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Entry tags:
FIC: Touch (Draco/Scorpius; NC-17; 1000)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers. No copyright infringement intended.
Title: Touch
Pairing: Draco, Draco/Scorpius.
Rating: NC-17 (Not for sex, though.)
Word Count: ~1000
Status: Complete
Summary: Draco tried to reach out, but he just couldn't do it.
Warnings: INCEST. DARK!FIC. HEAVY ANGST.
Note: I said I've written this, but will only post it if somebody pisses me off. Well, I'm pissed off. But not at you guys. So PLEASE heed the warnings. This will either be really bad, cos I can't write angst, or it will rip your heart out. So if reading the header for this makes you very worried — just don't read it.
Incest thing ... isn't here to be wrong!kinky!hot. Sex isn't the point here. Despite the rating, there's no porn. This is just really sad. ;_; And so am I. :(
I'd crosspost this, but I don't know where. :\
Touch
The fire crackled in the fireplace, at times loudly, at times quietly; last twitches before it would slowly die away. The house-elfs had forgotten to maintain it again, even though Draco had told them again and again that the room must be kept warm. What if Scorpius caught a cold? Astoria would have never forgiven him if he failed to take care of Scorpius properly. If she were alive.
The canopy of the large four poster bed was pushed aside, displaying the figure that lay on the bed; blond hair the only thing visible beneath the covers. Draco tiptoed closer, careful not to wake his son. He was probably tired. The trip from Hogwarts had been long; Scorpius ought to rest. But Draco had to catch a glimpse of him. He had to touch him at least once. The Manor had been barren and lonely; still damaged beyond repair. His parents were gone and his wife was dead; burned to death by the fire that trapped her in their bedroom; by a group of people that were nothing but a reinvented Death Eater sect. This time they were determined to end the lives of purebloods, though they were still lead by a lunatic that had his own goal.
He had no one left but Scorpius, who had finally finished his schooling and came back home. Finally here to keep Draco company, so he wouldn't go mad in this old house.
Draco sat on the bed, smiling down at his son. Scorpius was a restless sleeper; constantly tossing sheets away and jerking his legs around. Even now, he had turned over to his back, mumbling to himself and twitching his nose. Draco reached down to touch Scorpius' head. His soft hair was still damp from the shower, worrying Draco further. He could really catch a cold. He pulled the covers up and leaned in to kiss Scorpius' pale forehead, soft and too warm, as though he already had a fever.
Draco paused with his lips on Scorpius' forehead, inhaling his scent. He meant to move away, but he lingered too long, too pleased he had his son back not to relish in his nearness. But then Scorpius' fingers were in Draco's hair, at the back of his neck, pressing and keeping Draco in place.
"I've missed you, Father," Scorpius said quietly, and if Draco wasn't so near, still with his lips pressed to Scorpius forehead, he wouldn't even hear him.
"You're home now," Draco heard himself respond. "So everything is going to be all right."
Scorpius tugged on his hair, making Draco raise his head and look down. Scorpius stared at him, with his big grey eyes not unlike Draco's own, and then he leaned up, kissing him on the mouth. It was slow and gentle and innocent at first, but then it turned hard and determined; it turned into a lover's kiss.
He should push him away, Draco thought, though he did not react. Not until Scorpius pulled back a little and looked up did Draco realise what had happened. He jerked his head backwards, but didn't get far, not with Scorpius' hand still gripping his hair.
"I won't leave you," Scorpius promised before he kissed him again.
Something squeezed Draco's head, his brain, his mind. The beginning of a headache that rarely left him alone these days. A headache that pressed onto his consciousness; made it hard to think. He knew he shouldn't do this. He shouldn't push Scorpius back onto the pillows, and he shouldn't let his hands wander all over his supple body. He shouldn't be kissing him back, not his son; and he shouldn't slip beneath the covers to nestle himself between Scorpius' thighs. But Scorpius shouldn't have looked up with wicked, promising eyes, and he shouldn't have grabbed Draco's hands, guiding them underneath his pyjamas. And he shouldn't have kissed Draco and lift the covers, inviting him to lie down.
But it all happened despite the many shoudn'ts, and Draco could do nothing but want more. He needed to caress Scorpius' hair and skin, he needed this feeling — of Scorpius near him, so near Draco could smell him and pull him even closer.
The headache intensified and everything felt tight. Scorpius' legs were wrapped around Draco's waist and his back, caressing and gripping frantically, with the same desperation Draco felt. The desperation to touch.
Draco closed his eyes as his body convulsed, the pleasure refusing to come. He waited and waited for as long as he could, gripping Scorpius and pulling and reaching, afraid that the inevitable would have to happen and he would have to open his eyes.
A thousand knifes cut into his head, and Draco's eyes flew open. The headache disappeared, but his heart hammered in his chest so hard it hurt. He stared ahead at the man in front of him, an old man that lolled about in his chair and mumbled to himself. A woman was screaming somewhere to his right, and a Healer walked around, handing out Potions and empty words of comfort. Draco remembered then, as he always did. He remembered his wife burning and he remembered the Cruciatus Curse cast on him again and again, until he prayed for death that wouldn't come.
Soft lips pressed against his forehead, and Draco blinked as Scorpius' face appeared before him. He looked young, but older than Draco remembered. He looked grown up; a man with his own life.
He smiled softly at Draco, gently gripping his fingers.
"I'll come back to see you soon, Father," Scorpius promised.
Draco wished he could touch him; wished he could make him stay near. Just one touch, just one tiny move of his hand and he could manage. But nothing happened; it never did. Draco's body had stopped listening to him long ago.
Scorpius smiled sadly again, his eyes bright. Then he straightened and walked away. Walked away as always, and Draco couldn't stop him.
Someone shoved a potion into Draco's throat and his memory faded again; slowly so Draco could feel losing a part of himself; losing his mind.
But it didn't matter. Perhaps, it was better not to remember. Perhaps, it was better to mix reality and dreams, and not care about rights and wrongs.
He closed his eyes; found himself in the wrecked Manor again. The doors of Scorpius' room were right in front of him.
Draco smiled. Scorpius was here and he'd never leave again. But Draco had to touch him — just to make sure.
Fin
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers. No copyright infringement intended.
Title: Touch
Pairing: Draco, Draco/Scorpius.
Rating: NC-17 (Not for sex, though.)
Word Count: ~1000
Status: Complete
Summary: Draco tried to reach out, but he just couldn't do it.
Warnings: INCEST. DARK!FIC. HEAVY ANGST.
Note: I said I've written this, but will only post it if somebody pisses me off. Well, I'm pissed off. But not at you guys. So PLEASE heed the warnings. This will either be really bad, cos I can't write angst, or it will rip your heart out. So if reading the header for this makes you very worried — just don't read it.
Incest thing ... isn't here to be wrong!kinky!hot. Sex isn't the point here. Despite the rating, there's no porn. This is just really sad. ;_; And so am I. :(
I'd crosspost this, but I don't know where. :\
The fire crackled in the fireplace, at times loudly, at times quietly; last twitches before it would slowly die away. The house-elfs had forgotten to maintain it again, even though Draco had told them again and again that the room must be kept warm. What if Scorpius caught a cold? Astoria would have never forgiven him if he failed to take care of Scorpius properly. If she were alive.
The canopy of the large four poster bed was pushed aside, displaying the figure that lay on the bed; blond hair the only thing visible beneath the covers. Draco tiptoed closer, careful not to wake his son. He was probably tired. The trip from Hogwarts had been long; Scorpius ought to rest. But Draco had to catch a glimpse of him. He had to touch him at least once. The Manor had been barren and lonely; still damaged beyond repair. His parents were gone and his wife was dead; burned to death by the fire that trapped her in their bedroom; by a group of people that were nothing but a reinvented Death Eater sect. This time they were determined to end the lives of purebloods, though they were still lead by a lunatic that had his own goal.
He had no one left but Scorpius, who had finally finished his schooling and came back home. Finally here to keep Draco company, so he wouldn't go mad in this old house.
Draco sat on the bed, smiling down at his son. Scorpius was a restless sleeper; constantly tossing sheets away and jerking his legs around. Even now, he had turned over to his back, mumbling to himself and twitching his nose. Draco reached down to touch Scorpius' head. His soft hair was still damp from the shower, worrying Draco further. He could really catch a cold. He pulled the covers up and leaned in to kiss Scorpius' pale forehead, soft and too warm, as though he already had a fever.
Draco paused with his lips on Scorpius' forehead, inhaling his scent. He meant to move away, but he lingered too long, too pleased he had his son back not to relish in his nearness. But then Scorpius' fingers were in Draco's hair, at the back of his neck, pressing and keeping Draco in place.
"I've missed you, Father," Scorpius said quietly, and if Draco wasn't so near, still with his lips pressed to Scorpius forehead, he wouldn't even hear him.
"You're home now," Draco heard himself respond. "So everything is going to be all right."
Scorpius tugged on his hair, making Draco raise his head and look down. Scorpius stared at him, with his big grey eyes not unlike Draco's own, and then he leaned up, kissing him on the mouth. It was slow and gentle and innocent at first, but then it turned hard and determined; it turned into a lover's kiss.
He should push him away, Draco thought, though he did not react. Not until Scorpius pulled back a little and looked up did Draco realise what had happened. He jerked his head backwards, but didn't get far, not with Scorpius' hand still gripping his hair.
"I won't leave you," Scorpius promised before he kissed him again.
Something squeezed Draco's head, his brain, his mind. The beginning of a headache that rarely left him alone these days. A headache that pressed onto his consciousness; made it hard to think. He knew he shouldn't do this. He shouldn't push Scorpius back onto the pillows, and he shouldn't let his hands wander all over his supple body. He shouldn't be kissing him back, not his son; and he shouldn't slip beneath the covers to nestle himself between Scorpius' thighs. But Scorpius shouldn't have looked up with wicked, promising eyes, and he shouldn't have grabbed Draco's hands, guiding them underneath his pyjamas. And he shouldn't have kissed Draco and lift the covers, inviting him to lie down.
But it all happened despite the many shoudn'ts, and Draco could do nothing but want more. He needed to caress Scorpius' hair and skin, he needed this feeling — of Scorpius near him, so near Draco could smell him and pull him even closer.
The headache intensified and everything felt tight. Scorpius' legs were wrapped around Draco's waist and his back, caressing and gripping frantically, with the same desperation Draco felt. The desperation to touch.
Draco closed his eyes as his body convulsed, the pleasure refusing to come. He waited and waited for as long as he could, gripping Scorpius and pulling and reaching, afraid that the inevitable would have to happen and he would have to open his eyes.
A thousand knifes cut into his head, and Draco's eyes flew open. The headache disappeared, but his heart hammered in his chest so hard it hurt. He stared ahead at the man in front of him, an old man that lolled about in his chair and mumbled to himself. A woman was screaming somewhere to his right, and a Healer walked around, handing out Potions and empty words of comfort. Draco remembered then, as he always did. He remembered his wife burning and he remembered the Cruciatus Curse cast on him again and again, until he prayed for death that wouldn't come.
Soft lips pressed against his forehead, and Draco blinked as Scorpius' face appeared before him. He looked young, but older than Draco remembered. He looked grown up; a man with his own life.
He smiled softly at Draco, gently gripping his fingers.
"I'll come back to see you soon, Father," Scorpius promised.
Draco wished he could touch him; wished he could make him stay near. Just one touch, just one tiny move of his hand and he could manage. But nothing happened; it never did. Draco's body had stopped listening to him long ago.
Scorpius smiled sadly again, his eyes bright. Then he straightened and walked away. Walked away as always, and Draco couldn't stop him.
Someone shoved a potion into Draco's throat and his memory faded again; slowly so Draco could feel losing a part of himself; losing his mind.
But it didn't matter. Perhaps, it was better not to remember. Perhaps, it was better to mix reality and dreams, and not care about rights and wrongs.
He closed his eyes; found himself in the wrecked Manor again. The doors of Scorpius' room were right in front of him.
Draco smiled. Scorpius was here and he'd never leave again. But Draco had to touch him — just to make sure.