Fic: Dissolute (Lucius/Narcissa)
To: ladytalon1
From: peki

Title: Dissolute
Author: peki
Gift For: ladytalon1
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Lucius/Narcissa
Summary: It’s the Blacks’ annual New Year’s Eve party, and Narcissa isn’t enjoying herself too much. Lucius helps her pass the time.
Warnings: none
Author's notes: Thank you to everyone who helped with this! And Happy Holidays to ladytalon1. I hope she likes the fic.



The Blacks’ annual New Year’s Eve party was a lavish affair, as always, but so excruciatingly boring that Lucius heartily congratulated himself on arriving only after dinner was finished. Even hidden and invisible as he was beneath the priceless cloak he had ‘borrowed’ from his father, effectively removed from the scrutiny and attention of the Blacks and their guests, the event was taxing enough.

He could understand the need to stand united after recent unfortunate events, assemble the remaining allies for a flashy show of wealth and proper pureblood values – but the family’s flair for melodrama and histrionics grated on his nerves.

Really, had it not been for her, he’d never have gone to all this trouble.

It had been roughly two weeks ago, over the RSVPs, that Narcissa had sighed, “Can’t we do something else?”

Her tone of voice had excited him. He’d only recently discovered this particular sultry drawl, so unlike the simpering voice she affected for the sake of those who couldn’t bear the thought that this most beautiful, most virtuous of all pureblood girls was more than a pretty little flower.

“Like what, my darling?” he’d asked, ever the considerate gentleman (except for when he wasn’t, but that never happened with her).

Narcissa's smile was soft, appreciative of the endearment, but with a slightly mocking twist that told him she did not fall for the indulgent tone.

Her mother did. “More tea, Lucius?” she’d trilled, flitting past the open parlour door. She beamed, hardly able to contain her glee. With the exception of his fiancée, the Blacks had no subtlety, he’d thought, suppressing a sneer with some effort.

But he’d smiled at Narcissa across the table, the curl of his lips just as mockingly innocuous as hers. “Thank you, Ma’am, I am perfectly content. Narcissa is a magnificent hostess.”

His fiancée had blushed prettily and poured another cup. When Lucius raised it to his lips, he smelled a generous splash of Firewhisky. How thoughtful.

They had laughed together when her mother was gone, and he had moved from his chair across from her to sit at her side, sinking into the too-soft cushions of the brocade chaise. “Were you not about to tell me something?”

In a decidedly unladylike huff, “I’m just so dreadfully bored.”

“Oh?” He’d raised an eyebrow. “But you have the wedding preparations and your mother’s party. Shouldn't that keep you occupied?” he’d asked innocently and watched her eyes flash with barely suppressed annoyance. “I thought girls loved things like that."

Her cornflower eyes had sparked with blue fire. “I would love to do something daring. Something exciting. My sister gets to, doesn’t she?”

He chuckled. “Some would not take you for a daring woman, Cissy.”

“Some would be wrong,” she told him sweetly. “Did I not accept your proposal?”

And he had resolved, right then, to give her the excitement she craved. Lucius was an inventive man, and thinking up a small, forbidden thrill for his fiancée had been a very entertaining occupation during the endless hours of wedding preparations.

Of course, when he had told her that he wouldn’t be attending her mother’s New Year’s Eve party, Narcissa had been less than pleased, but she was too much a lady to make a scene over trivialities like that. She’d let him kiss her hand and told him to conduct his business carefully, but the corners of her mouth had drooped the tiniest bit.

Lucius couldn’t blame her for the small lapse of decorum – if he was stuck in the Blacks’ gloomy mansion, with her mother’s inane chatter and her sister’s mad antics, he’d have murdered the rest of the family a long time ago – and so he had completed the task his master had given him swiftly (for there had indeed been an assignment; Lucius might have lied to everyone else, but never to his future wife) and hurried back to make her evening more bearable.

Now, he was moving carefully among the vapid smiles and empty chatter, wishing them all away. All, save for one.

The Blacks’ stuffed parlour was lit by dozens of floating red candles that heated the narrow room to the point of discomfort. The air felt sticky, heavy with perfume. A droplet of sweat rolled down his spine and disappeared beneath the waistband of his fitted trousers.

The Black family matriarch, Walburga, sat in a throne-like, plushy chair by the fire, the weight of her hard gaze on everyone but her remaining son, Regulus. The little fool was lurking in a corner, looking broody and sullen and jealous. The hopes of the Black family did not rest on him. After their recent…misfortunes, it was Narcissa who would restore the family name in polite society, two weeks hence, when she became Mrs Malfoy.

Lucius didn’t care much about the scandal du jour. He had known Narcissa since he had been twelve and she eleven years old, and thankfully, she was nothing like her sisters. In public, she would grace his arm with her effortless beauty and charm, and in private…well, suffice it to say that Narcissa possessed a temper like any of her relatives but without the downsides of madness or reckless overconfidence. A passionate temper that no one suspected and that was for him alone to see.

He smiled when he thought of that. The Black blood yielded strong, beautiful women, whereas the Malfoys were infamous for producing only sons. When he and Narcissa were united, they would have perfect children. His body tightened pleasantly. Lucius had no great affection for babies, but making them…yes, that would definitely be enjoyable.

Tinkling laughter reached his ear. He did not need to look to know that it was her. Her nearness was a drop of poison in his blood, tugging at his insides, compelling him to move.

She was standing by her mother’s side, seeming engrossed in polite conversation. He smirked when he noticed that she still dressed in the virginal white that suited her so well. Narcissa hadn’t been a blushing virgin bride since the night he had slipped his ring on her finger, but no one would be able to tell by her demure smile. The sparkling chain of diamonds around her neck had been a gift of his; it seemed to choke her slender throat, and he was pleased with the effect. Among the midnight hues of the older ladies’ dress robes, she stood out like a cold, distant star, glittering in the darkness.

Murmurs of false sympathy as he approached, unseen. “Narcissa, all alone on New Year’s eve? No fiancé to kiss you at midnight?”

Her smile was soft and innocent, deceptive as her silken gown. She would not remain unkissed, though she did not know it yet. His blood stirred at the thought. “Mr Malfoy is a very busy man.”

Cool, detached, impersonal. Had they been alone, he would have laughed at her, but the ones around her who claimed to be her family knew nothing of her charade. They did not know her, could not begin to guess what lurked behind Narcissa’s modest smile. He did, and he couldn’t watch her without furious desire heating his blood. He wanted that façade ruined, the cultivated front she put up chipped and spoiled for him. He wanted her beneath him, bare and hot and panting, her alabaster body marked, flushed with his touch. His pleasure.

Soon, he told himself, struggling to rein in this base need. Very soon.

He circled her as the evening wore on, the scarlet candles burning down, dripping as if with bloody tears. Narcissa’s fan was moving rapidly now, the motion of her slender wrist entrancing. Her cheeks were flushed with a rosy hue, and her breaths were shallow and quick, constrained by her tightly laced corset. He wanted to strip her naked, free her of the restraints that society and propriety dictated. He wanted to force them all into the dust at her feet, to grovel and cry and be spared or condemned at her whim.

Once or twice, he came too close; he felt her tense and go still, her body inches from his, taut and coiled like a snake’s, ready to strike. But when she glanced around, she never knew he was there. Without knowing it, she met his eyes, and her searching look sent a jolt through his body.

Soon. Now.

When Bellatrix’s dark voice rose in a corner with zealous righteousness and fanatic glee, Narcissa excused herself quickly, and his chance had come. He slipped into the hall after her, unseen, unnoticed, and followed her through the dark corridors. Her gown seemed luminous in the dimness of the halls; weightless, she seemed to float above the ground.

She escaped to the conservatory, her sanctuary. Here, amid white pots of winter-hardy greens, she looked more at home than in the dusty, plushy parlour.

She sat down on a granite bench that matched the cold stone floor, staring out into the night. The glass panes were almost invisible in the darkness, and the room looked like it had been built right into the nightly winter landscape. Snow was piled up high outside the floor-length windows and ice crystals glittered on the glass, mimicking the sparkle of Narcissa’s jewellery and silks. She looked as one with the scenery around her, a priestess of the olden days at Mother Nature’s altar.

He smiled, unable to resist her any longer. Coming to stand behind her silently, he opened the cloak and enveloped her with its silken magic. A hand clamped over her mouth to stifle her startled little cry.

To his amusement, she bit him, and with the small pain came a rush of desire that was so intense that he almost lost his grip on her, shivering violently. She was struggling delightfully in his arms. “Shh,” he chuckled, close to her ear. “Is that any way to greet your fiancé, Miss Black?”

She went very still against him, only her heartbeat pounding rapidly beneath his arm. “I could ask the same, Mr Malfoy,” she hissed when he uncovered her mouth, but he heard the faint trace of pleasure in her annoyed tone. “Whatever are you doing?”

“Something daring,” he whispered, giving in to the urge to nip her neck playfully. “Something exciting.”

“Oh.” This time, delight was plainly evident in her seductive purr. It was full of dark amusement, of sinister promise and unmentionable pleasures. It sent a spark through him, right into his loins, and when she tilted her hips subtly, he grabbed her and forced her against him to feel his unmistakable reaction. “And what is this?”

It took him a moment to realise that she was indicating the cloak. It was transparent, and so when he flicked his wand to light a candle in the hall behind them, she could see the reflection of the room clearly in the distorted windowpanes – empty and abandoned to all human eyes.

“Oh.” She laughed quietly and turned in his arms to look up at him. The frosty glaze in her eyes had melted away; thin rings of blue stretched around enormous black pupils as in a total eclipse, when shadows chased away all the light.

“I stole it specially for you,” he muttered and claimed her lips in a hot, deep kiss. His arms went around her waist, holding the cloak closed behind her back, but hers were free to touch him, and she took full advantage of that. Her nimble fingers had half unbuttoned his shirt before he even knew it. Her warm hands slid over his chest, digging into the taut muscle at his shoulders, pinching a nipple, teasing the sensitive skin of his lower belly, and he shifted uncomfortably, his erection pressing painfully against the material of his trousers.

Narcissa smiled impishly, as if she could read his mind, or perhaps she could read his body, just as he could hers. Her chest was heaving with quick, excited breaths, and even through the thick, embroidered bodice she was wearing, he saw her nipples harden and strain against the confining silk.

He wished he could take her right here and now, on the cold stone of the bench while snowflakes and stars glittered and fell all around them. But there would be time for that when they were married. For now, these stolen touches were enough, and all the more intoxicating because they were so strictly forbidden.

He kissed her with renewed fervour, never parting from her even when they moved across the room towards one of the glass walls. He made to back her up against it, but she would have none of it; instead, he found himself pushed against the cold surface, and a second later, she had opened his trousers and was touching him, sweet relief.

The silk of her gown rustled when she gracefully sank to her knees in front of him. Her lips felt hot against his stomach, tracing the trail of light hair below his navel, and then hotter as she went lower still and licked the glistening tip of his cock with a firm, sure stroke of her tongue before tracing the pulsing vein at the underside, down to his balls.

His delight had known no end when they’d discovered, together, that she liked doing this, and he might have smiled at her eagerness now, had he been able to control himself enough to school his features into the taunting little smirk that came so easily at any other time.

But not now. Now, it took every remaining bit of composure to stay still and lean back as she teased him mercilessly. Her lips left a glistening pink half-circle of lipstick around the base of his cock as she bent her head to envelop all of him. She applied gentle pressure at first, scraping her teeth carefully along the hard length when he let out a low hiss, and ending with a ridiculously gentle kiss to the tip.

He rested more of his weight against the glass, the coolness balancing out the wave of lust that was building with every stroke of her tongue, every wet little sucking noise as she moved up and down beneath the hand that rested heavily on her golden head.

“Narcissa--”

There were footsteps in the hall outside, and as he listened to them slowly coming closer, Narcissa’s hands slid up between his legs and began to stroke him in time with the rapid motion of her head. His balls tightened, his arse clenched, his back arched off the glass as he neared his release, feeling lightheaded with a strange mix of arousal and wariness.

He tried to slow her down, his hand fisting in her hair and pulling sharply, but interestingly, the closer the footsteps came, the harder Narcissa sucked him. He bit his lip to contain a groan when a shadowed figure appeared in the doorway – Walburga, the old hag, of all people! – and peered into the room suspiciously. Even though he knew she couldn’t see him, Lucius felt decidedly exposed as her small, pig’s eyes roamed the darkness while his fiancée redoubled her efforts with vigorous enthusiasm. When Narcissa started to flick her tongue over the sensitive tip of his cock, he almost came on the spot with lust.

There was no choice but to stay still, stay still and wait and let Narcissa fuck him with her mouth, her motions rapid and erratic now with lust and excitement. He squeezed his eyes shut as she raked her nails down the inside of his thigh, hard enough to draw blood, spiking his pleasure with the sharp, burning pain. He bit back a groan, his cock swelling in her mouth with his impending release. She must know he would punish her for that later; she must want him to, and the certainty almost was his undoing.

He opened his eyes again to look down at her and noticed that the doorway was empty. Walburga was gone.

Yanking on her hair ruthlessly, he pulled her off him and to her feet the second before she could push him over the edge, silencing her indignant gasp with a deep, rough kiss. She tasted of him.

“Did you want her to find us?” he hissed when they broke apart.

“Perhaps,” Narcissa gasped. “Just to see the look on her face… She’d never dare complain, not with you… You’re too useful to her…”

He chuckled, nipping at her swollen upper lip. “And you resent that fact, my sweet?”

She scowled. “I’m not marrying you because you’re useful,” she hissed and pressed herself against him readily as he pushed her back against the cool glass, hitching up her skirts. Her long legs were covered with sheer, thigh-high stockings, and he ran his hands over the shiny silk and the soft lace at the top appreciatively before sliding them up along the inside of her thighs.

She made a breathless little noise when he pushed aside the thin fabric of her underwear and teased her for a few moments. She was wet and hot and more than ready. Smiling predatorily, he ripped her knickers off and stuffed them into his pocket before spinning her around so her back was to him and her hands were braced against the glass. “Hold the cloak,” he instructed and watched her shaking fingers curl into the shimmering fabric.

He usually liked to watch her face, but in this position, he was free to touch her everywhere he desired, and she was completely at his mercy, bent and in charge of the cloak. Her round arse begged to be touched; he smacked her lightly, careful not to make too much noise, and Narcissa moaned quietly, pushing back at him.

He ran one finger down the cleft of her arse and along her wet slit till he found the moist opening. He probed her gently, and when she let out another, rather louder moan, he smiled with sinister satisfaction. She wasn’t the cool, innocent little thing that she pretended to be. She was like the very flower she was named for – beautiful and innocuous but full of poison. A poison that burned on his skin and filtered into his veins, making his blood sing.

With a low groan, he pushed her legs apart and thrust up and inside, stretching her roughly. She moaned, and the small puff of air left a round, foggy spot on the windowpane. She was quiet, he’d found, even at the height of passion, but as he moved in and out of her now at a rapid, forceful pace, her breathy gasps seemed loud in the silence of the room, travelling on the wintery draught that permeated the house.

She was incredibly slick and hot and tight, and after the treat she had given him before, he felt his body tense before long in blissful agony. He wanted to prolong this, draw it out until she begged him for release, but he couldn’t, not when she shivered and trembled so deliciously beneath him, eagerly spreading her legs wider with each hard thrust.

She wanted more, and she would get it. Soon, they would have a lifetime to get sated. But for now, he could make her evening a little bit sweeter, steal a little more of her innocence, and when they lay in bed later, they would touch themselves and not be so far apart after all.

He slid one hand between her legs again to tease the small bundle of nerves, rubbing rapid circles around it till her inner walls began to quiver and clench around his cock. When her back arched with the force of her orgasm, he gave a few last brutal thrusts that sent them both over the edge together. His groan was loud, but he couldn’t have cared less; let the others find them. She was his, and nothing could take her away from him now.

But no one came to disturb their moment of languor. All he heard, when the roar of blood in his ears had ebbed away, were Narcissa’s soft sighs of pleasure and a faint, distant melody that drifted into their secret hideaway. They stayed like that for a little while, his cheek resting against the nape of her neck, his breath cool on her damp skin, leaning into each other.

Finally, he pulled out of her regretfully and fixed their clothes with a quick spell. He had mussed her hair with his hands, he noticed when she turned to him. But the image she made, flushed and dishevelled, was more pleasing to him than her flawless, perfect beauty, and with something that felt much like terror but infinitely more pleasant, he realised that, no matter what happened, her lure would never wane but become stronger with each passing year, terrible and beautiful and inescapable. She would stand by his side while worlds around them fell to ruin and were rebuilt, smiling her sphinx-like smile, and when their time came, they would take each other’s secrets to the grave.

“You must get back,” he murmured, chuckling. “You will be missed.”

Somewhere in the house, a clock began to chime. Smiling, she pressed herself against him and kissed the corner of his mouth. “Just one more minute.”

Outside in the dark garden, there was some commotion, and then fireworks exploded in the dark sky, bright sparks of colour dancing, sparkling, glittering with a new beginning’s joy, and in the parlour, quiet in the distance, voices burst into triumphant song.

“Cissy,” he whispered in her ear, “Happy New Year.”