A Romeo\'s Nemesis

Chapter 6

Feigning Auspition

Although Draco was still speechless and struggling to clear his mucus-inflamed airway, his father was having no difficulty pronouncing the fickle verse with all the ease of a seasoned Elizabethan actor. Draco was just barely aware since the time he\'d sauntered into the library as was becoming a habitual leisurely activity now, that he\'d been embarrassed at his own accelerated maturity somehow. He could tell that what he\'d said effected Lucius in more ways than simply making him cry; there were the interior faults of his permeating into Draco, and in truth, Draco was terribly afraid of those more than the sound of anguished sobs emanating from Lucius’ chest.

He wasn\'t a psychic and there were plenty of unearthed identities and nefarious corners into Lucius that would never wont excavating. But now, Lucius read with more confidence and obvious enjoyment than ever, again vindicated by the absolution in knowing his son knew him well - not completely, but more than any other one had ever made an attempt to understand, and he loved him for it. As such, Lucius felt more free to love his own necrobiosis by homicidal frottage and perhaps expose himself on a conjunctive level to his literary conquests to Draco; or perhaps not.

Draco was looking increasingly anxious as Lucius proclaimed his love for him as Romeo and wanted to interrogate just how much life mirrored art in this instance; in turn, he fumbled needlessly on his lines, portraying the timber of his voice to a more pure degree to that of Juliet\'s than his acting ability; Lucius wouldn\'t have it.
Sneering down and lifting Draco to his feet, he prodded his son with a look so poignant, it would make the Pope think twice about the sanctity of Catholicism. Nodding in silent agreement, Draco declaimed his lines again, this time with more force and definition and Lucius smiled gently in response; Draco winced.

The turgid combination on Lucius’ face of salacious undertaking, conspiration and vulnerability was unnerving for poor Draco to say the least; he placed his arms around Lucius’ neck, not simply since the script dictated, but for support to carry his now irrefutable physiological weight as well. Draco sighed into the crook of Lucius’ shoulder and listened to the man\'s memorized dialect with distant comfort; what he was feeling was not exactly natural. Being the son of a notorious Death Eater wasn\'t learning Shakespeare or growing in integrity, it was supposed to be all about immolation and acquiring the skills of an apathic assassin, perhaps studying ancient torture techniques in the dungeons, not enjoying the company of his would-be undeniable instructor, but the subject at hand.

Now, it wasn\'t the words he loved, he\'d recognized that inevitability as he didn\'t share quite the same passion of literature that Lucius enthused it, but the one who delivered them; this ostensibly simple play he\'d picked out of at least fifteen others, the only reason being that it was the one title he\'d recognised, proved to be more demanding and effervescent for him and his father than anticipated. Sensing his son\'s over stimulation, Lucius ceased his now monotonous rambling, not even sticking to the text and released his descendent. Expelling a short yet powerful burst of air, Lucius ran his hand through his hair and sat down in front of Draco, indicating that he should do the same.

\"Draco,\" he began, running his long pale ring finger over the curled scripture of the libretto and gawking with such intensity at them it was as if he wanted to imprint the fine embossment unto his flesh, \"I\'ve frightened you more in the past three hours than I could\'ve possibly done had I introduced you to a more devious art, I\'m sure.\"

Draco\'s eyes again dropped and the sides of his mouth twitched in happy astonishment that their brains were so well-synchronized; Lucius didn\'t look up to see.

\"I want to eviscerate the reality that what with my rapacious nature and your perceptive abilities, this little work of ours could lead to greater things,\" Lucius tapped his right foot rapidly on the wooden floorboards and quickly crossed his legs, still avoiding any other focal point but the score in front of him.

\"Learning and the process of enlightenment does not necessarily have to come from a book for by result of a series of exams, you know this,\" Lucius whispered forlornly and paused heavily, \"with all the progress you\'ve made in that area, this reaction of yours being evidence enough for me, you deserve a peaen in your name, Draco...\"
\"However,\" Lucius stiffened and mentally pulled himself up to sit straight and demonstrative as always, \"we do not secede from any dominion that our forefathers had the sense or... foolishness to choose for us.\"

Draco nodded bravely and imitated his father\'s austere gaze right into the fragile depths of abnormality and disguise so like his own.

No longer retaining the energy to put on a far greater act than the more autobiographical part of Romeo, Lucius allowed his head to drop and roll abandoned looking at his chest for help; Draco couldn\'t stand it.

\"I know what you mean to inveigh, Father,\" Draco piped up and could see the trace of a smirk beneath the veil of transparent mane protecting Lucius’ visage, \"I know the truth of it all as well, it\'s - it\'s -\"

\"Lamentable,\" Lucius chuckled and automatically cleared his blurred eyes and ushered his son onto his lap with a fatherly snort. Draco, still unsteady on his feet, wobbled over and sagged up against Lucius’ chest until he found the clavicle to rest his nose in comfortably and went limp; Lucius idly traced the hairless cheekbone and wrapped his arms beneath the boy\'s knees and lower back in cliché wedding - threshold pose. Yawning, Draco noticed this and checked the time, smiling as he was lifted off the chaise and over to in situ of his bed.

Rolling Draco onto the duvet carefully, Lucius draped himself over the boy to stare into the slits, slowly blinking against the harsh torchlight compared to the barely existent illumination that was the library.
\"Are you going to pursue that ludicrous concoction you\'ve invented next week?\" Lucius asked, spreading out next to his son languidly, pulling the covers up to slip in.
\"Hmmm,\" Draco warbled and cozied up against the pre-warmed satin sheets that Spikwad tended to half and hour before bed; instinctive cretins somehow knew when one would sleep.

Lucius audibly cackled and cradled his son\'s head with his palm; it was one of those tender father-son moments and still, Lucius felt a bit out of place and off-kilter since his body was reacting in a most nonpaternal way to his delicate progeny. Draco basked in the uncharacteristic warmth of Lucius’ hand and coddled his father as best he could being much frailer and weak than usual. Lucius groaned on impact and quickly resigned himself to active discourse to distract his body, rousing Draco from his sonorous reverie.

\"What made you do it exactly?\" Draco bristled and turned away stoically, facing the other, blank wall as opposed to the rich canvas of his father\'s face. Feeling slightly caustic, Lucius ignored his painfully hard pikestaff and shoved further towards his noncommittal son.

\"Draco, I won\'t rebuke you now, dinner is over after all,\" Lucius chortled nervously and Draco caught himself before giggling. Squirming over onto his back to narrow his darting eyes at his father, Draco crossed his arms atop the comforter and bit his lip. Lucius couldn\'t help to be mesmerized suddenly by the concave loveliness of his son\'s mouth so much fuller than his own; Narcissa was good for something other than eventually becoming a cadaver one day.

Draco sighed in a mixture of qualmish frustration and willed himself not to cry again; bloody shit. Tears fell freely now and for once, Lucius didn\'t hand him a tissue or turn his nose up to demean or degrade his lachrymose behaviour as he did when he was younger; instead he just watched him, funny that.

\"I wanted to have one thing I controlled,\" Draco breathed and clamped down on his lower lip again with more conviction, drawing blood that was gradually mingling with his fallen tears. Lucius’ mind nearly exploded at this revelation and suddenly became just as meek and befuddled as Draco had been earlier; his entire family dynamics were changing in free abandon and he struggled frenetically to grasp onto some semblance of his accepted normality. Narcissa was still konked out; yes!

Lucius shuddered looking at his son\'s snivelling and lunged forward above him to press a dry kiss on his soaking face; holding his son\'s head between trembling hands, Lucius pressed their foreheads together in abject empathy and continued to press dry, warming kisses against the swollen eyelids, now sunken in by self-mutilation and the battered lips he\'d admired for so long, savouring the copper tinge and subtle trace of chocolate from earlier that night.

Draco\'s insides were in a definite state of turmoil, as if an entire fleet of mercenaries were taking siege on some part of himself he\'d had no idea had ever existed; this was more than just compassion or comfort, Lucius was making him want more of what he lacked: experience.

However, unbeknownst to Lucius and Draco, Narcissa was beginning to writhe on the cold tile with a hangover fit to murder in Hades and was stumbling over to Draco\'s wing in a haze of drunken confusion and nausea; a woman bound upon her goal, Narcissa ignored damned Spikwad\'s cries of directorial advice and flung open the doors embossed with writhing snakes and other phallus along the edges.


Chapter 7
Romeo\'s Raunchy Refuge
Narcissa brimmed with livid enmity at her husband for allowing... this to happen; whatever this was, she couldn\'t exactly pinpoint, but from the looks of things, both of the men in her life were panting and.. was that a sheen of sweat visible on their faces? Lucius cringed as soon as he heard the door open and gawked at the ravaged, inebriated scowl etched across his wife\'s usually impassive plastic mask. Draco gasped predictably and buried his face beneath the duvet and shivered through the fine silk fabric, provoking even more cause for alarm in Narcissa\'s mind.

She stalked over to where Lucius now sat perched stoically, awaiting her fully-fledged unperceptive response when seething as was mandatory in their relationship. Although expected, Lucius still reeled from impact (Narcissa had those weekly manicures, eh) and the sudden frisson imbued by what she must be thinking caught him off guard as he rolled off the bed with a corresponding thud. Lucius quickly righted himself with all the dignity that a fallen man could muster and folded his arms serenely before him, with casuistry intentions floating past his mental equipage.

\"Narcissa-\"

\"Lucius!\" she cried and dug her claws into the bedspread, lunging forward to gain leverage, then ripping it off their trembling son
mercilessly. She grasped for the trembling skeleton but it scampered away, headlong into Lucius’ still closed embrace before
hiding behind the pillar of his future indecorously. Breast heaving, Narcissa collapsed onto the bed in exasperation, eyes still locked
and flaring with her co-founder of the one they both sought out for peace and personal validation, Lucius more directly than
Narcissa clearly.

\"Oh, my gods, Lucius!\" Narcissa breathed malevolently and threw her trembling fists into her face to cover the sickly sallow shadows
gathered there.

\"He\'s our son!\" she screamed, her body wracked with sobs of regret and failure; guilt plagued her frame as though the apocalypse
was taking place inside her puny form, not much heavier than Draco, in hope that she would swallow herself into oblivion along with
her callow needs and frivolous expenditures. Still shaking, Narcissa pointed a half-bitten away index finger at her offending spouse,

\"My inimitable husband - so you\'ve found your heart in your own seed!\" she half choked and lunged at Lucius again, bombarding him with the deepest scratches and groves in his perfectly unmarred flesh until she half passed out the second time that night.

Lucius frowned deeply, but that was all it was; not a scowl or a glower, just a frown in that it was nothing to be too concerned about and regarded Draco with tender sympathy broadening in the rare smile he afforded his child. Draco shuddered and huddled against his support for a while, observing the rapid and uneven rise and fall of his loose matriarch\'s ribcage. Still weeping softly against the resonating warmth of his father\'s shirt, Draco succumbed to his intense need for rightness for the world and screamed against the abrasions left upon Lucius’ forearms and upper torso, solemnly trying to distract himself from his affliction quickly gaining control.

Lucius could sense the strain in his son\'s demeanour and pressed himself against the tiny bird as if the transfer strength through osmosis; lifting Draco\'s chin up just slightly enough to keep eye contact while his hands smoothed down the curvature of his son\'s vertebrae. Draco immediately relaxed somewhat, allowing his body even more intimate contact with his father than necessary and was hardly cognizant when Lucius escorted him outside into the hallways where he then pried the boy off of him and locked the snake motifed doors. It was incipient what was to come and Lucius dreaded affirming Narcissa\'s suspicions in the least; he\'d tried his damndest to up-end and defy every mundane pretence of her existence to the tee which she declaimed while preening her gilt appearance every day, how he detested her and supplications he had to make in order to take Draco anywhere mildly interesting for a boy his age.

Draco stood in front of his father expectantly, riddled with indecision, guilt, malice, spite, bloodlust and simply lust - Draco blushed at the thought of imitating his father so precisely when considering their fairly emotionally and physiologically intense revelation earlier that night. Reaching out tentatively to grasp his son\'s lapel of the nightshirt he\'d changed into after their rehearsal, Lucius pulled him closer and this time, placed his hands on the outer curves of Draco\'s hips so lightly the pressure was barely perceptible.

Draco nearly swooned and doubled up in her father\'s arms out of sheer effort to remain standing; Lucius gaged the emotionally traumatic scale of one to ten for both of them in order to accurately assess whether or not either of them could possibly do this in their state. He found it an ignominious 9 1/2 and decided to press onward unto the state of free abandon which awaited them both, hopefully without any regrets. Lucius breathed into the flaxen sheen of his son\'s crown and hummed tunelessly into the side of his head to retrieve him from wherever he was at that moment. Head still bend and brooding, Draco answered his father lamely and placed his arms around his neck and shoulders unsteadily, drawing Lucius’ head down at a backbreakingly slow pace for his elder to plant his first real kiss on anyone.

Lucius groaned lusciously and allowed Draco\'s tongue to dance prudently around the starved caverns of his mouth at first. Edging his finely artistic fingers towards Draco\'s buttocks, Lucius shifted their straining forms down the hall into his own chambers, laced with ebony relics and hidden dark arts memorabilia too obvious for the ministry to spot upon dates of inspection. As Draco\'s confidence grew while Lucius attempted to fastidiously strip himself completely within a self-imposed time limit, he realised the severity and unholy devotion this would imbue unto both their hearts afterwards.

Draco began to tremble unseemingly violently as Lucius began to work off his top and bottoms, grinning at his obvious enjoyment in his father\'s embrace and feeling utterly vulnerable to no small extent. Lucius ceased his fumblings (he himself was a bit rusty) and decided to slow down the process and talk to the boy since it was becoming less of an effort lately and he was curious to know what motives Draco had for facilitating this entire attraction to begin with.

\"Draco, how are you feeling?\" Lucius queried, procuring an intricately transformed bedroom voice instead of his usual instructional tone used exclusively in the library for study, Still stroking resolutely and no longer gripping the boy\'s flannel as if it were his last silk curtain. Draco shivered and immediately curled up into his father and gliding one finger outlining the shape of his jaw while looking steadily into his eyes.

\"I feel good with you,\" Draco breathed and bit his father\'s nape unexpectedly nicely; Lucius’ breath hitched and he hiked up the boy\'s shirt over his head without any problems. Draco smiled brightly once completely bare and stared longingly at his father\'s slacks, a blush very apparent on his veneer complexion.

Lucius watched where Draco\'s eyes had strayed and couldn\'t help chuckling aloud at his son\'s eagerness. Shaking his bent head sardonically, Lucius undid the clasp and allowed the last piece of cloth shielding him fall to the blue oriental adorning the smooth continual flooring to look back up at his son.

Everything Lucius was and had experienced in his life came flooding to him through the eyes of his son who stood enraptured at the elder\'s equipment and not at all concerned with how lame he looked, leering appreciatively; Lucius couldn\'t help preening for him a bit and shook out his arms and legs, his erection bobbing slightly up and down as though he was to attempt a 100m sprint. Draco whimpered a bit at this obvious display of prowess and shifted his feet uncomfortably in a meek unconscious imitation, not taking his eyes off what he wanted.

Lucius’ flattered heart became feral with each step as he approached his son and plopped him onto his bed with a gentle push to the breast bone; Draco fell flat with his father atop him, splayed beautifully. Lucius made to kiss Draco again before he saw the alarmed expression on his beloved\'s face and stopped reluctantly; breathing heavily and closing his eyes to gain some semblance of mortal restraint, he rolled to the side slightly and took Draco\'s head in his hands.

\"Draco, would it help if I said I loved you?\" Lucius couldn\'t bare to look up, so much of this was foreign to himself, he couldn\'t stand to see the rejuvenated and morally atoned Draco staring back at him lovingly when he\'d known he\'d loved Draco more than anything before, but was simply unsure of what sort of love it was. Cringing, Lucius felt Draco\'s hands wander down his back tentatively for a few moments, then with deeper strokes so he was kneading the lattissimus dorsi quite nicely. Lucius mewled responsively and received a few evil and salacious snickers ala Draco in return followed by several more attempts at stress relief before Lucius decided that it was time to take over.

Narcissa was beginning to come to again and made her way over to the fireplace, grasped a handful of floo powder and was off to her favourite inn\'s for the night. Much to her chagrin, the premises had been locked up for the labour day where even wizards took advantage of great bargains and savings available prior to returning to their tutelage. Now, as each shop had been thoroughly ransacked, their torches squelched and the cold night seeping into the now fubared robes she considered. Despondently, Narcissa headed down to Hogsmeade which wasn\'t far from where she\'d arrived in a lone standing fireplace just to the west, in that dingy, smelling, vomit-ridden couture, etched with finely embroidered green dragons and blue chiffon for her Draco. She remembered purchasing the traditionally sappy motherly clothing just days before Draco was born and Lucius and herself had at last settled on a name; she\'d refuted Lucius’ unholy proclivities for several years now and had observed with that keen and scrupulous eye to ensure Draco finished all his vegetables when he was a child, how much Lucius began to truly care for the boy; Lucius had cared for nothing in his life but his own name. Completely egotistical and ruthless as was the Malfoy manifesto, the only thing Lucius wanted was perhaps to have another like him who would undoubtedly know the pain of being so hated and thrive in it. Narcissa shuddered upon the findings in her mind and allocated her plans of refuge for the next two nights.

Landing with a start in her state, Narcissa tapped thrice on the grotesque door with obtrusive and completely indecorous stone gargoyles, half enchanted to protect against unwanted ruffians, and turned her nose up in disgust, then inwardly chastised herself for being so supercilious and reminded herself that that was part of the reason she was there... standing and waiting... for someone to answer her homeless plea... on the stoop of number twelve, Grimmauld Place.