Entry tags:

lucius/narcissa

FIC: Fortis Fortuna Adiuvat (Lucius/Narcissa)
To: Jairissa
From: Your Secret Santa

Title: Fortis Fortuna Adiuvat
Author: peki
Pairing: Lucius/Narcissa
Summary: The night everything changed.
Rating: R
Warnings: none
Author's notes: Many thanks to the wonderful ladies who previewed this, and Happy Holidays to Jairissa!

“Are you trying to stay the force of her turning wheel? Ah! dull-witted mortal, if Fortune begin to stay still, she is no longer Fortune.”

Boethius, The Consolation of Philosophy


***


It was pouring from the heavens and thunder rumbled in the distance, but that wasn’t why Narcissa couldn’t sleep. It might, however, have been the reason the owl she was waiting for had been delayed. Malfoy could be an arrogant arse, but he knew better than to keep her waiting. The owl must’ve gotten held up by the weather.

Sitting in bed, her robe and the blankets pulled snugly around her, Narcissa stared out into the thunderstorm, searching, trying to detect a bird’s shape through the curtain of raindrops that drummed against her window. Lightning flashed across the sky, closely followed by a roll of thunder, and in spite of herself, she flinched.

It was silly, she thought, to be so worried. There had been disappearances lately, yes, and hushed whispers of death and violence and bloodshed, but those things didn’t happen to their kind. To Muggle lovers and blood traitors, but not to someone like Malfoy. He was too smart. Too clever.

But curse him for not telling her what, exactly, it was that he had to do so urgently in the middle of the night. Where he had to sneak off to during a storm like this. If his cryptic message had annoyed her at first, not being let in on the whole secret made her downright furious now.

“It’s very impolite to pry, you know,” Lucius had informed her the day before while they strolled through the autumnal garden, but he’d been smiling.

Narcissa had tightened her grip on his arm just enough to be a little bit uncomfortable, just so he knew how much he was annoying her even though her tone was still even and calm. “It’s impolite to hint at secrets and then not share them.”

He’d laughed. He’d been in exceedingly good spirits, she remembered, but there’d been a glint in his eyes that made her uneasy. Malfoy’s supreme self-confidence made him reckless, and his father let him run rampant with the family fortune. Since they’d left Hogwarts, he’d become rather infamous for the cutthroat way he did business, and while Narcissa didn’t usually give a toss about rumours or the opinion of gossips, she knew very well that there was little Lucius wasn’t capable of. Who knew what he’d get up to if it weren’t for her.

“Please don’t do anything stupid,” she’d said, and though her voice was teasing him still, she’d meant it. “Or else none of the good families will want to socialise with you anymore.” She’d only been half joking.

“You’d end our friendship?” He affected an expression of mock hurt.

She’d glowered at him. Sometimes, she really didn’t know why she put up with him. “Perhaps.”

He’d turned to her, covering the hand that was still squeezing his arm with his. Hers had been cold in its thin lace glove, she remembered, and the warm touch of his leather-clad fingers had been inexplicably soothing.

The wind had picked up and become quite chilly; it carried with it the first few drops of rain. In the distance, the storm clouds were piling up high, and through the darkness that was fast approaching, the last rays of light touched down upon them where they stood under a shower of tumbling red and golden leaves, raining down on them from the trees that swayed and whispered of autumn.

Against the gloomy backdrop of the sky, his fair hair and pale face seemed glowing and luminous. He reached out and smoothed back the tendrils of hair that the wind had pulled loose from her French twist. “No, you wouldn’t,” he said, always so sure of himself. “And as long as you stand by me, no one will dare sever ties with my family.”

“You overestimate my influence,” she’d sighed, but she couldn’t hide the tiny, pleased smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth. “After what Andr--” She bit her tongue. She still couldn’t say the name, not even when she was alone with him. “…what she did… And you know what people think of Bellatrix--”

He shrugged, and the nonchalant way in which he discarded bad news still amazed her just as much now as it had back then, at school, when the disastrous story of her sister’s betrayal had first reached them. It was his considerable influence among the other students that had protected her from the worst of the outrage, and if they hadn’t been Potions partners, allies, friends before, he’d have had her loyalty after that, always. “Your sisters or whatever other scandal du jour notwithstanding, you are too well respected for people to challenge your judgement, my dear Miss Black. And so I am above reproach too.”

“Is that why you grace me with your presence every other day?” But she was smiling now in spite of the acrid words, a bright smile like a beam of sunshine that banished the impending storm and made him smirk in turn, the slight mocking curve of his lips so endearing to her, and her alone.

“Yes, Narcissa,” he’d drawled. “That is why.”

Sometimes, she didn’t know why she put up with him. But then there was this.

They had laughed together; his good cheer had been contagious. Now, though, Narcissa didn’t feel like laughing – she scolded herself for not insisting that he tell her what he was planning. For not getting him to promise her more than just an owl that’d let her know he was home, safe and sound, and that he’d call at tea time the next day to let her in on the big secret.

But not even that owl had found its way to her window so far, and it was long past midnight. Huffing, Narcissa shrugged off the blankets, grabbed her wand from the bedside table and climbed out of bed to sit on the cushioned windowsill, restless with anxiety. The thought that it had all been an impossible joke crossed her mind – Malfoy had played such pranks before, albeit never on her – but she quickly discarded the idea. He wouldn’t do that to her. He might toy with someone’s feelings, ruthlessly, but not with hers.

There’d be hell to pay if he did.

A thudding noise made her jump. The windowpane rattled as outside, a glowing ball of energy dissolved into blue sparks. A spell. Quickly, she jumped off the sill, pulled back the latch and threw open the balcony doors, unmindful of the rain that drenched the curtains and pelted her face.

Below her balcony, in the garden, just barely visible by the light of his wandtip, Lucius was kneeling in the mud, his face turned up towards her window. He held himself strangely, stiffly, like he was in pain. When he saw her, his shoulders sagged with relief. “Cissy…”

Narcissa’s stomach dropped.

Before she knew it, she had Apparated, appearing in front of him a heartbeat later. Her bare feet sank into the wet earth and the wind whipped her robe and nightgown around her legs as she rushed towards him. Hurriedly, she cast a spell around them to shield them from the worst of the weather. When she touched his shoulders, he was trembling beneath her hands. “What’s wrong?” The wind ripped away the words; it howled from every crack in the wall, whistled around the corners and rattled the blinds. She raised her voice shrilly. “Are you hurt? Lumos!”

He bowed his head, resting it tiredly against her belly. His long hair was plastered to his brow, lank and wet. It left a cold spot on her nightgown. Appalled, Narcissa wondered how long he’d been out in the rain. “Lucius! Are you hurt?”

She felt his lips form the words more than she heard them. “Not really.”

Anger flared inside her then, broke forth wild like the storm. She braced her hands on his shoulders and pushed him away. “You’re lying,” she shouted over the howl of the wind. “What happened?”

A great shudder went through him. His eyes were bloodshot when he raised his head. He pulled back from her and climbed to his feet, swaying for a moment. Wordlessly, he held out his arm.

For a moment, Narcissa didn’t know what to make of that. Him. But then, realisation struck her like a bolt of lightning, made her head ache and her stomach roll and her heart lurch inside her chest. She grabbed his wrist and yanked up his sleeve, ignoring his gasp of pain.

The infamous Mark, the snake and skull that she’d caught her sister admiring on her own arm glared at her, black and charred on his white skin. It radiated heat, in spite of how cold he was. The raindrops that fell to touch it sizzled and evaporated as greenish smoke.

Hissing, Lucius tried to pull away, but she didn’t let go of his wrist. “It hurts.”

“I can see that.” Narcissa was surprised that her voice didn’t crack, that she could manage to sound so deadly calm. “You thought this was a good idea?”

“I know it doesn’t seem like it now,” he gasped, wincing as she touched the burn gently with one cool fingertip.

“I’d say,” she snapped and poked his arm once again for good measure. She was gratified when he flinched. “You should’ve told me you were planning this. Maybe I would’ve come too--”

His eyes flashed. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he spat.

The tone sparked her anger anew. “Why would that be ridiculous? Bellatrix has one of these, doesn’t she? Oh yes, I know that she does.” He looked struck. Narcissa narrowed her eyes. “Was she there tonight?” she hissed, suddenly, irrationally jealous. “Did she get to watch? Did you consult her? Her ilk, instead of your best--”

“I didn’t consult anyone,” he snapped, nostrils flaring with irritation. “This was my decision.”

“But it would’ve been nice if you’d told me what you were planning!” she shouted, her composure crumbling at last. Her voice was wavering dangerously.

“Why?”

“Because this is dangerous and I worry and I don’t want you to die!” She broke off, gasping for air. Her throat felt tight, and she snapped her mouth shut before she could blurt out more stupid things. It was never good to be too honest.

There was a pause. Lucius squinted at her through the droplets that dripped into his eyes from his wet brow, but his voice had softened when he spoke again, barely audible over the splash of the rain. “You would’ve told me not to go.”

Snorting, Narcissa pulled away and turned her back on him. She stared at the wall of the house until the cracks in the stones started to blur and swim before her eyes. “As if anyone could stop you from doing what you wanted, anyway. If you won’t even ask my opinion--”

“I think it’s for the best. I’ve considered all the odds--”

“Good for you, Malfoy,” she retorted.

He huffed. “Trust me, Narcissa. And stop calling me ‘Malfoy’. You only do that when you’re cross.”

“I am cross! And no one in their right mind should trust you too much. They’ll just get hurt!” Cold, fat raindrops rolled down her face, mingled with hot, salty tears. Furious, Narcissa wiped at her face with the sleeve of her robe but that was soaked too. She didn’t even know why she was bawling – she’d known something like this would happen, she realised, as surely as the oncoming storm. She wasn’t even surprised. But she was scared out of her mind, and for what, she couldn’t even--

“You’re not crying, are you?”

She winced. “No,” she protested, voice rough with tears and irritation. “I’m wet and getting wetter because you pulled me out of bed in my nightgown in the middle of the night! My father will kill us both if he finds us here.”

“I know,” he said, and he actually sounded contrite. “I just wanted five minutes of your company. Then I can go home.”

Something in his voice, the pain maybe, tugged at her heart. She wanted to be angry at him, wanted to berate him for causing her sorrow, but when she glanced at him over her shoulder, she saw that he was cold, wet, hurting and desperate, and though she did not want to, she softened. “Fine,” she said, more calmly. Now that the heat of her anger had subsided, she found herself trembling. Her hair and clothes clung to her skin in a most uncomfortable way. They had to get out of the rain. “Five minutes,” she told him, reaching out to take his hand. “I’ll be sure to keep track. Hold on.”

With a crack, she Apparated them both away.

Her mother’s gazebo was a little building of white latticework, delicate and fragile-looking, but charms had been placed all around it to protect it from the brunt of the weather, and deep within the woods that lined the Black estate, it was sheltered from rain and wind.

After the wildness of the storm, the sudden calm and quiet felt strange, wondrous, as if they had entered into another world. It was dark here, under the roof of leaves and twigs. Gasping slightly with the effort of Apparating them both through the electric currents that zig-zagged across the sky, Narcissa waved her wand to light the lamp that hung under the ceiling. It flickered once, then flared and burned brightly, bathing the small space in yellow light and black shadows.

Narcissa exhaled slowly. Here, now, hidden away in the heart of the forest, she suddenly became very aware of the fact that she was all alone in the darkness with a man – a man who’d been her friend and ally for a long time, yes, but who had also just pledged his life to a cause of destruction and violence. She didn’t know every detail of what the Mark stood for, what he’d be required to do by that Dark wizard of whom everyone only spoke in whispers, but she’d learned enough reading between the lines of the Daily Prophet and listening to thinly-veiled dinnertable conversations between Bellatrix and her husband.

Thinking about the implications of it all made her head hurt.

Sighing, she helped him out of the long black cloak he was wearing and dropped it carelessly. Something white fell out of the pocket and clattered on the floor, but she paid it no mind. With the cloak gone, she could see that his sleeve was singed where the Mark had been burned into his skin. The thin cotton of his shirt was filmy and transparent with the rain, but also with an angry splash of red that spread wetly across his chest.

“Sit.” She swallowed hard. “Your blood?”

“Some of it,” he said blankly.

Narcissa knew that she should be shocked, but all she felt was a profound sense of hatred for the one who had hurt him. Whatever they’d got in turn had been well deserved, she thought ruthlessly, and reached out with gentle hands to unbutton his collar and inspect the damage. Suddenly, she felt overcome with the need to touch him, run her hands all over him to make sure he was all right. There was a gash on his chest, not life-threatening, but her hands shook as she stroked her finger carefully along it.

“I don’t like this,” she murmured. There was a bitter taste in her mouth. “And don’t you tell me some rubbish about heroics now, I know you don’t like it when things get sticky, either!”

He huffed at her, but made no move to shake off her gently exploring hands. Sprawled in one of her mother’s white wicker chairs, his long legs stretched out on either side of her and his shirt wet and unbuttoned, bearing the marks of battle, he looked rather too attractively dishevelled for Narcissa’s liking, as if all this was just some sort of game to him.

It wasn’t. After Sirius, Andromeda, Bellatrix, she knew that this fight was very real. Sides had to be chosen…but at what price, no one could be sure. Sometimes, Narcissa wished she had her sisters’ faith or zeal. The only thing she had grown up to believe in was the name of Black, her blood and her kin. She had been raised to be the dutiful daughter, the diligent girl who served her family where her sisters only served their own interests.

But now, it was becoming harder and harder to figure out who to stand with when they were all pulling her in different directions, trying to move her and manipulate her like a piece on a chessboard. Narcissa was tired of it. She didn’t need anyone to tell her what to do. Not even him.

“All I’m telling you is that there’s a war coming,” Lucius said quietly, as if he’d read her thoughts, and his eyes were gleaming. “There’s no way around it. We need to be prepared. You know that.”

Yes, she knew that. And it was necessary, she supposed, or at least that was what Bellatrix told her, her voice cracking with fanatic glee as she’d ripped the childhood pictures of their lost sister to pieces. Narcissa just wished it could be someone else who’d fight this war for them, while she and the one, ones she loved were far away and safe.

“Yes.” She bit her lip. “But this--”

“You want to win, don’t you,” Lucius insisted. “And we will win. The world will be glorious, I promise you.”

She arched an eyebrow. “You don’t have to promise me anything.”

He shrugged. “I promise you.”

Narcissa didn’t reply. She ducked her head and untangled the sodden sash which hung, limp and wet, off her waist, to Transfigure into a bandage. The robe gaped open at the front, revealing her equally wet nightgown beneath it, and with a scowl, she pulled it closed again over her chest. Not only was the precious silk of her nightclothes ruined by the rain, it also made for very insufficient cover, drenched and clingy as it was. She was still shivering and it felt like every single goosebump that rose on her skin was visible through the wet fabric.

Lucius cleared his throat, and when she glanced up, she saw that his pale cheeks were flushed. He gave her an oddly guarded look, as if, for a fleeting moment, he was actually unsure of himself and her and what would happen now. “You’re not really angry at me, are you?”

Narcissa contemplated the question at length. “No,” she finally said. “It’s a worthy cause, I suppose. I just…” She frowned at the burn as she put a cooling spell on the makeshift bandage and wrapped it around his arm, taking her time, pondering the right words. She’d always been candid with him – not only had he never judged her for holding the controversial opinions she usually hid from anyone else, but in fact delighted in them – but she wasn’t sure if this was her Lucius anymore. “I wish it didn’t have to hurt so much.”

He smiled slowly. “You’d have the glory without paying the price?”

She glowered at him. “If this is the price, well, yes. Obviously. Why does it have to be yo--”

He kissed her, a light, quick peck on the lips that shut her up. His hands were on her hips, grasping her tightly through the barely-there silk, stroking and warming her, and it felt as if he was touching bare skin.

Narcissa blushed, but even though his touch unnerved her, she couldn’t bring herself to remove his hands from her body. They were like anchors, grounding her, holding her safely as her head spun.

“Someone has to change the world,” he murmured, and she could feel his breath cool on her moist lips.

“Well, let it be someone else!” she pleaded. “I don’t care about the rest of the world!”

He laughed darkly. “Neither do I. And that’s why it has got to be me. Because I don’t fight for Bellatrix’s crazy cause, I fight for us. For our future. For the things we hold dear, Narcissa! Or would you really have me sit and watch others take charge?”

She gazed at him unhappily. “No.”

“So there.” He tugged at her nightgown until she stopped resisting and allowed him to pull her closer, his arms sliding around her hips, face once again tucked against her belly.

Sighing softly, Narcissa ran her hands through his damp hair, smoothed back the tangled strands. The night’s events must have drained him – he was never usually so pliant, so affectionate. The fact that she got this, while other girls only got smirks and leers from him, pleased her in spite of herself.

“I thought of you while it happened,” he murmured, his voice rough. “To make the pain bearable.”

Narcissa didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Is that supposed to flatter me, you stupid man?”

His chuckle reverberated through her. “Just the truth,” he murmured. “That’s why I appeared here – I didn’t even think of where I was going when I Apparated.”

“Oh, Lucius. You could have…” She swallowed down the remark on the dangers of Splinching along with the reproach. Her throat felt tight, too tight to say anything but the most important words. “I’m glad you came to me.”

Perhaps she shouldn’t have been. What he’d done was dangerous; coming here, he had endangered her as well. He was certainly not the kind of man one should want to be associated with in times like these. It wasn’t prudent.

But Narcissa didn’t care about that. The only thing she cared about was that he had returned, that he was alive, that she could hold him in her arms now and feel him breathe deeply, in, out.

“I’m glad, too,” he murmured and pressed a kiss to her robe-clad stomach, then pushed aside the wet fabric to press another to her breastbone, feathery-soft. She hadn’t known he was capable of such tenderness. “My father wouldn’t have been nearly as good to me as you.” His tone was light, teasing; his touches were not. They were gentle, but there was an urgency in the way he clutched at her back, pressed his face against her damp skin, as if he believed she would slip through his fingers, a vision, a fantasy, and vanish if he didn’t hold on to her.

She shivered. “Lucius--”

“Shh. Don’t,” he anticipated her protest, and at the sound of his voice, low and rough and needy, it died on her lips. Lucius would never admit to needing anything or anyone, but the way he held her said differently, and how could she deny him? It was impossible…even when he raised his head and, with a brazen look, kissed the exposed skin above the open vee of her neckline, his tongue sneaking out to catch a stray droplet of water that had rolled down between her breasts.

Her gasp seemed very loud in the quiet stillness of the gazebo. Suddenly, the howl of the storm was nothing but a vague whisper in the distance, replaced by the rush of blood that surged up inside and thrummed in her ears.

Her toes curled against the hardwood floor. Her nipples peaked and strained against the clingy material of her nightgown. Instinctively, she tightened her hold on him, and Lucius, conceited prat that he was, chuckled darkly with delight and flicked his tongue across her skin once more.

Narcissa didn’t know what was happening; what had changed to make the air thicken around them, burn and sizzle so she couldn’t see clearly, couldn’t think straight. All she knew was that his lips on her skin were whispering to her body, demanding a response, making her blood sing, and every cell seemed to awaken and rise to the call. Her skin prickled with heat where he’d touched her.

Her mind hadn’t yet caught up with the frantic reaction her body was giving him, but a small, inner voice, though fading quickly with every lick, every caress, reminded her that this was not how things were supposed to be. Panic flared inside her, at odds with the pleasure that pooled, hot and thick, low in her belly.

“Lucius,” she tried again, desperately. “Please--”

“Shh,” he murmured, hands coming up to pull at her nightgown, widen the deep vee between her breasts. “Let me. Just a little, just this--”

A sobbing noise escaped her when his mouth found one of her nipples and sucked. She had never known her body yearned for this, till now, when every flick of his tongue seemed to coil her more tightly until she thought she’d break apart, shatter into a thousand pieces that only he could pick up again. Fleetingly, she wondered if this was what Andromeda had felt like, reckless and bold and adored, beautiful beneath that lustful gaze, and like what she did was so, so right.

The thought made her drag open her heavy lids. “Lucius, I can’t…”

He must’ve seen something in her eyes that gave away her fear, because he stopped to regard her seriously. “I know. I know. Trust me, Cissy.”

She did. More so than was good for her, perhaps, even now. She would put her life in his hands, gladly, and rest assured that she was safe and cared for, would open her mind to him and share her thoughts and ideas. Her body…if she had thought of giving him that, it had been in a schoolgirl’s fantasy, a whimsy that she entertained only in the dark, alone in bed, wrapped in sweaty, mussed sheets. It had been but a distant dream, and Narcissa felt her strength, within the chaos that was her family, lay in her focus and her practicality. She wasn’t one to chase after an idle dream.

But this, this wasn’t idle, and it was no dream. His body was warm and solid beneath her hands and his eyes, as she gazed down upon his shadowed face, gleamed in the darkness like ice on top of a bottomless lake, reflecting all the stars. “Trust me,” he repeated, his lips ghosting over her bare skin.

“Lucius…” She did. She did. But she didn’t want to fall like this, didn’t want to submit and leave this up to him alone like everything else he’d done tonight. If he was allowed to touch her, turn her world upside down and her soul inside out, she wanted to do the same to him. Be his partner, not his prize.

She took a deep breath. Without another word, without batting an eyelash or shying away from his quizzical gaze, she shrugged off her robe, lifted her nightgown to bunch around her knees and moved to straddle him in the chair, her hands braced on his shoulders and their faces inches apart.

“There,” she whispered, “I trust you,” and, before she could change her mind, kissed the surprised, delighted curve of his mouth with soft, moist lips that parted to steal a taste of him. Her heart raced; for a moment, he didn’t move, didn’t respond, but then his arms tightened around her and he met her halfway.

Narcissa had snogged a few people in her life, but none of those experiences had been anything like this, triggered any of the emotions that made her mind whirl now. He was the only man for whom she had ever felt more than a passing fancy, and that made all the difference.

A moan tore out of her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, squeezing his hips with her thighs as she leaned forward, into him, and kissed him with a fervour that both startled and exhilarated her.

She had not known that she wanted this so much. Him. Lucius.

“Narcissa--” he groaned, and now it was her turn to shush him, laughing quietly.

She returned her attention to the wound on his chest, kissing it gently before peeling off his wet shirt all the way, pushing it off his shoulders and down his arms. Before, she’d have happily acknowledged that he was a handsome man, but only now did she come to fully appreciate it. He was slim, but nicely built, with smooth pale skin that stretched tautly over firm muscle. She had never come this close to a half-naked man before and, for a moment, it seemed overwhelming. She wanted to touch him everywhere; run her hands over his chest, touch the sharp edge of his collarbone, tease a small, hard nipple, follow the thin line of blond hair between his navel and the waistband of his trousers with her tongue.

She wanted everything, all at once. If she waited even a second longer, she’d miss out on something in the end. There could never be enough of this. Ever.

She shifted to bring herself closer to his strong chest, wanting to feel him, all of him, even if she couldn’t touch him everywhere at once. Hovering above him, her hips grinding against his, she could feel his body reacting to every lick of her tongue, every little bite of sharp teeth, and she revelled in it, the power.

“Cissy…what has gotten into you?” he teased, but his chuckles quickly turned into laboured breaths at her curious exploration of his body.

“You started this,” she reminded him in a sweet voice, and scraped her teeth playfully over the curve of his neck, pleased when he shivered. His skin was still moist and tasted of rain, fresh and pure and earthy.

“Yes,” he gasped, “and I’d very much like to continue where I left off.”

She made a noise of protest when he pushed her back to grab the sleeves of her nightgown and pulled, the pearl buttons at the front springing off as the silk gave way, leaving her exposed, all white perfect porcelain skin and soft curves.

His lips curled with delight as he looked his fill, then followed the trail his gaze had taken with his hands. He mapped her shoulders, her arms, the curve of her waist where it narrowed and sloped, the soft roundness of her breasts, feeling, measuring, learning their shape with his palms. His brow was furrowed slightly in concentration, as if he was matching what he saw with some mental image of her, and she smiled, knowing that he had looked too, if not followed through on the attraction.

Friendship had been enough for a long time, had sustained them from the lonely first months of their schooltime through the troubles of adolescence until adulthood, and now, with the advent of a new time, a new world, as they teetered on the brink of a war came something new; something more, something stronger that would endure danger and hardships and fear.

At that moment, Narcissa was sure of it, surer than she had ever been about anything in her life, and the certainty made her bold. She wrapped her arms around him as he dipped his head to curl his tongue around one nipple and leaned into the caress shamelessly, urging him on wordlessly with her gasps and moans until his careful, measured touch turned frantic and rough, teeth nipping her sharply, pulling at her skin, demanding as much pleasure from her as he was giving.

Narcissa was only too happy to oblige. Her heart thundered inside her chest, beneath his touch, and she could feel its echo throughout her body, drumming hotly beneath her skin where he touched her with his lips and fingers. His mouth was at her breast, still teasing the pink, tender nipple before he moved to cover the other one with open-mouthed kisses. He left round, dark marks on her pale flesh as he sucked her skin between his teeth, and so caught up was she in the sensation that she almost didn’t notice his hand sliding along her hip and down beneath the damp silk of her nightgown to seek out the secret spot where her pulse throbbed most wildly.

Almost.

She stiffened momentarily when his hand delved between her legs, pushed aside the sodden fabric so he could see her, open her up and watch his fingers slip along the soft, wet flesh of her nether lips and inside. One finger found the tight little opening and probed, and instinctively, she pushed back at him, a shockwave of sensation rippling through her.

“Oh.”

Encouraged, he dipped his finger more deeply inside and was rewarded with a low, drawn-out moan. He chuckled darkly, close to her ear, and did it again, in, out, establishing a careful rhythm that had her longing for more, just so, deeper…

She tried to tilt her hips, but he’d have none of it. The hand that wasn’t teasing her grabbed her arse, fingers digging harshly into the soft curve of her hip as he held her steady and open for him, not giving in to her impatient wiggling and twisting.

He’d have her his way, Narcissa realised fleetingly, and that was just not fair. She wanted him hot and panting beneath her too, at her mercy as she was at his. Desperate for her touch.

Breathing heavily, she forced her sluggish limbs to move, reach out and touch him, her fingers busy and demanding on his taut stomach, working at the buttons of his trousers. He flinched as she brushed the bulge of his erection with the palm of her hand; his grip on her hip slackened, and Narcissa slid forward on to the fingers that were still teasing between her legs, and kissed him hungrily.

The combined sensation was heavenly, the taste of him on her lips, his tongue flicking against hers in time with the rhythm of his finger sliding wetly in and out of her. It felt wonderful, and she never wanted it to stop…except to touch him, return the favour and watch him burn beneath her caresses.

Right now. Right now.

Gasping, she pulled back. His eyes were glittering as he watched her move lithely above him, pulling again at the buttons of his trousers with quick, nimble fingers. Suddenly, she felt like she couldn’t wait a second longer to feel him, naked under her, his skin sliding against hers. It was like a dam had been broken; now that she knew how this felt, what it was like to be with him like this, she couldn’t stop, didn’t want to until she’d had it all, every last bit of pleasure that their bodies could give them.

She pulled away from his touch just long enough so he could raise his hips and wriggle out of his trousers. He was hard, and bigger than she’d imagined. For a moment, she hesitated; he was watching her, an eyebrow raised sardonically, when she chanced a peek at him through her lashes, and the mildly mocking expression strengthened her resolve. She reached out, not at all uncertain now although her fingers were gentle, and touched him intimately, learning the feel of him, hot against her palm. Soft, and slippery with a drop of pearly liquid that seeped out as she moved her hand up and down his hard length.

Lucius allowed her innocent explorations patiently enough, letting her pet and stroke and tease until he was panting with the effort of holding still, but when her touch became firmer, more purposeful and certain with the knowledge of what he enjoyed, he stopped her with a bruising grip on her wrist. “You enjoy tormenting me,” he rasped, and she had never heard his voice sound quite like this, hoarse and rough with lust. “I should have known you’d be like this.”

She smiled. Of course – she liked this. And so did he. “Complaining?”

He snorted. “No. Come here.” He’d pulled her forward in his lap, flush against his chest, before she could make a move to resist.

Not that she would have. The feel of bare skin on skin was wonderful in the chilly night breeze. She wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him, her tongue sliding into his mouth as her body rubbed against his, teasing him.

His hips jerked upwards; the hot, swollen tip of his cock slipped through her folds and pushed demandingly against her opening, half sliding inside, and suddenly, Narcissa didn’t want to wait anymore. She felt reckless and carefree as she pushed back at him, pushed down through the pain and the fear until he was sheathed inside her, filling her body and her mind so completely that there was no room left for doubt or anger or hesitation.

And as she stared into his eyes, clutching at his shoulders with thin, trembling hands, she felt like this had been meant to happen all along, like every word and glance and smile they had ever shared had, perfectly, led to this. She’d cared about him for so long, so deeply that this was only the next, natural step. And still, nothing she could have envisioned even in her wildest fantasies would have compared to the real thing.

“All…all the time we’ve known each other,” she gasped, “we never thought--”

“Well, I wouldn’t say I never thought about it.” She could tell he was trying to smirk in his usual derogatory manner, but he didn’t quite manage it. He looked far too pleased.

He stroked his hands up the backs of her thighs, slowly, diligently, caressing her with his fingertips as if he was blind and relied only on touch to learn every last inch of her. It was wonderful and excruciating at the same time. Finally, his hands settled on her arse and brought her more closely against him. “Oh, fuck, Narcissa--”

A silly little giggle bubbled out of her. She lifted herself off him again carefully, balancing her weight on wobbly knees, savouring the slow hot wet slide of flesh against flesh in spite of the slight, sore pain. This was worth it, she thought as she watched his eyes flutter closed and his lopsided smirk fade away to give way to an expression of sheer pleasure. He was worth anything, no matter the cost or the consequences.

“You’ve thought about us like this?” The revelation didn’t shock her or embarrass her at all, as it still would have a few short hours ago. It made her feel warm and adored.

“Yes,” he admitted, his fingers clenching convulsively around the cheeks of her arse.

“Oh.” She didn’t recognise her own voice. It was soft and breathy and it made Lucius suck in his breath as if he’d been punched in the gut. Laughing quietly, Narcissa sank down on him again, allowing him deep inside her body. She liked that.

His hips lifted off the chair to meet her halfway. He thrust inside her hard, his hands guiding her movements now, pulling her down and holding her to him as their rhythm picked up, became surer and more passionate. The time for curious exploration was past; now, as their bodies began to know each other, recognised the pain and the pleasure for what they were, a need, a desire like nothing Narcissa had ever felt before took over. She could feel the yearning tugging at her insides with every fast beat of her heart, striving for that answering spark from him that would push her towards completion. She was shaking with it, trembling in his arms as his hand sneaked once more between her legs to touch her with perfect accuracy.

His movements were rough now, urgent and fast, but he didn’t leave her behind, didn’t stop giving her the pleasure she craved. His eyes held hers even as his back arched and his face twisted with the bliss of his release, and the feeling of him spilling himself inside her, along with his firm, sure touches, sent her tumbling over the edge too, falling, noiselessly, into calm quiet darkness, soft velvety night that wrapped her up like a blanket.

If she’d had time to worry about such things, Narcissa would have feared that she’d feel awkward, after. But nothing had ever been difficult between them – they understood each other too well, and so smiling her happiness at him as they held each other was easy too, familiar even though it wasn’t.

He helped her into her crumpled clothes when her shaky legs wouldn’t hold her, and she rolled down the sleeve of his shirt over his burned arm, taking care not to hurt him. That, she thought with an inward smirk, was for moments of passion. She had no desire to see him in pain unless it was she who was causing it, and it came hand in hand with pleasure.

In which case, she found, she wouldn’t be opposed to repeating the experience they had shared this night. She sighed softly, tired, but satisfied. “What now?” she wondered as she finally cast a drying spell on her robe. She didn’t realise that she had actually said the words out loud until she felt his hand on her shoulder, smoothing the strap of her nightgown, and his lips on her cheek.

“Now,” he murmured, “we’ll each go to our beds, and tomorrow, I’ll return during the daytime. And it’ll be a whole new world.”

She hid a smile behind the curtain of her golden hair. It was so like him to think himself the centre of the universe, the sun around which the cosmos revolved, the light for which he had been named. “How so, Lucius?”

He cocked his head. “You’ll see,” he said, with utmost certainty, and though she did not yet know that two days thence, she’d agree to be his wife, she felt young and hopeful then, confident in him and in herself and a bright future that would come as surely as sunshine followed rain.

Fortune’s wheel was spinning; what lay ahead of them was still unsure. But for now, they were safe and they were together, and that was good enough.