So Much to SayAuthor: madeyemaxBased On/Inspired By: I Confess To No Shame
Spectrophilia, incest, adultery, hand job, angst.Word Count:
There were so many things left unsaid after Draco's father died.
Draco glanced to his left and could just make out Astoria's face in the moonlight filtering through the curtains. She was asleep, he could tell by her breathing. As well she should be; it was well after midnight. Draco should have been asleep as well, but it was hardly a surprise that he wasn't. He didn't sleep so well these days.
Draco didn't glance at the clock. He knew exactly what time it was. You could set your watch by his father's visits. The man had always been a stickler for punctuality. And he was here now. Draco could feel him.
Astoria knew about the haunting. She seemed to think it was sweet, bless her. She hadn't been at all surprised when Draco had told her, saying that clearly Draco's father had unfinished business with him.
"The two of you never said what you were feeling," she said casually one night as she prepared for bed. Draco could see her standing at the sink in their en-suite bathroom. He perched on the edge of the bed and wrung his hands.
"There was nothing to say," he insisted. Astoria made a noise that was like a snort and a laugh combined.
"I'll never understand men," she said. "Well, clearly he had something to say to you. He's here, isn't he? He hasn't turned up just to watch you sleep every night."
"Well, he won't fully materialise," Draco argued. "He won't show himself, he just hovers around, you can barely make him out. If he's got something to say, why won't he show himself? Why won't he just say
"He couldn't tell you when he was alive. Perhaps when we die we don't immediately gain infinite wisdom and knowledge. Perhaps we don't immediately change our ways. Perhaps we never do." She turned away from the sink and leaned back against the edge of the counter top. She was in her night gown, the white, flowing one that Draco liked because he could just make out her nipples through the gauzy fabric. Her sleek hair fell over her shoulders, its deep brown contrasting against her pale skin. She cocked her head at him. "Draco."
"Hm?" He looked back up at her face and found her smiling softly at him.
"My eyes are up here, darling," she said.
He smiled a rather sad smile and lowered his face. "Right. Sorry."
With a sigh, she stepped out of the bathroom and approached, sat next to him and touched his back. "Would it kill you to talk to him?"
Draco shrugged. "I don't even know that he'd hear me."
"It couldn't hurt to try. You stubborn thing," she said, her tone affectionate. "What sort of pride is there in keeping your feelings from the dead?"
The word "dead" delivered a painful little jolt to Draco's chest, but he didn't let it show. And perhaps she had a point, but Draco was certain that even in death Lucius had no desire to see his son show weakness. It was the one thing Astoria could never understand. Now, more than ever before, Draco needed to be strong to honor his father's memory. That was just how things were done. Perhaps Lucius had remained to make sure Draco was doing just that. Draco wouldn't put it past him. It was a much more likely explanation than things having been left unsaid.
Still, right now, as Draco lie awake in the dark, acutely aware of the curtains swaying in his periphery even though the windows were closed, he wondered. Maybe Lucius couldn't move on in peace until he said whatever he needed to say.
Draco glanced at the swaying curtains. Lucius had a way of keeping his distance when Draco was near his wife. And so, with a sigh, Draco pushed back the covers and quietly got out of bed.
He approached the double doors that led out to the terrace, paused there a moment to glance back at Astoria still sleeping soundly in their bed, then unlatched the doors and pushed one open just enough for him to slip outside. He shut the door behind him.
The night was clear with just a hint of a chill. Draco shivered slightly; he should have put on a shirt and slippers. The stone terrace was cool beneath his feet. He crossed his arms over his bare chest and tried to think of what to say.
"I'm here," he finally said, immediately feeling silly. "What is it, then? Come on, I know you're there."
He felt a breeze unlike the breeze he'd felt thus far. No, it wasn't a breeze so much as a pocket of extra chilliness. It past from left to right across his back, making him shiver even more.
"Yeah, I feel you there," Draco muttered. "Can you speak? Can you show yourself? I'm tired, Father, I've got to be up in a few hours, I don't have time to –"
He paused as he felt the chill again, this time grazing his right bicep. It went away, but Lucius was still there, just off to the side. Draco could feel him.
"Shall we just stand here, then? Fine." Draco looked out toward the dark horizon and traced the treeline with his eyes. "You know, perhaps if you'd been more forthcoming with your emotions in the first place, we wouldn't be having this problem now. You never taught me how to do this. It's entirely unfair of you to ask me to try it now."
There was no response, but Lucius was still there.
"Don't you think I wanted to say it? While you were alive? We had every opportunity, you and I. I guess I always thought you were invincible, but I never thought I was. There was a while there when I could feel my own mortality following me like a cloud above my head, and I could've said something at any time, I could've, but I …" Draco lowered his face and closed his eyes, trying to compose himself, hearing echoes of his father's voice in his head telling him to straighten his face, stiff upper lip and all that. He inhaled deeply, pushing everything down. This was not the time to cry.
He swallowed hard and slowly opened his eyes. He seemed to have things under control again. He relaxed his shoulders, cautiously as though the tension in them had been keeping his emotions at bay.
"I know, Father," he said when he thought he could trust his voice not to break. He stared out at the landscape again, straight ahead. "I know how you felt about me. I'm not stupid."
The air to Draco's right shimmered.
"At first I couldn't figure out what that look you would give me was. Yes, I saw that look. I would catch glimpses of it seconds before you'd turn your face away. I didn't know what it was until … I caught you. One night in the den. You said my name as you … I can't even say it. I'm a grown man and I still can't say such things in front of you."
The wind picked up a bit and Draco thought he felt an extra bit of cold in it, caressing across his shoulders. The wind died back down to a gentle breeze, but the extra chill remained. Draco let it be. He closed his eyes and let it touch him.
"After that, I figured out what the look was about. I'd thought you were sizing me up, making note of all the things about me that weren't up to your standards. I thought … I thought you were disappointed. But after the night I caught you, I figured it all out and I didn't know what to think. What does a person do with that kind of information? I was confused, I was in shock, I was even a bit angry. Angry at you for not being more discreet, for having such feelings in the first place, angry at my own body for betraying me." Draco's voice dropped to almost a whisper. "Almost couldn't keep quiet when I touched myself that night, after I saw you. I made a bit of a noise, I couldn't help it, and I thought I heard you outside my room, walking past on your way back to bed. I thought I heard your footsteps. I always wondered if you'd heard me."
The chill was still there, now stroking down the length of Draco's back, stopping just short of his bottom. Draco could almost feel the anticipation in the ghostly touch, as though it wanted to drop down lower but didn't dare.
Draco gulped and shut his eyes again. Was this what his father had stuck around for? Because he'd never been able to admit his feelings in life, but in death figured that he'd nothing left to lose?
Perhaps that made sense. Perhaps nothing was off limits in the afterlife. Maybe this might be okay now. Draco's body was already responding to that touch at his back. Eyes still shut, Draco slowly lowered a hand to his waist and slipped it down inside his pyjama bottoms. His skin was burning hot in comparison to Lucius's touch. Draco wondered if Lucius could feel that, the heat, wondered if it comforted him, that reassurance that Draco was alive and well.
Draco hardened quickly in his own hand and began to tug at himself, thinking about his father in the den that one night, of the sound of his own name, in a quivering whisper, blurted out in a moment of weakness, of the footsteps outside his bedroom, how they'd paused for just a moment as Draco had lost control and let out a groan. He thought about the thing that he'd only ever allowed himself to think about when he came, of his bedroom door creaking open and his father peering in at him, coming inside, shutting the door, locking it, and then, without words, expressing to Draco the feelings that he could never say aloud.
The chill encircled Draco's waist, and a bizarre sense of freedom came over him. They could do this now. No one would know. It wasn't really happening, anyway, because Lucius was a ghost. This didn't count. It wasn't nearly as bad as it would've been had Lucius been alive, solid, touching his son with flesh and blood hands. Nowhere near as bad.
Draco lowered his pyjamas just a bit, exposed himself to the night air, and almost instantly felt the chill shift a bit lower, grazing the pale blond nest of hair at his crotch and then encircling the base of his dick. Draco shivered and began stroking faster, already starting to breathe harder as Lucius's ghostly hand cupped his own and moved in time with his strokes.
There was something like a whisper at Draco's ear, a whisper and a puff of cold. Draco didn't dare glance around or open his eyes. If Lucius decided to make himself visible and Draco saw him, it would all be over, Draco would lose his nerve, this exhilarating sense of liberation would dissolve, and he would be left feeling dirty and ashamed, just as he had done the first night he'd touched himself with his father on his mind.
He was trembling, half from the chill and half from pure arousal. He let his mind go as far as it ever had, letting his father do as he pleased inside Draco's head, let himself imagine a wet tongue sweeping up his throat and then slipping into his mouth with a need so palpable that it left Draco breathless. He imagined Lucius's slender fingers stroking him fast while Lucius cradled Draco in his other arm. He thought of a low voice whispering filthy things into his ear, sweet things, beautiful things.I love you,
Draco heard him say. My perfect boy, I love you so much.
Draco let out a soft sob-like noise, squeezing his eyes closed. Perhaps now was the time to cry. Every time before now had seemed like the wrong time, even when he'd been alone. Now it felt right. Not that he could've stopped the tears if he'd tried. He dropped his head back as droplets painted wet trails down his cheeks.
In his mind he came into his father's loving hand just as he began to spurt onto and through the ornate stone bars at made up the terrace's railing. He couldn't stay silent, let more little sob-like noises out into the dark. The chill had left his ear and now he could feel it engulf his cock, in a different way than Lucius's hand had done. His mouth, Draco thought. He hazarded a glance down and there, just before him, was a shimmer, a ripple as though an unseen finger was poking at the fabric of reality, and for a split second Draco wished Lucius would show himself. But the moment passed as Draco's climax died away. His hand slowed and finally stopped. The shimmer faded and the chill pulled away.
"Don't go," Draco blurted out before he could stop himself. He put himself away and spun around, a little shakily, eyes scanning the empty air. "Don't go. Please. I … I love you. I should've said it before and I'm sorry I didn't. I couldn't. I'm sorry." He felt himself breaking down again, but he wouldn't let it happen this time. He swallowed down his pain and wiped the tear trails from his cheeks.
And then he felt it again, the chill wrapping around him, holding on for a long moment before finally letting go. This time he really was gone. Draco felt his presence pull away and dissolve into the air.
Would he come back? Was his business here finished now? Draco panicked a little at the thought that that had been the last time he'd ever have contact with his father, but he pushed it all down. He'd had a good cry. He'd let it out. It was over.
He jumped as the doors opened and panicked once again as he tried to ascertain whether or not there was any visible evidence of what had just happened. There was his come splattered across the stone bars and on the floor, but it was dark. She wouldn't be able to see that.
"Draco?" Astoria said, her voice raspy from sleep. She stood in the doorway, flanked by the doors as she held them open on either side of her. She cocked her head. "What are you doing?"
"I said it," he replied, still fighting down his own emotions and hating how shaky his voice was. He was thankful for the dark. Maybe she wouldn't noticed his puffy, red eyes. "He was here and I said it to him. And I think he said it too, whispered it in my ear. I … I think that was what he'd been wanting. You were right. He's gone now."
"Oh, love," she whispered, stepping out into the night and going to him to wrap her arms around his middle. "I knew you could do it."
He kissed her hair and then rested his chin gently on her head.
"Do you feel better?" she whispered.
Draco thought for a moment. He didn't feel guilty. He didn't feel dirty or ashamed. He worried about that a bit. He should feel at least one of those things, but what he felt was relief. He felt sad but somehow much lighter than when he'd come out here. He felt a little shaky and very raw. He felt good.
He smiled, actually, genuinely smiled, and stroked her hair as he replied, "I do."