Fic: Drought (Lucius/Narcissa)
To: lidane
From: yeats

Title: Drought
Author: yeats
Recipient's name: lidane
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Lucius/Narcissa, Severus
Warnings: Voyeurism, mild bondage
Author's notes: Thanks to r_becca for her patience, to my betas and friends for their support, and to caffeine.


--

The owl swooped down through the teasing wisps of clouds hanging in the grey sky of Spinner's End, claws rapping against Severus Snape's basement window at three minutes past noon.

Looking up from his note-taking (The properties of dragon's blood being...), Severus ratcheted open the window, sliding the bar out all the way to let the imposing eagle owl inside. He recognized the bird immediately, of course; its regal bearing and icy stare seemed an anthropomorphic transition from its owner. It stood still as he unwound the message from its right leg, too well-trained to even tilt its head as the temptation of Severus' fingers danced within pecking distance.

He unrolled the scroll of parchment, laying it over the tome he had been perusing. Lucius' thin penmanship, narrow letters and tight loops, covered almost the entire sheet.

Severus,

My sincerest felicitations on your completion of an Apprenticeship with Arsenius Jigger. I have always known you to be one unsatisfied with mediocrity, and your success proves once again the appropriateness of your admirable ambition.

In writing you, I hope to secure your services in a matter of some delicacy. I have recently come into contact with an old colleague of my father's, an individual of influence and prestige who is in need of a trusted hand in preparing very specific potions. Yours was the first name that came to my mind; I am pleased to be the messenger of such remunerative tidings.

The potions in question are of the most sensitive compositions, I am told, with a few existing solely in the realm of theory. This would not be an easy task, but one I am sure a talented potions brewer such as yourself would find extremely satisfying. I have enclosed a partial list of the potions required; should there be any additional requests by my contact, I shall not hesitate to update you.

All equipment, acquisition and research costs would, of course, be paid in full, in a manner more generous even than the Guild requires. Money being no object, my contact has indicated to me that a substantial bonus upon completion would be yours as well -- quite a nest egg for a young Master of Potions.

I cannot think of a more mutually beneficial arrangement at this stage in your career, Severus. A private patronage such as the one my contact has offered will open numerous doors to you -- not least of which being that of my Manor, where you would be given free rein of the Potions dungeons of my late father. As I write this, rooms are being prepared for a stay of some days. (You see now my rather selfish motives; both myself and my wife would enjoy your company immensely.)

Please reply with your intentions as quickly as you can. I have made several arrangements contingent upon your acceptance, and must cancel them promptly should you decline. Until such time as we meet again, I remain

Yours in in the name of Salazar Slytherin,

L. Malfoy

Severus exhaled. The paper fluttered, as if seeking to return to its author. He glanced around his cramped room, at the packed shelves of his mother's books, the tiny cot in the corner with its thin sheets, still thrown back from when Severus had arisen.

Returning back to the paper, he shook his head. A colleague of Abraxas Malfoy, indeed. Severus read the Prophet as closely as the next wizard, as well as the slow trickle of letters from his peers at school. Something was growing, begun several years ago, and only now beginning to break the ice of inertia -- missing persons, robberies. And here: "numerous doors", just peeking open, if Severus had only the courage to turn the handles.

Shaking his head, he drew out a fresh sheet of parchment.

Lucius,

I thank you for your consideration in alerting me of such a prodigious opportunity, &c.

Please inform your contact that I accept his offer. As ever

Your servant,

S.S.

Attaching his message to the owl, Severus found he did not have to nudge the creature to leave; it winged off without hesitation. He shut the window once more, finding the staleness of his quarters preferable to the stifling humidity outside.

Wiltshire, he recalled - near enough to Salisbury Plain to absorb some of the old magic that the ancients had found so appealing. Perhaps it would be cooler there. (He imagined turrets, corridor walls stacked with paintings bearing the remnants of ancestors, the faint rustlings of ghosts.)

Severus closed his books. A trunk, he thought. He would need a trunk, for packing.

--

There were indeed turrets at Malfoy Manor, and portraits, and marble, though the entire effect was even more imposing than Severus had previously supposed. Eight days after having arrived, he still found himself lacking any sense of location more often than possessing one, the subject of baleful glares from ancestors in starched robes.

Lucius had greeted him warmly upon his arrival, clapping a hand to his back. "I have every confidence in the world," he had confided, leading Severus to the rooms appointed for his use -- a suite on the first floor that, however apologetically Lucius referred to it as 'unsuitable', dwarfed anything Severus had occupied before. Severus discovered the dungeons to be similarly superior, stocked with most of the instruments and ingredients he would need to tackle the long list of potions put to him by his anonymous employer.

After that first day, however, it was Narcissa whom Severus saw most often. Lucius had his business, often leaving the Manor at dawn and not returning until supper. Severus wondered what sort of affairs could possibly occupy Lucius, having never supposed that wizards such as the Malfoys worked for a living. He was loath to disclose his errands, however, citing vague responsibilities, and Severus knew better than to press.

Most days, then, he and Narcissa were left alone in the cavernous house. At first, Severus confined himself to his quarters and the dungeons, preferring to intrude into her affairs only after Lucius had returned for the evening and restored equilibrium. Yet even the brief walk between these two destinations, he crossed paths with Lucius' wife several times. She greeted him with genuine pleasure, seemingly unsurprised to see him. Often, she tarried several minutes to engage him in conversation.

She must, Severus realized, be terribly lonely to seek out such company. He found further proof when, in suggesting one day that he join her for lunch, he received a genuine grin for his efforts. Poor thing. Although only a year above the youngest Black daughter, Severus had always felt himself much older than her; there was something about her that he associated with childhood.

Perhaps her eyes, Severus mused, as the two of them sat at either end of the long dining table. (Severus felt off-kilter in Lucius' chair, but then she had insisted.) Head ducked over her meal, Narcissa kept her eyes turned down, and yet Severus could conjure an image of them regardless: large, and very blue.

"How are you finding your work?" Narcissa asked, looking up at him. Open, he thought as he met her gaze, as if her eyes were taking in the room for the first time.

"Suitably interesting." Severus took a sip of his wine. He did not know how much Lucius had told her; he suspected, very little. "A challenge, but not one beyond my capacities."

She smiled. "You were ever so good at Potions in school," she said. "I shouldn't think there was anything beyond you."

"Yes, well." Her wrist, he saw as she sliced into her pheasant, was very narrow, a delicate band of gold encircling the distal end of her radius. "You are kind to say so."

Silence hung in the room, punctuated only by the screeches of Severus' utensils as he worked to handle them with the same grace that Narcissa showed, her slim fingers barely resting on the stem of her fork. The portraits shifted above their heads, pacing from frame to frame, watching Severus fumble. Paring the wings off tiny lacewing flies, he thought, presented fewer difficulties than having to hold his knife just so.

"This drought," he tried at last, "is insufferable." And you, he thought, are an insipid, tongue-tied fool. He felt a bead of sweat slide down his temple.

Narcissa sighed. "Awful. I have taken to escaping the heat through any measure possible - my Cooling Charms have much improved this summer." She laughed, like small bells tinkling, like galleons clinking against one another in a purse. "Flitwick would do well to try a bit of climatic encouragement in his lessons."

One year, he remembered; she'd only been ought of school for a year. Still seeing exams at the bottom of every skill. "If you would like," he said, feeling his voice creak uncertainly, "I could mix you something to spread on your skin -- to help against the heat." Skin. Merlin.

"Thank you." Narcissa nodded her head once. A lock of hair slid free from the bun at the nape of her slender neck to brush at the slight flush on her cheeks.

--

"Have you ever been to Durmstrang?" said Lucius over a glass of elf wine.

He and Severus sat, ensconced in the overstuffed armchairs of Lucius' study, drinking after dinner. Two of Severus' experiments had been left to simmer over night, allowing him an unexpected reprieve from late hours of slicing and monitoring their progress.

"Never." Severus took another sip. Lucius had given him a goblet with several ostentatious emeralds studded into the stem; he held it awkwardly against his work-stained hands. "I understand it to be quite remote."

"No more so than Hogwarts." He spun his goblet, reflection catching across the walls. "A fascinating place, really -- fantastically disciplined."

Unwelcome memories of being strung up, being nearly killed, of insufferable grins and cawing laughter crawled up, unbidden. "Discipline being rather lacking among certain elements of Hogwarts." His palm stung as his hand closed around the jagged edges of the goblet.

"Quite."

Several clocks struck the hour, the long tones of ten o'clock echoing from hall to hall. "I was just there, yesterday," Lucius told Severus, almost offhandedly. "Their term runs from March to December - the frost, you see, makes it much too difficult to teach during the coldest months." He smiled "Hardly a Muggle for thousands of miles, as an added bonus."

Severus nodded gratefully as Lucius refilled his glass. "I've heard they require proof of Magical parentage -- on either side."

"An admirable adherence to tradition, really. There are some here who would not oppose such a reversal at our own institutions."

"Some of them are sitting in this room."

Lucius laughed, and the sound ricocheted like the green light off the walls. "Good man, Severus."

"I try."

"And often succeed. I wonder -- " Lucius set his goblet aside, steepling his fingers in his lap. "I wonder if you might be interested in meeting those with similar concerns." He glanced to Severus. "Former Slytherins, and the like. Just the sort of contacts you could use, one might say."

"Perhaps. Would you count my ... patron among them?" Severus chose the word with care, as if he were adding belladonna to a simmering cauldron: too strong, and the careful equilibrium would not support the shift, rendering the mixture poisonous.

"Perhaps," Lucius echoed. "We shall see when the potions are complete, mm?"

They sat in silence after that.

--

As the drought reached its third week, Severus dreamt of an oasis in a desert. For three nights, he stumbled through sand until his toes dug into moist earth on the fourth, sinking down and claiming each patch of fertile ground. At the center bloomed a white tree, sending up fragrant branches against the bitterly blue sky. Severus dropped to his knees, and drank from the stream that ran at its roots, licking his lips to catch the crystalline water before it evaporated into nothing. With trembling hands, he reached up, up into the heart of the tree, pulling down three purple fruits and sinking teeth deep into the red flesh.

--

"She's lovely, isn't she?"

Severus' knees locked. He turned from his position at the window, head swiveling, eyes slitted in anticipation of trouble.

Lucius merely inclined his head.

"Working from home today?" Severus asked, lips pursed.

"Oh," Lucius said, "I suppose I thought I deserved a holiday." Moving to stand behind Severus, he followed the clear line of sight from the windows down onto the warm gardens.

The heat, Severus thought, swallowing. Heat elevated the temperature of old glass, causing it to alter in thickness, shifting the slow settling of the silicate. Three weeks of this interminable heat, and the long panes of the upper Manor windows bore the slightest warp - played out as tiny transverse disruptions in the sight of Narcissa, sunning herself on the back patio.

"I don't expect this drought to last more than another few days." Severus moved to tangle his fingers over his collar, sliding open the top button as Narcissa turned onto her stomach, her bathing costume blindingly blue from so far away. Days of unbuttoning buttons. "Rhabdomancy being a fickle permutation of divination -- "

Lucius placed a hand on Severus' left shoulder, fingernails digging.

The taut seam seemed to waver at the crest of Narcissa's white thighs -- the glass, Severus told himself. Bathing costumes were a ridiculous Muggle fad, Severus mused, serving no conceivable purpose but to sharpen the palate, to reveal through concealment.

"How are the experiments progressing?" A thumb against the base of a muscle in the back of Severus' neck -- the levator scapula.

"Satisfactorily."

Lucius' fingers' eased. "And do you expect completion by the requisite date? My contact -- "

"Will have his requested items by the stated time."

They both watched as Narcissa stretched her right foot, sending her pointed toes in the air like a signal flag, then down to rub the back of her left knee. One strap of the silly thing snuck a treacherous path down the top of her arm, and Severus imagined he heard the snap against her skin as she nudged it back into place. How much closer, he mused, would one need to be to see a red mark, there, the slightest furrow? And how quickly would such an imperfection fade? Could one slip a hand under that trifling bit of fabric and forestall the moment, preventing the tiny sting?

"I shall leave you to it, then." Lucius stepped away, favoring Severus with a smile over his shoulder as he turned down a corridor whose destination Severus had yet to ascertain. The air smelled of burning paper.

Severus turned his face back to the window, pressing his nose against the hot glass as Narcissa twisted on her chair, turning as if seeking a spot of cool.

---

The note had been left on his desk in Severus' quarters, tilted against his open copy of Mustard's Moste Magnificent Mixtures and Potions. He found it that night upon returning from his dungeons, his place of solace from an excruciating dinner -- Narcissa, resplendent in white; Lucius, watching from his reclaimed position at the head of the table with an unreadable expression. Severus, choking his dinner down into his clenched stomach.

S -

I require your presence. Meet me in the Red Antechamber -- third door on the left, north wing, second floor.


No signature, no signal as to whether Lucius intended to exact an honor debt for his wife's flesh, or share his latest wine selection.

Severus sighed, and stood. He muttered a 'nox' and took down a candelabra from the wall, letting his door bang shut behind him.

As he walked, shadows jumped about on the walls and floors; portraits roused themselves to rain down glares. The upper level of the Manor still confused him, and it took him a fair while to retrace his steps after losing his way near a tapestry of a bloody battle, headless horses struggling through a river stained red.

Severus set the candelabra down when he reached the door, extinguishing the three flames with swift pinches of his thumb and first finger. Recessed into the wall, it had almost escaped his notice -- the perfect site, he thought dourly, for a confrontation. Numerous doors opening, indeed. Neglecting to knock, he slid his hand around the knob, and pushed his way inside.

Only to find himself in what could only be the master bedroom.

The largest bedroom he'd seen, it was also the only one whose darkness had been tempered by a faint glow, as if the paint were luminescent. Ground pixie hair, he thought, and then thought further, why in Salazar's name would one concern oneself with the paint, when --

"Lucius?"

When Narcissa Malfoy, naked and glowing herself, impossibly pale and impossibly beautiful, lay blindfolded on the expansive bed.

Severus moved his hand back onto the doorknob, ready to flee with his morals intact, when she shifted, stretching as she had on the chair that afternoon. Only now, there was no thin material separating her skin from his eyes, her arching white breasts, the concavity of her smooth stomach as he followed it down to the patch, the sculpted S of golden hair at her pelvis -- and she was hiding from him again, legs closed, obscuring that which he most wanted, needed to see.

He needed to leave. He needed to step closer, just to see, to marvel at her, to crouch beside her and nudge open those thighs, to find her at last. His leaden feet shifted on the carpet, sliding forwards.

Lucius strode inside from a door next to the bed; the light from the other room cut through the darkness. Severus froze, caught as Lucius' eyes met his; he opened his mouth to explain.

Rather than cast the Cruciatus Curse, as Severus expected, he put a hand to his lips, motioning for him to stay quiet.

"Lucius?" Narcissa repeated, voice bearing a touch of anxiety. "Where -- "

"Here, Narcissa." Lucius ran a hand over her shoulder, two fingers brushing the curve of her breast. "I'm here."

Severus sucked in a breath as she smiled, curling against his hand like a lithe cat. Her hands scrambled across him, seeking the stays of his dressing gown.

Lucius grabbed her hands, catching both in one strong palm; Severus suppressed a groan at the easy display of force. A whispered spell he could not hear, and Narcissa gasped as she fell back onto the bed, black restraints matching her blindfold.

"Now, now," Lucius tsked, "Mustn't get greedy, darling." He rubbed the inside of her thigh, fingers creeping upwards. "All in good time."

He met Severus' gaze, and nodded towards an armchair against one wall. Severus formed his lips in a silent thanks, shambling to sit. He moved his right hand to unclasp his stifling black robes, and Lucius nodded again. His caged erection nuzzled against the blunt wool, nearly painful, and he could not hold back the sigh as he took it in hand, pushing open the buttons -- far too hot for underclothes.

Narcissa's head tilted at the sound of Severus' ragged breathing. "Lucius," she panted, "are you to leave me here while you enjoy your fill alone?"

"And what if I am, mm?" He traced a thumb over her bottom lip, then moved to part her legs further. "What if I enjoy the view?"

The view, Severus thought - delicate, desperate Narcissa, opened, hiding nothing. The curving labia lips, imbued pink, flushed with eager blood that had pumped away from her heart, from her lungs, her sense of logic, thrumming through her veins and casting little shivers over her arms. He bit his bottom lip as she arched her hips, catching his own flesh between his teeth, imagining the bud of her clitoris, the tremulous node of heat. And then, deeper, as if Severus were peering into her through the slick cave of her cunt, seeing Narcissa's red, beating heart.

"It is, after all," Lucius murmured, "quite a breath-taking view." His hand skimmed a nipple, knuckle nudging it. "A man might spend all night, just watching you."

Narcissa gave show of a struggle against her restraints. "And what might a woman do?" Her voice wavered, and Severus bit his lip harder. "Should she grow cold, waiting?"

"Surely not." Lucius chuckled; his eyes met Severus' as he slid one swift finger inside her, eliciting a sharp gasp. "A lady should demand of her lord that he serve her."

"And?" She twisted her hips, the points of her hipbones catching the light.

Lucius slid out of his dressing gown without pulling away; he smirked as Severus' hand stuttered. Lean and well-muscled, Lucius reminded him of a predator, a graceful creature stalking through a lushly watered jungle. His cock, long in proportion to his frame, cut, nudged against the curls at the base of his abdomen; Severus rubbed a thumb over the head of his own erection, as if to smear the drop of fluid from Lucius'.

Lowering his lips to her throat, he added a second finger inside Narcissa, crooking them. He grinned as she cried out, teeth flush against her skin. "And he shall."

"Please." Narcissa released the word in an exhale, licking her lips, rocking down against Lucius' hand. Severus found his lips moving, as if to echo the word; he fisted his cock harder, the calluses of his palm rubbing against the thin skin.

The bed gave a low sound as Lucius climbed up, moving his hand across her curves. "Utterly beautiful," he murmured, and Severus craned his neck as he bit down on her earlobe.

"Please." Almost a sob.

A quick kiss to her jaw, and Lucius nodded. "Of course, my darling." Another kiss to the blindfold as he moved to position himself against her -- positioning himself to give Severus a clear view when, with a moan, he sank inside her, claiming every bit and leaving little for Severus but the base of his cock, the expression on her face, the curve of her neck as a drop of perspiration slid down to the furrow of her breasts.

Lucius moved, thrusting smoothly, seeking a resting ground for his roving lips on her brow, her mouth, her neck. Narcissa's fingers reached out like the wings of captive birds -- almost, Severus thought as he matched his furtive thrusts against his own hand to Lucius', as if she were seeking him.

Almost, as she gave quiet, fragile pants, as though he were the one there on the bed, the one seeking and feeling and knowing her, knowing the way the sheen of skin at her clavicle tasted, the wetness against his tongue so different from the fingers of his other hand, jammed in between his teeth as he struggled not to groan her name.

Severus heard her, through the rushing pulse in his ears, when Lucius' cock found its way to a place inside that made her moan again, alighting on something secret that melted her spine, and erased the tenuous veneer of control on her features. Again, as Severus pushed into his hand; again, as her brow furrowed; again, as she called out his name, Lucius' name, the only name she knew to shout as she shivered, as Severus shivered, as they both came, and he let his eyes fall shut, let everything fall like long overdue rain.

When he opened his eyes once more, breath heavy, hand caked in fluid, the couple on the bed was still. Lucius lay wrapped around her, her back to his front, curve to curve. Although her blindfold remained, he worked off the bond around her wrists, and rubbed the pink skin. He slid a protective hand over her hip, and drew the sheets across their waists.

Buttoning himself again, Severus wiped his hand on the draping folds of his robes, using the fabric to clean the last bits of his limp cock. The scent of sex prickled his nose.

Narcissa sighed, nestling back against Lucius. "How well you serve," she whispered, with a laugh hardly loud enough for one, let alone two listeners.

"I try."

Lucius cleared his throat, and Severus understood, then. He averted his eyes from Narcissa's contented smile. Whether gift or punishment, it was finished between them, and it did not surprise Severus to see a wand appear in Lucius' hand.

"Silencio." Severus nodded, and stood.

The distance to the small door felt shorter in this direction, as if the world had changed its perspective. As he pushed the door ajar, he heard Narcissa's sleepy voice drift back to him: "What was that spell for, darling?"

Severus could only imagine his lips against her hair. "The windows -- I think a storm's begun."

"Oh, good." Severus stepped across the threshhold, back into the long corridor, back into the dark, back away from Narcissa, back into the space where Severus Snape existed to whisper a 'lumos, to lick his lips and tread back to his own bed. "I do hate the inertia of heat."