FIC: Changeling (Lucius/Narcissa)
To: Bsafemydeers
From: Your Secret Santa

Title: Changeling
Author: jairissa (fic journal)
Pairing: Lucius/Narcissa
Summary: The man that returned to her was not her husband. Narcissa is determined to make him so.
Word Count: 2540
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None.
Author's Notes: Many thanks, as always, to my ever-patient and beloved beta A, who puts up with far more from me than she should.



Narcissa has waited for his return for over a year, knowing in her heart that somehow Lucius would find his way back to her. It matters not a bit to her that only one person has done so before this; of all the things that she can say for her errant husband, he has never let her down before.

The wait, of course, is torture. The rest of the Death Eaters are vile; while Narcissa respects their dedication to the cause, she is repulsed by their leers, their innuendo, their attempts to touch her when they think no one is watching them. She curses the most obvious as soon as she can get them alone, ensuring that they will not overstep their boundaries and touch her again. The ones that she does not, or cannot, she tries to ignore. It results in her spending most of her days with her eyes facing forward, floating through the hallways of her once-beloved home like a pale ghost, vision trained firmly on the one love that keeps her tied to this earth.

In a way, she thinks that quite an apt description.

In between her brief moments of reflection, where she becomes so overwhelmed by just how difficult this world is to face alone, she finds herself having to ignore a great many things to ensure she doesn't betray herself: the way her sister lights up at the sight of their Dark Lord, and how she laughs as he allows her to harm Narcissa's beloved son; the way the halls echo with screams and the splatter of blood against stone; the fact that, for the first time since her marriage, she is alone in their bed.

More than one night she has fallen asleep biting back the tears that she steadfastly refuses to allow to fall. Yet all of this, every moment of it, would have been worthwhile should the man standing in front of her be one she recognised in any way. He looks different, that Narcissa has always expected. It has taken her sister near a year and a half to return to even a scrap of her former beauty, it is not this that bothers her at all.

No, the change that she sees in Lucius is deeper. It is as though a fire she has always seen burning behind his eyes has finally burned out. As though the passion she has always so dearly loved in him has become brittle and shattered into small enough pieces that Narcissa can only see the faintest shadow of them when she really looks at him.

This is not what she has fought so long for.

Even less so is the grovelling that is now expected of them, the false, profuse thanks that they are expected to bestow on their merciful Lord who has spared her husband from the worst horrors of Azkaban. Narcissa believes she acquits them well here, attributing the bright burn of tears in her eyes to gratitude rather than anger, Lucius' silence to respectful adoration rather than brokenness. Even Draco manages to make his lies well; Narcissa worries that he does not see the changes she has, but a small moment of hesitation as he struggles to find another word for 'wonderful' tells her that indeed he does see further than she gives him credit for.

And now they stand, in the bedroom that they shared for nigh on twenty-five years before they had been torn apart, silent as strangers. Their relationship has been many things over the years: passionate, angry, frustrated, cherished, but never silent. This is something new, and Narcissa thinks that if she doesn't find a way to force them into speech soon, she will go mad with the way that the silence somehow seems louder than yelling.

"Have you eaten?" He asks, voice quieter than Narcissa is used to and her eyes narrow at the cowed tone. She has been prepared to tolerate a great number of things from him, but giving up after she has so determinedly fought for them is possibly the greatest insult of all.

"I find myself not hungry," she says, her voice coiled tight with anger at the very thought that he thinks he can stand there, as different from the man she knows as the sun is from the cool, shadowed night, and pretend that nothing at all is wrong. He opens his mouth to say something, and Narcissa has to cut him off before he says something that will make her scream. "Lucius, for Merlin's sake. After a year and a half you wish to speak of food?"

He stares at her, gaping blankly, and for a moment all Narcissa wishes to do is slap that gormless look off his face. It is a near thing, and she clenches her fist at her side to prevent herself from going through with it. He has always been unpredictable, and during even the loudest, most intense of their fights, she has always been slightly afraid of how he would react if she did.

Although, if it puts some expression in his eyes beyond tired defeat, perhaps she should consider it.

"I simply thought," Lucius starts and Narcissa cuts him off with a curt wave of her hand.

"I care little for what you're thinking right now," she snaps, turning her back on him so she can hunt for some form of restraint. Considering how many times she dreamed of his reunion, she thinks she should have something more to say to him than this. It is her fault, she supposes, that even in her wildest of fantasies, he did not come back to her like this.

She wants fire, damnit. She wants a passion so sharp that it overwhelms reason and keeps two people so colossally alike and ill-suited together for over twenty years because no other person in this world can fulfil their need like each other.

With this in mind, Narcissa turns, reaches forward and pushes, well aware that in all their time together she has never resorted to physical violence. There is shock in his eyes for the brief second before his back hits the bedpost he had been standing in front of and instead there flares what appears to be the slow burning of anger.

Yes.

She moves closer to him, face resting close to his as she leans forward as if to kiss him, instead biting down, hard. He gives a hiss of pain, the largest reaction he is ever willing to give to any hurt, and grabs her hair to tug her face level to his. "Stop it," he says, voice harsh and dangerous; it is exactly how she likes it.

"No."

It is this word that he has always hated the most, especially when not wielded from his own mouth. She would give an obvious smile of triumph, is in the process of attempting to twist her mouth into that shape, when it is covered by his and any gloating is lost to her.

Narcissa's breath catches as his lips slide across hers, forcing rather than teasing them open, his tongue pushing its way into her mouth to dance with hers. She is prepared to give herself up to it, to the wonder of feeling anything again when her feet leave the ground and her back hits the wall behind her with an audible thud.

She opens her eyes again to see that he has pushed her across the room in less time than she thinks she would have been able to run it and now has her trapped against their bedroom wall, feet dangling alarmingly off the floor. Her eyes meet his and she sees the moment he registers the brief panic in her eyes. For just a second she thinks he will let her down, let her go, but instead he laughs, lowering his mouth to her neck.

It only takes him a moment to find the most sensitive, nerve-ridden spot, the place where her pulse beats just below the skin. Narcissa lets her head fall back against the wall as Lucius presses his lips to it, the combination of lightly brushing tongue and the scraping of teeth sending jolts of ice and fire across her skin. She reaches for his shoulders, bracing herself against them so that she can feel as though she has something to hold on to.

"Say it again," he whispers as he raises his voice to her ear, tone honey and poison as she desperately struggles to remember what she had said at all, let alone find the presence of mind to repeat it. She moans his name and he rewards her with another kiss to her throat. "Say it."

Narcissa has to explore the deepest recesses of her memory before she manages to find what he must be referring to. "No," she repeats, her voice more of a groan than a protestation, something she knows that Lucius is more than aware of. She is paid for her compliance by the grating of his teeth over her earlobe and a more careful bracing of her body against his.

In earlier days, Narcissa supposed that she may have made a show of pushing him away before she wraps her legs around his waist, but after all this time apart, she cannot bring herself to. She has been desperate for him, or this, for longer than she can possibly count; she thinks that to stop now would destroy her.

Closing her eyes, she keeps her head resting against the wall as she feels herself lifted higher and she stretches herself to help him in whatever his quest is. She is rewarded by the caress of his lips to her nipple through her dress, the combination of the pressure and the silky material forcing a gasp from her. There is a ripple of fingertips over her shoulder, the strap of her gown pushed away. She is not sure what he intends by this until he repeats the motion on the other shoulder, pulling the dress down to rest below her breasts.

The air of their room is cold - the breeze chills her, flowing gently over her nipples and teasing them into hard nubs. Lucius' mouth, when he lowers it to one of them, is equally as warm as the air is cold and Narcissa threads her fingers through his thinning hair in an attempt to encourage him. He complies with the unspoken request, possibly the first time he has agreed to anything she has asked tonight, suckling harder as his hand none-too-gently teases at the other, seemingly delighting in every noise he can pull from her.

When he pulls away Narcissa groans in obvious disappointment, sure she would be insulted by Lucius' easy chuckle did she not hear the sound of clothes rustling, robes being undone and discarded carelessly on the floor. His hand returns to her thigh, pushing her dress torturously slowly up her leg. She reaches her own hands down to help, pouting as they are batted away. Ignoring his unspoken demand, she tries again, eyes opening in surprise as she feels her arms fly above her head, remaining stuck to the wall however much she tugs at them.

Narcissa glares at her husband, displeasure obvious on her face, but all she receives in return is a smug smile. "Behave," he says, voice loaded with the promise of something she is sure she should know, but she cannot force her mind into enough sense to be able to tell what that is.

Thankfully it's answered quickly as she feels him brush against her heat once, twice, before finally, perfectly, pushing inside her with one sharp thrust. Narcissa's heart stops for one brief moment and she relaxes at the long-missed feeling of being so utterly full, basking in contentment for finally possessing what she has wanted for so long.

Lucius rests his head against her throat as he starts to move and she can feel the uneven puff of his breath against her skin. She kisses his hair, more gently than she had previously known herself capable of, bucking her hips against his, hoping to feel him even more deeply inside her.

The slow pace he sets is wonderful as she reacquaints herself with the feel of Lucius moving against her skin, keeping her face buried in his hair as he continued to thrust inside her. Despite this wonder, Narcissa tires of it quickly, longing for more, something she continues to beg for in a shamefully pleading voice.

"Greedy," he whispers and she nods in agreement; she has always been that. She is half a second away from resorting to begging when he pulls himself almost entirely out of her, slamming back in with a matching groan of his own. Narcissa hears a cry, knows that it must be her own, despite how alien the noise seems to her.

"Please," she says finally, even as he gives her exactly what she is asking for, rocking them both against the wall with enough force to make the walls rattle. She thinks belatedly that she should have put up a silencing spell before they started, but she had no idea it would come to this.

The slow burn of her climax builds on her even as she feels Lucius' muscles start to tense between her thighs and she pulls even more desperately on her bonds in a need to touch him as she comes. He is too far gone to hear her pleas and she lets out a desperate moan as it hits her, vision flashing white as her body seizes in a wave of bliss that seems unending. Lucius freezes for a moment with a matching groan of his own, and she tightens her legs around his waist as he finally subsides against her.

Narcissa has to plead for a few moments more before he reaches for where he has discarded his wand, thankfully on a table close enough to him that he did not need to let go. With her hands freed, she wraps herself around him entirely, not saying a word as Lucius carries her to their bed, laying her almost gently upon it.

"Ah, Narcissa," he says, his tone almost rueful. She turns her face to his, smiling in satisfaction. "I have missed you."

She raises her eyebrow and does not answer, patting the bed beside her. He shifts his weight, positioning his own body half beside, half on top of her own and she sighs with satisfaction that she will not be alone this evening; will not be afraid that someone will finally manage to force their way through her locking spells and take from her what had always belonged to Lucius.

Wrapping one arm possessively around his waist, Narcissa tangles her legs with his, feeling both wonderfully replete and entirely satisfied. Her eyes refuse to stay open, however much she wants them to, and she nuzzles against Lucius' chest as she felt his breath evening above her. She reaches for her own wand, magically tucking the covers in around them and makes a mental note to talk to the House Elves in the morning. It really is unbearably cold in here.