Warnings (highlight to view): For implied infidelity, Black family planning, and dub-con.
Word Count: 2870
Summary: Enthralled, Narcissa takes Lucius for her own.
Disclaimer: This piece is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling; various publishers, including, but not limited to: Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books; and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's Notes: Written for eeyore9990 as part of the 2008 fall_fantasia. Thank you, the_flic and shiv5468, for beta'ing.
In her sixth year, Narcissa Black noticed Lucius Malfoy noticing some sullen-looking First Year as the Slytherins sat down to the post-Sorting feast. She didn't care for the unseemly display. Malfoy was, by arrangement of their families, promised to her eldest sister, Andy.
Even though it's Bella he wants, Narcissa thought, pointedly not looking at Malfoy.
She knew about Bella and Malfoy because Bella never kept secrets from her, and Rodolphus had complained about his suspicions often enough in the common room when Malfoy wasn't present. Narcissa supposed that the slight, graceful upturn of Malfoy's mouth could have been prompted by something other than sexual desire, but she doubted it: she'd only seen that smirk on his face when he was watching Bella, and if anything else had engendered his interest in the unremarkable boy, well, she had no idea what it could be—not that it mattered.
He's not for you, and it's the dark ones he favours.
Andromeda was gone, her name now nothing but a scorch mark on the Black family tapestry, and her family's chagrin was severe—but it was nothing to Lucius'.
"She stood right here in this very room and promised—"
Narcissa felt herself jerked away from the library doors. She'd barely turned her head to see that it was Bella who was dragging her away before they were ensconced in the drawing room.
"What?" she demanded.
Bella grinned. "Here's your chance, Cissy."
"Are you mad? Lucius would never—"
"You know you want him, and 'Mr Propriety' would do very well for you."
Narcissa pulled herself away from Bella and glared at her. "That's hardly an appropriate name for him, given his behaviour with regard to you."
"Don't be such a jealous cat. He wants a Black. You're a Black. Make him accept you—think of the family honour!"
Narrowing her eyes at her sister, Narcissa thought it rather more likely that Bella was thinking of the great and terrible Lord Voldemort of whom she could never stop speaking—to whom Lucius had introduced her.
"Don't stand there so stupidly! Do something—before he leaves!" Bella insisted.
Narcissa smiled coldly. "Swear by Unbreakable Vow that, should Lucius accept me, you'll never . . . never fuck him again."
"How dare you—"
Narcissa never learnt how Bella had managed it, but she was able to draw their parents out of the library, leaving Lucius to her. Warding the door against intrusion, Narcissa cleared her throat.
"Ah, it's you."
Observing the shattered remains of a wine glass on the hearth, Narcissa flicked her hand in their direction, causing the glass to repair itself and hover in the air. Gliding across the room, she took up the decanter and refilled Lucius' glass, handing it to him.
Her heart was pounding in her breast whilst waiting for him to accept it.
"Would you join me, Miss Black?"
"I'm afraid that my parents don't approve of my drinking, Mr Malfoy."
Lucius sipped from his glass, his eyes never leaving Narcissa's face, and then he said, "How dutiful of you."
"How interesting that you should mention duty," Narcissa remarked, taking one step closer to Lucius.
"I believe that one should be dutiful, you see," she answered, taking yet another step closer, "and more than dutiful, I've always desired to be devoted, entirely devoted," she continued, "to one man."
"Miss Black, I—"
"Have been treated with a shocking level of disrespect, yes, I know. I'm sorry for it. Had you been mine, I should never have behaved with such appalling dishonour." Swallowing, Narcissa took the last step forward she could without touching Lucius. "Had you been mine, I should have given you everything—properly and gladly."
The tears in her eyes weren't feigned. She was making a fool of herself, but then, fools were often luckier in love than anywhere else.
"I was . . . unaware of your regard," Lucius told her, turning slightly to set his glass upon the mantle.
Narcissa moved with him; when Lucius turned back they were touching, but only just.
"Must know how much I admire you, Lucius. I want you to know, even if it's not entirely proper." Narcissa looked down. "I . . . I have always dreamt that . . . you would—"
A strong, smooth finger raised her chin, and Narcissa saw it—that smirk, the one on Lucius that meant he was gazing upon that which was his.
"You've always dreamt?" he prompted.
"That you might come to know how much I love you."
Their courtship was brief; their wedding, lavish. The Blacks spent more marrying their youngest daughter than they had Bellatrix, who fell ill during the reception and spent it above stairs. Narcissa appeared not to notice her sister's absence, which had coincided with her groom's.
One cannot attempt to break an Unbreakable Vow without suffering the consequences, she mused, searching Lucius' face—a mask of propriety and repressed fury—as he entered the hall again.
It was going to take some persuasion to convince him that he'd chosen well, but Mrs Malfoy never doubted for a moment that it was within her power to do so. She'd been fascinated by Lucius since she was eleven-years-old; she'd watched him all that time.
I know him.
Lucius carried her to their bedchamber and set Narcissa down gently upon her feet, but when he bent his head to kiss her, she turned away.
"I feel as though you misunderstood me."
"When I pledged myself to you, I did so lovingly, willingly—and with the understanding that no other witch would ever know your touch. Yet, on the very day of our wedding, you sought to be unfaithful to me," Narcissa stated, careful to keep her tone emotionless as she looked up into Lucius' eyes.
"What did you do to Bel—"
"Not a thing. Whatever ails her is the result of her behaviour, not mine."
Lucius frowned and moved forward, as if to intimidate her by looming; Narcissa drew herself up.
"If you ever have another woman again, I'll see to it that daughters are all I bear. Do you understand me?"
Ever so slightly, Lucius' looming lessened, but he was still furious; Narcissa knew this from the tension in his muscles that pulled the sleeves of his robes taut and by the fisting of his hands. She knew enough of his temper, held so carefully in check, not to push him further and changed tactics.
"I will never love another, you see," she whispered, allowing her lower lip to tremble. "You're all I've ever wanted, Lucius. I love you so mu—"
His kiss was hard, commanding, overwhelming—Narcissa yielded to it, allowed Lucius to draw her up off her feet into his arms, and had her legs wrapped around his waist before she kissed him back with all the ardour she had marshalled for so long.
He groaned and spun her into the door, ripping her clothing from her none too gently, scratching her thighs as he jerked away her intimate lace—and Narcissa revelled in his reaction. She wasn't fragile, and she wanted Lucius' passion, wanted to be his.
Narcissa felt herself tearing and the door cracking as Lucius slammed into her, but it didn't matter. He was angry with her for exerting a measure of control over him—it was to be expected—but she was the one who had made him need to take her so roughly.
The ruby earrings lying beside her head on her pillow when she opened her eyes the next morning glowed as if they contained a fragment of soul.
"For the blood I took from you," Lucius whispered, his eyes wide in the dawning light.
Narcissa put them on and then slid down his body, enveloping his cock with her mouth.
All was forgiven.
There wasn't jewellery enough in the world to persuade Narcissa to bear Lucius a child after he returned to the manor Marked, and Narcissa found her own ways of enjoying Severus' talents to hold true to her resolve. For many long years, Lucius' protégé's potions were as bitter as her marital bed was barren.
"I have made a terrible error," he said, removing his robes and tossing them over that mask of his. "Narcissa, my wife, I'm so very sorry."
It took her a moment to realise that Lucius was kneeling before her; she didn't like it.
"You weren't made to kneel to anyone."
There was more passion in her tone than she'd intended to convey, but Lucius didn't flinch from it. Instead, he slipped his hands under the hem of her gown and caressed her calves, her thighs, stopping at the lacy gusset of her knickers.
With trembling fingers, Lucius stroked her to quivering engorgement, and when Narcissa's legs gave way, he caught her and laid her down upon the carpet, sliding down her body until his head was between her thighs, his teeth had torn away the lace, and he was licking her quim with long, sure strokes.
He sucked her clit into his mouth, nibbled, licked—Narcissa's hips moved without control.
"Need you, so much, must," Lucius babbled, moving again.
It was almost his entire hand; it wasn't nearly enough.
"Lu—Lucius, please," Narcissa begged, her eyes flying open.
There was no smirk upon his face, only a spattering of blood and raw desire, and Narcissa elected not to take the potion.
Draco's birth was heralded by their family as something of a miracle, given how long it had taken to produce him. Having long ignored their whispers, Narcissa paid them no mind now; she was happier than ever she had been. Lucius was at home. Lucius cared for nothing so much as their family of three.
Lucius never spoke of the Dark Lord anymore.
An evening did come, however, when one name fell from her husband's lips, a name that Narcissa couldn't bear to hear.
Mad and a slave to a madman, and still he wanted her! It wouldn't do. Narcissa thought that her heart might break as she englamoured herself to seek out Lucius' pet. She'd never seen Severus look so much like death before, but then, there had been a great deal of it, of late.
That poor woman.
Had anyone threatened her son, she'd have done the same, but it was her husband who concerned her now; she knew of his pleasures, she suspected his needs, and she would meet them if it brought Lucius to heel.
Severus was difficult to convince, but, in the end, Narcissa got her way.
It had been surprisingly easy to bind him whilst he slept, and what a heady sense of power it gave her to see Lucius spread before her, nude and helpless, on their bed. It was better when he awoke and began to struggle.
"What the hell have you—"
Narcissa understood why he'd stopped speaking. Her long silvery blonde hair hung down over her torso, almost to her waist, but it couldn't hide the alteration to her body: where she had been slender and soft, she now was broader and hard; where she had been smooth, she now had a smattering of curls; where she had been curvaceous, she now had firm angles—and the thick cock rising between her thighs was proud enough to give anyone pause.
"N—Narcissa, what have you done?"
"Lord of the manor, lord of my heart, lord of everything now, it seems—except her," Narcissa said, with all the heat of her disappointed anger. "No matter what I give you, Lucius, it isn't enough. You still want to master that insane bitch. Well," she continued, drawing near enough to the bed to scratch her own marks into his skin as she drew her fingernails up Lucius' thigh before seizing his leaking cock by its base, "I've decided that perhaps I should master you."
"Oh, indeed yes, my love. I did say that I'd give you everything, did I not, so many years ago?"
Lucius' breathing became ragged, his cock twitched in her hand, and he stared at her in half-fearful fascination—but he didn't speak.
"I'll ask you if you want me when I'm ready to take you. If you don't say yes, I'll stop. Do you understand?"
Lucius' mouth, which had hung, slack, tightened into a firm line. Narcissa smiled.
"Where to begin? Ah, with this," she murmured, gasping as she straddled Lucius and their cocks touched. She picked up a jar from the bedside table and opened it; feeling him tense, Narcissa knew that he believed it was lubricant. "Oh, it's better than that," she said, dipping a thick finger into the pearlescent substance and reaching out to tease one of his nipples with it.
His hips jerked. "Fuck!"
"Has Severus made you a present of this before? Don't look so surprised. I know about him. I've always known," Narcissa said, bending down to blow first on one coated, peaked nipple and then another. "I know what you do to him," she continued, setting aside the jar now that her hands were smeared with the Touching Balm and spreading her palms over Lucius' chest, "and I think you wish those things would be done to you."
He bucked as what felt like, Narcissa knew, the sensation of caressing, pinching, ticking hands and fingers worked his flesh, but still, Lucius remained silent. Annoyed, she traced a fingertip across his lips.
Lucius' gasp echoed in the room, and Narcissa laughed, making a show of pushing herself back between his legs.
"Yes," she said, taking his bollocks in her hands and kneading the balm into them as she wordlessly charmed her hair to wrap itself around his cock and begin stroking him.
Lucius bit his lower lip so hard it bled.
Shifting herself so that she was lying between his legs, Narcissa Summoned a pillow and thrust it under his arse before thrusting her tongue into it. The muskiness of him here—gods, how she loved it! Inhaling Lucius deeply, she plundered the taut muscle with deep stabs of her tongue until he was shouting incoherent nonsense—and then she cast a Sticking Charm.
"Let me move!"
"I think not," Narcissa whispered, feeling as desperate as Lucius looked. So hard. How does he stand it? she wondered, shaking with desire and forcing herself not to grasp her own cock.
The ring had been an excellent suggestion; her hair was serving Lucius in the same capacity, and she couldn't help but stare as it moved up and down his shaft.
Lucius groaned as Narcissa reached down to rub a bit of fluid from his engorged head into his glans. "Too much!" he shouted, when, with a murmur, she set the clasping, animated lock of her hair to speed its motion while separating and binding his testicles.
"Is it? You want me to stop?"
"Ye—no—damn it!" Lucius shouted, in response to the sudden absence of Narcissa's attentive tresses.
"I want you to feel everything," she told Lucius, plunging a finger into his arse at the same time that she took hold of his cock and coated it with the remains of the balm that still adhered to her skin.
Immediately, he came in sticky spurts over her hand and howled; Narcissa almost swooned as most of the blood in her body, or so it seemed, rushed to her cock. Her hips thrust of their own accord. She had to take Lucius soon!
"Fuck me, damn you! Fuck me!"
It was perhaps too rough, but Narcissa was beyond caring. Releasing Lucius from his bonds, she threw herself forward and plunged inside of him.
Heat, undulating tightness—it was more than she had imagined, and Lucius met her every thrust with a desperate one of his own. The heels digging into her masculine back hurt, but she liked it. The wild expression on his face as he clung to her and allowed her to fuck him—it was the most erotic thing she'd ever experienced.
There! Her name! "YES!" she shouted, her bollocks tightening and her cock exploding forth a pleasure more intense than she'd ever known—sharp, sweet, complete—
"Good morning, Mrs Malfoy."
Narcissa's hands flew to her breasts. "Oh, thank gods."
Lucius laughed. "You used a sex-altering potion without believing you'd revert?"
The amusement in his voice caused a rush of welcome slickness to slide through her, but Narcissa didn't open her eyes. Whatever courage her fury had given her the previous night had ebbed. "Are . . . are you . . . ."
She felt Lucius pull her to him, one strong leg inserting itself between hers. "Angry?" he asked, his breath warm against her lips.
"Open your eyes."
"No," he whispered, sliding his tongue into her mouth and kissing her until she was breathless.
By the time they left their bedroom, Narcissa was having as much difficulty walking as she'd had the morning after the consummation of their marriage, but it was she who smirked possessively as she observed Lucius having similar difficulty.
They didn't discuss what had occurred, nor did they repeat it, but Narcissa's efforts had not been in vain: she never heard any other name but her own fall from Lucius' lips in their bed—or in the stables, or against the drawing room wall, or on the lawn by the gazebo. She had his attention again, and, for Narcissa, that was everything.