: Precautions Before a Duty DinnerAuthor
: slight (very willing) humiliation.Themes/kinks chosen
: Abandoned Prompts Month: "89. Narcissa/Lucius. Narcissa loves it when Lucius licks her. Plain old vanilla, and some dirty talk, biting and ripping of underwear.
" I think this was my own prompt, actually.Word Count
: The wizarding world is not the same after the war. Unpleasant tasks and chores have to be done - once more appearance is more important than honesty for the Malfoys. Luckily, Lucius knows how to make a duty dinner much more pleasant.Author's notes
: Beta by imma
. Slightly inspired by a conversation with snegurochka_lee
.Precautions Before a Duty Dinner
He bows and kisses Molly Weasley's hand then, with a brief nod, acknowledges Arthur's presence. He smiles, leans in and presses a soft kiss on Hermione Granger's cheek; she blushes and turns to her husband, a flicker of anger burning in Ron Weasley's eyes. He smiles, Lucius; the smile of a satisfied, content man. Narcissa can see the tip of his pink, sweet tongue as he laughs. Something Mrs Granger has said, obviously. If they only knew...
She knows. She knows better. She knows how hard Lucius is underneath the lush robe that falls over his tall body, a covering curtain of silk and wool, embroidered in an equally lush pattern. She knows where his tongue has been, just before they went down to greet their guests. She knows her juices are still invisibly covering his lips, knows that her taste is still lingering in his mouth. She closes her eyes for a second, relishing the wet, warm, tingling sensation between her legs. How she wishes they didn't have to let the Muggle filth into their home, but there is no way around it - Lucius has to stay out of Azkaban, and their son has a life in front of him. They cannot afford to show outwardly what they think and feel when they are alone.
So much hidden. So much nobody knows.
Narcissa's thoughts wander. Their guests don't know how much she loathes them. But it is not the only thing they don't know. They don't know, either, how it is only a few minutes ago Lucius ordered her to leave her knickers on the floor and go downstairs with her thighs still wet from what he did to her. They don't know how his cold exterior is nothing but a hide for the passionate man he is when they are alone. No. They don't know...
He cups her breasts, his fingers feel warm through the silk and lace robe she is wearing. 'Beautiful,' he says, his breath damp and hot against the shell of her ear. 'But I like you better without it.'
'Lucius, please,' she says, already knowing she cannot defend herself against his lust and need. 'The guests will be here in ten minutes.' She leans against his chest, breathes in his scent of cologne, of soap and silk and Lucius
. His own scent, the one she loves so much, no matter if he is clean, just stepped out from the shower, or he is sweaty from riding his broom, or in her arms after a particularly straining night of intense lovemaking. She breathes in deep, relishing the fact that she is still able to enjoy her husband. Not because she fears his love is faltering, but because she feared his death. Only he is not dead, he is not in Azkaban - and pretending to be redeemed and Muggle-loving is but an insignificant price for the feeling of his body against hers. For his soft, loving words and kisses when he holds her tight and tells her there is no other woman for him. Ever.
'And the Muggle fools are more important to you?' he asks, that dark drawl he knows works its way to conquer her will. She is helpless when he talks to her like that. He knows it. She knows it, and suddenly it doesn't matter exactly how many guest are arriving. Only he matters.
'Admit it,' he drawls, the deep notes of a growl teases her neck. 'Admit you want me. Admit you'd love to spread your lovely legs for me and feel me inside you.'
'Please,' she begs again. Only this time she is not sure what it is she wants. 'Lucius, you are ruining my dress.' Limply she tries to pry his fingers off her breasts, but they are steel and will against her softness. Mostly because she wants to be soft. He closes his hands tighter around them, her heavy breast, almost enough to hurt her. She knows he will leave marks on the cream-coloured silk.
'I love your breasts,' he whispers. 'I love to touch them, and suck them... love how you whimper when I bite your nipples.' He pinches her thought the fabric, and the sharpness of nails and strong fingers make her writhe against his steely embrace. 'Yes... let me see how you want it,' he growls. 'Show me what a wanton little slut you are. Tell me what you want me to do to you.'
She cannot help it. She rubs against him, feels how his length fits perfectly between her cheeks, how perfection is only a few layers of robes and lace away. She moans softly. Somehow she should be ashamed of herself, but she is not. She breaks and shatters into need and want when he calls her names, as if the proud Narcissa Black he once wooed - just like that, by those dirty words from his perfect lips - falls apart and becomes flames and passion and his
, all his, the answer to the need he harbours.
'Make me come,' she demands, knowing there is no way she can go downstairs in the condition she's in now, aroused and flushed and with her dress crumbled and crinkled and with sweaty hand-prints over her full breasts. She can feel his breathing, heavy and slightly ragged, ghost over her neck as he pulls one of the pins that holds up her elaborate hairdo. 'Lucius,' she whimpers. She used an hour to braid and pin and decorate. Pearls spill over the floor as her hair tumbles down over his face, making him moan and let go of her to bury his hands in her thick, straight hair.
'Needy?' he purrs, and kisses her neck. 'You are not getting any until you have admitted how much you love it when I take you.'
She is not the only one who loves to hear upbringing and decency disappear, released and replaced by lust and need and filth.
'I want you to lie down on the bed, shoes and stockings on, with your dress around your waist,' he says. 'And then tell me which time you loved the best. When did I make you feel like the expensive pure-blood whore you are.' He nibbles at her skin, and the hand in her hair tightens, just as her body does. 'Dirty,' he drawls. 'Dirty little slut. Tell me.' He rubs his groin against her arse, his arousal harder, and she imagines she can feel his pre-come penetrate his flimsy robe.
He lets go of her, and she turns, pulling her costly pearl-and-silver embroidered robe up, revealing white thighs in white stockings. Alabaster and pearl. Almost virginal in their purity. 'When you took me,' she says, her words impure. 'When you came back from a game of Quidditch with Rabastan and Rodolphus, and you were wet and muddy and sweaty and hard.' She closes her eyes as she sinks down on the bed, spreading her legs wide for him, her sex still covered by a thin veil of lace. 'You pushed me down on the Aubusson, and ripped my knickers off.' She licks her lips, remembering that day. Salazar, Lucius had been... wild. 'You used your broomstick to...' Oh, Lord. She can hardly continue, the humiliation of what he did to her is still there, and so is the humiliation of being aroused by it.
'Say it,' he demands, his eyes shining; the love he has for her evident in the hungry gaze. He rubs the heel of his hand against his cock and moans. 'Tell me, Narcissa! Five minutes left. We haven't got all day. I want you to come before
our guests can hear what a wanton tart I'm married to. Or maybe you'd like them to? To hear you cry out and beg for me to take you?'
'Yes! No... Lucius, no!' She spreads her legs wider, her stiletto heels piercing the heavy bedspread under her. She wants
him so much, she doesn't care what he does to her, not as long as she doesn't have to leave their bedroom unsatisfied. She gathers herself, instead letting the sensation of embarrassment wash over her, letting it inflame her lust even more. Of course she is not embarrassed to let her husband know how much she enjoys him, but the situation... it is so... she is his, and she does what he wants her to. She looks up at him, as he stands there, framed by their bed's mahogany pillars and the heavy dark blue velvet curtains around their bed. The colour emphasises the icy grey of his eyes. Fire and ice, that is what her husband is made from, and she knows how to stoke the fire. 'You used the broomstick handle to make me come,' she whispers, her voice husky. 'You pushed it inside me and made me move until I came, begging to feel your cock in me. And I loved it. Every moment of what you did to me. It made me feel dirty.'
'Yesss,' he hisses and leans over her, his hair spilling over his face, tickling her thighs. 'You loved it, and you are going to love this,' he murmurs and pushes her knickers a little to the side, enough for him to move two fingers over her clit.
She mewls, a soft cat-like sound, and pushes against the touch; she wants more. He just shakes his head, letting the hair flow back over his back as he thrusts two fingers inside her. They slide in easily, she is wet and her arousal makes him smile, not that he hadn't expected it - he knows her so well.
He moans and pulls his fingers out to lick them, groaning softly at her taste on his tongue. 'Later,' he says. 'You can have a quick release now.'
She yelps as he unceremoniously grabs the edge of her knickers with both hands and rips them open.
Then his fingers are inside her and he is on his knees, his mouth over her opening, on her clit, licking, sucking, twirling. She does cry out, loudly, and thank God the guests are not there yet, and every coherent thought leaves her as he pushes yet another finger inside her, filling her, making it hurt, just a little. His tongue is warm and wet against her cunt, a light scrape of teeth makes her moan shamelessly. She feels so open under him, his fingers plunging in and out of her, as he twirls the tip of his tongue over her clit, then sucks it, plays with it, making her breathing louder, deeper, just as he moves his fingers deeper and deeper inside her. She tries to spread more, push more, clench more, breathe more. But she can't, there is this magical tingle that moves through her body; there is his whisper against her inner thigh, just before he bites the soft skin where the thigh ends. He continues, this time lapping at her, taking in her taste and scent with wide strokes of his tongue. His fingers are hard and fast and she clenches so hard around them he has to stop for a moment as the first shudders and shivers of her orgasm well over her. She clutches at the bedspread with both hands as she hovers on the ecstasy he has given her, trying to breathe and think and be someone else than this wanton woman lost in the love of her husband. Duties hold no meaning this instant.
Then the wards ring loudly, announcing the guests are at the gates. She lets out a deep sigh. 'Thank you, love,' she says, softly, managing to sit up. Lucius kisses her, sharing the mess of her juices with her. She knows he loves this, and she lets him, because it makes her love it too. 'But you,' she says. 'We didn't-'
'Shhh,' he hushes. 'Later. All good things come to he who waits.'
'When? I want to feel you...' She reaches for him and his arms and his warmth feels so good.
'After dessert,' he says. 'We cannot let the sorbet melt. In the kitchen. I'll take you while our guests-' Lucius' face contracts in disgust, '-while our guests are sitting in our dining room, enjoying the dinner. Then I'll fuck you, almost behind their backs.'
She nods, relaxed and content. She reaches for her wand, but he puts his hand over hers.
'No,' he says. 'I want you to go down there, with my scent on you, wet, waiting. Only we will know.' He licks a finger, a finger he has just had inside her. 'I'll love to shake hands with the Minister now,' he smiles, the smile wicked and boyish.
She just shakes her head at him, and summons a House-elf to help her put on another dress. The hair is just tied in a knot, there is only time to do that, and put a beautiful net of pearls around it. A quick glance in the large mirror reveals they look as the rich and elegant pure-blooded couple they are. Their eyes meet, just before they open the bedroom door, ready to greet their guests. They both smile. She loves how he always understands her, as she understands him, they never needed any Legilimency.
Lucius puts down his glass. His plate is empty. There are traces on it of the perfect Champagne sorbet and the fresh strawberries they've just had. He licks his lips, something that would be rude and unpolished if Narcissa had not known the hot fire burning, making the ice and the cold exterior thaw in a smouldering gaze - just for her. A warm tongue over cold lips, for her.
'If you'll excuse us for a moment,' Lucius says, and stands. 'The House-elves are annoyingly unreliable, we need to make certain the coffee will be served in time.' He holds a hand out, as if asking Narcissa to get up too.
She smiles, letting the Minister for Magic help her with her chair. 'Thank you, Kingsley,' she says, smiling. In a few moments her husband will take her over a desk or the kitchen table and she'll be quiet and bite her hand when she comes, and he does too. And she'll return to the table with his semen painting a trail of desire and release on her thighs, and no one will know. No one but the two of them.
She takes her husband's hand and leaves the dining room with a nod and a polite smile for her guests.