Two Heirs; Gift for fairy_mischief!
Recipient: fairy_mischief
Title: Two Heirs
Author: hollycomb
Pairing/s: Barty Crouch, Jr./Draco Malfoy
Rating: NC-17
Warning(s): Angst, significant age difference (Draco is 17, Barty is 35)
Length: ~2500
Summary: AU - Barty escaped punishment after his stint as Moody. He is among those who are staying in Malfoy Manor toward the end of the war. Draco Malfoy, home from school, both resents and identifies with him.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction set in the Harry Potter universe - all recognisable characters and settings are the property of J. K. Rowling and her associates. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is made from this work. Please observe your local laws with regards to the age-limit and content of this work.
Author's Notes: Thank you so much to my beta, e, and to the mods for working with me. I hope you'll enjoy this, fairy_mischief! I was really inspired by the pairing, because they do have quite a bit in common.
Two Heirs
Draco sits in a chair in his father's study and watches the rain through the window, soaking the now-unkempt grounds. The house elves have been killed or dismissed, and soon the disorder in the gardens will creep into the Manor. Draco's mother is not well, and the house seems to suffer with her. She walks through its rooms like she is already a ghost, and her eyes well up every time she looks at Draco. Like his father, she knows now that Draco will not live up to the promises Lucius made about his skills and courage. She knows that the end of the Malfoy family is approaching, no matter who wins the War. Already the Manor has become a kind of base for Voldemort's people, and they come and go as they please. It is all the Malfoys can really offer the Death Eaters now.
"Sitting here having a brood?"
Draco turns to glower at Barty Crouch, Jr., his only regular source of conversation in the weeks since he was retrieved from Hogwarts following his near death in the Room of Requirement. Barty likes to hear himself talk, and he likes other things that Draco has begrudgingly begun to allow him. They are both only sons and they are both failures, a combination of traits that endears them to each other in a hateful way. Draco sees himself in Barty, who is older and more resigned, given to sardonic laughter when he's reminded (usually by Draco) of his pathetic station in life. Draco hates Barty for giving him this glimpse of his own future, and still he is drawn to him in a guilty way. Maybe it's simply that he can't escape him; the Manor that felt like a castle to Draco as a child seems to grow smaller every day.
"Leave me alone," Draco says, turning back to the rain. Barty doesn't, of course. It's a relief.
"What are you contemplating this afternoon?" Barty asks, leaning on the back of Draco's chair. He smells like tobacco and cat dander, like always. The tobacco is stolen from Draco's father's stash; regretfully, Draco was the one who showed Barty where it was located. He's not sure where Barty is getting his supply of cat hair.
"Is it afternoon?" Draco mutters, and Barty snorts.
"You're almost as good at melodramatic posturing as your mum."
"Don't talk about my mother," Draco says, turning to glower at Barty, who smirks. He's always pleased to see that he's succeeded in irritating Draco.
"You should be able to appreciate the last days of the civilized world," Barty says. "Or the last days of the reign of filth we've been under since Potter came along. Either way. Won't it be interesting to see how things turn out? Look at you, mourning - whatever the hell you're mourning. School days?" He laughs, too loud; he's very uncivilized himself, really. Draco's parents hate him, and they try to keep it quiet, because Barty once did an important favor for the Dark Lord and barely managed to escape. He's got one up on Draco in that department.
"I'm mourning the days when I didn't have to suffer your company," Draco says, tipping his head back to stare up at Barty, who is still leaning down over the back of Draco's chair, staring at him with that stupid, half-mad smile. Barty needs a shave, and his hair is greasy as usual. Draco is disgusted with the feeling of base excitement that is already climbing through him while Barty watches him with his dark, hungry eyes. Draco's legs slide apart a bit on the chair cushion.
"What, back when you fucked yourself with the thick end of your wand?" Barty says, reaching down to take a handful of Draco's hair. Draco stays limp; he's not afraid of Barty anymore. Everything outside of the Manor still terrifies him - the War, its consequences, the dark shape of Voldemort looming over everything - but inside his childhood home, he's learned to live with what he is. He ducks even the glances of his parents and ignores the whispered taunts from the higher ranking Death Eaters, slinking around in the shadows until Barty yanks him back into the light.
Barty is pretty proud of the fact that he took Draco's virginity, and Draco supposes it could have been worse. There was a moment of sincere panic, back at Hogwarts, when Crabbe and Goyle found out they didn't have to obey him anymore and had something truly dangerous glinting in their animal eyes before Draco managed to make himself scarce. That would have been true horror, but the way it actually went down, with Barty's teasing increasing day by day until Draco finally wanted to experience what he'd been hinting at all along, wasn't so bad. He'd still sobbed afterward, when Barty was gone. For a long time at school he had held onto the secret hope that Harry Potter would be enlightened by the revolution and see in Draco what Draco had been trying to show him from the beginning, and when Harry lifted Draco from the Room of Requirement and let Draco cling and press his tears to Harry's neck, Draco thought that maybe he had imagined it wrong - maybe Harry would bring Draco over to his side, and maybe they would finally fall in love there. Draco was willing, in the moment; he had not a thought of his parents. But Harry set him down and moved on without a second look, and Draco is here now, resigned to coupling frantically with people who are like him. With the only person in the world, maybe, who is like him.
"You need to remember that you're lucky to be alive," Barty says as he drags Draco over to the billiard table, Draco stumbling and surrendered. He expects to be thrown across the edge on his stomach, but instead Barty lifts him up and sets his arse on the table, settling in between Draco's legs. Draco exhales in a combination of disappointment and relief, and reaches up to receive Barty's sloppy kisses, his beard scratching Draco's cheeks and his breath like an ashtray. It took Draco longer than it should have to see through Barty's flippant laughter and predatory gesturing and understand that he is phenomenally lonely. He's lived the life that Draco has feared more than anything: his father's prisoner, his mother sacrificed for him, for nothing. He is still a prisoner, only now he is imprisoned in Malfoy Manor, awaiting important instructions from the Dark Lord that will never come. Just like Draco.
"You're lucky I haven't told my father what you've done to me," Draco taunts, and Barty's eyes brighten at the threat, his grin quirking.
"What would you say to him?" Barty asks, pushing Draco onto his back. "Daddy, oh, you must help me, that pervy Crouch man, he touched me here." Barty takes hold of Draco's cock, which is shamefully hard just from this and the promise of more. Nobody touches him anymore. Nobody but his mother ever really did, and she can barely stand to look at Draco now, like she's already watching him hang.
"He grabbed my cock," Barty continues, parroting Draco's voice as he rubs him through his trousers. Draco huffs in annoyance at the monologue but opens his legs wider for Barty's hand. "And I got so fucking hard that I came in my little pink knickers," Barty says, back to his own voice now and right in Draco's ear.
"And what would you say in your defense?" Draco asks, his eyes shut and teeth gritted as he thrusts up into Barty's hand, his cock already raw from being rubbed against the fabric of his shorts, wanting to be freed. "I couldn't resist, he's so young and you know I'm a fucking nonce - ahh, yeah, just - I wanted to cover him with bite marks, you see."
"He'd let me off," Barty says, and Draco struggles for a moment, furious, but then his trousers and shorts are down and Barty's hot hand is wrapped around his cock. Draco arches up into the touch, slamming his head back against the billiard table in the process. Barty swallows him up and Draco sighs with the most profound relief he's ever known. It's so sudden and mindless that it makes him dizzy. Barty's mouth is a little unpleasant to kiss, but on Draco's cock it feels incredible, overly wet and so hot with the sting of that tobacco. He manages to lick up the underside of Draco's cock even as he's bobbing his head over it. Maybe this is a common technique, Draco wouldn't know, but he hasn't managed anything so complex when he's returning the favor. He's usually trying too hard to keep breathing to do much more than lick Barty madly until he growls and flips Draco over to exchange his mouth for his arse.
When Draco is close to coming Barty pulls back. Draco lets out a whimper that makes Barty grin and Draco enjoys the fact that Barty doesn't realize he's playing it up, all the innocence and trembling hesitation. The only thing Draco doesn't fake is the occasional bout of impotent rage and the throat-clearing moans that Barty pulls out of him when he's fucking him hard.
"Look how good I am to you," Barty says, pulling a bottle of probably homemade Slicking Potion from the pocket of his billowing jacket.
"I suppose you searched every room in the Manor with that shit burning a hole in your pocket," Draco says, breathing hard. He's ready to come, and he feels insanely exposed, his legs open and his prick so straight and red between them. It's only when Barty is inside him that he forgets himself completely and doesn't care how pathetic he looks or sounds.
"That's right," Barty says, pulling out his cock and applying the Potion, which squishes between his fingers as he strokes himself. "While you sat here waiting to be found, pouting with your cock hard, impatient."
"I don't think of you when you're not in front of my face," Draco spits. It's a lie. He often wonders where Barty is and what he's doing. Draco saw a picture of Barty as a young man, once. He used to be really beautiful, a sort of pureblood god, all the right features.
"I don't think of you, either," Barty says, grinning, because it's a joke. He knows Draco is lying. He slides into Draco hard and fast like a warning, and Draco's yelp is authentic. Barty leans down to swallow it up, and bites at Draco's cheek on the way down to his neck. He doesn't move until Draco's ratcheting breath has calmed, and his mouth is soft on Draco's neck, almost making up for the scratch of his beard and the teeth that will scrape him when he loses control.
"How do you stay so tight for me, hmm?" Barty mumbles against Draco's skin. His clothes feel good over Draco's exposed cock, like protection, and every breath that moves Barty above him is a perfect tease, sending sparks through Draco's body, down to his toes.
"Magic," Draco says, and Barty laughs. It's the only time Draco appreciates Barty's laughter, when Barty is stuffed inside him. It's the closest Draco gets to laughing anymore.
"Going to fuck me or have a nap?" Draco asks, one hand grasping at Barty's shoulder and the other pushed into his hair. It's too much like an embrace, and he doesn't want to revel in it the way Barty is, even if he's the one who initiated it. Barty groans and pushes himself up with his hands flattened on the billiard table, letting Draco's arms fall away.
"Hold on to something," Barty says, glowering down at him, and Draco chews back a smile. And he's the melodramatic one.
Barty fucks Draco the same way he always does, as if he's fucking some younger version of himself: angry and punishing, wanting to hear a thousand apologies for how things turned out. Draco takes it as suitable recrimination and it starts to feel so good just before it begins to really hurt, but that part only lasts a few seconds. Barty screams his orgasm up at the ceiling, and Draco is always waiting for someone to come rushing in and ask what's wrong, what's happened, but it's not that sort of world anymore, not in here. People would rather not know.
"This looks painful," Barty breathes out through the last tremors of his orgasm, moving two fingers very softly over the tip of Draco's leaking cock. Draco cries out the way Barty wants him to, and maybe the way he wants to, as well, because it feels good, all this shouting and thrashing, it's the best part, really, finally having an excuse to scream through his agony rather than sit with it quietly.
"Please," Draco says, because the begging feels nice, too, in a strange way. He reaches for his cock and Barty bats his hand away. Barty is still inside him, still throbbing just a bit.
"You want to come, yeah?" Barty asks, and Draco nods frantically, his head sore against the table.
"I need it, please."
"You need me," Barty corrects, and it's true, God, and so humiliating, even now.
"Yes," Draco says, angry, his jaw tightening. "Yes, I need you, I need you."
"How so?" Barty moves one of his short nails through Draco's slit, and Draco screams, bucking up for more.
"Need you to f-fuck me, so hard, need you in me, God, Barty, you fucking - I sit here and wait for you to show up and sh-shove your cock in me, I squeeze my muscles up when I'm bored to, to make myself tighter for - you!" He shouts the last word with his orgasm as Barty finally closes his hand around him, barely needing to pump him once to finish him off. He goes blank with it, the most blissful erasure of everything, and when he comes to Barty is sliding out of him, groaning as if he's sorry to. Draco stays limp on the billiard table, the edge of it poking up into him uncomfortably, and Barty kisses his jaw before lifting him up and bringing him back to the chair. Draco expects to be dumped onto it, but Barty settles into it with Draco still in his arms. He doesn't hold him, exactly, but he doesn't shrug away when Draco wilts against his chest. Draco closes his eyes and slips a hand under Barty's jacket. He's very warm and a little humid with sweat. His heart is pounding.
"Fucking rain," Barty mutters, and the comment is so inane that Draco actually laughs, harder and harder, until Barty slides a hand into his hair, grins against his forehead and tells him to shut up.
Title: Two Heirs
Author: hollycomb
Pairing/s: Barty Crouch, Jr./Draco Malfoy
Rating: NC-17
Warning(s): Angst, significant age difference (Draco is 17, Barty is 35)
Length: ~2500
Summary: AU - Barty escaped punishment after his stint as Moody. He is among those who are staying in Malfoy Manor toward the end of the war. Draco Malfoy, home from school, both resents and identifies with him.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction set in the Harry Potter universe - all recognisable characters and settings are the property of J. K. Rowling and her associates. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is made from this work. Please observe your local laws with regards to the age-limit and content of this work.
Author's Notes: Thank you so much to my beta, e, and to the mods for working with me. I hope you'll enjoy this, fairy_mischief! I was really inspired by the pairing, because they do have quite a bit in common.
Two Heirs
Draco sits in a chair in his father's study and watches the rain through the window, soaking the now-unkempt grounds. The house elves have been killed or dismissed, and soon the disorder in the gardens will creep into the Manor. Draco's mother is not well, and the house seems to suffer with her. She walks through its rooms like she is already a ghost, and her eyes well up every time she looks at Draco. Like his father, she knows now that Draco will not live up to the promises Lucius made about his skills and courage. She knows that the end of the Malfoy family is approaching, no matter who wins the War. Already the Manor has become a kind of base for Voldemort's people, and they come and go as they please. It is all the Malfoys can really offer the Death Eaters now.
"Sitting here having a brood?"
Draco turns to glower at Barty Crouch, Jr., his only regular source of conversation in the weeks since he was retrieved from Hogwarts following his near death in the Room of Requirement. Barty likes to hear himself talk, and he likes other things that Draco has begrudgingly begun to allow him. They are both only sons and they are both failures, a combination of traits that endears them to each other in a hateful way. Draco sees himself in Barty, who is older and more resigned, given to sardonic laughter when he's reminded (usually by Draco) of his pathetic station in life. Draco hates Barty for giving him this glimpse of his own future, and still he is drawn to him in a guilty way. Maybe it's simply that he can't escape him; the Manor that felt like a castle to Draco as a child seems to grow smaller every day.
"Leave me alone," Draco says, turning back to the rain. Barty doesn't, of course. It's a relief.
"What are you contemplating this afternoon?" Barty asks, leaning on the back of Draco's chair. He smells like tobacco and cat dander, like always. The tobacco is stolen from Draco's father's stash; regretfully, Draco was the one who showed Barty where it was located. He's not sure where Barty is getting his supply of cat hair.
"Is it afternoon?" Draco mutters, and Barty snorts.
"You're almost as good at melodramatic posturing as your mum."
"Don't talk about my mother," Draco says, turning to glower at Barty, who smirks. He's always pleased to see that he's succeeded in irritating Draco.
"You should be able to appreciate the last days of the civilized world," Barty says. "Or the last days of the reign of filth we've been under since Potter came along. Either way. Won't it be interesting to see how things turn out? Look at you, mourning - whatever the hell you're mourning. School days?" He laughs, too loud; he's very uncivilized himself, really. Draco's parents hate him, and they try to keep it quiet, because Barty once did an important favor for the Dark Lord and barely managed to escape. He's got one up on Draco in that department.
"I'm mourning the days when I didn't have to suffer your company," Draco says, tipping his head back to stare up at Barty, who is still leaning down over the back of Draco's chair, staring at him with that stupid, half-mad smile. Barty needs a shave, and his hair is greasy as usual. Draco is disgusted with the feeling of base excitement that is already climbing through him while Barty watches him with his dark, hungry eyes. Draco's legs slide apart a bit on the chair cushion.
"What, back when you fucked yourself with the thick end of your wand?" Barty says, reaching down to take a handful of Draco's hair. Draco stays limp; he's not afraid of Barty anymore. Everything outside of the Manor still terrifies him - the War, its consequences, the dark shape of Voldemort looming over everything - but inside his childhood home, he's learned to live with what he is. He ducks even the glances of his parents and ignores the whispered taunts from the higher ranking Death Eaters, slinking around in the shadows until Barty yanks him back into the light.
Barty is pretty proud of the fact that he took Draco's virginity, and Draco supposes it could have been worse. There was a moment of sincere panic, back at Hogwarts, when Crabbe and Goyle found out they didn't have to obey him anymore and had something truly dangerous glinting in their animal eyes before Draco managed to make himself scarce. That would have been true horror, but the way it actually went down, with Barty's teasing increasing day by day until Draco finally wanted to experience what he'd been hinting at all along, wasn't so bad. He'd still sobbed afterward, when Barty was gone. For a long time at school he had held onto the secret hope that Harry Potter would be enlightened by the revolution and see in Draco what Draco had been trying to show him from the beginning, and when Harry lifted Draco from the Room of Requirement and let Draco cling and press his tears to Harry's neck, Draco thought that maybe he had imagined it wrong - maybe Harry would bring Draco over to his side, and maybe they would finally fall in love there. Draco was willing, in the moment; he had not a thought of his parents. But Harry set him down and moved on without a second look, and Draco is here now, resigned to coupling frantically with people who are like him. With the only person in the world, maybe, who is like him.
"You need to remember that you're lucky to be alive," Barty says as he drags Draco over to the billiard table, Draco stumbling and surrendered. He expects to be thrown across the edge on his stomach, but instead Barty lifts him up and sets his arse on the table, settling in between Draco's legs. Draco exhales in a combination of disappointment and relief, and reaches up to receive Barty's sloppy kisses, his beard scratching Draco's cheeks and his breath like an ashtray. It took Draco longer than it should have to see through Barty's flippant laughter and predatory gesturing and understand that he is phenomenally lonely. He's lived the life that Draco has feared more than anything: his father's prisoner, his mother sacrificed for him, for nothing. He is still a prisoner, only now he is imprisoned in Malfoy Manor, awaiting important instructions from the Dark Lord that will never come. Just like Draco.
"You're lucky I haven't told my father what you've done to me," Draco taunts, and Barty's eyes brighten at the threat, his grin quirking.
"What would you say to him?" Barty asks, pushing Draco onto his back. "Daddy, oh, you must help me, that pervy Crouch man, he touched me here." Barty takes hold of Draco's cock, which is shamefully hard just from this and the promise of more. Nobody touches him anymore. Nobody but his mother ever really did, and she can barely stand to look at Draco now, like she's already watching him hang.
"He grabbed my cock," Barty continues, parroting Draco's voice as he rubs him through his trousers. Draco huffs in annoyance at the monologue but opens his legs wider for Barty's hand. "And I got so fucking hard that I came in my little pink knickers," Barty says, back to his own voice now and right in Draco's ear.
"And what would you say in your defense?" Draco asks, his eyes shut and teeth gritted as he thrusts up into Barty's hand, his cock already raw from being rubbed against the fabric of his shorts, wanting to be freed. "I couldn't resist, he's so young and you know I'm a fucking nonce - ahh, yeah, just - I wanted to cover him with bite marks, you see."
"He'd let me off," Barty says, and Draco struggles for a moment, furious, but then his trousers and shorts are down and Barty's hot hand is wrapped around his cock. Draco arches up into the touch, slamming his head back against the billiard table in the process. Barty swallows him up and Draco sighs with the most profound relief he's ever known. It's so sudden and mindless that it makes him dizzy. Barty's mouth is a little unpleasant to kiss, but on Draco's cock it feels incredible, overly wet and so hot with the sting of that tobacco. He manages to lick up the underside of Draco's cock even as he's bobbing his head over it. Maybe this is a common technique, Draco wouldn't know, but he hasn't managed anything so complex when he's returning the favor. He's usually trying too hard to keep breathing to do much more than lick Barty madly until he growls and flips Draco over to exchange his mouth for his arse.
When Draco is close to coming Barty pulls back. Draco lets out a whimper that makes Barty grin and Draco enjoys the fact that Barty doesn't realize he's playing it up, all the innocence and trembling hesitation. The only thing Draco doesn't fake is the occasional bout of impotent rage and the throat-clearing moans that Barty pulls out of him when he's fucking him hard.
"Look how good I am to you," Barty says, pulling a bottle of probably homemade Slicking Potion from the pocket of his billowing jacket.
"I suppose you searched every room in the Manor with that shit burning a hole in your pocket," Draco says, breathing hard. He's ready to come, and he feels insanely exposed, his legs open and his prick so straight and red between them. It's only when Barty is inside him that he forgets himself completely and doesn't care how pathetic he looks or sounds.
"That's right," Barty says, pulling out his cock and applying the Potion, which squishes between his fingers as he strokes himself. "While you sat here waiting to be found, pouting with your cock hard, impatient."
"I don't think of you when you're not in front of my face," Draco spits. It's a lie. He often wonders where Barty is and what he's doing. Draco saw a picture of Barty as a young man, once. He used to be really beautiful, a sort of pureblood god, all the right features.
"I don't think of you, either," Barty says, grinning, because it's a joke. He knows Draco is lying. He slides into Draco hard and fast like a warning, and Draco's yelp is authentic. Barty leans down to swallow it up, and bites at Draco's cheek on the way down to his neck. He doesn't move until Draco's ratcheting breath has calmed, and his mouth is soft on Draco's neck, almost making up for the scratch of his beard and the teeth that will scrape him when he loses control.
"How do you stay so tight for me, hmm?" Barty mumbles against Draco's skin. His clothes feel good over Draco's exposed cock, like protection, and every breath that moves Barty above him is a perfect tease, sending sparks through Draco's body, down to his toes.
"Magic," Draco says, and Barty laughs. It's the only time Draco appreciates Barty's laughter, when Barty is stuffed inside him. It's the closest Draco gets to laughing anymore.
"Going to fuck me or have a nap?" Draco asks, one hand grasping at Barty's shoulder and the other pushed into his hair. It's too much like an embrace, and he doesn't want to revel in it the way Barty is, even if he's the one who initiated it. Barty groans and pushes himself up with his hands flattened on the billiard table, letting Draco's arms fall away.
"Hold on to something," Barty says, glowering down at him, and Draco chews back a smile. And he's the melodramatic one.
Barty fucks Draco the same way he always does, as if he's fucking some younger version of himself: angry and punishing, wanting to hear a thousand apologies for how things turned out. Draco takes it as suitable recrimination and it starts to feel so good just before it begins to really hurt, but that part only lasts a few seconds. Barty screams his orgasm up at the ceiling, and Draco is always waiting for someone to come rushing in and ask what's wrong, what's happened, but it's not that sort of world anymore, not in here. People would rather not know.
"This looks painful," Barty breathes out through the last tremors of his orgasm, moving two fingers very softly over the tip of Draco's leaking cock. Draco cries out the way Barty wants him to, and maybe the way he wants to, as well, because it feels good, all this shouting and thrashing, it's the best part, really, finally having an excuse to scream through his agony rather than sit with it quietly.
"Please," Draco says, because the begging feels nice, too, in a strange way. He reaches for his cock and Barty bats his hand away. Barty is still inside him, still throbbing just a bit.
"You want to come, yeah?" Barty asks, and Draco nods frantically, his head sore against the table.
"I need it, please."
"You need me," Barty corrects, and it's true, God, and so humiliating, even now.
"Yes," Draco says, angry, his jaw tightening. "Yes, I need you, I need you."
"How so?" Barty moves one of his short nails through Draco's slit, and Draco screams, bucking up for more.
"Need you to f-fuck me, so hard, need you in me, God, Barty, you fucking - I sit here and wait for you to show up and sh-shove your cock in me, I squeeze my muscles up when I'm bored to, to make myself tighter for - you!" He shouts the last word with his orgasm as Barty finally closes his hand around him, barely needing to pump him once to finish him off. He goes blank with it, the most blissful erasure of everything, and when he comes to Barty is sliding out of him, groaning as if he's sorry to. Draco stays limp on the billiard table, the edge of it poking up into him uncomfortably, and Barty kisses his jaw before lifting him up and bringing him back to the chair. Draco expects to be dumped onto it, but Barty settles into it with Draco still in his arms. He doesn't hold him, exactly, but he doesn't shrug away when Draco wilts against his chest. Draco closes his eyes and slips a hand under Barty's jacket. He's very warm and a little humid with sweat. His heart is pounding.
"Fucking rain," Barty mutters, and the comment is so inane that Draco actually laughs, harder and harder, until Barty slides a hand into his hair, grins against his forehead and tells him to shut up.