Family Ties

Draco surveyed himself critically in the mirror. He was going to visit his father in Azkaban, and he wanted to look his best for it. His hair was falling into his eyes in fine, slivery strands; his robes were immaculate and he generally looked like a Greek God.

“Wipe that self-satisfied smirk of your face,” said Narcissa brusquely when she came to fetch him. “It does not suit you.”

Draco turned away from the mirror with a grave expression. “Is it time to leave?”

“It is.” Narcissa pulled her son close and kissed him deeply, possessively. “Don’t tell your father anything he might react badly to, do you hear me?” Draco nodded. “Keep him happy during your entire visit, because he won’t be at any other time during his stay.”

Draco nodded again and followed his mother to the floo in the study.

“Be a good boy,” she advised him, and he was on his way, twirling through the fireplaces to the Ministry, from where he’d be taken to Azkaban to see his father.

When he arrived, the Ministry official looked at him as though he was a lesser being than she was, and Draco glared at her for all he was worth. Just because her father wasn’t in Azkaban for standing up for what he believed in didn’t mean she was better than anyone else was. Surely, she was just a disgusting mudblood-lover like the rest of the Ministry; they’d never even dream of doing the right thing and taking action against the filthy mudbloods that were slowly infiltrating the wizarding society and soiling it with their impure blood. No, the mudbloods were worthy human beings and had every right to exist. It made him sick just to think about it.

Draco stepped haughtily into the carriage that would take him to the shore. It was deep black and looked uninviting - Draco wondered briefly if it was to discourage people not to visit. He was adamant, though; he would see his father, who would be just as he remembered him. Lucius would be out again any day, and they would be with each other every day, but for now, all they had was this. They would have to make the most of it.

The boat was black as well, and the man who rowed it was dressed in a black robe. Draco wondered if the one who had designed the lot even knew other colours existed. He felt like a gaudy Weasley in his midnight blue robed.

Slowly, the prison came closer, and Draco’s surprise was overwhelming when he realised it was not black, but dark grey.

Draco’s wand was confiscated at the entrance and he was bodily searched for anything that could be used by his father to break out. They took away his Malfoy ring with a promise to return it later, and they checked his clothes for enchantments - “couldn’t have the prisoners Portkeying out, could we?”. Draco thought they went a little too far, though, when they checked his underwear.

So, finally, they were done and Draco was let in to see his father. When he wanted to get out, he had only to touch the bars, and a guard would come to see him out. As the door locked behind him, Draco had to quench the irrational hope-tinted burst of fear that they would leave him in there. He would gladly spend the rest of his life in a cell with his father, but the constant presence of dementors was too high a price to pay for it.

Draco turned away from the door and looked straight into the wearied eyes of his father.

“You’re here,” rasped Lucius, and Draco nearly flinched. His father’s once so powerful voice had turned weak and sore. Draco didn’t want to know whether it was from not using it or constant screaming in insane terror.

“I’m here,” he said quietly, remembering his mother’s advice. ‘Your father is right in whatever he says, Draco, and you are to keep him happy no matter what.’ Lucius reached out, and Draco stood still, letting shaky fingers travel down his cheek to his chin, tracing his neck and stroking down his arm, coming to rest with a firm hold just above his elbow. Lucius cleared his throat. His eyes were shining in relief, and the beginning of a smile was twitching at the corner of his mouth.

“Thank Merlin you’re here,” and his voice was clearer now. He hadn’t used it. “I haven’t had one sane conversation since I was put here. Rather difficult when they’re all liable to start screaming at a moment’s notice.”

Draco smiled then; his father was still himself. Everything was suddenly brighter, as though the sun had come out, only there were no windows.

“What happens at home?” asked Lucius. Draco thought of his mother’s touches; how she’d invited him to the master bedroom the day after Lucius was imprisoned, and how he’d stayed there ever since.

“Nothing much,” he said. There was a short pause. “Mother misses you terribly, and I think she’s taking it out on the House Elves.” He smiled; his mother had never been one to treat House Elves with any trace of respect. Lucius smiled back. He was watching Draco’s mouth hungrily, drinking in every word that fell from his lips. He reached out and touched them in the middle of a sentence, stopping Draco’s mindless babble effectively.

“Dad?”

“I’ve been without human touch for so long,” whispered Lucius, tracing Draco’s high cheekbones.

“I know,” said Draco, equally quietly, in a quivering voice.

“The only time I’ve even imagined someone touching me is when I’ve been forced to relive--”

“Shh.” Draco silenced his father in the same way he himself had been silenced earlier. He traced the lips that were so like his own. “Don’t.” He walked forwards the two short steps that would bring him into his father’s arms and replaced his fingers with his mouth.

Lucius’ arms went immediately around Draco’s waist, and he breathed out gratefully through his nose. “Thank you,” he murmured against Draco’s puckered lips. “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me,” said Draco, breathlessly; having his father so near was rapidly affecting him. “I’ve missed you, Dad,” he breathed. Lucius tightened his arms around his son, and they were kissing properly; open mouths, heavy breathing and entwined tongues. Draco brought a shaking hand up to Lucius’ neck, tangling it in the long, unkempt hair. His father’s mouth was warm and eager, and his tongue was surprisingly as soft as his mother’s.

Lucius sneaked his hand down Draco’s back and squeezed his arse, pulling him closer and causing delicious friction as their hips snapped against each other.

“Dad!” gasped Draco and pushed his dad down onto the rackety bed, straddling his lap and pressing him against the wall as he thrust his tongue and his hips forward, abandoning all finesse at the moment. Lucius leaned back and pressed his hips against the V of Draco’s spread legs, letting his son take control and do whatever he wanted.

Draco slipped down, kneeling on the floor, trailing his hands down Lucius’ chest and thighs, gripping his knees and spreading his legs. He looked up from under lowered lashes and licked his lips slowly, gathering up Lucius’ robes and lifting them higher, bunching them around his waist.

“What are you doing?” asked Lucius breathlessly as Draco slipped his underwear off, exposing his rigid cock to the chilly Azkaban air.

“What does it seem like I’m doing?” asked Draco softly, eyeing him hungrily. “I want to make you feel good, Dad.”

Lucius nodded, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the wall, twisting his hips impatiently. Draco looked up at his father and smiled happily.

***

Draco stepped out of the fireplace at the Manor, nervously wondering if his lips were as swollen as they felt. Narcissa immediately pulled his into a hug and kissed him. Draco briefly contemplated refusing, keeping his mouth shut, but she’d soon find out anyway. Her tongue slid easily into his mouth, and at contact with his, she stiffened and pulled away easily.

“You taste of his come,” she said blandly.

Draco looked down. “Yes, mum,” he murmured.

Narcissa nodded. “Good boy.”