Happy Belated Birthday melusinahp!
Title: Voluntary
Author: softly_sweetly
Beta: nolagal
Pairing: Draco/Al
Length: ~1400
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: The characters contained herein are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no money from this piece of fanfiction.
Warnings/Kinks: Darkish, Dub-Con, Cross Gen
Summary: Al has always got exactly what he wanted, and sees no problem in taking what he wants from Draco now, and at every possible opportunity. After all, Draco never says no.
Author Notes: Counts to prompt #61 Sanity from my 100quills Next Generation Table
Happy Belated Birthday melusinahp!
Whistling gently, Al stepped under the water and basked in the warmth for a few moments. There was a disinfecting spell, of course, but Al preferred to use the special soap - it meant he could multitask by showering when he got to work. Making sure to get every inch of skin, Al mussed his hair quickly and roughly. He was eager to start work, as always.
Healer training was hard work, intensive and difficult, and most of Al's classmates were spending their summer enjoying their freedom. After all, it was the last summer they would have of freedom - next year they would move on to on the job training, and having the heady summer months off would be a thing of the past. But Al knew that in the long run, his volunteering on the serious spell damage ward would help his career. And of course, there were certain other benefits.
Putting on the pale blue robes that marked him out as a volunteer and not a member of the medical staff, Al stepped out of the changing rooms and walked towards the Mediwitch station. "Anything I need to know?"
"Nope, they're all behaving themselves. When you're done with the cleaning spells, you can help transcribe some notes if you like?"
Al couldn't think of anything more boring, but he smiled at the head Mediwitch. He knew enough about hospitals to know that his life as a Healer would be infinitely easier if he could keep the mediwitches and wizards on his side. Even if that meant transcribing notes. Which basically meant sitting over a dozen dictaquills, checking that the notes the Healers recorded as they attended to patients were being accurately represented on the Parchment. More than once a dictaquill had gone on the blink and recorded erroneous diagnoses and treatments.
Running through the patients on the ward quickly but thoroughly, Al saved his favourite patient for last, as always. Everyone perceived it as reluctance, and Al was happy to let that falsehood persist.
Five years ago, Draco Malfoy had been beaten and hexed to within an inch of his life outside Platform 9 & ¾. The Ministry maintained it was a senseless act of violence. Draco's son maintained it was disgruntled wizards executing carefully-planned payback. Al didn't know either way, and he was told that was best. He wasn't here to make a moral judgement; he was here to care for the patients. The saddest part of Draco's story was that, if had been attacked on the Wizarding platform, he'd have been fine. But he was attacked in the middle of Kings Cross station, and the Muggles responded far before the Ministry could. Spending a day languishing in a Muggle hospital before he could be moved to Mungo's, Draco's body had healed, but the damage from the spells had settled in to his core. His mind had broken apart as a consequence. Or as a defence. Either way, Draco Malfoy was a babbling wreck.
And he was fragile. Maybe by now the spells would have been worked out, but with no chance of reversing them and few friends to fight his cause, Draco's case had soon been pushed to the side, replaced by more important cases. Either a specific spell had been used or multiple spells had combined. But somehow, Draco's magic was shot to hell. He was so fragile that he could only be treated in the Muggle manner, with small bursts of light magic used intermittently. So he was kept in a room on his own and mainly left alone. However, the situation meant Al had been told to forego the normal cleaning spells and use soap and a sponge instead.
Pulling down the blind on the window to give Draco privacy, Al locked the door and put the key on the side. He set down his basin of water and drew the curtains. Draco was already in the restraints, and Al picked up the chart on the end of the bed. Another violent outburst that morning. They were getting more frequent. Al read the brief paragraph and saw that Draco had been sparked by overhearing the name Potter through the open door. Al would have to try and find out what Draco had said, but he could already hazard a guess. It was always the same words; that Potter had left him to die in here, even though he promised to get him out. It was a joke amongst the staff, how deluded Draco was. Why on earth would Harry Potter promise to get a Malfoy out?
Pulling off Draco's blanket and robe, Al smiled down at Draco. "And how are we doing this afternoon?"
Draco didn't respond, just looked at him curiously. Draco rarely spoke to him. And, in the three years he'd been volunteering here, Al had run out of things to say to Draco. Picking up the sponge and squeezing out the excess water, Al briskly rubbed Draco's skin down, cleaning him as quickly as was possible. He had it down to a fine art, and a few minutes later he was putting the basin safely out of the way on the shelf by the door. Glancing back at the door, reassuring himself it was locked, Al quickly stripped off his clothes and climbed onto the bed.
The first time had been an accident. A mistaken touch while he was washing Draco, and the response had been instant. Al had ignored it the first few times, but then he hadn't been able to ignore it anymore. It turned out no amount of spell damage in the world could undo a person's gut reaction to having their cock touched. And while his wife and son played their dutiful parts in the outside world, Al was thrilled to realise he knew Draco's secret, he knew what Draco was really thinking about each time he closed his eyes and grit his teeth through a fumble with his wife. Al had carefully, subtly put out feelers to the other volunteers, and none of them had ever got that kind of a response out of Draco.
Of course Al knew the history between Draco and his father, and, of course, he knew just how much he looked like his Dad. But Al hadn't been able to stop himself. Draco was completely helpless, completely dependent on Al. Al suspected the other volunteers spent as little time in Draco's room as was possible, and he knew that Draco's daily wash had been skipped on many occasions. Old grudges died hard. So when Draco looked up at him in interest, a sparkle in his usually-dead eyes, and rocked his hips up into Al's fist, Al had been left with no choice but to follow his desire. He didn't have time for a boyfriend, but wanking got so repetitive. Having his own private plaything, all tucked away in Mungo's, was a godsend. Especially because Draco could stand on the roof and out Al to the sky, and no one would believe him. Al's secret could stay secret, and he could enjoy the rush of power every time he lowered himself onto Draco's shaft.
But some of the old Draco still remained, albeit in a very small, locked off place. So Al had to sweeten the deal, had to give Draco a reason to consent to this. After all, Al wasn't a rapist. He just had a thing for older men. Tied up and unable to resist or refuse him.
Closing his hand around Draco's shaft and shifting into place, Al looked up to see Draco's eyebrows knitted together with worry. "What?"
"If I do this... this time... you'll really help me out of here?"
Lowering himself down and relishing the burn that lanced through him, Al closed his eyes and tossed his head back. He'd have to find a reason to come to this ward when his volunteering period ran out. Perhaps he could do a training rotation here.
"Harry? Please... I have to go... I have to be somewhere, I have to let them in or they'll kill my Mum."
Tears welled in Draco's eyes, and Al reached his finger out, running the tip gently along Draco's lower lid and tracing the salty digit over Draco's lips. Pressing his palm down to stifle Draco's mouth, Al started to rock his body smoothly. A little white lie never hurt anyone. "Yes, I'll get you out after this."
Author: softly_sweetly
Beta: nolagal
Pairing: Draco/Al
Length: ~1400
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: The characters contained herein are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no money from this piece of fanfiction.
Warnings/Kinks: Darkish, Dub-Con, Cross Gen
Summary: Al has always got exactly what he wanted, and sees no problem in taking what he wants from Draco now, and at every possible opportunity. After all, Draco never says no.
Author Notes: Counts to prompt #61 Sanity from my 100quills Next Generation Table
Happy Belated Birthday melusinahp!
Whistling gently, Al stepped under the water and basked in the warmth for a few moments. There was a disinfecting spell, of course, but Al preferred to use the special soap - it meant he could multitask by showering when he got to work. Making sure to get every inch of skin, Al mussed his hair quickly and roughly. He was eager to start work, as always.
Healer training was hard work, intensive and difficult, and most of Al's classmates were spending their summer enjoying their freedom. After all, it was the last summer they would have of freedom - next year they would move on to on the job training, and having the heady summer months off would be a thing of the past. But Al knew that in the long run, his volunteering on the serious spell damage ward would help his career. And of course, there were certain other benefits.
Putting on the pale blue robes that marked him out as a volunteer and not a member of the medical staff, Al stepped out of the changing rooms and walked towards the Mediwitch station. "Anything I need to know?"
"Nope, they're all behaving themselves. When you're done with the cleaning spells, you can help transcribe some notes if you like?"
Al couldn't think of anything more boring, but he smiled at the head Mediwitch. He knew enough about hospitals to know that his life as a Healer would be infinitely easier if he could keep the mediwitches and wizards on his side. Even if that meant transcribing notes. Which basically meant sitting over a dozen dictaquills, checking that the notes the Healers recorded as they attended to patients were being accurately represented on the Parchment. More than once a dictaquill had gone on the blink and recorded erroneous diagnoses and treatments.
Running through the patients on the ward quickly but thoroughly, Al saved his favourite patient for last, as always. Everyone perceived it as reluctance, and Al was happy to let that falsehood persist.
Five years ago, Draco Malfoy had been beaten and hexed to within an inch of his life outside Platform 9 & ¾. The Ministry maintained it was a senseless act of violence. Draco's son maintained it was disgruntled wizards executing carefully-planned payback. Al didn't know either way, and he was told that was best. He wasn't here to make a moral judgement; he was here to care for the patients. The saddest part of Draco's story was that, if had been attacked on the Wizarding platform, he'd have been fine. But he was attacked in the middle of Kings Cross station, and the Muggles responded far before the Ministry could. Spending a day languishing in a Muggle hospital before he could be moved to Mungo's, Draco's body had healed, but the damage from the spells had settled in to his core. His mind had broken apart as a consequence. Or as a defence. Either way, Draco Malfoy was a babbling wreck.
And he was fragile. Maybe by now the spells would have been worked out, but with no chance of reversing them and few friends to fight his cause, Draco's case had soon been pushed to the side, replaced by more important cases. Either a specific spell had been used or multiple spells had combined. But somehow, Draco's magic was shot to hell. He was so fragile that he could only be treated in the Muggle manner, with small bursts of light magic used intermittently. So he was kept in a room on his own and mainly left alone. However, the situation meant Al had been told to forego the normal cleaning spells and use soap and a sponge instead.
Pulling down the blind on the window to give Draco privacy, Al locked the door and put the key on the side. He set down his basin of water and drew the curtains. Draco was already in the restraints, and Al picked up the chart on the end of the bed. Another violent outburst that morning. They were getting more frequent. Al read the brief paragraph and saw that Draco had been sparked by overhearing the name Potter through the open door. Al would have to try and find out what Draco had said, but he could already hazard a guess. It was always the same words; that Potter had left him to die in here, even though he promised to get him out. It was a joke amongst the staff, how deluded Draco was. Why on earth would Harry Potter promise to get a Malfoy out?
Pulling off Draco's blanket and robe, Al smiled down at Draco. "And how are we doing this afternoon?"
Draco didn't respond, just looked at him curiously. Draco rarely spoke to him. And, in the three years he'd been volunteering here, Al had run out of things to say to Draco. Picking up the sponge and squeezing out the excess water, Al briskly rubbed Draco's skin down, cleaning him as quickly as was possible. He had it down to a fine art, and a few minutes later he was putting the basin safely out of the way on the shelf by the door. Glancing back at the door, reassuring himself it was locked, Al quickly stripped off his clothes and climbed onto the bed.
The first time had been an accident. A mistaken touch while he was washing Draco, and the response had been instant. Al had ignored it the first few times, but then he hadn't been able to ignore it anymore. It turned out no amount of spell damage in the world could undo a person's gut reaction to having their cock touched. And while his wife and son played their dutiful parts in the outside world, Al was thrilled to realise he knew Draco's secret, he knew what Draco was really thinking about each time he closed his eyes and grit his teeth through a fumble with his wife. Al had carefully, subtly put out feelers to the other volunteers, and none of them had ever got that kind of a response out of Draco.
Of course Al knew the history between Draco and his father, and, of course, he knew just how much he looked like his Dad. But Al hadn't been able to stop himself. Draco was completely helpless, completely dependent on Al. Al suspected the other volunteers spent as little time in Draco's room as was possible, and he knew that Draco's daily wash had been skipped on many occasions. Old grudges died hard. So when Draco looked up at him in interest, a sparkle in his usually-dead eyes, and rocked his hips up into Al's fist, Al had been left with no choice but to follow his desire. He didn't have time for a boyfriend, but wanking got so repetitive. Having his own private plaything, all tucked away in Mungo's, was a godsend. Especially because Draco could stand on the roof and out Al to the sky, and no one would believe him. Al's secret could stay secret, and he could enjoy the rush of power every time he lowered himself onto Draco's shaft.
But some of the old Draco still remained, albeit in a very small, locked off place. So Al had to sweeten the deal, had to give Draco a reason to consent to this. After all, Al wasn't a rapist. He just had a thing for older men. Tied up and unable to resist or refuse him.
Closing his hand around Draco's shaft and shifting into place, Al looked up to see Draco's eyebrows knitted together with worry. "What?"
"If I do this... this time... you'll really help me out of here?"
Lowering himself down and relishing the burn that lanced through him, Al closed his eyes and tossed his head back. He'd have to find a reason to come to this ward when his volunteering period ran out. Perhaps he could do a training rotation here.
"Harry? Please... I have to go... I have to be somewhere, I have to let them in or they'll kill my Mum."
Tears welled in Draco's eyes, and Al reached his finger out, running the tip gently along Draco's lower lid and tracing the salty digit over Draco's lips. Pressing his palm down to stifle Draco's mouth, Al started to rock his body smoothly. A little white lie never hurt anyone. "Yes, I'll get you out after this."