Convection

Disclaimer: Feh, I'm bored with my evil plans. I'll just play with them and put them back later.

This chapter is for all of you crazy lot out there. [Smirk] And, Fair deviln1, I agree with you on the two pretty men front... However, if I just let them get on and do the dirty, then what would be the point of the fic anymore? It'd be over. [Grin] I'd like to keep you all in suspense for a few more chapters! (All because I'm just a greedy review-whore...)

In the last chapter, we were immersed still further into Lucius' past. And we managed to see the beginning of a relationship that was less than beautiful. Because, well...a Malfoy always gets what a Malfoy wants, and Lance had been after his prize for a long time. This is picking up from where I left off with my nasty cliff-hanger. [Deep breath]. Oh dear me, looks like I have to attempt another sex scene. What a terrible shame. (Warning: Urm...heh...if this is bad, you all have permission to flame me. Also, there will be a lot of gratuitous teenage swearing. Because making Lucius swear is one of the many perks of my life.)


"Imperio," was murmured again, and then, once more, Lance leant down to whisper into his ear. "You will kiss...and you will do as I say...understand?" Lucius nodded even before he could comprehend the implications of his father's words...

As soon as Lance had divulged his orders, the hand that had been clutching his wand relinquished the weapon, and trailed lazily down Lucius' paralysed form. He was still clad in his cloak, which was wet through from all the snow he had come into contact with outside. It clung to every slight bump of his ribcage, heaving in his panicked state, and then dipped inwards to indicate his narrow waist (most certainly inherited from his mother), before finally tightly hugging his pelvis and slim hips.


All in all, this was a very pleasing turn of events for Lance, but the cloak was a very teasing addition to his fantasy. So, with one hand, he forced Lucius' to follow his magic-laden orders, and was delighted when a shy tongue reached up to meet his own. With the other hand, he began to peel the wet fabric of his son's expensive black cloak away from his pale, perfect skin. The agonizing slowness of this process only added to his enjoyment...

However, as with all good things, one can get bored of them, and Lance was one who got bored more easily than most. (That is, perhaps, one of the most startling effects having everything one could wish for has on people. Nothing ever thrills them...) So, now that he was sure his spell was not liable to break down at any time in the near future, he felt confident enough to use both hands to finally tear the clothing away from the lithe body beneath him.

When the fabric was gone, he sat up, so that he was astride his wide-eyed son, and surveyed his new possession. Exquisite. Simply exquisite, he thought...and, well, being a Malfoy, he would know. The look on his son's face was not quite the one that he would have liked, but it would have to do. After all, you can't have everything I suppose... Ponderously, he took to studying the boy he had long wanted for with his hands, intrigued (and secretly delighted) to find that his son was not quite the skinny little wretch he had always taken him to be.

To be fair, he was on the thin side, but it was not for lack of food (if his eating habits at home were anything to judge by.) However, all his pushes to get the boy interested in Quidditch had indeed done him good, as solid muscle lay beneath his pearlescent skin, leaving no room for fat whatsoever. And...there were other things about his son that pleased him as well... He smiled...


Fuck – fuck – fuck – fuck – fuck – fuck. This was the general train of thought running through the mind of Lucius Malfoy as his own father studied him. With every movement of skin against skin and every lingering gaze, he wanted to flinch, but could not due to the spell he was under. This cannot be happening. This isn't happening. He blinked rapidly, trying to force his eyelids to remain shut, and finally managed his task just as Lance leant down for another claiming plunder of his mouth.

Stop it! Don't – get a grip. I don't want...no, stop it! Lucius yelled in his mind, both at himself and at his father. He couldn't for the life of him understand why he was even responding...his tongue seemed to have acquired a mind of its own, and he noted that his father's mouth tasted much like an ash tray. He should really stop smoking all those cigars...he thought, and was stunned that such an asinine thought could have come into his head at a moment like this! How do I make it stop? He wondered, shuddering as his father – my bloody father for God sake! – brushed his hand on the sensitive skin that covered his protruding pelvic bone.

"Like that?" Lance queried, drawing back slightly to look down with a lusty smirk at Lucius' alarmed expression. He wanted to shake his head, but again found himself unable to do so. After licking his lips, and then smirking even more widely at the blond, Lance sat up once more, and shuffled backwards along Lucius' prone body, until he was sitting across his pale legs. Only able to follow him with his eyes, Lucius swore as he saw what his father's hands had elicited during the last kiss.

"Seems so," Lance quirked an eyebrow, and then looked upon his son's arousal with hungry eyes. No no no no no no no- Fucking hell! Lucius squeezed his eyes tightly shut when a hand, the palm of which was still very cold indeed after their stint outside, wrapped around his member, and tugged, a thumb running over the end in a manner that bought out an unsolicited groan. He concentrated hard on not letting out any more sounds like that again, biting his tongue and taking great interest in the spots that were appearing on the inside of his eyelids.

When the hand was removed after what couldn't have been more than a few seconds, he unclenched his jaw, and registered that blood was now beginning to fill his mouth. Ow. He was still aroused, and the heat around his groin had become so intense that it was painful. Need to – but not – it's not right... His thoughts were now hazy, and he had to close his eyes again just in order to prevent the room from spinning before him in a most nauseating manner. Please...let him go away.

His silent wish wasn't, alas, granted. Whilst the room was now very much silent, with only the thundering of his own heart, and the breathing of his father to tell him that he was alive, and not alone, there was tension in the air. He didn't dare to open his eyes, fearing what sort of look would be on Lance's face. I don't want to make him angry...he thought, remembering the pain of the curse he'd been threatened with. So you're just going to let him do this to you? Fucking coward!

What can I do? I can't even move...

Suddenly, this internal struggle was interrupted, when two very startling things occurred at once. Firstly, a hand had roughly encircled around to underneath his backside, fingers digging into the soft flesh. Secondly, something warm and moist had just enveloped his throbbing length. His eyes flew open, and the sight before him sickened him so much that he could no longer contain his rage. With a great wrenching movement that caused almost as much pain as the earlier curses, he managed to break through the invisible tethers of the spell, and was then able to push Lance from on top of himself, without doing himself any further damage.

There were tears in his eyes, which made his view of the world, which was already hazy, almost non-existent. He did, however, know that his father's wand was on the bed behind him, and reached out blindly to try and find it. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. Where is it? His fingers closed on something cool and smooth, and he clenched his fist tightly around it. Then, he bought the wand up, and pointed it at the space before him, where he knew his father would soon reappear.

Or so he thought...


Draco dropped his quill complacently onto his desk, surveying the potions essay he had just written. His hand was now covered in a series of ink stains, and he reached forwards to grab a sheet of blotting paper from the pile by the inkwell, and pressed it over his work, ensuring that it would not become smudged when he then folded it in half, and placed it inside the front cover of his textbook. Feeling highly pleased with himself, he tipped his chair back slightly, and turned up the radio next to him.

To his irritation, at that very moment, the muggle news came on, and he reached out a hand to flip the wireless off. However, two words caught his immediate attention, and he stayed his hand. "Some sort of explosion has occurred outside the houses of parliament. At five thirty three today, a group of masked people exited a black convertible sports car, and then proceeded to set of explosive devices in front of the government buildings. It is believed that they were part of the chain-gang of terrorists who call themselves the 'Death-beaters'. It has been confirmed that three members of the foreign consulate have been killed, and many more have been injured. We cannot confirm at this time..." Draco blinked. Death eaters... At the muggle parliament...what the-?

He shook his head, and then did the same to the radio, trying to see if there was something wrong with the tuning...however, all he succeeded in doing was to turn the volume dial so that when the next news bulletin (about forest fires in Australia) came around, it nearly deafened him. Startled, he dropped the radio, and then scrambled around to turn the thing off before his father heard it.

When he'd done this, he dropped the radio back onto the floor, and sat back in his chair, wondering. Why though? Is he trying to get the muggles to notice him? If so...why? What help would that be to the Death eaters? A sudden thought crossed his mind, and despite the direness of the current situation, he managed a cheeky smile. Well, if dad's out with the Death eaters, then that means I could go and use his broom...and I could give his wand back as – hang on a minute! He doesn't have his wand, so how could he possibly have...? He could have almost hit himself for being so incredibly stupid, but managed to refrain.

So the question is...why wasn't he there...or did he go and get into trouble? As per usual, Draco was beginning to get slightly panicky about the whole affair. Whilst he most certainly didn't agree with what his father did, that didn't mean that he wanted to see the Malfoy patriarch hurt in any way. Maybe he's still at home...he thought, twirling the material of his too- long pyjamas in nervous fingers. But what if he isn't?

Damn it... He sighed heavily, and then rocketed up from his seat, sending the wheeled chair rushing back a few feet on its coasters. I guess I should get dressed, otherwise father'll be annoyed...

I don't think he'll care if he's dying, do you? Having succeeded in completely terrifying himself, Draco grabbed the nearest thing at hand that he could throw over his pyjamas (being a thick velvet dressing gown in midnight blue), and cannoned out of the door. A second later, he barged straight back in, and picked up his father's wand from his desk. If he's all right, I'll say I was coming to give this back to him...and if he isn't...at least I have something to fight with... He tied the cord of the dressing gown tight around himself, and then purposefully set off on the (quite long) journey to his father's chambers.


Lance felt pain jolt through his as he connected with the floor. His jaw ached where it had connected with the edge of the bed on the way down, and he felt anger well up inside of him. Little bitch... The glass bed-head of his son's bed showed him quite clearly what the intentions of the naked blond were, and he stealthily crept around to the other side of the bed, vaguely proud when Lucius bore the weapon, obviously thinking he was ready to strike his father. I suppose at least the coward tried... What little respect he had for his son was shattered when he stood up, and deftly plucked the willow and unicorn wand from the shaking hands of the boy.

He turned his head, and looked up at Lance, startled tears clinging to very tips of his long eye-lashes, that gave him that perpetual sultry look... Weak imbecile. Lance thought darkly, raising his wand contemptuously, further angered when Lucius flinched and closed his eyes, turning his head away from the source of his punishment. The brunette man decided to discard his wand for favour of much older methods. So, he carefully placed it on the small bed-side table next to the four-poster, and then reached out a curling hand to pin Lucius' to the bed by his throat.

The boy just recoiled, but didn't open his eyes, or try to escape. And, rather like a rabbit caught in the headlights of an oncoming car, his breathing was rapid and erratic, and the punch Lance administered had little effect on the respirational habits of the boy. (The dark violet bruise it formed about thirty seconds after the initial blow, was, however, quite beautiful in Lance's eyes.) He plied another couple of blows to the boy, who made no sound, and only continued to cry like a girl.

Fucking weak... Just like his mother...stupid... I shall have to get rid of her before her influence ruins him further. Lance managed to decide in quite a cold, business-like manner, at the same time as straddling the quivering blond yet again. Bored of his games, and having studied all that he wished to, he roughly turned the boy over. Lucius whimpered quietly, and sniffled, more tears staining the fine coverlet on the bed.

"Stop crying you pitiful idiot!" Lance hissed, grabbing a handful of that tempting golden hair, and yanking Lucius' head back so that his throat was exposed. The fair, soft skin shifted as his son audibly gulped, and Lance leant down to bite hard upon it. He managed to break the skin in his anger, and a tangy, salty rush of blood filled his mouth. He licked the wound, Lucius shuddering beneath him, and then added another one like it to the boy's pale shoulder.

These claiming marks made, he decided that the only due punishment for Lucius was not to prepare him for what pleasures he was about to take. With a twisted smirk, he let the blond's head drop back onto the coverlet, and the marks he'd made began to make little red stains in the sheet, which were slowly blooming outwards into larger, flower-like patterns.


Just close your eyes and it isn't happening, Lucius told himself, desperately willing himself to believe it was so. The bites on his throat and shoulder were killing him, and when he turned his head to the side (his movement hindered by the hand that was still on his throat), more blood spilled from the wound on his throat. Please...just stop it... All the tears he had cried hadn't helped him at all...if anything, they'd made the whole thing worse...

For, now his nose was so full of phlegm that it was impossible to breath through it – he was having to rely solely on the oxygen he could gain through his mouth, and with his head being pressed into the mattress, this wasn't a lot... Not to mention the gaping hole in his neck was hindering the expanse of his windpipe. In fact...I'm feeling sort of dizzy... He realised, panicking as he foresaw himself suffocating to death. Though I suppose that would be better than living through this...


With glee, Lance reached out and took up his wand again. Lucius, who had briefly opened his eyes, snapped them shut again, and his fists, which were pinned to his sides, curled into fists. Not knowing what it was the boy expected, he decided to cast his spell silently, enjoying the confusion that fluttered across the face of the beauty beneath him, as thin strips of leather appeared around each wrist. Of course, Lucius couldn't see them, but he would soon feel their effects...

His fists un-tensed, and then lay still. That'll keep any wandering hands from finding a way to escape... Lance yet again disposed of his wand, this time throwing it across the room in a fit of passion and anger.

Finally, with a deep sense of triumph, he lowered himself over his son, resting almost his entire weight on the boy as he immersed himself in the pleasures of being inside him. His thrust was goaded into swiftness by his anger, and he quickly withdrew again, ignoring the imploring cries that he stop, not caring for the way Lucius begged him to discontinue. With brutally adept fingers, he reached around grabbed onto the still aroused member of the boy, and used his talented digits to force him to enjoy himself.


"Please, stop...don't! Stop it! Stop – Oh God...!" Lucius couldn't breathe, and his eyes rolled back in his head as the combination of pleasure-pain got the better of him, and he lost all coherent trains of thought. He no longer had any air with which to voice his pleas, and he was unable to move at all. Just a dead weight to be played with at that moment in time...

Lance's hands, talented as they were, were also able to ply a combination of pain and pleasure so intense that Lucius couldn't decide if it hurt or not... This is...not...right... Please...stop...please... The problem was...he knew that he didn't want it to stop. Not now – if it stopped now it would only provide him with even more agony than if it were to continue. The burning sensation caused by each thrust into him was counter-acted by the pleasurable strokes of hands on his arousal, and it was bringing him to the edge, and he just couldn't...

Couldn't control himself anymore...

I – can't enjoy this. No...it's sick. But...it feels...no...I... He cut himself off mid-thought as his fuse finally ran out, and his orgasm exploded into the world in a surprisingly vocal manner. "Oh...fuck...oh God!" was all he could managed before Lance also joined in with his own growling purr of,

"Fucking hell..."


Draco stopped in front of the door to his father's chambers, noting that it was slightly ajar – slowly, he put his head around the door, squinting in the dull-light of the entranceway. The oak panelling on the wall was dented were the door-handle had hit it, and he wondered exactly how angry you had to be to make such a mark... I'm not sure I want to know... But I think I'm about to find out...

The contents of his stomach churning alarmingly, he pushed the door open further, wincing as the hinges squeaked slightly. Then, he stepped into the little hallway, concentrating hard as he tried to recall which floorboards creaked. (It had always been a favourite past time of his father's to play hide and seek with him when he was about four or five, and Lucius' room was always so full of oddities that it provided the average five year old with hundreds of possible hiding places.) Glad that his memory had served him well, he padded across the soft Persian rugs of his father's lounge to his bedroom.

Not in here...and not in there either, he thought, after checking both the bedroom and bathroom. And that left...the study... Previous experience told him that it was never wise to disturb his father when he was in his study...and yet...if he was in trouble... And if he isn't, I'll just give his wand to him and hope he doesn't get too angry. Fortified by this sensible decision, he ambled over to the study door, which was ajar, just as the front door had been.

The small sliver of the room that he could see through the gap between door and wall was very dark, the curtains half drawn and cutting out the strong afternoon sunlight. From here, Draco could see that his father's chair was empty, and there was one fine crystal glass sitting on the desk. Advancing with his father's wand clutched tightly in his hands, he pushed the door open, and surveyed the room.

Where is he? He wondered, looking around the gloomy room. Then, his eyes fell upon a figure lying outstretched on the floor, just before the large comfy chair to the left. When he saw patches of blood on the carpet, Draco panicked, and carelessly let the wand fall to the floor, rushing over to his father. "Dad?" he said softly, falling back into the old familiar name easily in his horror. He bent down, and listened hard, nearly having a heart attack from the joy he found at hearing his father breathing steadily.

Lucius' was bleeding from various small cuts, and he was littered with bruises – he still had no shirt, and was shivering slightly. Draco removed his dressing gown and put it over the older Malfoy, taking hold of his left arm so that he could put it underneath the warm material as well. Some blood was welling up from a tiny wound in the crook of his elbow, and Draco squinted down at it, slightly confused. What's this from? He tugged the dead weight of the arm towards him, and looked at the area around the wound.

...Oh my God... I have got to be imagining this... He ran a curious finger over the pockmarks in the skin, and then looked back at the scratches on his father's foot. From glass...it must be then... Now that he knew there was no imminent danger from Death Eaters, he was able to worry about something else much more sinister. Drugs...and he must have been drinking, otherwise why would he have that glass out?

Roughly, he grabbed onto the Malfoy patriarch, and rolled him over so that he could see his face – Lucius head lolled to the side, and his mouth was slightly open, small snores escaping him. Just as roughly, Draco took him by both shoulders, and tried to shake him awake. This action didn't seem to work very well, and he let go, rocking back on his haunches to try and think of something else. If only I could do magic...he cursed the ministry internally for their stupid rules, and looked at his unconscious father.

You'd better not die... I... I'll be bloody annoyed if you do! Despite his thoughts, he was worried. He'd seen Lucius like this before, but had been assured by bother parents that the drug taking had stopped...and yet...here it was again. Idiot, Draco thought, nudging Lucius with his toe as he stood up, and stepped over him to sit in the chair. Looking down, he sighed, and pulled both his legs up onto the chair as well, waiting for his father to wake up.


For the rest of the Christmas holidays, Lucius refused to leave his chambers, and was unable to sleep for more than short bursts at a time. He'd often hear the ringing sounds of shouting coming through the long hallways of the manor, and at times imagined himself being brave enough to go out and see what was going on. However, he was a Slytherin, not a Gryffindor, so stupid bravado was not something he had in abundance.

He took to keeping his doors locked, but soon discovered that this was a futile practice when magic could flick open the doors at a moment's notice. The...incidents...occurred only when his father was especially mad... So, whenever the shouts escalated to a particularly loud volume, Lucius would drag himself from his self-pitying heap on the bed, and pile furniture before the doors. It never works though...

It was on one such occasion, when the shouts had ended in an abrupt explosion, that Lucius snapped. He started gathering together all of his school things, and grabbed his broomstick, kicking open the great bay windows in order to escape. The silence was an overbearing one, which suited the snowy scenery outside to a tee. However, it served to panic Lucius in a way that no temper tantrum of his father ever could. Silence was dangerous...

He was just ready to straddle his broomstick when hands grabbed onto his shoulders, and yanked him back inside. He'd learnt that struggling did him little good, so immediately went limp in the grip on his shoulders. "Where do you think you're going, boy? I don't remember giving you permission to leave." Lucius didn't answer, and forced the tears that begged to spill to stay back. It was always worse when he cried. "Well Lucius?"

"...Nowhere father..." he answered meekly.

"'Nowhere'? You need a broomstick to get 'nowhere'? Don't be impertinent boy!" A fist connected expertly with his gut, and Lucius fell forwards so that he was bent over the freezing cold windowsill. "I'll show you nothing you little wretch!" Lance grabbed him roughly by the shoulders, and yanked his cloak of, using Lucius' own wounded throat to break the tie that held it in place.

Then, Lance began to shake him, pulling him up from the sill and turning him around, slapping him as well. "Lucius – dad, get up..." The scene seemed to melt, and Lucius fell forwards into nothing, nausea running through him.


Draco had become bored of waiting after about half an hour, and with worry fuelling his actions, again shook Lucius, and even plied a slap on his face, remembering seeing Madame Pomfrey doing that to Quidditch players after they got ploughed. Come on, wake up! "Dad, get up – come on, wake up!" He let go, startled when Lucius' eyes flickered open. He backed off, and watched as Lucius drew himself into a sitting position, his eyes unfocused, and shuddering even more violently than he had been before.

"Dad?" Draco ventured, putting a hand on his shoulder. Lucius snapped his head around to look at him, pupils dilated to their full extent. It was obvious the older Malfoy didn't recognise his son at all... Damnit. Draco stood up and moved over to the cabinet next to the comfy chair, trying to find a beverage that wasn't alcoholic... The best he could come up with was 'tonic water', and he grabbed the glass from his father's desk before going back over to the quivering man.

He sat down and then carefully grabbed Lucius by the neck, forcing him to stay still. He immediately became rigid, and closed his eyes, fear evident on his face. Weird... What's he afraid of? With one hand and his mouth, Draco unscrewed the lid of the bottle, and tipped some of the colourless liquid into the glass he'd bought over. Then, he took the glass, and tipped it up to Lucius' lips, hoping that he'd actually drink it.

A few slops spilled across the carpet before his father seemed to understand he was supposed to drink it, and then he obligingly opened his mouth and swallowed down the whole glass of the stuff. When he wrinkled his nose and looked disgusted, Draco knew that he was coming around. After all, tonic water is foul... He carefully put the glass back onto the floor, and waited for Lucius' eyes to focus again before letting go of him.

"Draco?"


I just got back from a concert in which all of the male artists were complete slash fodder. Hence, this new chapter suddenly appeared. [Dances] I adore Party in the Park concerts damnit! And Darren Hayes is a sex kitten. Meow! No mistake about it, he's my ultimate muse at the moment. Especially since he dyed his hair black again. [Swoons]. Heh...oops, meant to be talking about Malfoys and here I am rabbiting on about Darren. Ah well. If anyone hasn't heard of him, they should go look for him now! And his old band as well (Savage Garden), one of the best bands ever to come out of Australia. I am, of course, an old-school fan. Ah...the 2000 tour [nostalgic giggling as she remembers 'the adventures of Daz/ Elvis...']

Right...anyway, after that fangirlish outburst... Ahem. My excuses for making Draco act as he acted. I thought it was sweet. [Grins sheepishly] It's a poor excuse, I know. But... I just always assumed that Draco and his father would have been quite close when he was younger, and it would only have been when Draco started Hogwarts, and Voldermort 'returned' as such, that Lucius would have had to start distancing himself from everybody once again. So...Draco, being a nostalgic drama-queen [laughs] would naturally remember the good old days...or something.

My excuses are lame...

Love canihavea-soda

PS: Sorry this chapter was so short, and that it skipped around so much. I still haven't quite got the hang of continuous third person prose...