There were photographs of his father, vibrant colour memories of his smirking face. Arrogant and handsome.
A good looking man, long blonde hair complete with icy blue eyes all framed in a deceivingly beautiful face. He had sharp features, a lean build emphasized by severely tailored suits and uniforms.
Charming man, his father. And how had he conceived him? Where had his hands skimmed Victoria's body? Where had he settled his fingers, pressed into her tanned flesh? Had he tugged on her hair, pressed her to a wall? Taken her with impatience upon an expensive coverlet?
Andrea closed his eyes as he sat upright in the plush bed. Gauze curtains covered him in soft light as he unbottoned his nightshirt to expose pale flesh.
Had his father touched her like this?
With cold fingers, he placed a hand to his chest, let his palm settle against taunt flesh, let his fingertips graze the curve of his collarbone and slip lower until he stopped at his stomach.
Had his father's strong hands, the deceptively heated feel of them cupped his mother's breasts? Slipped instead of her, explored the welcoming curves of her body?
Settling further down into the bed, he kept his eyes closed, heart at an unnoticeable, even beat. What could it have been like? Imagination trailing after the past again, he thought upon it.
A young Villefort wrapping long fingers around the head of his cock, kissing the line of his throat, biting into his shoulder...
Hand sliding beneath loose undergarments, he found his erection and wrapped his cold fingers around it, thumb brushing along the tip. A strong image that...of his father...
...then tossing that proud man off of his pedestal, into a bed with indignant protest. And spreading that man's slim legs, pushing himself into him...
His pulse picked up, lips curving into a slant of a smile as he pleasured himself, free hand clutching at the pillow beside his head.
...that flushed face, the prototype to his own. Bleeding lips and battered body. Grunts and curses. As he plunged in, reckless---hungered and spiteful---into the body of his father...
Because it was deserved, wasn't it?
If he had been allowed the time---his hand stilled as he let out a shuddering breath.
---he would have fucked his father, in much the same that he had fucked him.
Cruel. Uncaring. In the dark. Amid cries of protest. Without remorse.
Eyes opening with a flutter, he brought up his glistening hand up to his face, slipping a finger into his mouth.
There were photographs of his father; arrogant and handsome.
He imagined...it was his father's come he tasted.