Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/308231.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Dragon_Age
  Relationship:
      Malcolm_Hawke/Carver_Hawke
  Additional Tags:
      Incest, Parent/Child_Incest
  Stats:
      Published: 2011-12-31 Words: 837
****** bad day ******
by gingersnapdragon
Summary
     daddy knows how to make a bad day better
Carver stormed into the house, slamming the front door behind him. Malcolm
jumped, looking up from his laptop just in time to see a blur of white-and-red
football uniform stalking down the hall. He opened his mouth to call out, but
then he heard the thud of helmet and pads being thrown into the wall, cleats
kicking the legs of the bunk bed he still shared with Garrett. Malcolm took off
his reading glasses and laid them on the desk, using the ritual to calm
himself, center himself. There were times for being a lover and times for being
a father. He didn’t relish having to decide where the line was.
By the time he got to the boys’ room, Carver had slumped onto the bottom
mattress, Garrett’s bed, and was hunched over, head in his hands. There was a
dent in the plaster where he’d thrown his helmet, but Malcolm decided talking
about that could wait.
“Something happen, son?” he asked, and Carver shook his head without looking
up. “Nothing happened? Oh, I see. That explains everything.”
Carver shifted just enough to glare up through his fingers, and Malcolm
smothered the instinct to laugh. Carver sighed and sat back, dropping his hands
into his lap. The gesture uncovered his eye, swollen and rapidly changing from
red to purple, and his mouth, smeared with blood from the split on his full
lower lip. All of Malcolm’s mirth fled in an instant and he knelt on the floor
in front of Carver to get a better look.
“Who did this?” He reached up to touch Carver’s jaw, but Carver jerked his head
away, frowning so hard he pulled open the cut on his lip and spilled fresh
blood down his chin.
“Don’t, Dad. It’s fine. It’s nothing.”
“Yeah, well, all that nothing is bleeding all over your uniform.”  Malcolm
pulled his t-shirt off, holding the soft fabric up to Carver’s lip. It took
more than a little insistence, but Malcolm won.
“I’ll buy you a new shirt,” Carver mumbled, muffled by the stained cotton and
the swelling.
Malcolm chuckled and shook his head. “Don’t worry about the shirt, Carver,” he
snapped, then took a deep breath, softening his voice. Neither father nor lover
had a need for that tone. “I wish you’d tell me what happened.”
Carver shrugged, leaning back, and Malcolm ached at the sudden distance it put
between them. “Just some guys talking smack. Nothing major. I lost my head, is
all.”
With Carver’s face out of reach, Malcolm had to settle for resting his hands on
Carver’s knees, rubbing the firm thigh muscles through spandex and padding.
Carver jerked, then shifted, squirming on the mattress. Malcolm felt a jolt of
lust at the realization of his position, kneeling on the floor between Carver’s
spread thighs, shirtless, face level with his son’s dick. He licked his lips,
and Carver made a strangled noise above him.
Malcolm reached up and hooked his fingers under the waistband of Carver’s
pants. “This okay?” he said softly, and Carver nodded, still clutching
Malcolm’s now-bloody shirt to his mouth. It looked like he was biting down on
it. Malcolm only had plans to pull the pants down far enough to get to Carver’s
dick, but they were too tight, kept his thighs too close together, kept Malcolm
too far away from Carver’s groin, and in the end the pants and cleats came off
and Carver’s legs got slung over Malcolm’s shoulders.
Carver groaned before Malcolm’s tongue ever touched him, a broken sound as soon
as warm breath skittered over his skin, and Malcolm grinned with satisfaction
at the howl Carver made when he swallowed him down. Sometimes Malcolm couldn’t
believe how much he loved doing this, how hungry he was for Carver’s cock in
his mouth, but he moaned as loudly as Carver did, feeling himself harden with
the pleasure of Carver’s weight and thickness on his tongue. He wet two fingers
and prodded gently at Carver’s ass, the ass only Malcolm had ever had, and
Carver gripped his head so hard it hurt when Malcolm finally slid them inside.
“D-Daddy,” Carver gasped, breathing as hard as he does after games, after
practice on the field, and Malcolm sucked harder, pressed more firmly. It was
over quickly, Carver still young, still sensitive, and Malcolm didn’t let go
until the dick in his mouth was soft and Carver pushed at him, hissing about
being too sensitive.
Malcolm sat back, knees and shoulders aching but with an unquenchable smile on
his face, and Carver lunged at him, catching his mouth in a deep, aggressive
kiss. The cut on his lip still bled sluggishly, and the tang of copper was
strong in Malcolm’s mouth, overriding the bitter salt he’d sucked down earlier.
When Carver pulled back, there was a pink smear over his chin, and Malcolm
reached out to wipe it away with his thumb.
“I love you, Daddy,” Carver whispered, and Malcolm gathered him into his arms,
squeezing tightly.
“I love you too.”
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