Title: On Patrol
Author: Musyc
Characters/Pairings: Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Malfoy
Rating: NC17
Kinks/Themes Chosen: Adolescentism
Word Count: ~3000
Summary/Description: Malfoy, the page reads. Meet me by the statue on the third floor for patrols. Don't be late or I'll let Givens be my new partner in the greenhouse.

NB
Author's Notes: Thanks to the mods for letting me play my wild card this month. Roleplay is a theme I can't seem to resist. XD



Narcissa folds the letter from Draco and slips it under a book on the table at her elbow. She stares into the leaping flames of the great stone hearth and shakes her head with a soft sigh. One of the dogs curled near the fireplace lifts its head and whines, drawing Lucius' attention from the newspaper. "Is there a problem at Hogwarts?" he asks.

Narcissa rubs the point of her jaw, a habit of deep thought she never allows herself to show outside the walls of her home. "Nothing wrong as such," she says. "Draco sends the usual news, but there are some lines to read between. I gather Miss Parkinson has started some tactics that bewilder him."

Lucius sets the paper aside. Two short lines appear between his brows. "Tactics?"

Narcissa hides a smile. A thought strikes her, one that might prove to intrigue Lucius. One that might take his mind off the newspaper he'd been studying so intently and off the troubles at the Ministry. "Tactics, Lucius." She leans against the arm of the sofa and stretches her legs out along the seat. Her silk gown rustles as she moves, draping over the edge of the sofa to puddle on the floor like a spill of ink, exposing her legs up to her thighs. Lucius focuses immediately on the hem of her gown where it rests just above her knee. He licks his lips and leans forward, eyes darkening. Narcissa draws one finger over her knee and up to the satin trim of the gown, then pushes the fabric an inch higher before hauling it down to her shins.

Lucius makes a whimper before he can gather himself and his eyes flash even darker as he looks to her face. "Ah," he says. "Those sort of tactics." A muscle jumps in his cheek as he sits back in his chair, adjusting his robes with a cough.

Narcissa laughs quietly. "Yes, those tactics. The skills a woman can use to bewitch a man. It seems Miss Parkinson has started to mystify Draco. Cooing and fawning is well within his experience, but he doesn't know how to handle what she's doing now."

Lucius gives an undignified snort as he rubs his eyes. "Does any adolescent boy know how to handle girls? I should send him a sympathy card. If she's half as skilled as you were, he'll be spending the rest of the school year with tight trousers and wet bedsheets."

Narcissa laughs again. She rises to cross the room and settle into Lucius' lap. The thick wool of his robes does little to hide the stirs of his cock against her thigh. Narcissa brushes a lock of hair away from his temple before placing a kiss at the corner of his eye. "Did I drive you mad?"

"Frequently. I was ready to request a place in the long-term ward at St. Mungo's. I was positive you were going to leave me a gibbering wreck by the time I left school." Lucius slips his arms around her and holds her loosely. One pale brow arches and his fingers play at her skirt, pulling the fabric up in small increments. "You would not believe how much time I spent fantasizing over you, witch. I actually injured my wrist at one point."

Narcissa lets out a peal of laughter. "You told me you fell off your broom during practice!"

"I could hardly have told the truth about that, could I? 'By the way, Miss Black, you must stop eating sticky puddings at dinner, because watching you lick chocolate off your lips made me wank for a solid hour and I strained a tendon.' No, I don't think so. You'd never have spoken to me again."

"I wouldn't be so certain of that," Narcissa says with a soft purr. "You boys weren't the only ones who boasted of conquests. Shame I didn't know that thirty years ago. The Dueling Damsels would have been terribly jealous of me. Would have put me points and points ahead of the other girls, including Bessy Wilkins and she was a slag."

"She was?" Lucius asks, his brows lifting. He gives her a slow, teasing smile. "I didn't know that. Maybe I wouldn't have been driven so insane by you if I'd had Bessy Wil--"

Narcissa grabs his hair and kisses him hard, her teeth scraping over his bottom lip, and wriggles on his lap. His cock stirs under her thigh. "Bessy who?" he mutters into her mouth.

"Exactly." Narcissa slides her free hand into the front of his robes, one nail tracing over his collar bone and down to trace around the flat disc of his nipple. "Do you ever miss it?" she asks. "Being young like that. Nothing on your mind except the next class, the next match. The next kiss and touch and confusing look."

Lucius tips his head back, trapping her hand between his hair and the cool oxblood leather of his chair. "Occasionally. Sometimes I think about raiding the Ministry for a Time-Turner. Think about nothing except my Herbology marks and Miss Black's rather short skirts."

Narcissa smiles. That is precisely what she wants to hear. She kisses Lucius again, letting her hand drift down his chest to open his robes, and wraps her fingers around his cock. He doesn't speak again, not until he swears and bucks beneath her, crying out her name as he comes onto her black silk gown. She rests her head against his as he breathes, eyes closed and body relaxed, and she puts together the start of a plan in her mind.

---

Lucius recalls the conversation again a week later, when he finds a folded sheet of parchment on his pillow one night. An edge is ragged, as if it's been torn from a scroll. Lucius sits on the edge of the bed and unfolds the paper to find his wife's handwriting.

Not precisely his wife's, he realizes after a moment. The script is looser, more rounded, with a looped flourish at the beginning of each sentence. This is the handwriting Narcissa used at Hogwarts.

Malfoy, the page reads. Meet me by the statue on the third floor for patrols. Don't be late or I'll let Givens be my new partner in the greenhouse.

NB

Lucius draws his thumb over the initials. He remembers Givens, a bulky boy with dark hair and a minor lisp who had an unrelenting fancy for the younger Narcissa Black. He remembers glaring at Givens in nearly every class, remembers once sitting by Narcissa and slinging his arm around her shoulders. He smiles to himself as he remembers Narcissa shoving him away and threatening to hex off his bollocks if he dared to act that possessive over her again. Lucius is certain that was the moment he fell for her without hope of ever going back.

He puts together the clues Narcissa has given him - the handwriting of the note, the contents, the initials - and adds them to the conversation they had. He goes to his dressing room and finds enough to mimic what he would have worn on patrol at Hogwarts: dark trousers, polished black Oxfords, and a thick jumper in Slytherin green, with a set of plain black robes. A moment's wandwork turns a cufflink into a Prefect's badge and he fastens it over his heart. He examines his reflection and touches his temples, frowning at the slight change in color he can see in the trademark white-blond of a Malfoy.

With a grimace, he turns away from current Lucius and heads for the third floor of the house, adjusting his thoughts to adolescent, Hogwarts Lucius. A more loose-limbed strut, more roll to the shoulders and ringing thud of the heels. At the top of the stairs, he calls "Narci--" then stops himself and shakes his head. He clears his throat. "Oi, Black!" he shouts.

A muffled laugh rises from a nearby alcove. Lucius sweeps his robes behind him and leans against the wall, hands shoved into his pockets. For a moment he wishes he had a sweet, one of the Licorice Wands he'd favored in school, but when Narcissa emerges, he's glad there's nothing in his mouth. Choking seems to be a guaranteed hazard.

He's never seen this outfit before, he'll swear to that. If she had ever worn it in school, it would have featured in every wet dream of his seventh year. The soft wool of her green jumper looks as thin as a Snitch's wings and outlines the shape of her breasts so clearly he's positive there's nothing between it and her skin. The grey pleated skirt is barely deserving of the name, falling halfway down her bare thighs. Silver heeled sandals put her close to his height as she comes toward him, her hips moving in an exaggerated sway that rubs her wand holster against her thigh. Lucius stares, thinking of rubbing against her thigh just that way, and only drags his eyes back to Narcissa's face when she scoffs.

"You're late, Malfoy," she says, flicking her chin up.

Lucius meets her eyes, then slowly lets his mouth curl in a sneer. "You waited, Black."

Narcissa rolls her eyes and flounces past him. She makes it three steps down the long gallery before he catches her up, strolling at her side. He drops his hand behind her and gropes for a palmful of her arse, but barely has the chance to touch her. She whirls on him, shoves him into the wall, and snaps her wand into the soft hollow beneath his jaw. "I'm not losing house points because you can't control yourself," she says, staring directly into his eyes. "We're on rounds. Try to act like a Prefect for once in your life, would you? Patrol."

"So no fuck in the Prefect's bath, then?" He can't believe he's said it. He'd never have dared to use that word to her at that age, not even in private. He doesn't know how she'll react. Lucius holds his breath, eyes wide and heart pounding, for the few seconds it takes for Narcissa to smirk.

She leans close and licks his bottom lip. "Patrol first."

---

Narcissa strolls along the gallery, intentionally rolling her hips. She's practiced the movement in her rooms for two days, parading back and forth in front of a wall charmed to be a large mirror, trying to bring back the motions of her adolescence. The skirt is nowhere near anything she'd have worn then, but the way the material flutters beneath the curve of her arse is worth the inaccuracy. More than worth it. She knows Lucius is staring, knows he's hoping for more than a glimpse of her thighs, and since he's playing along so well with her, she decides to give him a bit of a treat.

She draws her wand and flicks it, conjuring a bit of crumpled parchment near the wall. She plants her feet, legs wide, and bends from the waist to grab the paper. From the way Lucius sucks in a breath and makes a delightful choking noise, Narcissa knows he's found the rest of her surprise for him. Tiny knickers, barely even more than a scrap of green cotton. "Stop staring at my arse, Malfoy," she says, twisting to peer at him through the fall of her hair.

Lucius' pale skin is mottled red, his eyes already dark. He tugs at his collar and swallows, his throat moving against his fingers. "Stop showing it off, then," he mutters. "Put it out there like that and people are going to stare."

Narcissa straightens up and slides her wand into the holster, her fingers flicking at the hem of her skirt to lift it up. "Behave yourself or you won't get a second look," she says in a frosty tone. "You definitely won't get a feel with that attitude."

Lucius huffs and saunters up to her, his long robes fluttering around his ankles. She takes a step back, and another, and he follows until he traps her against the wall. He doesn't touch her, only watches her eyes, but her nipples are hard as diamonds beneath her jumper. "You'll give me a feel," Lucius says, voice low and growling. "We both know you will. But it's up to you when that happens."

He bends down, brushing his cheek along hers, to take a long inhale against her throat. Narcissa tips her head back without thinking, encouraging him with a soft whimper. Lucius gives a fairy-silk touch of his lips to her neck before stepping back and gesturing to the stairs at the end of the gallery. "Next floor, Miss Black?" he asks, openly grinning. "We have a patrol to finish."

---

Lucius isn't certain how much more of this he can take. He's been following Narcissa for fifteen minutes through the Manor, pretending to be on patrol. Around every corner, she stops and teases him. A flash of arse, a press of tits, an oh-so-accidental brush of her fingers against his cock. He's hard, as hard as he used to get when he actually was the age he's playing, and he's on the verge of grabbing her and having her wherever they happen to find themselves.

He's a little lost as to where they are, actually. He drags his attention away from her arse and glances around. This section of the house isn't familiar to him, more dingy and less furnished than the family wing. "Where are we?" he asks, lengthening his stride to walk directly beside her. "Get us lost, did you?"

Narcissa stops in front of a door and leans against it, her arms behind her back to arch her breasts up. "Not surprised you don't know," she says. "Bet the only time you even notice the house-elves is when they aren't there."

Lucius raises his brows. Below stairs, then. Kitchens, scullery, all of that. Narcissa swings the door open and Lucius startles into a full-throated laugh. "A broom closet. Really, Cis?"

She wrinkles her nose at him for breaking character, then grabs the front of his jumper and pulls him inside. She shoves him against the door and threads her fingers through his hair. "I have a study date in fifteen minutes and I'm going to need ten just to get back to the dorm. You'll have to return the favor next time, Malfoy."

Before Lucius can form ask what she means, she drops. She falls to her knees and claws open his trousers. His head hits the door with a rattling thump and he lets out a groan. Narcissa doesn't waste time with teasing or coyness. She latches on to his cock, her lips stretched tight around his shaft and her tongue pressed against the thick vein underneath. She bobs her head, holding her hair back with one hand. Eyes closed, she sucks and licks. She wraps her fingers around him and strokes, her hand forming a channel that leads her mouth up and down.

Lucius slumps against the door. Each inhale rattles in his chest; each exhale leaves with a grunt or moan. He starts to reach for her head and Narcissa growls around his cock. "Do it," she says, her voice muffled and thick, "and you'll never get this again." Lucius immediately shoves his hands behind the small of his back, nails scraping on the wood of the door.

Adolescent Narcissa had more enthusiasm than skill, but Adult Narcissa knows every trick to get him to respond. She releases her hair, pushes his trousers lower, and slips her hand beneath his bollocks to rub two fingers there. Lucius shudders and bucks, thrusting hard. He swears and rocks his head against the door. "Can't," he mumbles. "Cis, fuck. Need."

His incoherence seems to please her. She laughs around him before she takes a deep breath and shoves forward. Her nose presses against his belly; her lips surround his root. She holds him deep and swallows hard and Lucius tips over the edge. He kicks the door and lets out a broken spate of unintelligible words, please, fuck, good, Cis, shit, come, fuck, good, now. Narcissa tugs gently at his bollocks with each word, each spurt of come into her mouth, until he fades into weak, satiated laughs.

Narcissa stands, licking her lips, and Lucius puts all his remaining strength into opening his eyes. He manages to raise his lids but she's a blurry shape before him. Her expression is clear enough, deep satisfaction and smug pride. She pats his cheek and shoulders him away from the door to lean, weak-kneed and trembling, on the wall. "Twenty points to Slytherin," she says as she opens the door.

"Don't think I did enough to earn twenty points," Lucius mutters, fumbling at his trousers.

"You didn't." Narcissa's laugh echoes in the hallway. "I did. Points to me, Malfoy."

---

Narcissa folds up her jumper and skirt, putting them away in a trunk with the sandals. She fastens her dressing gown around her waist and sits at her vanity table to brush her hair. Humming quietly, she watches in the mirror as Lucius opens the door between their bedrooms and enters her suite. "Enjoy yourself?" he asks. He steps behind her and takes the brush from her.

Narcissa tips her head forward to let him take over. "Yes. As did you, clearly."

Lucius chuckles. "Yes. Very much." He gently teases a knot out of the end of her hair before bending to kiss the crown of her head. "Wonderful idea, my dear. We'll have to do that again sometime. Preferably rather soon."

Narcissa looks at him in the mirror. "Good," she purrs. "I have several scenarios I'd like to explore. First, find your old Quidditch leathers or get new ones and you might get a reward for winning the House Cup."

Lucius lifts his brows. "I note you said 'might'."

She twists around to grin at him. Hooking her fingers in the sash of his dressing gown, she tugs him closer. "You should hope the hospital has a spare bed in the long-term ward, Malfoy," she tells him. "Because I'm going to drive you completely mad."