The Only Constant

“Has it really been a year?”

The words were said not with a reminiscent wistfulness, but with a disbelieving drawl. Lucius smirked to himself as Draco took in the hotel room. It was the same—down to the room and possibly even the sheets—as the last time they’d been there.

In Canada.

Hermione was unfortunately absent for Draco’s humorous reaction to seeing that some things never changed. Kent and Marta, the owners of the local general store and the people who’d sworn as witnesses to Hermione, Draco, and Lucius’ wedding the year before, had fairly kidnapped Hermione to show her the changes to their shop.

Lucius had thought it was strange that he and Draco hadn’t been invited before he saw the gleam in Marta’s eyes that meant gossip was to be had. His poor wife. Lucius didn’t feel that sorry for her, because Draco’s spoilt behaviour was equally frustrating to deal with.

“I mean, it’s a wizarding town, isn’t it? Why can’t they just use magic to spruce the place up a bit?” To showcase what he meant, Draco waved his hand about the room, muttering spells with a look of discerning concentration on his face.

When he was finished, the décor was marginally more agreeable, the furniture more tasteful, and the two queen-sized beds merged into something hedonistically appropriate. Lucius didn’t follow—or comment—when Draco disappeared into the bathroom, likely with more ‘renovations’ in mind. Lucius just hoped they remembered to change things back when they left—he didn’t want to give housekeeping a heart attack.

Though the Portkey that Michael and Thello had provided was significantly less exhausting than Apparition would have been, Lucius still felt a little under the weather; though who wouldn’t be, when the storm blustering just beyond the door would make even the most hardened Canadian quiver. Except, of course, Kent, who’d greeted them in strange, puffy clothing, covered so completely that Lucius had almost spelled him immobile at first.

Lucius had mentally scoffed at the sight, wandlessly casting warming charms on himself and his lovers—warming charms that were ripped apart in moments by the violent wind while Kent looked on with what was probably as close to smug as the cheerful man could manage.

Michael and Thello were staying in the same hotel a few rooms down, but Lucius wasn’t exactly eager to knock on their door in case they were indulging in some pre-nuptial coitus.

Lucius sat on the bed and opened up his valise, searching for a headache potion. Portkeying always left him out of sorts, and the temperature change—though England had been cold in its own way—had created a storm inside his head.

“Oh, thank Merlin,” Draco said, exiting the bathroom and sitting heavily next to Lucius. “My head is throbbing. ”

The almost-innuendo made Lucius smirk as he handed over what was left of the draught. He watched Draco knock it back, relief immediately saturating his features.

Draco gave Lucius a look of gratitude, and there it was: Lucius really wanted to kiss him.

It had been like that for some time, but especially bad since the kiss they’d shared in the dining room the day they’d received the invitation to come here. Draco was kissable; there was no denying it. He’d even spoken to Hermione about it, and they were in agreement: Draco should always be kissed.

The jealousy he felt of Hermione was both unfamiliar and unwelcome. She had such an easy relationship with his son—she was able to kiss him at any moment and be completely at ease about it. It was expected, desired. Lucius, on the other hand, had no idea where he stood with Draco. In the week since they’d shared that kiss, Draco had run hot and cold, sometimes kissing Lucius good-bye in the mornings, but shying away from Lucius’ attentions at other times.

Like it had been with Hermione, Lucius wanted to give Draco time, but he also wanted to force him to hurry up and accept things. If only binding him could be the answer every time.

“Are you all right?” Draco asked, a hand resting on Lucius knee in concern.

Smiling wanly, Lucius placed his hand over Draco’s. “Fine. Just a little travel-weary. And there were some concerns about me taking the time off during the quarterly budgetary session, so I imagine I’ll be dealing with that backlash when I return.”

“Oh, sod those dusty old hacks. You’re practically the only one who does any work to begin with.”

Lucius laughed, wrapping his arm around Draco’s shoulder and privately rejoicing when it wasn’t shrugged off. Though not entirely true, Draco did have a point. Lucius took care to make sure he did as much, if not more work than the other men and women on the board committee—sins of the past not being easily forgiven and all.

Lucius was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he hadn’t realised how Draco’s hand had tightened on his thigh, or the way his shoulders were twitching slightly under Lucius’ arm. Lucius’ hand came up and buried itself in the soft hairs at the back of Draco’s neck. They were fine, even more so than his own, he thought. He let them fall over his fingers, lost in thought.

“Father,” Draco whispered, shifting so he was facing Lucius, though not enough that Lucius let his hand fall from his hair. “I don’t want this thing between us to become awkward.” He laughed a little and shook his head. “I mean, I don’t want it to keep being awkward.”


“I don’t think that’s something that will solve itself immediately, Draco,” Lucius said, only half-focused on the conversation. Draco’s hair was lighter, softer than his, and he liked the way it fell through his fingers, cool as silk.

“I know that.” Draco sighed and leaned slightly into Lucius’ touches. “It’s so hard to… put aside what I know, what I grew up with.”

Lucius used his light hold on Draco’s hair to tip his face up so he could press a kiss to Draco’s temple. “You don’t have to put it aside, you know. It can stay in the past while you focus on what’s real right now. That’s how I’ve been dealing with the changes.” He hadn’t wanted to admit just how difficult things had been for him as well, knowing that Draco needed someone to be strong for him so could focus on his own development, but it appeared that acting as though he wasn’t going through the same turmoil had made Draco feel alone.

“At the same time, though,” Draco continued, “it’s easy to forget everything else and just… want you.” He couldn’t seem to meet Lucius’ eyes.

“And do you? Want me?” Lucius didn’t hold his breath. He didn’t.

Draco nodded, stilling looking down. “I do. That’s the easiest part of all this.”

“Ah, so then you only like me for my looks,” Lucius joked, tugging on Draco’s hair.

But Draco looked offended by the idea. “If that were true, I’d just jerk off in front of a mirror. Though it certainly doesn’t hurt that you’re… very fit.” Draco’s fingers grazed Lucius’ chest and trailed down his stomach, but despite his forward action, he still wouldn’t make eye contact.

Lucius hissed when Draco’s fingers slid along his thigh. He didn’t want this half-blind seduction; he wanted Draco to see him.

How much was too much to demand?

“Draco,” he said quietly. “Look at me.”

Dutiful son that he was, Draco did. His eyes were wide, his cheeks flushed with blood. Lucius had never seen his confident and aggressive son so at odds. “You’re thinking too much… Just feel.”

Lucius leaned in and kissed him, noting that Draco’s eyes fell closed immediately. Was it because he was thinking of someone else, detaching himself from the situation? That didn’t really fit with what he knew of his son—Draco wasn’t one to just suffer through something.

Like all his kisses with Draco, this one was intense from the beginning. The thrill and discomfort of the taboo ran beneath the surface, but mostly there was just real and easy passion, like the kind they both enjoyed with Hermione.

When Draco brought the kiss to a higher level by touching his tongue to Lucius’ lips, Lucius abandoned all pretence of control. He wanted Draco, wanted to touch and taste him, wanted inside him, wanted to feel that completion. He wanted to press and demand, but he knew that wasn’t the way. Draco had to be in charge, had to be the one to initiate each level.

Draco seemed as eager as Lucius, leaning back and taking Lucius with him until they were arranged on the bed, heads on the same pillow and facing one another.

“I want to touch you,” Draco whispered. His hand rested on the bedspread between them, fingers stretching out as if waiting for permission.

Lucius gave it with another kiss, taking Draco’s hand and pressing it against his chest, implicitly approving anything Draco wanted to do. What Draco wanted, it seemed, was to undress Lucius. Without breaking the kiss, Draco unbuttoned Lucius’ robes and tried to push them over his head. It was awkward and Lucius took over, undressing until he was only in his pants.

With gestures slow enough to be halted if Draco needed to, Lucius began to return the favour, undressing his son with more aplomb than Draco had showed. Alike right down to their identical black silk pants, the two moved in unison against each other, Lucius taking the lead only minutely.

Draco’s skin was soft and hot, making Lucius feeling cold in comparison. Everywhere he touched seemed to elicit reaction. Fingertips on Draco’s nipples brought a moan; his mouth on Draco’s ear earned a whimper. When his hand rested on Draco’s hip and began to smooth down his pants, Draco hesitated, though his body seemed to scream for more.

“All right?” Lucius asked, a whisper against Draco’s wetted lips.

Draco’s hand was trembling slightly as he rested it on top of Lucius’, encouraging him to go on.

“Lay on your back. Put your arms above your head like last time.”

Draco did, crossing his arms at the wrist and clenching his fists. “Do you want to tie me?”

“Do you need me to?”

It was a long time before Draco answered, and Lucius did nothing in the interim, simply sat beside Draco’s legs with a hand resting on his jagged hipbone.

Finally, Draco looked at his father and shook his head. “No.”

It was an important concession but Lucius didn’t dwell on it. Draco wouldn’t want it acknowledged. Instead, he tugged down Draco’s pants and spread his legs, settling between them.

Draco, to Lucius’ surprise and delight, was watching him with needful eyes. His long, pink cock was hard, resting heavily against his belly. Lucius bent and kissed each of Draco’s hipbones, the joint of his leg to his groin, the inside of each pale thigh. After what seemed an eternity, he took Draco in hand, stroking lightly and watching for reaction. Draco arched slightly into the touch, his eyes closing and head falling hard against the pillow.

Lucius’ own neglected cock was throbbing, and that alone told him just how much he wanted this. There was a part of his brain delegated to dealing with the emotional side of what was happening, but his body was very happily doing most of the thinking. He took the head of Draco’s cock into his mouth, not wanting to frustrate Draco with teasing. This was about showing Draco that Lucius could make him feel good, in the hope that soon, Draco would be okay with whatever was happening between them, and would maybe, one day, want to reciprocate.

The noises Draco made as Lucius sucked him were so seductive and gratifying that he thought maybe it wouldn’t matter if Draco never returned the favour. He had no problem going on like this if that was all he could get. He vowed to himself at that moment to never demand more than Draco was obviously willing to give.

A frightfully chilly breeze and a gasp that he hoped was the wind startled him into raising his head.

“Oh, my…” Hermione stood at the door to the hotel room, key in hand and door opened behind her.

“Hermione!” Draco groaned, waving his hand wildly even as he panted.

Hermione got the picture and closed the door. She rested a bag of take-away on the sideboard, almost missing it completely because she couldn’t seem to tear her eyes from the scene on the bed.

Lucius was frustrated to feel heat in his cheeks. When Draco blushed, it was sweet and pretty, if out of character—Lucius Malfoy just didn’t blush, full stop! Except that he was. He tugged at the sheet until Draco was covered, uncaring about the bulge in his own pants.

“You two are acting like I caught you doing something wrong,” Hermione said softly. She approached the bed as one might a wild animal. “I was just surprised by how… perfect you look together.” Her fingers trailed on the counterpane, but she didn’t sit. There was a wistful look in her eyes that was entirely different from the lust he’d seen the time he’d caught her in the hallway after he’d left Draco tied up.

Draco saw the same thing Lucius did, for he said, “Hermione, come here,” and opened his arms to her.

Relief washed over her features as she undressed with a speed heretofore unseen. Lucius’ body gave renewed appreciation as she crawled onto the bed, her breasts bouncing slightly as she lay next to Draco, kissing him deeply.

Beneath the sheet, Draco’s arousal returned, and Lucius continued his attentions, lowering his head after a moment of watching his son and wife kiss.

He heard Draco take a sharp breath, heard Hermione murmur, and felt Draco relax. This was why Lucius had wanted Hermione with them all along—she brought comfort and familiarity that was needed when everything seemed to be moving so quickly.

It wasn’t long before Draco stopped Lucius and pulled him up—Lucius allowed himself to be directed onto his back. Having Draco back in control like that made things more familiar. This was the way it had been before Lucius and Draco had started down a new path together. Let Draco fall back into that role; Lucius had no objections. Especially not when it meant Hermione’s slick heat was surrounding him as she lowered herself onto his cock.

Draco watched from beside them for a moment, his detached stance belied by the fullness of his erection. Lucius reached out and began to stroke it, memorising the movements that made Draco squirm, made him roll his hips, made his mouth fall open.

“Draco, I want to taste you,” Hermione said, sitting up straight to give Draco room to stand, one foot on either side of Lucius’ ribs so Hermione could lean forward and suck him.

With his hands on Draco’s firm calves, Lucius recalled back to a few months ago when Hermione had mentioned feeling incomplete without both of them inside her in some way. He wondered if that would change once the dynamics shifted, if she’d feel just as good with Draco fucking her while he was inside Draco. Lucius hoped so—no image frequented his thoughts as much as that one.

Lucius’ hand skimmed up Draco’s legs to his arse, gently cupping and kneading. Draco turned, a little unsteady on his feet but supported by Lucius, and gave a look of such basic want that it took Lucius’ breath away. Emboldened, Lucius slipped one hand between Draco’s thighs, propping himself up so he could reach properly. He stroked Draco’s tight sac, damp with Hermione’s saliva, before moving back and pressing against his perineum. Lucius knew he’d done it right when Draco cried out and thrust into Hermione’s mouth.

Lucius continued to massage there, the cacophony of sounds arousing him almost as much as Hermione’s tightness sliding up and down on him, and the sight of Draco’s firm, pale arse clenching above him as Draco fucked Hermione’s mouth.

Draco came first, deep in Hermione’s mouth, making Lucius wonder what might have happened had Hermione not returned. Would Draco have come in Lucius’ mouth? Would that have been too much for his son? Lucius thought it might have been, though he would have been more than agreeable.

Draco stumbled a little, and Lucius helped guide him down onto the bed. Satisfied that Draco was fine, Lucius sat up and tipped Hermione onto her back—he needed to take the active role, to satisfy himself with her.

Hermione moaned when Lucius gripped her hair, tilting her head back. Her eyes were appreciative when he hitched her legs around his waist, pounding into her without concern—she could take it, she always did.

“Let me taste him,” Lucius whispered into her ear. He was determined not to feel ashamed for his desires, but that didn’t stop his heart from beating faster with the fear of reproach.

But Hermione just moaned and offered her mouth. Lucius kissed her hard, tongue delving deeply to find the remnants of Draco’s essence. It was faint, but there.

Hermione tightened around him, her soft cries signifying the beginning of her end, and Lucius let loose, slamming into her and demanding of her more than ever. When he came, it was with his entire body, and still, there was regret.

Regret that Draco was watching passively from the side, cock quiescent and eyes searching.

---

As Lucius had predicted, Thello and Michael were so caught up in each other that the triad didn’t actually see them until the wedding.

Both wore black robes: Michael’s were soft and flattering, Thello’s were harsh and secured like armour. But there was nothing guarded about Thello’s face the moment Michael said, “I do.” Though Lucius felt for Celeste, it was clear to anyone who cared to see that these two were meant for each other.

Lucius kept waiting for fireworks or strange magic like he’d felt at his own wedding, but nothing happened. He wondered if Kent and Marta had felt the same, watching them get married a year ago. Had the magic he’d so strongly felt been visible? Probably not. The thought made him a little disappointed, as if such intense love should be a tangible thing.

Draco took Lucius’ hand when Thello grabbed Michael’s face after the pronunciation that they were wed. Thello kissed his new husband hard and deep, for long enough to embarrass the officiant and more than long enough to set Hermione to squirming in her seat. A blush kissed Draco’s cheeks, making Lucius wish he could do the same.

There was just something about weddings.