
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3255209.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Draco_Malfoy/Lucius_Malfoy
  Character:
      Draco_Malfoy, Lucius_Malfoy
  Additional Tags:
      Community:_hpvalensmut, Bloodplay, Rimming, Incest, Family_Dinners,
      Slightly_Underage, Father-Son_Relationship, Father/Son_Incest, Kissing,
      Undressing, Knifeplay, Blades, Trust, Hand_Jobs, Obedience, Minor
      Injuries, Scents_&_Smells, Lust, Possession, Ownership, Blood
  Stats:
      Published: 2005-02-14 Words: 3277
****** Fleshed In Cruelty ******
by Empy_(Empyreus)
Summary
     It seemed to Draco that he was constantly watching his father when he
     visited Malfoy Manor during school holidays, trying to figure out
     what change the day had brought.
Notes
     For Kahleh (kaleh).
     Thank you to J for the beta.
Fleshed in cruelty: young sporting dogs and hawks are rewarded with the first
game they catch. This first introduction to flesh encourages the taste for
blood.
===============================================================================
The table was vast and empty between them. Lucius insisted that they dine
together as before, with father and son at opposite ends of the polished
rosewood table. Neither of them ate much, and Draco watched the food on his
fork for a moment before setting the cutlery down. He could taste none of the
food, though that was through no fault of the house-elves. It seemed to him
that he was constantly watching his father when he visited Malfoy Manor during
school holidays, trying to figure out what change the day had brought. Lucius
had changed during his stay in Azkaban, it would be foolish to think otherwise.
Lucius leaned on his cane a fraction as he walked, and the click-click sound it
made on the floor tiles was much louder than before, but it was not a feeble
walk. If anything, he seemed more tangible. More present. There was the vaguest
hint of darker ash to his hair, and perhaps a suggestion of a line etched into
his high forehead. The most visible change was how he had grown thinner. He was
not emaciated, but new bone-angles had appeared. Sharper wrists and jaw, and a
deeper shadow over the collarbones. Draco found he could not tell if it had
always been there or if he only now had noticed it. The gaze was the same, cold
grey like silver melded with pewter.
Lucius had lost none of his pride during the months he spent in Azkaban, and
was still his immaculate self. In an effort to be like his father, Draco
dressed to the nines when he visited Malfoy Manor, in white shirts rigid with
starch. The cuffs were shot as they should, and the brushed platinum cufflinks
drew no undue attention. He had grown during the summer, grown out of the
discomfort of first adolescence, but he realized that he was still nothing but
a boy to his father.
"You will join the Death Eaters after you graduate, of course," said Lucius
suddenly, breaking the awkward silence that had descended at the beginning of
the meal. "The Dark Lord has plans for you."
"You will live up to the Malfoy name," Lucius went on, standing up and crossing
the floor with long strides. There was no room for argument in the statement,
and Draco merely nodded mutely. He knew what was expected of him, as it had
always been evident if not spoken aloud. "You will learn how glorious it is to
share in the Dark Lord's power," said Lucius, leaning in to whisper directly
into Draco's ear. He rested his hand on Draco's chest as he kneeled down beside
the chair. "He rewards those loyal to him in a manner that makes Galleons seem
like grit."
The adrenaline was rushing through his veins, and Draco could feel his pulse
beat in the hollow of his throat, as though his heart had taken up temporary
residence there. His hands, where they rested on the armrests of the chair,
were clammy with cold sweat, the chill in stark contrast to the warm weight of
Lucius's chest. "You will make me proud," said Lucius, his tone soft.
Draco opened his mouth, intending to assure his father that he never would do
anything to dishonour the family name, but never got that far. Lucius leaned in
and upward, placing his hands firmly on Draco's thighs for support. There was a
nervous second in which Draco was quite sure the world had ground to a complete
halt, and then that silly notion was dispelled by Lucius kissing him.
The kiss took him by surprise. Lucius's mouth was soft and pliant, his tongue
teasing wet and tender at Draco's lips. Draco could feel himself relax, his
squared shoulders sinking and his muscles slowly uncoiling. The kiss was like
cold water, fluid and soft and he reciprocated, greedy and thirsty, stopping
only when Lucius closed a warning hand around his throat.
Even though the room was lit by candles, his eyes watered, and he blinked
furiously to clear his vision. As he regained his vision, he nearly shied back
at how close his father stood. As Lucius caught Draco's gaze, he gave a little
beginning of a smile. There was tenderness and bone-cold chill in the slight
curve of his pale mouth, and Draco held his breath, curving his tongue up to
touch his palate, lest he start suddenly and bite his tongue off. It was not a
welcome reaction, and he could fabricate all the rebuke himself. It was not
benefiting a Slytherin, let alone a Malfoy, to show trepidation. He could feel
his own pulse beat in his temples, felt his own breath hot and rapid on his
parched lips.
"Stand up," said Lucius softly, hooking a finger under Draco's chin. Draco
obeyed hesitantly, forcing himself not to step back as Lucius leaned in. "As I
recall, this is my shirt," said Lucius, sliding one hand down Draco's
shirtfront. "No matter." His fingers made swift work of the buttons, and he
slipped the shirt down over Draco's shoulders. Even though the air in the room
was warm, Draco felt his nipples harden.
"Strip," commanded Lucius, tilting his head slightly to the side. "I want to
look at my beautiful son." The implication was not lost on Draco, and his
fingers shook a little as he reached for the buttons of his trousers. He wished
he had worn his robes instead of the old-fashioned Muggle-like clothes, as his
fingers were far too clumsy.
"Keep your back straight," said Lucius as he leaned over to pick up a sharp
knife from the table, taking care to select one that was clean. He pushed the
rest of the plates and cutlery back, making a wine glass overturn and spill its
contents over the white tablecloth.
Draco failed to obey the command and swayed on his heels, his head sinking. His
back curved, and as his chin pressed against his chest, he could feel the soft
flutter of breath ghost over his stomach. He was weak, drained of any power
while he was in the high-ceilinged rooms of Malfoy Manor. His head was weak,
but his cock was hard, a single pulse point between his legs.
He could feel the cold silver of the knife Lucius was holding draw along his
side, sliding over rib after rib, the edge nicking and biting but never drawing
blood. Lucius's breath was soft on his skin, soft in contrast to the cold hard
metal and the sharp edges of the knife.
"Do you trust me, Draco?"
"Yes, father," said Draco, his voice cracking slightly at the end. He tried not
to move, focused on the fact that oh Merlin, it was a knife, a sharp knife that
could slip at any moment. He could feel the blade trace down along his torso
like a cold silken band, then the edge turned to slide narrow and sharp down
over his hip, bringing forth a fat drop of blood. As the metal slid along his
cock, he swallowed thickly, thinking that the metal had suddenly gone colder
than ice. Lucius traced a spiral with the knife just at the base of Draco's
cock, then lifted the blade and placed it against Draco's throat. Draco tilted
his head back slightly, then squeezed his eyes tightly shut as he felt Lucius
close his other hand around Draco's cock. The grip was firm and expert in a way
that made a thousand indecent mental images flit through Draco's mind. He's
done this before, oh Merlin, he's far too good at this...
He was choking on air, his breath so stuttering and ragged that Lucius stopped
his ministrations. "No," Draco weakly managed between gasps, "don't stop." The
blade slid against his neck, the edge bumping over his Adam's apple, and he
felt the long muscles in his thighs start to tremble. He was tiring, but tensed
his muscles further as he felt Lucius swipe his thumb over the tip of his cock.
"Father, please," he said, begged, breathing unevenly already.
"Please what?" Lucius purred, his tongue cleverly tracing over Draco's lips in
a caress so light it was barely there.
He had no words. They had all fled, danced laughing into the shadows at
Lucius's first touch. Mercifully, Lucius realized Draco wasn't going to come up
with a coherent answer, and he broke the kiss, stepping back half a step.
Draco's hands still held on to him, a clenched-finger grasp bunching the silken
fabric of his shirt, making the buttons splinter and threads break.
"You must learn to obey without hesitation. It is not your place to be
demanding." The edge of the knife pressed deeper into the skin of Draco's
throat, making more blood bead along the cut. The wound was not deep, barely
enough to scar, if that. "It is the most important thing that you obey every
order issued by the Dark Lord."
The slow smile was still on Lucius's face when he lowered the knife, wiping the
long blade on the palm of his hand. He was still fully dressed, though the
expensive silk shirt now hung open, two button-holes frayed and torn. For a
second, Draco found himself wondering if that was how Lucius looked during his
stay in Azkaban. Now, at last, the smile widened into a genuine smile, and
Lucius stepped forward, letting the knife fall negligently to the floor before
taking hold of Draco's arms and steadying him.
"Well done," breathed Lucius, his mouth a scant inch from Draco's ear. His
hands slid slowly down Draco's bare arms, fingers lacing behind Draco's back.
The movement pressed Draco up close, forced him into the circle of Lucius's
arms, and in such close quarters, he could smell the heavy cedar of Lucius's
cologne. The shirt he wore must have been an older one, because Draco knew
Lucius no longer wore that particular scent. Perhaps much wear had forced the
fragrance into the fabric. The scent was too strong, alien, and he turned his
head. Lucius was not taken aback. If there was anything even remotely
resembling surprise, he kept it well hidden. He met the grey gaze levelly, then
stroked his right hand through Draco's hair, finally gripping it to pull
Draco's head back. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to the vein that must be
ticking visible under the thin skin, then kissed the long row of blood droplets
that ran across Draco's neck.
The light outside had abruptly gone from grey to black, intimating there was
rain outside. The branches of the oak outside the dining room windows beat
against the glass, and as Draco focused on the shapes a second too long, Lucius
grabbed him by the hair to pull him into a greedy kiss. Draco felt owned,
possessed, and he knew it, did not mind it, as long as he could stay in that
state forever, burning and breathless. He was crushed by the lust, his bones
creaking.
Lucius slid his hand down Draco's belly, the drying blood on his palm catching
on the skin, and Draco gave a loud moan as he felt the palm close around his
half-hard cock. It was like an ache, a roar and thunder in his nerve endings,
and he clenched his thighs. Lucius's fingers were impossibly clever, spidering
and sliding, slipping and searching, the pad of his index finger finding a
frighteningly vulnerable spot. Draco bucked against the grip, his free hand
seeking to repay the favour, but Lucius merely gave a hiss in warning. "You
will do what your father tells you," he whispered, in a tone cold and soft. His
lips were pinker now, infused with blood and blood-heat, and as he pressed a
rough kiss to Draco's mouth, Draco feared the kiss would sear into his lips and
brand them.
"Lean on the table and turn your back to me," commanded Lucius.
Draco obeyed, taking a firm hold of the edges of the table for support. He let
his head hang down, looking from underneath half-lowered lids at his own chest
and at his cock which jutted hard and throbbing between his legs. He couldn't
touch himself in this position, not without pitching forward headfirst onto the
table. The curlicues on the edges of the table dug painfully into his hands,
and he shifted nervously as he heard a rustle of fabric behind him, a silk-soft
whisper followed by another rustle. The sleeve of Lucius's shirt billowed into
view next to Draco's right foot, and he could feel the scrape of a slightly
heavier fabric brush along his calf and pool around his ankle. He would only
need to turn his head to the side to see Lucius's tall pale reflection in the
windowglass, but he kept his gaze fixed on the polished wood of the table.
Naked, he thought, he's naked and there is no turning back now.
As he felt Lucius's fingers slide between his legs, he gave a snarl, tensing
up. Lucius stroked the backs of his fingers up the small of Draco's back before
speaking. "Do you trust me?" he asked again, before pressing a kiss to the
small indent at the base of Draco's spine.
"Yes," said Draco, the single word sounding like a sob. "Yes, of course yes."
He fisted his hands into the tablecloth, fearing his knees might give out at
any moment. The edge of the table was digging into the tops of his thighs, and
the tablecloth was chafing against his cock, but he didn't dare move. Lucius's
hands parted his legs, and Draco pushed his hips back, feeling wanton and yet
curiously unashamed. He didn't know what to expect, and gave a hoarse little
cry as he felt Lucius's tongue tease slick and wicked at the cleft of his
buttocks, then his long fingers pulled the flesh apart, spreading him so lewdly
that Draco felt his face heat with sudden incongruous shame. His thoughts
snarled into each other when Lucius thrust the tip of his tongue in, and he
rocked back and forth, rising up to stand on his toes. He seemed to have
forgotten how to breathe, and mercifully, he had also forgotten to feel any
sort of shame. All he could focus on was the feel of Lucius's tongue, on how it
squirmed and teased and dipped so deep Draco lost his breath. It was wrong, so
wrong, but he felt like he would die if Lucius stopped what he was doing.
All he could utter was a helpless moan, and he pressed his forehead against the
linen tablecloth, pushing back and at the same time trying to haul himself
forward. There was very little elegance in the act, but he wanted none to begin
with. There was a taste of blood in his mouth, a token from his parched lips,
and it made him feel more alive.
His hold slipped, and his knuckles slammed painfully against the curlicues of
the table before he could wrap his fingers around the wood again. Lucius had
hooked his cold fingers around Draco's hip, and the small dashes of cold were
in curious and unsettling contrast to the heat of his skin. Draco could feel
the soft stream of Lucius's breath on the inside of his thighs, and it made him
suppress a shiver. His hands clenched and unclenched, his palms sweat-slick and
failing to find purchase on the polished wood of the table. If he looked up at
his hands, he could still see the thin lines of blood that had stained the back
of his hand. He could still taste the copper in his mouth, the tang that
lingered sour around his tongue, and he licked at his parched and equally
blood-stained lips. He tried not to think about where and when Lucius had
learned which crooks and veins of the body yielded the most blood with the
least damage.
The wine glasses that were still standing rocked precariously back and forth,
and one toppled over, sending red wine spilling over the white tablecloth.
Draco could feel his own mouth move, but heard nothing bar his own loud and
choking breaths. His thoughts were nothing but a confused snarl around the
words more and now, and suddenly the web was torn apart in a single violent
jerk. He fell, and held onto the table to hard his fingers hurt, because his
legs no longer carried. He felt his stomach grow slick, heard the wet sound his
skin made against the polished wood, and he gave a loud groan. There was
another wet sound, like a kiss being broken, and another helpless shudder
passed through him. Oh, he knew what that sound was, it was Lucius's tongue in
his arse, and he should be ashamed for being so wanton... He pushed himself up,
his arms weak and trembling, and turned around to face Lucius. His knees still
threatened to give out, and he leaned heavily on the table.
Lucius sat down in Draco's chair, sprawling back with indolent ease. Though he
was naked and sweaty, he still retained his air of elegance, and as he caught
Draco's gaze, he gave a wide smile. He rested both of his hands flat on his
thighs, calling attention to his impressive erection. Draco answered the smile,
knowing full well what was expected of him.
His legs were prickling with pins and needles and postorgasmic lassitude, and
he gingerly lifted his feet to avoid stepping on the shards of china that lay
strewn at his feet. He pushed a fork to the side with his foot before resting
one knee on the edge of the chair, between Lucius's legs. He leaned in, taking
hold of the carved back of the chair for support before kissing Lucius, who
gave a low sound of contentment. He could taste himself, a dark and rich taste
that grew all the more sinful when he thought about what it truly was.
Sliding his hand down Lucius's chest, he twisted one pale nipple, digging his
short nails into the flesh. Lucius gave a groan, pushing his hips forward.
Draco realized he would not be able to do what he wanted in the present
position, and he moved to straddle Lucius's lap. The position wasn't the most
comfortable, but it would have to do. He drew his nails up lightly along the
inside of Lucius's thigh before wrapping his fingers around Lucius's cock.
Lucius closed his eyes, his eyebrows knitting as his lips parted lightly. Draco
stroked harder, forsaking finesse for friction. It only took a few hard strokes
to bring Lucius over the edge. He was as elegant in this state as he always
was, but Draco saw beneath the veneer, saw the way Lucius's eyes were
impossibly dark when he opened them, saw the muscles of his neck tense. Leaning
in, he captured Lucius's mouth in a deep and greedy kiss, shifting his position
until he was chest to chest with Lucius. His knees protested, but he pressed
closer until their slick stomachs touched. His heartbeat was still loudly
echoing in his ears, and his mind reeled with the implications of what he had
done.
Lucius raised his hand and drew his index finger along the dried line of blood
that bisected Draco's throat, but as he opened his mouth, Draco shushed at him.
His voice was unexpectedly rough when he spoke.
"Leave it be, father. I want to keep it as a memory."
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