Crazed

Clarity

Father, I say. But in my mind, I’m two. And he still towers over me, a beautiful, fearsome giant that blots out the skies.

And I call him Daddy.

I pretend that I never grew up. That I never became the son who was second-best. He still smiles at me sometimes. I still believe that he may someday meet my out-stretched arms, lift me high with his strength and affection, embrace me like he never has. I still believe that I may be able to do something to deserve it.

I can call him by that childish term of endearment, safely inside my own head where he can’t hear me. Daddy. I can pretend that I’m everything he wants me to be. That he loves me. That he loves me. That he loves me.

When other boys are lying in their beds at night, wanking off to thoughts of hot, naked girls I’m lying in mine and fantasizing that my father will want to hold me and tell me that he is proud of me. I dream of beating Scar-face Potter and the Mudblood-Granger and winning his approval. Seeing him smile.

Tears come to my eyes.

Malfoys don’t cry.

They are blinked away. I am strong. I will not disappoint.

My bedroom door creaks open.

“Father?”

He’s standing there in the doorway, shadows wrapped around his slender frame. His long, smooth hair shines golden in the dim light from the hallway. He edges into my room, closing the door behind him softly.

I sit up in bed, my heart pounding. This has never happened before. Father has never come to see me in my room; he’s always called me to him when he wants me. I’m not sure he’s even seen the inside of my bedroom before.

He approaches my bedside. The moonlight from the window falls across his face, illuminating his features; his face is like mine--aristocratic, noble, sharp-featured. Beautiful without being feminine. His eyes, a colder grey than my own, bore into mine.

I can’t read his expression.

He sits down next to me, on the bed. Very close. I am rarely allowed to be so close to Father. I swallow, anxiously, willing myself to be still and good, to not ruin the moment.

He considers me in perfect silence. My eyes meet his, searching for approval. I can see in his face the lasting effects of Azkaban. He was only there for a few short months, but he must have suffered terribly because I can see that it’s changed him, however subtle. He looks tired. All the time, no matter how much he’s been sleeping. He looks ill. But I would never tell him that. It doesn’t matter--he’s still so beautiful to me.

He’s my father. He’s the center of my universe. And I would have gladly suffered in his place. I watch him watching me, and imagine the pain he must have been in, the humiliation he must have been subjected to, and every part of me aches.

Damn Harry Potter.

He smiles at me with something that resembles affection; the expression seems out of place on his stoic features. “Move over.” He says.

I gape at him, and then hurry to obey. I don’t know what he wants. But I’ll do whatever he tells me to.

I scoot to the opposite side of my bed--it is more than large enough to accommodate both of us-- and he lies down beside me, burrowing beneath the silk comforter and snuggling close to my side. I stiffen at the light brush of his body against mine; I have never felt it before. It frightens me.

I’ve wanted him to touch me for so long, and when he finally does I am terrified.

I stay perfectly still; school my features into a mask of indifference. When he reaches out a hand and caresses my face, I don’t even flinch.

“So beautiful.” He says softly, warmly.

My father is a cold man. Who is this stranger beside me? This kind, wonderful father who is telling me I’m beautiful? I don’t know him.

“You know that, Draco? You’re beautiful.”

A lump forms in my throat. His hand on my face is so gentle. So soft. I didn’t know it would be so soft. In all of my dreams, his hands were everything but gentle--they bruised me with their love. Because pain is all he has given me until now. I could not imagine anything different.

“I thought of you.” He murmurs. “I knew I had to come back to you…to protect you.”

I swallow and whisper back, “I’m glad you did.”

He smiles. Strokes my hair. Runs each strand through his fingers like it’s the finest spun gold. “I missed you, Draco.” He says. “I didn’t appreciate you when I had the chance. I never saw you…for what you really are. My beautiful, precious son.”

I gasp and whimper, pathetic tears rolling down my face. My heart is breaking at hearing those words. I’m so sad because I’m so happy… “I--I missed you too…Father. I missed you.”

He pulls me to him in a crushing embrace. Those strong arms are around me at last. “I love you.” He whispers into my ear. And I sob.

“I love you, I love you..”

Holding me. Loving me. Oh God…

“I love you, D-daddy. I love you so much.” I cry, squeezing him back, never letting go. Never, ever, ever…

I didn’t really believe.

“It’s okay. Shhh…Don’t cry. I’m here now.”

That this could happen to me.

“Here with you, Draco. It’s okay. I won’t leave you. Ever again.”

That he could really love me. I was such a bad, bad boy.

“That’s a promise.” He whispers fiercely against my neck, his hot breath foreign upon my skin. His lips brush my throat and I cry harder, hoping, praying that he will kiss me. The only person who’s ever kissed me is my mother. What would a father’s kiss feel like? Rougher, probably. Coarse, from the stubble. Firmer. Stronger. Better.

He doesn’t kiss me, but his hands move in comforting circles across my back. “Shhh, shhhh.”

He’s so kind. So exquisitely kind. I didn’t know he had it in him to be so kind.

The circles move deeper, lower; warming me, soothing me. He cradles me in one arm as though I were still an infant, hugging me to his chest. Moves his other hand over my arm, thumb rubbing across my skin so lightly that it tingles.

His touch falls to my waist, moves over my stomach and chest, caressing and loving. And back down, to pass over my groin--I jump, startled by the intimate contact.

“Shhh,” he says. “Trust me. It’s alright.”

And he cups me there, fondling me. My breath hitches in my chest; I breathe in sharply, in a panic, as the fondling is causing heat and tightness that I don’t want. Before I can think to struggle, my attention is called to a hardness that I hadn’t felt before--pressing against my thigh.

My father’s hard length pressed against my thigh.

“No.” I whimper. I try to pull away.

He holds me there. Holds me against him, feeling his hardness, pressing into my most private part with his. Grinding. He gropes my butt, squeezing, pushing.

“Father, don’t.” I gasp.

“It’s alright,” he says again. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Please. It’s not right,” crying, ashamed. Horrified to feel my body responding to the unwanted stimulation.


Unwanted.


“I love you.” He says. “I love you so much.”

And he kisses me at last--but when he kisses me, it’s where no father should ever kiss his son--on the lips. So intimate it burns my soul; I want to die.

“Daddy, stop. Please, please. I don’t like it, I don’t want--” Childish begging that only makes him hiss with impatience. Scolding me.

“Draco, behave.”

“I am behaving, Daddy, I am. This is bad.”

His gentle but firm grip turns hard, insistent; hurting. He presses his fingers into my arm, twisting, digging sharp. His nails are too long. They cut into my flesh. His soft, soft hands turn to stone as they grasp me. His voice is like a chill wind, cutting me deeper.

“You. Will. Obey.”
And I will. Of course I will. For Daddy, I’ll do anything. He even said he loves me. I have to let him touch me. I have to.

He pulls my erection from my silk pajama bottoms, strokes me hard. I moan. Try to cut it short. It’s an awful sound. Awful.

He likes it though. “Again.” He says. “Let me hear it again.” He moves his hand up and down my length, pumping me. I moan because he wants me to. I buck into his hand because I can’t help it. It feels so good.

“Oh. Oh, yes. Daddy please.” I whimper.

“Yes,” he hisses. “Just like that.”

“Daddy. Daddy. Oh-ohhhhh….”

His strokes grow longer, more insistent. I can feel his erection growing thicker against me, straining against his nightshirt.

I love Daddy. I want him to be happy. I reach for his hardness and give it a squeeze through the fabric of his top--it is the only thing between us. He groans aloud and presses into my hand, and I draw back, blushing. It isn’t right.

But he wants it again.

He pulls up his nightshirt, pulls his cock from his underwear and thrusts my hand against it; is a thick, magnificent cock, shining with precum. It’s larger than mine--very much so. I’m afraid of it. I don’t know what he wants me to do with it. I rub at it uncertainly and he lets out a sound that sends shivers down my spine. That low, throaty sigh of pleasure.


“Suck it.” He says.


I feel my stomach lurch. “W-what?” I stammer, my voice breaking. I think my heart is going to jump through my throat.

“Now.” He growls. “Suck.”

It is a very clear warning.

I move beneath him, between his thighs, and bend over his erection, trembling. I am frightened and repulsed. I don’t want to put that thing in my mouth. I lean closer and give it a tentative lick, and he moans desperately, and thrusts into my open and unsuspecting mouth.

I gag, although his erection doesn’t touch the back of my throat. I am shocked to have it enter my mouth and it automatically triggers my gag reflex. I pull back quickly, swallowing hard so that I don’t throw up all over him; my lips make a wet, sucking noise as they pull off of his cock and he moans again, with pleasure.

“Draco.” He gasps.

And I hesitate, swallowing again to make sure nothing is coming up. I run my tongue around my mouth, tasting him. It’s not a bad taste, I realize. Salty and…strange. But not bad. It might even be pleasant if only he weren’t my father. If only I--

“Draco, don’t stop.”

“Yes, Father.” I say meekly, bending over him again.

“No,” he says, grabbing me, making me jump. “Call me Daddy. I like it.”

“Daddy.” I say obediently.

“Yes. Suck it, Draco. Suck it right now.”

“Yes, Daddy.” I lean in close, run my tongue up and down his shaft. Close my lips over his head and suck, awkwardly. I’ve never done this before--never even imagined it. I don’t think I’m very good at it.

But Daddy doesn’t mind. He likes everything I’m doing.

“Oh, Draco.” He sighs. “That’s good. Your mouth…so wet, so hot.. Suck it, suck it harder.”

I obey, sucking harder and deeper, bobbing back and forth. I use my hand to stroke the parts I can’t swallow. He pushes on the back of my head, guiding me, showing me how he wants it. His precum slicks over my tongue, drips down my throat as I swallow. It’s hot and salty and there’s so much of it… I suck and suck and suck, and it’s not all that horrible but my mouth is getting tired and he still isn’t coming. I don’t know how long I can keep this up.

Apparently, I don’t need to worry about that because he withdraws his cock from my mouth, and guides me back to the spot beside him.

“Turn over.” He says. “On your stomach.”

I obey him without a second thought. He climbs over top of me and pulls my pajama pants off. He puts his hand between my thighs, spreading my legs apart. I shiver, feeling the air hit my exposed anus. And whimper when he touches me there.

“No!” I cry, guessing his intention.

The thought hits me then like a ton of bricks. He’s a grown man, married for seventeen years. He’s used to having sex. Hand jobs and some inexperienced sucking is not going to satisfy him.

“Please, please, Daddy! Don’t! Please!” I beg, crying.

“Draco--”

“Don’t!”

“Draco.”

“I’m scared.” I whisper, grasping at my pillows, worrying them with my hands. I want to run away, to disappear. Anything but lie here before him like this, so vulnerable, waiting to be buggered.

“Don’t be.” He says, soothingly, massaging my buttocks. I hate the contact; he shouldn’t be touching me there. It feels nice. But I know what’s going to happen.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says. But I can feel his impatience, just like I can feel his great length rubbing against me. I can imagine it filling me; stretching me, breaking me. The pain. I don’t want it.

Please.

He kisses me there, making me shiver. Tears slide down my cheeks and I try to muffle my cries in the pillow.

Be happy with me, Daddy. Love me. I’ll be good.

His tongue enters me and I gasp. The sensation is unimaginable. The pleasure makes me flush with shame; I can’t help leaning back against him, asking for more. He gives it to me; licks, kisses, sucks. Probes my entrance with first one finger, and then two, and then three, sliding them in so slowly. Scissoring, withdrawing and thrusting deep.

I moan.

“Daddy,” I say, like a wanton slut. I hate myself.

In response, he moves his cock into position, pushes in little by little until he’s buried deep inside of me. He’s moving slow, giving me time to adjust; there is pain, but there is also a mind-blowing, heart-stopping pleasure. I want him.

I want him.

“Oh! Daddy, yes! Fuck me, please!” The words shock me, but I’m overwhelmed by how much I need it, I don’t even care. He plows into me; slips his arm beneath me, wraps his hand around my cock and pumps, in time to his thrusts.

I orgasm quickly, and the pleasure continues as he thrusts long after I’ve come, grunting and heaving above me. I moan and whimper as he fucks me stupid. I don’t want it to stop. The pain of being stretched wide open pales next to the amazing pleasure of having his huge, hard cock thrusting against my prostate. I pant into the covers, thrusting back against him, trying to angle my hips so that it hits that spot again and again and again. I’m so overcome with pleasure that my body is weak and shaky, though. I collapse beneath him, screaming as he hits it harder and harder.

It’s so good. I can feel myself hardening again.

“Oh! Daddy! Touch it, please!” I beg, and his hand returns, stroking me with renewed vigor. “Mm-mmm! Oh! Oh-ohh…” It goes on and on. His hardness, his pushing. I orgasm a second time, and a few seconds later, he comes as well. I can feel his seed filling me, it overflows, seeps out and dribbles down my thighs as he withdraws.

I lie there, gasping, trying to catch my breath. The aftermath of our sex has me reeling; I can’t even comprehend what just happened.

Daddy kisses the back of my head, and slides off of me.

“Good boy, Draco.” He says. “Go to sleep now.”

And then he’s gone. I turn over on my side and stare into the darkness. My racing heart slowly returns to it’s normal rhythm. I shift in my bed, feeling the stickiness in my butt and on my legs. I go over in my mind what happened; what we just did. How I let him do it--how I begged him to.

And I bury my face in my hands and sob.

You dirty little bitch.

A/N: Review it, since you read it. I've been working on this particular story--writing, revising, restarting--since I was fourteen. I am now twenty. Please do me that favor of reviewing, yes?