(no subject)
Slithy_megan, it is finished. Your slash awaits.
For all those who don't like Non-consensual incest, I suggest you don't look at the cut.
Bersaglio
For slithy_megan
Draco moved across the floor of the fencing corridor, battling against an invisible foe. As he moved, the names for moves and procedures filtered through his brain. Lunge en Imbrocatta. Horizontal Mandritti He wasn’t sure what these meant exactly, but the Italian sword master he had hired during the previous year at Hogwarts to improve his technique had insisted that he use the 14th century Italian terms for the various moves he taught him.
He moved his feet in the volte pattern, then a dizzying series of attacks delivered high and low, finishing with a botta dritta. He paused, wiping his hand against his forehead, and frowned when it came away wet with sweat. Strange, he thought, I must have been practising longer than I’d thought. All further contemplation was thrown from his mind by a deep voice, coming from the far door.
‘You fight like an Italian, boy.’ Said his father, ‘all well and good, I suppose, but I am not Italian.’ He shrugged, as if to say that it was no concern of his that Draco had sought outside instruction, but Draco knew that his father would be seething at the implied slight at his own abilities as a teacher.
‘I hired an instructor while I was at Hogwarts, father.’ Replied Draco, trembling slightly.
‘What remarkable foresight you show,’ said Lucius, with one eyebrow arched. ‘Well, lets see what you have learned.’
‘Is this really necessary, Father?’ Asked Draco, a slight tremor of fear entering his voice.
His father, who had crossed over to one wall to fetch his sword, froze. He turned slowly to face Draco, and when he could see his father’s eyes, they were cold and hard. ‘Yes,’ said Lucius, slowly,’ I think we do.’ Turning back to pick up his sword, Lucius let a sneer grace his features. Striding towards Draco, he said menacingly, ‘Show me, boy, show me what your new master has taught you.’
If Draco had wanted to reply, he didn’t get the chance, as his father sent a wicked downward slash towards his shoulder. Lifting his sword to block, he saw the look in his father’s eyes and knew this would not be like other sparring matches. Letting Lucius push him back, defending every blow sent his way, Draco watched his father’s footwork for any repetition. As he watched, he marvelled at his father’s balance. Always in balance, the way Lucius’ feet moved allowed him a solid base from which to attack or defend, and it meant that he was never over extended. Suddenly, Draco saw his father step, and knew that he had seen his father do that before. Step, you bastard, step, thought Draco, as he planned his move out in advance. Step, and I’ve got you.
Lucius stepped.
Draco’s response was instantaneous. He parried his Father’s lunge, and attacked en Botta Segrete. Letting his father parry, he put his feet through the Incartata, and lunged en Botta in Tempo.
Lucius froze, and Draco slumped forward, panting. When he had regained his breath, he looked up and saw in utter horror than his blade had scored his father’s cheek, and a thing trail of blood was seeping down his cheek.
‘Infligo Repulsus,” rasped Lucius, and Draco went flying back, his face white and his ribs jerking. ‘That was stupid, boy, very stupid. I can’t allow a slight like that to go unpunished; it would set a dangerous precedent.’ He stalked over to where Draco lay twitching, and with two flicks of his wand had him spread-eagled on his front and naked. ‘For some offences, there can be only one punishment.’
Draco lay on his stomach, his nerves screaming, and he felt his father enter him. Trying to clench his sphincter shut against the invasion had no effect, as his father was much stronger, and the resistance only made him pound with more vigour. He let out a small whimper as every thrust pushed him against the cold marble, and again, this only encouraged Lucius to push harder into his anus. When fucking, Lucius made no sound apart from the grunt of each expelled breath and the slap of his scrotum against his son’s.
Time seemed to slow and extend, until it seemed that Draco’s entire existence consisted of the hot sweaty man above him, and the fire in his anus. Finally, his father came with a coarse shout of ‘Yes!’, and Draco was left with his pain as his father stood up.
‘You have not learnt your lesson, Draco,’ said a flushed Lucius, ‘ I shall fetch the whip.’
Fin
For all those who don't like Non-consensual incest, I suggest you don't look at the cut.
Bersaglio
For slithy_megan
Draco moved across the floor of the fencing corridor, battling against an invisible foe. As he moved, the names for moves and procedures filtered through his brain. Lunge en Imbrocatta. Horizontal Mandritti He wasn’t sure what these meant exactly, but the Italian sword master he had hired during the previous year at Hogwarts to improve his technique had insisted that he use the 14th century Italian terms for the various moves he taught him.
He moved his feet in the volte pattern, then a dizzying series of attacks delivered high and low, finishing with a botta dritta. He paused, wiping his hand against his forehead, and frowned when it came away wet with sweat. Strange, he thought, I must have been practising longer than I’d thought. All further contemplation was thrown from his mind by a deep voice, coming from the far door.
‘You fight like an Italian, boy.’ Said his father, ‘all well and good, I suppose, but I am not Italian.’ He shrugged, as if to say that it was no concern of his that Draco had sought outside instruction, but Draco knew that his father would be seething at the implied slight at his own abilities as a teacher.
‘I hired an instructor while I was at Hogwarts, father.’ Replied Draco, trembling slightly.
‘What remarkable foresight you show,’ said Lucius, with one eyebrow arched. ‘Well, lets see what you have learned.’
‘Is this really necessary, Father?’ Asked Draco, a slight tremor of fear entering his voice.
His father, who had crossed over to one wall to fetch his sword, froze. He turned slowly to face Draco, and when he could see his father’s eyes, they were cold and hard. ‘Yes,’ said Lucius, slowly,’ I think we do.’ Turning back to pick up his sword, Lucius let a sneer grace his features. Striding towards Draco, he said menacingly, ‘Show me, boy, show me what your new master has taught you.’
If Draco had wanted to reply, he didn’t get the chance, as his father sent a wicked downward slash towards his shoulder. Lifting his sword to block, he saw the look in his father’s eyes and knew this would not be like other sparring matches. Letting Lucius push him back, defending every blow sent his way, Draco watched his father’s footwork for any repetition. As he watched, he marvelled at his father’s balance. Always in balance, the way Lucius’ feet moved allowed him a solid base from which to attack or defend, and it meant that he was never over extended. Suddenly, Draco saw his father step, and knew that he had seen his father do that before. Step, you bastard, step, thought Draco, as he planned his move out in advance. Step, and I’ve got you.
Lucius stepped.
Draco’s response was instantaneous. He parried his Father’s lunge, and attacked en Botta Segrete. Letting his father parry, he put his feet through the Incartata, and lunged en Botta in Tempo.
Lucius froze, and Draco slumped forward, panting. When he had regained his breath, he looked up and saw in utter horror than his blade had scored his father’s cheek, and a thing trail of blood was seeping down his cheek.
‘Infligo Repulsus,” rasped Lucius, and Draco went flying back, his face white and his ribs jerking. ‘That was stupid, boy, very stupid. I can’t allow a slight like that to go unpunished; it would set a dangerous precedent.’ He stalked over to where Draco lay twitching, and with two flicks of his wand had him spread-eagled on his front and naked. ‘For some offences, there can be only one punishment.’
Draco lay on his stomach, his nerves screaming, and he felt his father enter him. Trying to clench his sphincter shut against the invasion had no effect, as his father was much stronger, and the resistance only made him pound with more vigour. He let out a small whimper as every thrust pushed him against the cold marble, and again, this only encouraged Lucius to push harder into his anus. When fucking, Lucius made no sound apart from the grunt of each expelled breath and the slap of his scrotum against his son’s.
Time seemed to slow and extend, until it seemed that Draco’s entire existence consisted of the hot sweaty man above him, and the fire in his anus. Finally, his father came with a coarse shout of ‘Yes!’, and Draco was left with his pain as his father stood up.
‘You have not learnt your lesson, Draco,’ said a flushed Lucius, ‘ I shall fetch the whip.’
Fin