Title: Forgiveness
Author: gypsyflame
Characters/Pairings: Lucius/Draco; Snape/Draco in background
Rating: NC-17
Kinks/Themes Chosen: Incest and paddling
Other Warnings: Underage (Draco is 15/16); Draco’s messed-up headspace
Word Count: ~2,750
Summary/Description: Lucius punishes Draco after the incident on the Hogwarts Express.
Author's Notes: Post-OotP AU in which Lucius didn’t go to Azkaban. As always, much gratitude to the_flic for the beta!




“Do you know why I summoned you here, Draco?”

Resisting the urge to shuffle his feet and look down at the ground, Draco met his father’s eyes as best he could. “Yes, Father.”

Lucius raised his eyebrows, waiting for Draco to elaborate.

“It was foolish of me to attack Potter on the train.”

“Why is that?”

“Because there were too many witnesses,” Draco said. After years of his father’s unique tutoring, he knew which answers Lucius was looking for. “And no way to deny culpability.”

“And?”

“And…” Draco hesitated, considering how to phrase it. “The political situation is…precarious.”

“Indeed,” said Lucius. “I am not pleased about being forced to punish you on your first day home, Draco.”

Draco hung his head, his shame finally overcoming his desire to demonstrate composure. His eyes flicked to the black punishment bench that took ominous centre stage in Lucius’ study.

“What particularly irks me is that I remember having to punish you for the exact same behaviour last summer. Obviously I was not harsh enough, as you seem not to have learned your lesson.”

“I’m sorry, Father,” Draco whispered. The tone of disapproval in Lucius’ voice made him cringe.

Lucius snorted. “You are only sorry for being caught – not for your rash and unwise actions. But you will be. Fetch me the leather paddle.”

Draco moved across the room to the lacquered armoire that housed his father’s punishment implements. The corporal discipline had begun after his eleventh birthday, when Lucius had deemed him strong enough to handle it. Draco couldn’t avoid it – not even at Hogwarts, where Lucius’ trusted friend Snape handled Draco’s punishment in his father’s stead.

The leather paddle hung in the middle of the display; it was one of Lucius’ favorites. Draco picked it up, feeling the threatening weight of it. The black leather gleamed unforgivingly in the low light of the study.

Draco handed it to his father, who took it without comment. Lucius had already shed his robes so that they wouldn’t interfere with his range of movement.

“Remove your trousers and pants and bend over the bench,” he said.

Draco undressed neatly and with great care – first his shoes, with socks tucked carefully inside, then trousers and pants folded and placed on a chair. As always, he was grateful that his father allowed him the dignity of keeping his shirt; Snape always insisted that Draco strip completely, to heighten the humiliation of the punishment.

He bent over the bench, which automatically restrained his ankles and wrists with fur-lined cuffs designed to hold up against powerful struggles without chafing the skin. Lucius lifted Draco’s shirttails so that his arse was fully bared.

“I am very disappointed in you, Draco.”

Unwelcome tears stung Draco’s eyes. He could take his father’s anger, he could endure the painful punishment, but the one thing he could not bear was his father’s disappointment. The knowledge that he had failed the man he loved and respected most made Draco’s throat close up with shame.

“You will receive thirty strokes, and you will count them,” said Lucius. “If you fail to count correctly, we will start again from the beginning. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Father.” The instructions were the same every time; only the number of strokes changed from punishment to punishment. Thirty was quite a lot, but not the most he had ever received.

Lucius landed the first blow. Draco grunted at the heavy thud of leather-covered wood against his arse.

“One.”

Lucius continued to paddle Draco in a slow, steady rhythm. He spread the blows out to evenly cover all of Draco’s arse and the backs of his thighs. By twelve, Draco’s arse was smarting and his tears were beginning to spill.

And, for some reason Draco had never understood, his cock started to swell and harden. He wanted to believe that his body only reacted this way because it was anticipating what would come after the punishment. The truth was, though, that Draco had begun finding his punishments arousing long before either his father or Snape had ever touched him sexually. There was just something about the heat building in his arse, the feeling of being restrained and helpless, that made him squirm in a way nothing else could.

Lucius began to wield the paddle with more force, bringing it down on Draco’s arse with a loud smack.

“Ah!” Draco cried. “Th-thirteen.” He suffered through a few more strokes of the paddle before breaking down. “S-seventeen, oh, Father, please, I’m sorry –”

“Hush, Draco,” Lucius said reprovingly. “We aren’t finished yet.”

He administered the rest of the paddling with consummate skill, while Draco sobbed and twisted in the restraints as best he could. He managed to cry out the numbers at the appropriate times, although he knew his words were mostly incoherent. His hard cock rubbed maddeningly against the leather of the bench.

An internal conflict twisted Draco’s gut, as it always did during his punishments. Half of him wanted to take the beating stoically, with the fortitude expected of a Malfoy and a Slytherin; he couldn’t shake the feeling that his tears and cries of pain disappointed his father still further. But the other half of Draco couldn’t resist the dark, sweet ache that the blows roused within him. He knew – though he had tried to deny it for a long time – that it wasn’t the pain that excited him so much as the humiliation. Draco hated that about himself, and it shamed him most deeply when he knew that his father could see it, but he had learned that there was no use in fighting it.

It was easier with Snape for some reason, perhaps because he never showed the slightest sign of disdain for Draco’s reactions, nor did he ever behave as if he thought finding arousal in humiliation was something to be ashamed of. In fact, he went out of his way to humiliate Draco as much as possible during their sessions – not out of cruelty or a lust for power, as Draco had come to realize, but because he liked that Draco enjoyed it. That was something Draco had never felt with his father.

By the time the final stroke of the paddle landed square in the middle of his arse, Draco’s face was tear-streaked, his eyes puffy, and his nose running. “Th-thirty,” he said shakily, sniffling a little.

Lucius drew his wand from his sleeve and cast a spell to get rid of every sign of Draco’s tears – a spell normally used by overly-hormonal teenagers who didn’t want their friends to know they’d been crying. Though his face was now dry and he could breathe easily, Draco flinched at the reminder of how objectionable Lucius found his responses. He couldn’t help but remember the last time Snape had punished him, how he had kissed the tears away afterwards with softly-spoken words of reassurance.

Resting a hand on Draco’s stinging arse, Lucius said, “You may apologize now.”

Draco took a deep breath, trying to rein in his wildly fluctuating emotions. He refused to let his father down anymore than he already had. “I’m sorry, Father,” he said, relieved when his voice came out steady and unwavering. “I didn’t think before I acted, and I apologize for bringing shame on myself and on you. I’ll show more restraint in the future.”

Lucius’ approving pat at the well-spoken apology suffused Draco with pride and warmth even as the pressure against his sore flesh made his cock twitch.

“Are you prepared to do penance?”

“Yes, sir.” Draco hoped he didn’t sound too eager. His father, unlike Snape, didn’t like to hear him beg.

Penance, when Draco was younger, had meant sitting on his freshly beaten arse in a horridly uncomfortable wooden chair and writing lines until his father or Snape were certain he was properly remorseful. Last summer, the terms of his penance had changed drastically.

Draco much preferred the new version.

When his father’s slick fingers pushed inside of him, Draco didn’t censor his sigh of pleasure. Lucius didn’t mind if Draco enjoyed this part, so there was no need to try to hold himself back. He’d never been good at suppressing arousal, anyway.

Lucius prepared him quickly, efficiently, and that was all it was – preparation. There was no drawn-out teasing, no purposeful stoking of Draco’s arousal, no deliberate rubs against his prostate. Draco hadn’t even realized he had come to expect that until just this moment, but he supposed it made sense. He spent most of the year at Hogwarts, and the majority of his punishments were administered by Snape, so of course Draco had become accustomed to the professor’s style. He would just have to re-adjust to his father’s method for the summer.

The fingers withdrew, and Draco heard the unbuckling of a belt and the unzipping of trousers. A moment later, Lucius’ cock was sliding smoothly inside him, opening him up and making him moan.

Draco wasn’t an idiot. He knew Lucius wasn’t supposed to touch him this way, that most people would be disgusted and horrified if they knew that his father fucked him. But Draco didn’t care. The only time he felt truly close to his father, the only time he was absolutely sure that Lucius loved and valued him, was when the man was inside him. He only wished that he could enjoy his father’s touch without being punished first – Lucius never fucked Draco unless it was as penance for some misdeed.

He wondered what Lucius would think if he knew that Draco had recently taken to letting Snape fuck him outside the context of their punishment sessions, sometimes for entire afternoons or evenings or even overnight. Draco had spent a significant portion of the last day of term riding Snape’s cock in his office chair, just for the pleasure of it, with no talk of punishments or apologies or penance. Lucius would probably be furious, which was why Draco and Snape had agreed not to tell him.

Lucius began to thrust at the measured, unhurried pace that he favoured, running his hands lightly over Draco’s back. Though Draco delighted in the touch and attention from his usually aloof father, he couldn’t help shifting a bit anxiously against the bench. He preferred to be taken more roughly, more urgently, and Lucius’ leisurely strokes weren’t quite satisfying him. He wanted to push back on his father’s cock, to communicate that he needed to be fucked harder, but the restraints prevented him from doing more than wiggling a bit.

“You enjoy this,” Lucius said, startling Draco. He rarely spoke during this part of the session.

“Yes, Father.”

Lucius made a contemplative noise, his hips never stilling. “Do you enjoy it with Severus, as well?”

“I…yes.” Draco sensed a trap in his father’s questioning, though he couldn’t tell exactly what it was. But he couldn’t lie. Lucius would know; he always did.

“The last time I spoke with him of you, there was something in his tone that made me fear he is becoming too…attached.” Lucius’ breath was as even and regular as if he was taking a stroll in the gardens rather than fucking his bound and beaten son over a bench. “Have you noticed any change in his attitude towards you?”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean, Father,” Draco said. His own breaths came in sharp pants, from both arousal and apprehension. Merlin, he couldn’t think straight when he was being fucked – which of course was the reason his father had waited until now to question him. Damn it.

“I believe he may take too much pleasure in punishing you.”

Lucius didn’t step up his pace, but he shifted the angle of penetration just enough so that his cock brushed over Draco’s prostate with each slow thrust. Draco gasped and then moaned, long and loud, as every stroke added to the steadily building pleasure centred low in his belly. Had he been asked a question? He couldn’t remember.

“There are those who would go to great lengths to spend time with a man who truly enjoys being fucked,” said Lucius. “That is an asset, Draco. I shouldn’t like to see you waste it on someone undeserving.”

Draco could barely process the words through the fog of arousal that was clouding his brain. His father had never concentrated so intensely on Draco’s pleasure before, had never deliberately worked him up like this. Draco’s trapped cock twitched and jerked, staining the bench with precome.

“Blaise Zabini, for instance.” Lucius’ voice was low and silky, but now a hint of breathlessness revealed the effect that his exertions were having on him. “His mother has always resisted joining our cause, but the son might be amenable – with the proper incentives.”

That cut through the fog like a Lumos. Draco’s lust was momentarily replaced by astonishment, then hurt, and his hips stilled in their restless squirming. He wanted to believe he had misunderstood the words, but he knew he hadn’t.

“You want me to…” Whore myself out. No, he couldn’t say that.

“Convince him. Demonstrate the benefits of belonging to the right side.” Lucius’ hips were moving faster, and when his hands began squeezing and kneading Draco’s sore arse, Draco couldn’t stop his desperate sob of pleasure.

He tried not to give into it. “But –”

“I have great faith in your abilities, Draco, and in the knowledge that Severus and I have trained you well. Of course, if Severus has been failing in his duties as a disciplinarian, perhaps the Headmaster should know.”

It was like being punched in the stomach. There was an agonizing moment in which Draco literally couldn’t breathe. Lucius wouldn’t tell Dumbledore that Snape fucked Draco, would he? Snape could retaliate by informing the MLE that Lucius fucked Draco, which was surely a more serious offense in the eyes of the Ministry. No matter what, though, it would be Draco who was humiliated the most, and not in a way he enjoyed.

“I understand, Father,” he choked out. “I won’t…I won’t disappoint you.”

“Good boy,” Lucius said warmly, more warmly than Draco could ever remember hearing his father speak to him before. “I know you’ll make me proud.”

He leaned over and kissed Draco’s back, then fell silent as he fucked Draco in earnest – no longer pursuing an agenda, simply intent on orgasm. Draco’s own arousal had faded somewhat, lost its urgency, although he was still hard and aching for release. He groaned as his father filled him again and again, the pleasure of the hard fucking warring with the nausea of betrayal.

Lucius grunted softly when he came. The sensation of his father’s come inside him, which normally gave Draco a feeling of pride and satisfaction, now repulsed him. Lucius didn’t fuck Draco because he loved him or because he wanted to be close to him. He fucked Draco because that was all he thought Draco was good for.

The realization made Draco want to throw up and cry and scream in rage all at once.

Lucius pulled out and cleaned up his come before releasing Draco from the bench’s restraints and helping him stand up. Draco stumbled, dizzy from having his head hanging down for so long, and Lucius picked him up and sat in his favourite armchair with Draco on his lap.

This had always been the part that Draco looked forward to most – not because he would finally be allowed to come, but because it meant the punishment was over and his penance had been deemed acceptable. Now he just wanted to get it over with and get out.

Lucius’ hand closed over his cock and wanked him with firm, smooth strokes. Draco closed his eyes and leaned back against his father’s shoulder, wishing it were Snape’s hand on him.

He jerked in surprise when Lucius’ other hand slid under his shirt to pinch one of his nipples. He’d never touched Draco there before; Snape was the only one who played with Draco like that. Gods, what did Lucius know? And how?

The sharp pleasure from the sensitive nerves there, combined with the hand on his cock, pushed Draco over the edge. He let out a ragged moan and writhed on his father’s lap while his cock pulsed again and again.

Lucius kissed his neck. “I forgive you, son.”

“Thank you, Father,” Draco said automatically, but the words were empty, not filled with gratitude and relief as they had always been in the past.

He didn’t want his father’s forgiveness anymore.