius," Draco says slowly, testing out the sibilance of the new name as he starts drifting off to sleep. I smile again, kissing him, and realise that next time I may not be able to stop at mere caresses.

-To be continued...
- 1
- 2
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

When Angels Deserve To Die