|inamac (inamac) wrote in malfoycest_day,|
@ 2008-06-17 17:24:00
Fic: A Surfeit of Toadstools
Title: A Surfeit of Toadstools
Author: Ina MacAllan - inamac
Pairing: Lucius/Draco (Lucius/Draco/Abraxas, mention Lucius/Snape, Draco/Snape)
Warnings: Incest (natch), Highlight for other warnings * mutual masturbation, bondage - mainly involving portrait-Abraxus., voyeurism, humiliation, implied spanking *
Prompt: 12. What happened after the book shop brawl from CoS?
Summary: "It is a remarkably perverted curse for a Weasley. It does raise speculation about why a man with six sons should choose such a curse. He might find it rather - exhilarating - were he on the receiving end of it."
Notes: In fact this is mostly 13 years after the book shop brawl. Apologies to those who were expecting chan from this prompt - by way of compensation there are whole new perversions available only to wizards. And their families... and friends...
Thanks to melfinatheblue, quillanna and lil_shepherd for allowing me to bounce ideas off them - even if they didn't realise it, and snapelike for finally succeeding in corrupting me. None of the above are responsible for any mistakes which are, as ever, small things, but mine own.
And yes, I will burn in hell for this one.
"An Encyclopaedia of Toadstools." Draco hooked a finger over the top edge of the book and tipped it from its place on the shelf. The volume was a good deal newer than those which flanked it. The Malfoy library reflected the obsessions of twenty generations of dilettante wizards and the last one to have had any interest in mycology was great-great grandmother Messalina Malfoy who, it was rumoured, had restored much of the Malfoy fortune by hosting a series of carefully catered dinner parties. Doubtless she would have regarded this work as hopelessly simplistic.
But simplicity was what Draco needed. He carried the book across to his desk and set it down alongside his notes and the already teetering pile of textbooks and grimoires. As he settled back into his chair and picked up his quill there was a sound from behind him. He did not bother to glance up at the portrait which had been hung carefully on the wall behind and to one side of the desk where the occupant of the frame could peer over the shoulder of anyone working there. There was no need That peremptory throat-clearing had been part of his life almost since birth.
"Oh," he said, "You're back then? How was Hogwarts?"
"Ah. Headmistress Granger has been ignoring your advice again."
"The woman's a menace. Two Hufflepuff girls faint at the sight of newt's eyes and their parents demand that she ban all potions with animal-derived ingredients from the curriculum. And she's seriously considering the idea!"
Draco lifted the lid of the Thestral-hoof inkwell. He was only paying marginal attention. The argument, with variations, had been running for several years now. "She knows that she wouldn't get it past the Governors. Unless the girls' parents are Governors?"
"Thankfully not. They're Muggles. Your Father may have a point about Muggleborns. I wouldn't expect a pureblood wizard to complain about a little teaching incident. Even if it did result in a visit to the infirmary." He fell silent. Draco felt a blush tinge his cheeks and hoped that it wasn't spreading up the back of his neck where Snape could see it. Clearly they were both remembering his own, entirely justified, complaint about a teaching incident involving a hippogriff in third year and his subsequent, unjustified, trip to the infirmary.
Eventually that little throat-clearing sound broke the awkward silence. "Apparently," Snape resumed, "Granger is considering a separate curriculum. At least for Muggleborn first years."
"Well then." Draco closed the subject as he turned back to the stack of books and papers. Behind him the portrait again fell silent. He gave a mental shrug and flipped open the new volume. As he did so a piece of parchment slid from between the pages and fluttered to the floor. Draco bent to retrieve it. At first he assumed it to be a page loosened from the book, but the sheet was handwritten, with the broad pen-strokes of a blunt-cut quill. Whatever it was, it was not part of a treatise on toadstools. Thoughtfully he ran his fingers along the edge of the page and winced as the parchment parted his flesh with the efficiency of a razor. He brought the cut finger to his mouth instinctively, sucking to soothe the disproportionate pain.
"Draco!" The sharp exclamation made him turn to face the portrait for the first time since he had entered the room.
"What?" He was puzzled rather than angry, Snape rarely used his schoolroom voice in the Manor; at least not to living people, though he could be acerbic with the Malfoy ancestors.
"I taught you better than this. Never put anything into your mouth..."
"Unless you've prepared it yourself. I know. It's only a cut..." He looked down at the parchment. The edge was stained with blood - his own - and with a darker, older substance, seeped into the page, but underlying the script. "Shit!"
Snape looked smug. "I told you..." He broke off as Draco smoothed out the parchment and read the inscription for the first time. An expression of pure horror crossed his face. "What is it?"
"It's headed Malfoy," Draco whispered, his finger following the sepia script as he read aloud:
"Let he who has paid
For the Curse that is laid
By his Blood and his Name
Here inscribed in this Bane
Enact out this Rite
In a Wizard's clear Sight:
For a Son to be Kiss'd
Draco dropped the parchment a second time, as if it had burned the hand that held it. Snape himself had started forward in his chair, as though he could snatch the spell before it reached the ground.
"The Incest Curse," he said. Set for a Malfoy. It could be centuries old. Not meant for you."
"No." Draco's own expression was impassive, calculating. "The book is new. It can't have been here more than fifteen years. Someone must have slipped the Curse into it deliberately. For a very specific purpose."
In life, Draco had seen Snape in a hundred moods, from indifferent to incandescently angry, but he had never known the portrait of the man to exude this air of suppressed fury.
"Draco," he said, tightly, "You had better ask your father to join us."
"You say it was tucked between the pages of this?" Lucius picked up the Encyclopaedia of Toadstools and leafed through it carefully, elegant fingers caressing the parchment. His grey eyes were thoughtful. "Draco, do you remember what happened in the bookshop in Diagon Alley on the day we went to get your school things in your second year?"
Draco scowled. "Flourish and Blotts? I suppose we bought the usual school texts."
"Jigger on Potions is the standard second-year text," Snape began - and stopped at a hard look from Lucius. Draco's mind had caught up with his tongue, and he was looking at his father with an expression of horror.
"That was... that was the time you planted the Riddle diary on Ginevra Weasley." It had been the action that had almost led to the destruction of his whole family, and he was horrified that he could have forgotten it - and that his father should have brought it up now.
Lucius shrugged. "A mistake. If I had remembered to include it with the items I sold to Bourgin I wouldn't have panicked and dumped it when Weasley started hinting about another raid."
Snape folded his arms with a smug air. "I always wondered whether that whole Chamber of Secrets incident was quite as calculated as Dumbledore and Voldemort believed. You're an old fraud, Lucius."
The blond man smiled. "Why, thank you, Severus. A compliment from the Master of mis-direction. I'm flattered."
"Father..." Draco's comment brought their diverted attention back to the matter in hand. "The book?"
"Yes. If I'm not mistaken, this is one of the books that were damaged when Weasley made that quite unwarranted attack on me." Lucius raised a hand to push the hair back from his brow as if he still felt the ghost of the bruise left there thirteen years before.
Draco nodded. "I remember now. Unwarranted, but not unprovoked. Though I don't remember bringing this book back."
"There was some damage to the shop during the - incident. Naturally I arranged for Flourish and Blotts to be recompensed, and asked for any unusable books to be sent to me. I assume that the house elves took delivery and added them to the library. We were, somewhat distracted, at the time."
"So you paid for them," mused Snape, "And before the books were sent here someone used your blood on this one to set a curse-trap."
Lucius grimaced. "It seems so. I'd suspect Weasley, if he weren't such an incompetent wizard."
"Not incompetent enough to leave his blood lying around for any passing enemy to get hold of."
The three men contemplated the situation. It was the most basic of magic laws, one that any pureblood learned before his third birthday. Give nothing of yourself to one who might harm you. Not bone or blood, hair or heart. And most certainly not your name.
"Malfoy." Draco touched his fingers to the ink. "Whoever set it meant it for us."
"They meant it for your father." Snape's painted lips curled into a scowl. "Adding your blood will not have helped. Let me see that."
Draco turned the parchment to permit those piercing black eyes to read the damning text and trace the lines of the Enochian sigils. There was a long pause. It was Lucius who finally lost patience.
"Well?" he snarled. "What is it? A Death Curse?"
"Can it be broken?" Draco's question overlapped his father's. Snape raised his head, assessing the two Malfoys. He chose to answer the senior first.
"Not a Death Curse, no; at least, that is not the intent. But it is a very Gryffindorish curse. It compels the owner of this parchment, and of any blood spilled on it to carry out a quite specific series of acts of public humiliation. As I told Draco, it's the Incest Curse." Snape's black gaze pinned the senior Malfoy. "I wonder whether Weasley intended one of the Ministry raids, thirteen years ago, to discover you, Lucius, in the act of buggering your twelve year old son."
Draco looked up sharply as his father grasped his shoulder with white-knuckled fingers. Lucius's lips were a thin, bloodless line, and his eyes were icy.
"No," he whispered. "Dear God. And they called the Death Eaters perverted. What sort of sick mind even thinks up a curse like that?"
Draco looked pleadingly from his father to his mentor. "But... if it's so old..."
Snape was relentless. "And to answer your question, Draco. It was set when your father paid Malfoy galleons for the book. And no, it can't be broken. Deferred maybe. Circumvented, possibly. But now that it has been activated by your blood, as well as Lucius's, I am very much afraid that you will be compelled to carry out these acts."
"You said 'publicly'?" Lucius had regained some of his composure, but his hand had not moved from his son's shoulder, though now his grip was gentle, caressing the young man's tense muscles.
"The charm specifies a wizard as witness." Snape confirmed.
"A living one? You said that it might be circumvented. What if you... watched?"
Draco asked the question, but it was to Lucius that Snape directed his reply. "Erastes, does he know?"
"That you and I were lovers? He does now." Lucius used his massaging grip to turn his son round to face him. Grey eyes met grey. "Draco, I'm not... inexperienced. If this has to be done I swear I'll do everything in my power to ensure that you won't be physically hurt. But... well, if you wish it I could put you under Imperius - and Obliviate you... after..."
"No!" Draco's own hands came up to grip his father's arms. "No. If you're going to... to make love... to me I want to feel it. To participate. To remember. Otherwise - they win." He smiled, though it was an effort. "Mother says that you're very good."
Lucius' eyes widened in surprise and Draco outright grinned. "Well, actually, what I heard through the bedroom wall was 'Oh-Lucius-oh-god-oh-god-oh-yes-yes-yes!
"Hmmm," said Snape, at Lucius's speechlessness. "The Allies might have had a point about the perversions of Death Eaters after all."
"Nevertheless," Lucius turned to his son, "If is too difficult Draco, I could use a glamour. Is there a girl you would prefer? Or a boy?"
Draco looked at his father levelly. "N... no. I couldn't... believe... a glamour." He swallowed convulsively. "If we have to do this I want... someone I trust. I... love."
"Oh Draco!" The older man closed the small distance between them and folded his son into a hard embrace. The movement brought his lips to Draco's ear and he whispered softly, breath ghosting over the sensitive spot where jaw met earlobe, "And I love you. No spell could change that."
"Ssssh. For this, you call me 'Lucius'." He bent to kiss his son. It was intended only as a preliminary comfort, but Draco's lips opened under his, even teeth caught and nipped at his bottom lip before the younger man's tongue pressed inside and then they became so engrossed in sensation that Snape had to abandon throat-clearing in favour of an outright roar of "Lucius!" before the two men noticed and broke apart.
"What is it now?" Two uncannily similar faces turned a paired look of puppy-dog frustration to the portrait at which, in other circumstances, Snape might have laughed outright. Long experience of both Malfoy men had taught him to quell such instincts.
"The curse is quite specific in its requirements," he said. "Before you go off half-cocked I think that you should both be aware of precisely what activities it describes if you are to comply with it."
"Apart from kissing and sodomy?"
Snape nodded. "For example, the spell describes some quite specific acts of humiliation." The portrait's lips twisted in a grimace of distaste. "It requires the Son to ejaculate over his Father's face."
Lucius gave a tight nod. It was Draco who protested.
"No! I... I couldn't. That's not..."
A firm hand settled on his shoulder, curbing the anger. "You will if you have to," his father stated, in the severe tones that he had used to make Draco eat his greens as a child, "But I do not think that you will have to. Severus is right. We do need to prepare for this. It would be as well to be comfortable, and private. Go and tell the house elves to clean the Tower guest suite. And ward the floo, we do not wish to be disturbed."
Draco looked reluctant but left to obey his father's orders. As he closed the door he heard Lucius use a tone of voice that he had never heard before.
"Now, Severus, I don't want the old man wriggling out of this. How do you propose we get the bastard to co-operate?"
Draco was supervising the provision of towels and linen to the rarely used suite of guest rooms, and trying futilely not to think beyond the task in hand, when he was accosted by the pointed end of a parchment memo butting against his chest. He caught it, unfolded it, and frowned at the message. Then he shrugged and, as ordered, apparated to the converted outbuilding which his Great Aunt Letitia had used as a studio. He found that Snape's portrait had been propped up on one of the empty easels while Lucius sorted through the canvasses stacked against the wall of the studio.
"Ah, this will do," he muttered as he pulled out an almost-complete painting and propped it up on a second easel. "I am really, really going to enjoy this."
The canvas he had selected showed a distant view of the Manor, framed by a rose-covered stone archway. Lucius examined it critically. "Dear Aunt Letitia. She was a competent landscape artist, but a hopeless witch. Severus, would you mind checking whether those stones are thoroughly secure?"
Draco was still puzzled, but the ghost of a smile crossed Snape's face. "Lucius, you do have a very devious mind." He strolled off to the right of his frame and appeared in the landscape canvas, a brooding presence that immediately made the chocolate-box scene seem darker. Reaching up a long fingered hand he poked at moss and mortar. "Yes," he said. "It's quite firm. And these thorns are sharp."
Lucius smiled and picked up brush and palette, "Good," he said. "A bonus."
Snape stepped back into the landscape, seating himself on a bench overlooking the house, to watch as Lucius squeezed black, white and burnt umber onto the stained palette and picked up a long badger-hair brush with the same delicacy with which he handled his wand. A few deft strokes delineated a set of efficient looking shackles hung by chains on either side of the archway. Satisfied, Lucius set down the brush and palette and wiped his hands on a piece of rag as he muttered a quick drying charm.
"Well?" he asked.
Snape rose from the bench and reached up to the manacles, giving each a firm tug. There was a clink of chain and the scrape of iron on stone.
"The rust is a nice touch," he said.
Lucius nodded. "One thing I learned in Azkaban was the exact texture and shape of really efficient restraints. Let that be a lesson for you, Draco. No experience is ever wasted."
Snape strolled casually out of the archway and shortly reappeared in his own frame, settling down into the wing-backed chair and folding his arms into the pose in which he had been painted. "You will need a warded room," he said. "There are too many escape routes in here." His gaze indicated the racked paintings.
Lucius nodded, lifting the landscape from its easel and indicating that Draco do the same for Snape's portrait. "That is why I suggested the Tower rooms," he said. "They're secure, and have a very comfortable bed. And only one portrait." He smiled, a smile of which even Voldemort had been wary. "Be thankful that you never knew your grandfather, Draco. He was a sadist and a prude."
Together, they disapparated.
Abraxas Malfoy wrenched at the shackles. The rusted metal raised bloody weals on his scrawny wrists, but did not give.
"Lucius!" He spat. "I might have guessed. Sending your half-blood catamite to do your dirty work."
"You taught me never to sully Malfoy hands with filth," his son replied, with icy calm. "Are you complaining that I learned your lesson too well?"
"Release me, boy!"
"Not until you've served our purpose." Lucius smiled lazily and reached out to pull Draco into the curve of his arm - and into the field of vision of the portrait. "You remember your grandson? He and I have a very special - gift - for you."
Abraxas leaned forward to the full limit of the chains and roared in fury. Draco stepped back, though he knew he could not be threatened. In the background of the painting Snape's fingers tightened on his wand. Only Lucius remained unmoved. He picked up his own wand (twelve inches, ebony, cored with Thestral hair, crafted, like the one that Voldemort had destroyed, by de Rais in Paris) and cast a casual silencing charm.
"That's better," he said. "Severus, if you'd care to leave this part of the ritual to us now..."
Snape moved downhill, and out of the frame. With a second wave of his wand Lucius elevated the canvas and propped it against the end of the bed. "There," he said. "The old reprobate will have to wait until I'm ready for once." He glanced up as Snape settled back into his own chair, then back to Draco. "Now," he smiled, setting his wand down on the bedside table, and turning away from his son, "You had better start by plaiting my hair."
Draco had already reached out to run his fingers through the silky pale locks. He aborted the movement with an exclamation. "What?" The word was tinged with disappointment, he had always envied the way his mother was permitted to caress that hair.
Lucius sighed with exasperation. "Sex between men can be unbelievably messy and I remember what you did with jam and soldiers when you were two. Plait it."
With a rueful scowl Draco complied. As he divided and threaded the stands of hair he was aware of Lucius's own hands moving rhythmically down the line of silver filigree clasps that fastened his robe and, just as Draco finished securing the twisted silk ribbon tie at the end of the plait, Lucius flexed his shoulders and both robe and undergarments cascaded down like water to pool at his feet.
"Mmm," muttered Snape. "You still strip well - for an old man."
Anyone else would have bridled at the addendum, but Lucius smiled reminiscently. Clearly it had been an old joke between them, made more poignant now that the seven year gap between their ages had stretched to twenty. He turned casually to face the portrait, flexing to emphasise muscles still toned by exercise, and watched the black eyes roam appreciatively down his torso to his still quiescent manhood.
"I did consider," he said softly, "Having the artist do a nude portrait of you. But he wouldn't have done you justice."
"When," Draco intervened, "You two have quite finished flirting..."
Snape broke eye-contact with his former lover and looked down at the parchment which Draco had propped on the dresser at the portrait's eye-level. "Yes." He cleared his throat. "The first thing the curse requires..."
"I am not," snarled Lucius, "Going to bugger my son by numbers. I know what the curse requires Severus. Who was it who taught me that all magical texts may be interpreted by the will of the wizard?"
Snape lowered his eyes. His voice was almost inaudible. "Do what thou wilt," he whispered.
It was Draco who responded, reaching his hand to cup Lucius's shoulder, turning him away from the painting and into an embrace.
"That does sound like good advice," Draco smiled, looking down at his father from his present two-inch height advantage. "And I do know something about sex magic too. I had a very good teacher." He glanced at Snape, who scowled back, but without malice.
"Would you have preferred lessons from the Carrows?" he asked.
Draco gave a theatrical shudder and turned back to Lucius. "I would have preferred to stick with tradition and learned from you."
The older man's grin mirrored his son's. "Never too late," he murmured, before claiming his lips again, and turning the attention of his fingers to the fastenings on Draco's robe. As he drew back to pull the silk tie free Draco asked "What did I do with jam and soldiers when I was two?"
Lucius smiled reminiscently as his hands followed the fall of fabric down the length of his son's body, skimming nipples and navel and drawing a line from pubes to cock-tip before curling around his length and pulling gently. Draco rose to the occasion as once, as his father's mouth followed fabric and fingers, lowering himself to his knees without losing contact. Then he looked up, eyes sparking with mischief.
"First," he said, "You'd lick off all the jam. Like this." His tongue swept along the path already mapped by his fingertips, from base to tip, lingering to gather the slickness of pre-come before repeating the action on the underside. Draco watched breathlessly as his father savoured the taste.
"Then," he continued, placing firm hands on Draco's hips to hold him steady, "Then, once the... jam... was all gone, you would suck off the butter..." Draco swore and grabbed Lucius's shoulders for support as a hot mouth enveloped him, tongue swirling around the head of his cock and - oh Merlin! - sucking it free of his foreskin and his mind free of all coherent thought, and he was... He nearly screamed when the mouth withdrew and pale fingers curled around the base, pressing -just so - to prevent the release he craved.
"L... Lucius!" he almost sobbed.
"And then," Lucius was still smiling, whether in amusement at Draco's reaction, or with pleasure at the activities of his other hand on his own erect and eager member it was impossible to tell; "When you had rendered your... soldiers... completely damp and tasteless; you would throw them all over the place..." He rose carefully to his feet, still gripping both their cocks, and half-turned to face the picture.
"The curse actually only requires my come," he said, conversationally, "But I think that we should both enjoy this..."
For a moment Abraxas gazed up at his son and grandson, face red with an anger that turned to horror as the first stream of spunk hit the canvas.
By the time that the furious face had been completely obscured the two men were hanging onto each other as much for mutual support as for mutual masturbation. Draco turned into his father's embrace to rest his chin on his shoulder as the last of their mingled semen ran in a cool trail down his thigh. It took a while for their breathing to steady.
At length Lucius broke them apart and reached for his wand. "It's past time I banished this filth to the attic," he said, suiting the action to the words.
"At least the old man was of some use." Snape observed dryly. "And it seems that the Curse is prepared to accept the participation of a portrait in this ritual." He nodded to the parchment, where the lines describing the act that the two men had just performed were slowly fading from sepia to grey, and into invisibility.
"Indeed," said Lucius. Remind me to send a gift to Headmistress Granger. Had she not kidnapped Phineas our knowledge of the properties of wizarding portraits would be regrettably sparse. It seems that a portrait witness will fulfil the requirement of this curse. Just make sure that I don't have to use a silencing charm on you too, Severus."
The black eyes hooded briefly, then Snape nodded. He watched as Lucius set aside his wand and turned back to his son, plait swinging to fall over his shoulder with the movement. Draco reached out again to take the rope of white hair in his hand and used it to draw his father's head to him.
"I want," he whispered, "To start with this." His lips replaced the caress of his hand, following taut muscle up to the junction of jaw and ear, and then down to claim the older man's mouth. The kiss was long and deep, each testing the boundaries of their commitment to this, and finding none. Exploration turned to instruction, to endearment.
Here: teeth tugging at an earlobe;
Gently: tongue soothing bitten flesh;
More: finger-tips brushing a nipple;
Lower: a nose nuzzling along a trail of fine blond hair;
Slowly: lips following a pulsing vein;
There: a mouth enveloping moist flesh;
Firmer: the slap of a cupped palm on scarlet skin;
Harder: throat sucking; swallowing;
Open: hands spreading trembling thighs;
Deeper: cock pressing through a tight ring of muscle...
They had long since left the constraints of the curse behind. Only Snape noticed the last of the inked lines fade to nothing as Draco drove himself to a howling orgasm, buried balls-deep between the spanked red globes of his father's arse.
When at length they broke apart, eyes bright with unshed tears, it took every ounce of Lucius' willpower to push Draco to arms-length.
"We cannot do this again," he growled.
Draco blinked. "No," he agreed. "It's wrong. But..."
"The spell demands an annual sacrifice." Snape's tones were acerbic. Both living men looked across the room to him, and then down at the ritual parchment where only the dark stains of their co-mingled blood remained.
"Well, then," Draco finished, "Let's keep it for Father's Day."