Ravenna C. Tan: Honor (Draco/Harry, NC-17)
Title: Honor (Malfoy Honor, Pt. 1)
Author: ravenna_c_tan
Rating: NC-17
Prompt Set: 50.1 from the 100quills fest
Prompt: Honor
Word Count: 2200
Pairing: Lucius/Draco, implied H/D
Warnings: Malfoycest. Mild bondage. Very dubious moral maneuvering.
Beta reader: sorchar
Disclaimer: I wrote this fanfic for completely non-commercial enjoyment. All characters are not mine and are copyrighted and trademarked by their owners/publishers.
Summary: Lucius is not pleased about his son's sordid affair. Not at all. Postwar. Draco is 21 years old.
A/N:"Honor" kept bringing me back to the idea of Malfoy family honor, and the all the discussion in the " Ten Questions About Draco Malfoy" about the Lucius/Draco pairing brought me to this...
Honor
by Ravenna C. Tan
It is no one's fault but my own.
He blames you, Harry. Of course he does. He wants me to, as well. But I will never do that. It was my mistake that led me to this.
My father cinches the gag tight. I know I will not be allowed to argue. He did not listen my words before, when I tried to plead my case, but the gag is not for my protests. A Silencing Charm would have done for that. No, the contraption of leather and buckles--which he tightens one more notch when he sees me wince--is purely to punish me.
I am still ignorant as to exactly what form my punishment will take, and I know he is keeping me ignorant so that I will be afraid. He has already stripped me bare with a wave of his wand.
I am not afraid. We are in a part of the manor's dungeons I've never visited before, but I tell myself this is my own father. He won't kill me. And anything short of killing me won't stop me from returning to you, Harry.
He shackles me face down on a wooden platform and I am curious to find it not cold and splintery as I expect, but charmed warm and cushioned. The incongruity of it is disturbing, as is the slight tang of blood I smell. Maybe that is just the iron of the shackles?
"Draco, Draco," he says, his voice heavy with disappointment. "I find it hard to believe that you could so easily forget all I've taught you. You've sullied the name of Malfoy."
But my blood is still pure...! I think, though of course I cannot say anything. I know full well that when the time comes I will marry a pureblood witch and sire as many grandchildren for him as I can. You know it, too, Harry. That doesn't take away what we have, and what we have doesn't take away...
"It goes beyond the issue of ancestry and descendants, of course," he says, and I feel his breath on the back of my neck. His fingers run down my spine and I feel the ends of his hair tickling my skin. "Consorting with a blood traitor like Potter besmirches the family honor. Surely you see that, Draco?"
Gag or no gag, I am trying to protest. But only the faintest sound comes from my throat as I thrash my head upward. But you and Snape...! I am trying to say. He's a half-blood as well, you hypocrite!
You told me that, Harry. You told me about the "half-blood prince." Could it be that Father doesn't even know?
"I know. I know you agree. The dirty Potter boy has seduced you. It's not your fault, Draco." He moves away from me, then, and I lie still, conserving my energy and listening. I hear the sounds of robes rustling, the sound that can only be a considerable amount of cloth hitting the floor.
My back prickles with sweat. Of course he would take off his robe before swinging a whip at me, but to let it fall to the floor...?
I am such a fool. The next thing I feel is his bare chest against my back, his lips against my neck, grazing hungrily at the short hairs there.
Oh, Father...
He feels me shiver under his touch and whispers into my ear. "I will erase him from your memory, Draco. Not with spells, but by surpassing him. You've always appreciated the finer things in life. And surely the sacrifices I've made for you, and you for me, should not be tossed aside because you've developed a taste for a filthy, lowborn Gryffindor?"
He rakes his nails down my back, just hard enough to set all my skin atingle. Merlin help me, Harry, but it's like he knows me. Knows what I want. His cock settles against my tailbone and I can't help but clench in anticipation.
I think he's larger than you. He's found that spot between my earlobe and shoulder where I...
The gag is a blessing because it keeps me from saying anything I might regret. From begging him to stop, from begging him to take me.
He hitches me onto my knees and slides a hand through my legs to cup my balls. My cock hangs half-hard and heavy; it swings as he rolls the sac in his fingers. By the time he takes my balls in his fist and squeezes them, I am almost completely erect. I know you think this hurts, that it would hurt if you did it, but it doesn't. Not the way you think. It makes me feel like the tip of my cock is on fire and like every nerve ending in my body is suddenly connected to my crotch, to my groin, to the deep place inside me where everything centers.
Oh, Harry. I've never dared to ask you for anything like that.
He does not loosen his grip, but his other arm circles me and two fingers play along my foreskin. He draws it back from the scorching tip with a light touch, and the sounds I'm making in my throat now would not be words even without the gag. He lets his hand close slowly, so slowly, over the loose skin, and then he squeezes, one agonizing stroke toward the tip of my cock, and I think I am going to explode.
This is entirely my fault for thinking of you, Harry. For losing my patience as I suffered through another of his interminable lectures on management of the estate. As if he would relinquish it any time soon. Having survived the rise and fall of evil twice and two trips to Azkaban only to return to being Lord of the Manor each time, he is not about to relinquish even one iota of power.
And that is what this is, of course. My mother was his forever--well, until Death took her. He wants me to be his now, too.
Oh, God, his tongue. Even as he continues to stroke me, just hard enough, but just slowly enough to drive my arousal higher and higher, he has now let go my balls and is licking my arse. Warm and velvet-wet, his tongue edges closer to my hole, until I am shaking and crying into the gag from anticipation.
When at last he drives it into me I realize again that this is another thing I would never ask you for, Harry. You may have killed the Dark Lord and learned about the darkness in men's souls far too young, but you are still so innocent. I remember you telling me about your dormitory in the tower, how I refused to believe at first that you never once wanked in front of Finnegan, nor he you, not even on a dare. When the war ended, you were still a virgin.
I do wonder... if I had not been the one to seduce you, last year after that strange reunion at Hogwarts, would you be a virgin still?
I remember that first time like it was yesterday, and I remember it often. I should not have thought about it. I should not have thought about you at all, about the way your eyes widen almost in shock every time you come. Most people close their eyes, but you are not most people, Harry.
I was the best Occlumens in Slytherin. I would have been safe. I should have known better. One glimpse into my thoughts was all it took, though, to land me here, in my father's hands.
He lets my cock hang free then, weighty and twitching in the sudden neglect, as he does something behind me. One hand steadies me at the small of my back.
I feel his slick finger, deliciously cold with lubricant, slide into me. He corkscrews his hand as he drills me with it, and my scream of intense pleasure is muffled by the gag.
I want to hate him for this, Harry, for hating you. But I know him too well to think him evil for wanting the best for me, and love him too well to think him evil for... for this.
God, I want him. I want that hard cock I felt minutes? hours? ago against my spine to be inside me. He adds another finger, twisting his knuckle where I'm tender, teasing me and overwhelming me at the same time.
I remember the last time he spanked me, before I went to Hogwarts. I was a willful child; I'm sure you can picture it. A brat, you might say. Always trying to see how far I could go, how hard I could push, before he'd snap.
There were times when he was away, when my mother would have him discipline me when he returned home. Stiff, formal affairs in his office, with the rod, bent over his desk, three strokes--maybe five if I had done something particularly bad like nearly burning down the rose garden--followed by a cathartic paroxysm of tears and then a pat on the head. And finally an admonition that when I grew up, when I went to school, I would be on my own recognizance. Father considered it unseemly to spank a boy after he had gone to school.
So I was ten. It was a sudden infraction, unintentional, as I sat on the floor of his study, paging through a book that I had been told not to touch until I was older. That alone would not have earned me a spanking, but the fact that I set the pages on fire when he burst in on me? Well. He snatched me up off the floor like I weighed nothing, trapped me over his knees, and spanked me with his bare hand until the moment when I was somehow no longer across his lap, but hugging him around the neck, crying into his hair and begging him to forgive me.
He kissed me on the forehead and forgave me, and at the time I thought it was the most wonderful feeling I'd ever experienced. I had been so completely... what? I had no words for it at ten years old and I have no words for it now as he once again has me at his mercy. So completely... his.
So complete. Or I will be, soon.
He senses it, I think, when I surrender. I don't know how he knows because my mind is shut as tight as the dungeons. He relents teasing me and I am shocked to hear him speak the word that releases the shackles.
Oh no, I won't be able to stand this, will I? He turns me over onto my back and spreads my legs. He's going to make love to me the way you do, Harry--face to face. What he won't do is bring me carefully to the edge of orgasm and then sweetly ask if I want to come first, the way you do.
He kisses me on the neck, suckles my nipples, then takes my cock into his mouth, prolonging the wait and insuring that I am rock hard and slick when he centers himself over my hips. My cock is trapped between our two stomachs as he uses one hand to guide himself.
He is larger than you, Harry. Much larger. But he takes his time, coaxing me, praising me, scraping a fingernail across my nipples until it's my legs wrapped around his back that force him in all the way. Good God, I can't help it; words of praise from my father's mouth are all I've ever craved, can't you see that? And he's telling me what a good boy I am, and how much he loves me.
He loves me. He loves me hard and fiercely and he holds nothing back of himself, taking me all the way to the edge, tossing me over, and then falling in after me. Orgasm isn't a long enough word, or loud enough, or bright enough, to describe what coming together with him is like.
I am still that boy with his arms around his father's neck, so sorry for what I did to anger him, so hungry for his benediction.
He releases the gag with a whispered word and it falls away. He gathers me to him, and I'm kissing his neck, his jaw, his cheek, until finally his mouth meets mine, claiming me for his own all over again, taking me anew to the point of tears and back.
When we part, he kisses me again, on the forehead this time, with admonitions to be on time to dinner next week as the new Minister for International Affairs will be dining with us.
I Apparate directly to your flat where I await you. He's forbidden me from seeing you ever again, of course, and a part of me wonders if after this you won't throw me out, as well. But I want to keep no secrets from you, Harry, and I've always been a willful boy, haven't I?
This story also now has a sequel: Patrimony
Author: ravenna_c_tan
Rating: NC-17
Prompt Set: 50.1 from the 100quills fest
Prompt: Honor
Word Count: 2200
Pairing: Lucius/Draco, implied H/D
Warnings: Malfoycest. Mild bondage. Very dubious moral maneuvering.
Beta reader: sorchar
Disclaimer: I wrote this fanfic for completely non-commercial enjoyment. All characters are not mine and are copyrighted and trademarked by their owners/publishers.
Summary: Lucius is not pleased about his son's sordid affair. Not at all. Postwar. Draco is 21 years old.
A/N:"Honor" kept bringing me back to the idea of Malfoy family honor, and the all the discussion in the " Ten Questions About Draco Malfoy" about the Lucius/Draco pairing brought me to this...
Honor
by Ravenna C. Tan
It is no one's fault but my own.
He blames you, Harry. Of course he does. He wants me to, as well. But I will never do that. It was my mistake that led me to this.
My father cinches the gag tight. I know I will not be allowed to argue. He did not listen my words before, when I tried to plead my case, but the gag is not for my protests. A Silencing Charm would have done for that. No, the contraption of leather and buckles--which he tightens one more notch when he sees me wince--is purely to punish me.
I am still ignorant as to exactly what form my punishment will take, and I know he is keeping me ignorant so that I will be afraid. He has already stripped me bare with a wave of his wand.
I am not afraid. We are in a part of the manor's dungeons I've never visited before, but I tell myself this is my own father. He won't kill me. And anything short of killing me won't stop me from returning to you, Harry.
He shackles me face down on a wooden platform and I am curious to find it not cold and splintery as I expect, but charmed warm and cushioned. The incongruity of it is disturbing, as is the slight tang of blood I smell. Maybe that is just the iron of the shackles?
"Draco, Draco," he says, his voice heavy with disappointment. "I find it hard to believe that you could so easily forget all I've taught you. You've sullied the name of Malfoy."
But my blood is still pure...! I think, though of course I cannot say anything. I know full well that when the time comes I will marry a pureblood witch and sire as many grandchildren for him as I can. You know it, too, Harry. That doesn't take away what we have, and what we have doesn't take away...
"It goes beyond the issue of ancestry and descendants, of course," he says, and I feel his breath on the back of my neck. His fingers run down my spine and I feel the ends of his hair tickling my skin. "Consorting with a blood traitor like Potter besmirches the family honor. Surely you see that, Draco?"
Gag or no gag, I am trying to protest. But only the faintest sound comes from my throat as I thrash my head upward. But you and Snape...! I am trying to say. He's a half-blood as well, you hypocrite!
You told me that, Harry. You told me about the "half-blood prince." Could it be that Father doesn't even know?
"I know. I know you agree. The dirty Potter boy has seduced you. It's not your fault, Draco." He moves away from me, then, and I lie still, conserving my energy and listening. I hear the sounds of robes rustling, the sound that can only be a considerable amount of cloth hitting the floor.
My back prickles with sweat. Of course he would take off his robe before swinging a whip at me, but to let it fall to the floor...?
I am such a fool. The next thing I feel is his bare chest against my back, his lips against my neck, grazing hungrily at the short hairs there.
Oh, Father...
He feels me shiver under his touch and whispers into my ear. "I will erase him from your memory, Draco. Not with spells, but by surpassing him. You've always appreciated the finer things in life. And surely the sacrifices I've made for you, and you for me, should not be tossed aside because you've developed a taste for a filthy, lowborn Gryffindor?"
He rakes his nails down my back, just hard enough to set all my skin atingle. Merlin help me, Harry, but it's like he knows me. Knows what I want. His cock settles against my tailbone and I can't help but clench in anticipation.
I think he's larger than you. He's found that spot between my earlobe and shoulder where I...
The gag is a blessing because it keeps me from saying anything I might regret. From begging him to stop, from begging him to take me.
He hitches me onto my knees and slides a hand through my legs to cup my balls. My cock hangs half-hard and heavy; it swings as he rolls the sac in his fingers. By the time he takes my balls in his fist and squeezes them, I am almost completely erect. I know you think this hurts, that it would hurt if you did it, but it doesn't. Not the way you think. It makes me feel like the tip of my cock is on fire and like every nerve ending in my body is suddenly connected to my crotch, to my groin, to the deep place inside me where everything centers.
Oh, Harry. I've never dared to ask you for anything like that.
He does not loosen his grip, but his other arm circles me and two fingers play along my foreskin. He draws it back from the scorching tip with a light touch, and the sounds I'm making in my throat now would not be words even without the gag. He lets his hand close slowly, so slowly, over the loose skin, and then he squeezes, one agonizing stroke toward the tip of my cock, and I think I am going to explode.
This is entirely my fault for thinking of you, Harry. For losing my patience as I suffered through another of his interminable lectures on management of the estate. As if he would relinquish it any time soon. Having survived the rise and fall of evil twice and two trips to Azkaban only to return to being Lord of the Manor each time, he is not about to relinquish even one iota of power.
And that is what this is, of course. My mother was his forever--well, until Death took her. He wants me to be his now, too.
Oh, God, his tongue. Even as he continues to stroke me, just hard enough, but just slowly enough to drive my arousal higher and higher, he has now let go my balls and is licking my arse. Warm and velvet-wet, his tongue edges closer to my hole, until I am shaking and crying into the gag from anticipation.
When at last he drives it into me I realize again that this is another thing I would never ask you for, Harry. You may have killed the Dark Lord and learned about the darkness in men's souls far too young, but you are still so innocent. I remember you telling me about your dormitory in the tower, how I refused to believe at first that you never once wanked in front of Finnegan, nor he you, not even on a dare. When the war ended, you were still a virgin.
I do wonder... if I had not been the one to seduce you, last year after that strange reunion at Hogwarts, would you be a virgin still?
I remember that first time like it was yesterday, and I remember it often. I should not have thought about it. I should not have thought about you at all, about the way your eyes widen almost in shock every time you come. Most people close their eyes, but you are not most people, Harry.
I was the best Occlumens in Slytherin. I would have been safe. I should have known better. One glimpse into my thoughts was all it took, though, to land me here, in my father's hands.
He lets my cock hang free then, weighty and twitching in the sudden neglect, as he does something behind me. One hand steadies me at the small of my back.
I feel his slick finger, deliciously cold with lubricant, slide into me. He corkscrews his hand as he drills me with it, and my scream of intense pleasure is muffled by the gag.
I want to hate him for this, Harry, for hating you. But I know him too well to think him evil for wanting the best for me, and love him too well to think him evil for... for this.
God, I want him. I want that hard cock I felt minutes? hours? ago against my spine to be inside me. He adds another finger, twisting his knuckle where I'm tender, teasing me and overwhelming me at the same time.
I remember the last time he spanked me, before I went to Hogwarts. I was a willful child; I'm sure you can picture it. A brat, you might say. Always trying to see how far I could go, how hard I could push, before he'd snap.
There were times when he was away, when my mother would have him discipline me when he returned home. Stiff, formal affairs in his office, with the rod, bent over his desk, three strokes--maybe five if I had done something particularly bad like nearly burning down the rose garden--followed by a cathartic paroxysm of tears and then a pat on the head. And finally an admonition that when I grew up, when I went to school, I would be on my own recognizance. Father considered it unseemly to spank a boy after he had gone to school.
So I was ten. It was a sudden infraction, unintentional, as I sat on the floor of his study, paging through a book that I had been told not to touch until I was older. That alone would not have earned me a spanking, but the fact that I set the pages on fire when he burst in on me? Well. He snatched me up off the floor like I weighed nothing, trapped me over his knees, and spanked me with his bare hand until the moment when I was somehow no longer across his lap, but hugging him around the neck, crying into his hair and begging him to forgive me.
He kissed me on the forehead and forgave me, and at the time I thought it was the most wonderful feeling I'd ever experienced. I had been so completely... what? I had no words for it at ten years old and I have no words for it now as he once again has me at his mercy. So completely... his.
So complete. Or I will be, soon.
He senses it, I think, when I surrender. I don't know how he knows because my mind is shut as tight as the dungeons. He relents teasing me and I am shocked to hear him speak the word that releases the shackles.
Oh no, I won't be able to stand this, will I? He turns me over onto my back and spreads my legs. He's going to make love to me the way you do, Harry--face to face. What he won't do is bring me carefully to the edge of orgasm and then sweetly ask if I want to come first, the way you do.
He kisses me on the neck, suckles my nipples, then takes my cock into his mouth, prolonging the wait and insuring that I am rock hard and slick when he centers himself over my hips. My cock is trapped between our two stomachs as he uses one hand to guide himself.
He is larger than you, Harry. Much larger. But he takes his time, coaxing me, praising me, scraping a fingernail across my nipples until it's my legs wrapped around his back that force him in all the way. Good God, I can't help it; words of praise from my father's mouth are all I've ever craved, can't you see that? And he's telling me what a good boy I am, and how much he loves me.
He loves me. He loves me hard and fiercely and he holds nothing back of himself, taking me all the way to the edge, tossing me over, and then falling in after me. Orgasm isn't a long enough word, or loud enough, or bright enough, to describe what coming together with him is like.
I am still that boy with his arms around his father's neck, so sorry for what I did to anger him, so hungry for his benediction.
He releases the gag with a whispered word and it falls away. He gathers me to him, and I'm kissing his neck, his jaw, his cheek, until finally his mouth meets mine, claiming me for his own all over again, taking me anew to the point of tears and back.
When we part, he kisses me again, on the forehead this time, with admonitions to be on time to dinner next week as the new Minister for International Affairs will be dining with us.
I Apparate directly to your flat where I await you. He's forbidden me from seeing you ever again, of course, and a part of me wonders if after this you won't throw me out, as well. But I want to keep no secrets from you, Harry, and I've always been a willful boy, haven't I?
This story also now has a sequel: Patrimony