Refraction
Disclaimer: Pick up your nearest copy of Harry Potter. Read the name of the author. Unless someone has scribbled it out and written canihavea-soda on there, I don't believe these characters are mine... What do you mean they have? Let me see that!
My only explanation for this is my despicable interest in the Malfoys...and the fact that I have been whoring on Lucius/Draco fiction for the whole day, and now I want to amuse myself by trying it out. I apologise in advance. Also, the characters will probably be very OOC. Since we never actually get to see the Malfoys in their home environment...
We have feelings that shouldn't ever be expressed verbally, Lucius with tormented past, Narcissa the 'whore with breeding', and Draco being a general teenager. The rating is there because I'm being cautious, and I really have no idea how far this thing will go.
The Malfoy residence was usually quiet in the early morning, suffering only the chirruping of the distasteful sparrows that would insist on roosting in the east tower, to break the perfect lack of sound that blanketed the manor. They had managed two clutches already that year, and might already be brewing their third – yet, they were allowed to stay because Narcissa Malfoy had always taken an interest in the conservation of wildlife. She also adored the fact that the dear creatures have taken up residence above the sleeping quarters of the staff (mostly house-elves, but also a couple of witches who never deemed it necessary to graduate from any magical school).
One of those dear sparrows decided to launch itself from the moss-encrusted tiles of the tower roof, and wheeled about in the heavily scented morning air, cutting the summer haze with chirps of surprising volume, considering its diminutive size. Its flight path carried it over the kaleidoscope of colours that was the rose garden, and then towards the north wing, which was just beginning to be hit by the sun.
It was those very sounds that caused a pair of grey eyes to open, and squint in abhorrence at the morning sun, that had managed to take full advantage of a gap between lush velvet curtains of deep, forest green. The sunlight cut through an otherwise gloomy room, and was too intense for the grey eyed one to even comprehend the idea of ignoring it.
Cursing the world at large, Draco Malfoy forced himself to sit up in bed. A glance at the fine old grandfather clock (laced with magic so that it would only tick and chime when its owner was awake) told him that the hour was coming up to seven. Seven! It seemed as though that hour of the morning had ceased to exist in the past two weeks that he had been back at home, enjoying the luxurious boredom of a summer holiday not spent abroad. Of course, had he been back in school, it would have been a different matter. He would probably have already forced those two oafs, Crabbe and Goyle, from their beds, and have planned a store of insults for that mud-blood Granger, before six o'clock rolled around.
However, when it comes to holidays, all teenagers like to take full advantage of the fact that they can sleep all day, and no one, but no one, will dare to disturb them. Unless of course that person happens to be a complete imbecile...or has nothing to fear. When Draco managed to extract himself from the gratuitous amount of cushions he was leaning against, he was able to see the whole expanse of his room. This meant he was also able to see his father, standing next to the cord of the same velvet curtains who had betrayed him by allowing the sun in.
It took only a brief moment for Draco to decide that his father fell into the second category. Though, he did smile internally at the idea of pegging his own father an imbecile. Externally, however, he decided to display annoyance – sadly broken by a wide yawn. "What (yawn) do you want, father?" Lucius remained motionless, his hand resting idly on the curtain cord. Draco's grey eyes narrowed as he hazarded a shrewd guess as to what might happen next. Bracing himself, he narrowed his eyes further to protect against the ubiquitous sunlight.
"Well, Draco, I thought that it might be an idea if you actually left this room at sometime before noon," Lucius said derisively. "After all, I don't believe it can be healthy for you to stew in here all day." With that justification only just leaving his lips, he tugged upon the cord, and Draco's eyes were assaulted with the terrible brightness that was the sun. He groaned, and turned away, burying his head in one of the numerous plush cushions he had so recently slept upon. "Draco, I expect you to be in the dining room in half an hour. Don't be late."
Draco groaned again, and the door shut with a click behind his exiting father. "Evil...stupid..." he grumbled, groggily leaving the bed and stumbling into the bathroom. "Why shouldn't I be able to-? ...Malfoy after all... Be able to do what...want to do..." he carried on grousing to himself. Then, he exchanged his rumpled pyjamas for the cold jet of the shower.
The icy cascade cleared his head somewhat, and he wondered what on earth could be important enough for his father to come and wake him personally. Then, a chill even colder than the water pummelling his aristocratic self, ran down his spine. Surely not...only sixth year after all...he wouldn't. Would he? Death eaters... A shudder was allowed to run through him unrepressed, and he hurried his shower along, suddenly finding it unbearable to remain in a room decked out in such Slytherin colours.
At least the dining room isn't so bloody...green... He thought, as he withdrew a towel of that very despised colour from a pile of them on the low stone windowsill. Outside, he could see the sun casting warm golden light across the grounds, and he smiled tightly. Perhaps I can escape out with my Nimbus 2001 and avoid 'the talk'. Of course, he knew he wouldn't defy his father like that – Lucius had never risen a hand against his son before – but there was always a first time for everything...
When Draco was sure that he was as dry as he was going to get without magic, he meandered back into his (terribly Slytherin) bedroom. The sun was still spilling across the silver carpet, and he avoided the rays like the plague as he made his way to the grand oak wardrobe that held all his clothes. He was so intent on avoiding that patch of sunlight, that he forgot about the schoolbooks he had left out from doing work the previous night.
With a resounding crash, he found himself lying full-length on the floor, a quill sticking painfully into his stomach. "Shit!" he yelped, pulling said writing implement from his abdomen. Luckily, it had only drawn a little blood, and he rubbed it with a grimace. Then, he picked himself up off of the floor, and re-wrapped the towel around his waist, before continuing on his quest to find suitable clothing. Stupid house-elves should have cleaned that up by now. He decided to press his father on the matter – all of the staff seemed to have become slack recently.
The matter was pushed away from his mind when he came to his ridiculously large wardrobe. He flung both of the doors open, and was assaulted by designer label after designer label. Most of the clothes were ones he hadn't yet worn. I see mother went shopping again, he thought, shaking his head in dazed amusement. Thrusting both arms into the mass of fine cloths, he grabbed two items at random.
They turned out to be a terribly clashing pair of light beige cotton slacks, and a khaki dress shirt. Let's try that again. Draco put them both back on the rail, and then rifled through the rest of the clothes, looking for something with a label that wasn't too obvious. He happened upon a pair of old jeans that his mother had obviously missed out whilst 'clearing out' his wardrobe, as well as a plain white tee-shirt. A short fantasy of turning up in the dining room like that flitted across his mind. But, that wouldn't be proper.
Sighing, he threw the old clothes onto the bed, with the intent of changing into them after breakfast. Then, he drew out a fashionable pair of 'casual' black trousers and a dark grey button up shirt. Well, at least its not as bad as dinner-wear, Draco thought to try and cheer himself up.
Checking upon the grandfather clock, he saw that even with all his trouble with finding clothes, he still had quarter of an hour left. And, allowing the five minutes it will probably take to get to the dining room, that still leaves me ten minutes to kill... He hurriedly pulled on his smart clothes, felt like a prat for having to dress like this in his own home, and then went over to his school trunk.
He tapped the mahogany lid twice, and it automatically drifted open, revealing an assortment of school oddities. The one that he felt most proud of, was the bust of an old school-master that he had pilfered from the trophy room two years ago, and that no one had yet noticed was missing. However, he ignored that for today, and took out his copy of 'Hogwarts: A history'. After hearing that mud-blood Granger quoting the damn book, day in, day out, he had decided he'd read it. Then at least he'd be able to fire back something more creative than 'mud-blood' once in a while. When even I realise an insult is losing its charms, it must be terrible, he thought, flicking through to the chapter about some of the better-known resident ghosts of Hogwarts.
When he next raised his grey eyes to meet the blank stare of the clock face, he saw that the minute hand was teetering dangerously close to the half hour. He slammed the book shut, and tipped it onto the luxurious sheets of his bed. Then, he ran to the mirror that sat above an effeminate dressing table that he heated, but his mother adored, and ran his fingers through his still-damp hair. Then, when he was sure that he looked at the very least presentable, he hurried out of his room.
Lucius yawned widely, tipping back in his chair and putting boot-clad feet onto the dining table. He had the slight inkling that his son would be late, and tsked to himself. Narcissa popped her platinum haloed head around the door, and he started slightly. Realising that it was only his wife, he just smiled wanly. "Yes dear?" he queried politely, knowing full well what she was about to say.
"Just going out with some girl-friends Luc – I'll be back for supper." He cringed at the nickname, and then waved at her retreating back. He paid close heed to her practiced dainty strides, and raised his eyes to the heavens. Thank God I wasn't born a woman. Finishing school, having children...he shuddered internally, glad that he at least had had the good fortune to have a son. They were so much less expensive to care for. No wedding expenses, and not a knut to be wasted on finishing school.
Though, with some of the things he comes out with, I do wonder if it mightn't do him good, Lucius thought. His eyes ponderously traced the woven patterns of the tapestry on the opposite wall, depicting St Patrick driving the snakes out of Ireland. He had always enjoyed the sweet irony of that image, and he now allowed himself to indulge in a broad grin as he looked at it.
Tearing his eyes away from the dancing threads, he glanced at the heavy, and thus very expensive, timepiece on his left wrist. The diamonds set around the clock-face dazzled him slightly, but he was still able to see that it was now thirty-two minutes past seven. He shook his head, and took his feet from the table. Immediately, a house-elf clad in a tea towel and pillow-case combination, came and wiped the shining wood, so that all evidence of Lucius' un-gentlemanly actions were wiped out.
He nodded curt thanks to the house-elf, which returned with a bow, and then scurried away as quickly as its stubby legs would allow. You're beginning to go soft Lucius, he scolded himself. Thanking staff indeed? Ah, if his own father was only here to see that... He'd probably flay me to within an inch of my life... Lucius quickly steered away from that area of his past – it was those very years that had led him to swear to never raise a hand against his son.
And yet...I've gone and made the same bloody mistake as my father... He thought ruefully, polishing his already spotless watch on his sleeve. It was now thirty-three minutes past, and he heard the sound of feet pattering on the marble floor of the hallway. He managed to contain a chuckle, and set his face in stern annoyance. Even before his son had pushed the door open, he called out, "You're late, Draco."
"Sorry father," Draco answered, entering the room, and hurrying over to the table. He looked slightly flushed, and Lucius pinched the skin of his left hand in-between the thumb and forefinger of his right. You're his father – don't make the same mistakes as your own old man! Outwardly, he was as icy as ever. "Do sit down – I've had the elves keep the food warm for us." Right on cue, two house-elves waddled out of – well, it seemed like nowhere really, but Lucius knew they'd just wandered out of the servant's passage to the kitchens.
"Thank you," Draco murmured to the house-elf that handed him his plate of French toast and cup of steaming black coffee. (His mother had managed to create a sort of addiction to French food in Draco, and Lucius had never been able to bring his son back to the idea of a full-English breakfast.) Lucius raised an eyebrow at Draco, but the boy didn't notice, as he was too absorbed in adding cream to his coffee, and then handing the small pitcher back to the house-elf serving him.
The house-elf with Lucius' food deposited a rack of toast on one side, and a pot of tea (Earl grey) on the other. Before he could stop himself, he too had muttered a quiet, "thank you," to his own house elf. Draco's spoon collided with the side of his china cup, resulting in a ringing sound, and Lucius looked up to meet the stunned gaze of his son. He raised his eyebrow once more, and Draco returned his attention to his French toast.
Get a hold on yourself! Lucius raged, whilst also applying copious amounts of jam to his slices of toast. He covertly spied upon his son, who was daintily nibbling on his own breakfast, and felt rather oafish with his mouth full with jam and heated bread. He swallowed the mouthful quickly, and then tried to emulate the effeminate eating habits of his son.
'Effeminate?' Oh God! Lucius, you have just got to stop thinking. He felt panicked by his attentions to his only child, and studied his own breakfast as though it were the most interesting thing in the world. He poured himself a cup of Earl grey, and added a slice of lemon that was dropped onto his tray a few seconds before he reached for it. The efficiency of his staff was something that would have amazed an outsider, but, for someone who had grown up with it, it was just the normal service. He stirred the lemon slice in the amber liquid, and then sipped the warming brew.
His son had already finished his meal, and Lucius could see that he was itching to leave the table. However, his upbringing had at least taught him manners, so he sat placidly, waiting for his father to finish his own meal. Feeling a burst of compassion (most likely fuelled by the desire to remove Draco from his sight before he did something untoward to the boy), Lucius put down his cup. "You may leave if you wish." He saw his son's eyes widen ever so slightly at this revelation.
"...are you sure father? I don't mind-"
"Of course – go and enjoy the sun whilst it lasts," Lucius said, waving his hand casually. "Just make sure you're in for lunch."
"I will," Draco nodded, pushing back his chair from the table, and getting up to leave. Lucius watched his son go, straight-backed and proud in his grandly carved chair. However, as soon as the door clicked closed behind Draco, he slumped in the chair, and put his head in his hands. This cannot be happening. He inhaled deeply, and then returned to his toast, trying to rescue a scrap of reality as he knew it.
I will not be making the same mistake as my own father... The bastard... He decided, though the rest of his body would not comply with his decision. Sighing heavily, he too evacuated his seat, and, as calmly as he could, he made his way out of the dining room. His palms were sweaty, and he clenched them into fists, feeling quite helpless. For someone who had been serving the dark-lord for over half of his life, this was a feeling that was quite new to Lucius Malfoy.
He un-balled the fist of his right hand, and shakily ran his fingers through his hair. This managed to dislodge the tie that had been holding it in place, and the whole mass of blond strands collapsed haphazardly around his face. He thought about putting it back up, but then decided it would be more hassle than it was worth. I think I'll take a leaf out of Draco's book, he thought, smiling fondly at the thought of his son. Then, he moved towards the stairs that led to the upper floors of the manor, and tread the familiar path to the rooms that he had used to share with Narcissa, up until only a few years ago.
It just hadn't seemed prudent after...recent...discoveries...on his part...to carry on sharing rooms with the woman. And, it wasn't the discovery that had been waking him in the middle of the night, and that had forced him to greet his son that morning. No, it was more the discovery that his wife was pretty much a whore with breeding. Not that it was completely unexpected...but she could have at least tried to be a little more reserved over the whole thing. Lucius knew that she had never been pleased with her match to the Malfoys, but had only been drawn by the vast fortune that Lucius would inherit.
He shrugged. He probably would have done the same in her position.
He finally came upon the doors into his apartments, and nudged them open with a toe. He waited, to see if anyone was in the room (he really wasn't in the mood to contest the repartee of a death eater at this hour of the morning). Finding no welcoming call, he entered the room, and then breezed past his personal study and into his bedroom. There, he collapsed onto the bed, clapping thrice to turn on the nifty muggle stereo he had bought himself for Christmas that year. Had Draco had anything of the like, he would have been outraged...but he himself was allowed to bend the rules a little.
Strains of classical music filled the air, and he lazily kicked off his boots, and lifted his feet onto the bed. "Classical fm – bringing you total relaxation for your holidays," the dusky-voiced female announcer said, before putting on a piece by the great Vivaldi. Lucius closed his eyes, and followed the notes of the violins until he drifted off to sleep.
Lucius opened his eyes to the last chords of an energetic violin concerto, and stretched, yawning widely. He clapped his hands thrice again, and the music abruptly turned off, leaving the room in deathly silence. "Hey! I was listening to that!" a petulant voice exclaimed. Lucius sat up abruptly, nearly throwing himself clean off the bed with his violent movements. He saw Draco lounging on the over-stuffed futon at the end of his bed. What on- ? "What exactly are you doing in here Draco?" he asked, managing to keep the flustered note from his voice. "Did you want something?"
Lucius was shocked when his son chuckled – chuckled – tipping back his head and letting the merriment bubble over upturned lips. "You could say that, dad." Lucius blinked at that. Draco hadn't...hadn't called him...'dad'...for years... He decided to ignore the strange behaviour, and further questioned his son.
"So...? What is it?" he asked, coolly capturing his hair (which was embarrassingly awry), and managing to pull it back into its usual tie. He always wore his hair like this at home...it was so much more practical than his day-to-day style... Draco hadn't yet answered his question, and Lucius prompted him again, "Draco, what is it you want? Because, if there isn't anything, I should probably get back to work in the study..."
Draco tipped his head to one side, and raised his eyebrow – Lucius was startled to see his own derisive expression copied so brilliantly. "Well, actually, I'd like to speak to you in the study...so we can have a proper chat." Lucius felt like putting his head in his hands, so confused was he by his son's odd behaviour. However, I suppose I should blame myself – perhaps waking him up so early has made him grumpy. He wondered whether his son was planning to do something brave (yet stupid), like shouting at him.
"I'll just go ahead and wait in the study, and you can...urm...get dressed..." Draco said, rising from the futon, and turning down the cuffs of his shirt, which had been rolled up to his elbows. Lucius was about to ask exactly what he meant, when he looked down to see that, whilst his trousers were still very much intact, his white shirt was nowhere in sight. His gaze lingered a few seconds on the pale skin, trying to remember when he had removed his shirt, and when he next looked up, Draco had disappeared.
Rubbing the back of his neck, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, and then stood up. Then, he made his way towards the abysmal purple handled closet that Narcissa still hadn't removed from the room, and hurled the doors to it open. It was a simple matter to pick out another shirt, since he had about ten of the same style, and he pulled it on, stifling a yawn as he did so. Then, he made his way back to the bed, and put his boots back on. He tied them up so that they were comfortably tight on his feet.
He stood up again, and walked towards the study door, still wrestling with the buttons on his shirt as he went. Must be a new shirt...damn buttons are all stiff. He gave up, having managed only the bottom three, which had done the shirt up only to just above his navel. It's not like this will shock Draco, he thought, pushing open the door into the study.
At first, he wasn't able to see much, as the light in his workroom was very dim in comparison to the light in the rest of the house. He wondered why Draco had pulled the curtains, and entered the room carefully, mentally mapping it out so that he wouldn't trip over anything and make a fool of himself.
However, only two steps in, his left leg collided with something very solid, (it feels like the foot-rest,) and he toppled head first into the floor. "Eurgh..." he groaned, cursing the day that he ever allowed his wife to decorate this place. "Draco, what in God's name are you doing sitting here with the curtains drawn?" he asked indignantly, rolling over and beginning to stand up.
A sudden onslaught of sunlight as the curtains were thrown open stopped him in his tracks, and he blinked like a newborn puppy at the gleaming sunlight. He noticed with some vague annoyance that his hair had once again come loose. "Draco, what do you think you're playing at?" Lucius asked, losing his cool, and then immediately bringing it back. "Would you please help me up?"
"Oh, I don't know...I suppose so," Draco answered, and Lucius finally caught a glimpse of his son. He was sitting in Lucius' office chair, most of his frame obscured by the heavy desk. He stood up, and Lucius briefly wondered what had happened to the shirt Draco had been wearing... Quidditch certainly has helped him grow this year, he noticed hazily. When Draco had fully emerged from behind the desk, however, Lucius' mind snapped into clear focus.
...Where are his clothes? He wondered, panicking slightly as the sight of his own son's body aroused his...interest... "Draco, what do you think you're-?" he wasn't able to finish the question however, as his son reached out a hand, and placed one tapered finger on his lips. ...? Coherent thought evaded Lucius, and he swallowed hard.
"Shush," Draco ordered, and Lucius fond himself complying with his son. His grey eyes dipped down to look at Lucius' open shirt, and Lucius followed the gaze. What he saw surprised him even further, because Draco had crouched down beside him, and was expertly working the buttons of his shirt open.
"Draco!" Lucius protested, albeit weakly. Draco just shushed him again, and Lucius felt powerless to resist as Draco gave up on the final button, and ripped it open instead. He was equally as helpless when his son then removed the shirt altogether, revealing a chest and abdomen, which, whilst not being as defined as they once were, were still attractive in their own right.
It was when Draco began wrestling with Lucius' belt that he realised what was happening. Oh God. Oh God, no! He took hold of both his son's hands, and ignored the evident excitement he had bought forth in his son. "Stop it Draco," he commanded, managing to keep his voice level, even though his body was imploring him to allow this to continue. Draco's wide grey eyes blinked a couple of times, looking betrayed. Then, they narrowed, and Lucius was shocked to see a cruel twist arrive on his innocent boy's mouth. Lucius could see a piece of himself in there – the death eater Lucius whom smirked as he condemned people...
"You don't want me to stop," he declared, and Lucius gasped as his son extracted one hand from his hold, and placed it upon the front of his trousers. He felt friction there, and his eyes rolled backwards a little as Draco moved his hand.
"Draco – stop this, right now," Lucius said through gritted teeth, trying to ignore the sensations that his hand was eliciting. He moaned softly, and could have slapped himself for it. Draco's smirk widened, and he then took both hands back to Lucius' belt. Lucius could literally feel his resolve melting away, and he watched in wonder as his son undid the expensive silver buckle.
"Shoes – off," Draco commanded whilst he worked at the two buttons and zip that were the only barrier between the outside world and black boxers. Lucius kicked his shoes off, and then wondered when exactly his son had managed to gain this power over him... When a hand lightly brushed against his growing erection, however, he was able to remember quite clearly...
"Get rid of those," Draco said, having undone the trousers. He then stood up, and wandered around to the office chair behind the desk. There, he sat down, and rested his chin on steepled fingers, surveying his father with a predatory look. Lucius forced his tormented body to stay still. I'm not going to...he'll hate me after...just...pretend it's not happening...forget his...beautiful... Lucius silently cursed when he realised his wand was still on his bedside table, where he'd dropped it earlier. Could have done...memory charm...forgotten the whole thing... An exasperated sigh from Draco bought him out of his mantra about how 'fathers should not feel like this about their sons'.
The boy had again left the office chair, and has now standing astride Lucius. "Really, dad, do I have to do everything myself?" Draco sank down, so that he was now straddling the prone Lucius, his bare skin creating friction against the peaked fabric of his underwear. Lucius let out an unwarranted squeak, as his son tugged insistently at the fabric of both trousers and boxers. "Don't be difficult," he said, this time with a tender smile. Lucius still resisted, and gasped when his son reached one hand around him, to rest in the small of his back.
Draco rose him up off of the floor, which allowed him to slip both garments easily down. Then, he shuffled backwards a little, and removed them altogether. Lucius closed his eyes, and his fists clenched at his sides. Draco crawled back up his body again, and his penis once more collided with Lucius'. He gasped again, and relinquished all the inhibitions he had lived with ever since he had noticed his son's attractiveness.
The boy assaulted his mouth, still open from the gasp, and thrust an eager tongue inside. Lucius rose his hands gingerly to his son's head, and wrapped his fingers in the boy's hair. Shouldn't...doing this...stop...now... His thoughts soon became disjointed, and he then ignored them altogether.
Draco soon seemed to become bored with the kiss, and drew away. Lucius left his hands entwined in his soft hair, and looked up at the flushed cheeks, and bright smile on his face. The eerie resemblance his son had of himself twisted and danced in his mind... "Thank you," he whispered, before dropping his head down to test the sensitive skin of Lucius' neck. Lucius disentangled one hand from his son's hair, and curiously ran it down the supple length of his back. The shiver of pleasure this induced told him that this was a liked feeling, and he continued to trail his fingers across the soft skin there.
Meanwhile, the boy had begun to trail kisses lower and lower. Across his collarbone, and then briefly returning to his neck to leave a mark that would probably remain for weeks. Then, back to the collarbone, and down the chest, until he reached a nipple. He ran a gentle, exploring tongue around it first, and when he received the reaction he wanted, bit upon it gently. Lucius was so far gone by this point that all he could do was moan... Draco smiled, and then continued his trek down the body he had wanted to explore for so long...
Lucius curiously traced his fingers along Draco's back, wanting to return the pleasure his son was giving, but not quite sure how to... His hands did not stop at the end of his spine, and instead ventured further, to skin that had not been touched in such...an intimate...manner before. At least, by the sharp inhalation that Draco took, that was what Lucius surmised. He pursued his course, as did Draco.
The younger man had finally reached his destination, and he surveyed his prize with wonder... He reached out a hand that had been playing with a strand of hair, and touched the quivering member. This bought about a reaction more violent than anything he had gained before. He found himself thrown about, so that he was now pinned down by his father, who was panting, and had sweat beading on his forehead. Draco wriggled slightly, not quite comfortable with his new position.
Lucius was finally in control again, and he took the hand that Draco had so recently been investigating with. "Like this," he sighed euphorically, bringing his son's hand back to his erection. He ordered the taper fingers in a way that was comfortable, and then started the hand moving in a slow rhythm. When it seemed he had gotten the idea, Lucius decided to return the favour.
The strokes became steadily faster, until Lucius could feel the pressure building up inside of him. It was so intense that it was almost painful, and he could feel the frustration of months without pleasure being swept away. He was so close...so close to the edge.
And then...he fell from the cliff, and spiralled into bliss...
Lucius Malfoy sat bolt upright, panting and roving his eyes around his room feverishly. He hyperventilated, and realised with disgust that he had just dreamed... Oh God! Fucking pervert, that's your son! He told himself, realising also that at least one part of the dream had been...real. Gingerly, he got up from the bed, and went into the bathroom, grabbing a new pair of boxers on the way.
He turned the shower to the coldest setting that it had, removed his clothes, and then climbed in. "Oh God...this is going to be a long summer..." he mumbled, turning his face up so that it was doused with icy water.
I apologise for the crap ending. In fact, I apologise for the whole thing. They were dreadfully OOC, and my sex-scenes make playboy porn stories look like a piece of Tolkein literature in comparison. Feel free to either shoot me/ flame me/ have me sent to an insane asylum/ or all of the above.
Damn those pretty Malfoy men...I blame this whole thing on them!
Ah well, review even if you hated... Eep. It's been a while since I've written anything like this, so pointers will be appreciated greatly.
Soda