Please read :This is for Kimmeth, because she asked and could I resist? Well the obvious answer as it manifest itself on this page is no. Oh well, I am enslaved to Lucius and Narcissa… and I like the idea of pushy, nasty Narcissa as much as I like the same idea about Lucius. Sadly, this story is entirely base and fowl. I make no apology and in derisive, perverted enjoyment I cry, "Enjoy!"
Quoted bellow is my favourite quote in regards to women and, being a rather riggish one myself, I love it.
Nothing is mine, spare the plot (which is lacking in comparison to fluff of a dispicable kind). All J.K. Rowling's property.
"Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale
Her infinite variety; other women cloy
The appetites they feed, but she makes hungry
Where most she satisfies; for the vilest things
Become themselves in her, that the holy priests
Bless her when she is riggish,"
Antony and Cleopatra, William Shakespeare 2:2.
He let the feeling invade his body, the heady, immense feeling of being alive with power sparking at the very tips of his fingers. Nothing was more exhilarating than this, nothing made him want to pour his blood from his body to see still if it ran blue rather than black when he did things like this.
Nothing could take away from it, he decided though tonight he would hide it, he would do his work and then return home to his wife and ravage her, for it always relaxed him after he had committed one of the Three Unspeakable Curses and it always pleased her.
He removed his gloves as Bellatrix strode, in her swaying, dilapidated way to his side. At the edge of the forest, there was no danger of Aurors finding them here and so he leaned against a tree and lit a cigar.
" Narcissa is at my home," she commented idly, twisting the strings of her corset in her long, olive coloured fingers. He found his sister-in-law to be a vile creature at the best of times, never mind when he had to openly address or indeed, cooperate with her. And he detested the fact she wore her corsets in rvevers to her other garments.
"Oh?" He feigned disinterest, "And?"
"Well, I owled her," Bellatrix seemed rather pleased with herself as she said this, "Just before we came and told her there was a little celebration at ours tonight, I thought I should invite her. Since you don't let her out of that damnable house."
He ignored this last quip, for Bellatrix was hardly worth the effort of getting annoyed. He looked at her sideways,
"I shall join you then Bellatrix," he sneered disdainfully at her, "If only to take my prisoner back home to her sprawling mansion."
Bellatrix was jealous of him, he conjectured for a moment. Why else would she do such ridiculous, petty, childish things like invite Narcissa just to enrage him.
"Narcissa does what she wants," Bellatrix teased, "She doesn't do as you tell her."
"That's right Bellatrix," he sneered, stubbing out his cigar with the toe of his boot and flexing his arm, "It appals me that she has a mind of her own. She's not like you."
"Oh, really," Bellatrix, just for effect rubbed herself against him.
"Really," he pushed her away forcefully and she smiled like a cat. He knew Bellatrix only wanted him, not because she liked him but because Narcissa had him. She liked to play with other people's toys, Bellatrix, but Lucius never wanted to play.
"Well," he walked into the clearing where the other Death Eaters were now congregated, and turned to his sister in law, "Shall we?"
"Indeed," she licked her lips and latched onto her husband as they Apparated.
Bellatrix and Rudolphus disgusted him, he mused as the group cut a startling shadow walking through the street, impinging on the dark of a London night. Their house was in the centre of London, in a dingy dark part of the city. They hardly ever inhabited it and it showed.
The stairs were slippery with moss and the paint was flaking from the red door, but inside the house became darker. A drunken, darkening den of iniquity he only ever visited when he was intoxicated and easy. The house itself was draped in silk and explicit art that would turn even the most twisted man sick.
But oddly enough, Narcissa was not out of place here, even though she was icy against the fire of the candles. She was controlled and compelling and straight backed as she sat on one of the dilaptited sofas, melting into the velvet red. He nodded at her as he removed his cloak, for she presented herself in ways no one else seen. An erect back, a shallowly heaving bosom restricted by the corsets visible through her thin dress.
He liked the idea that she wore corsets and if she would allow, sometimes he would do them up for her, intricately pulling laces between his fingers till she struggled to breath - but she would mostly deny him this pleasure and force him to watch as she did it herself.
At this, he bent to kiss her hand no more than fleetingly and smiled, "Hello."
"Hello," she gazed at him haughtily, under long eye lashes "I should think this will be an interesting evening."
"I agree," he smiled slightly at her dry wit.
She straightened up her back as he sat beside her, his hand grazing the satin of her red dress slightly as he took a drink from the elf tottering a tray of bloody wine. He handed her a glass and she sipped it gratefully, her crimson lipstick leaving marks on the crystal.
"Narcissa," he looked at her from his position on the couch, as the room filled with the rest of the creatures of the night with whom he spent his time. He liked to think his wife wasn't one of these people, that she knew nothing of what he done. He liked to fantasize that she was pristine and pure and unaware of how he occupied his time but he knew different. He knew she was very aware of what he did after dark and how secretly, she liked the idea of indulging in it herself.
She turned to stare at him, his name dripping from her crimson lips with the freeze of politeness, "Lucius?"
"Indeed," he sneered at her lightly, wanting to reach over and bite her lip but keeping his head straight ahead instead, "You are in a good mood."
"Bite your tongue," she smiled coldly, "Simple because you are irritated my sister tricked me into coming here."
"You are nothing other than a fool for believing I would come here and not return home to you, you gave me no choice," he growled in amusement, "But then again, you are a Black."
"Lucius," her voice was poisonously dark, for now this back and forth the was becoming tiresome, "You think I am a silly girl?"
"No, wife," he turned to face her, "But let's pretend you are. Just for my pleasure."
"Always for your pleasure," she turned her eyes on him, her lips parting in a breath of low, hissing words.
"Indeed," he smiled, then sipped his wine, "Though I am glad you are here to make me look better."
She straightened her back, her corsets moving under the satin and he watched it with voyeuristic indulgence. He reached out and caressed her back, the rough of the laces and wanted to undo them, to feel the skin under them. See with his hungry eyes the little scars she had inflicted on herself from lacing it too tightly.
"What corset are you wearing?"
She looked at him, masking her surprise with a look of feline-nature a second later, "Red silk. And it is too tight."
He smiled, his hand coming to the base of her neck, "Good. Does it hurt?"
"Dreadfully," she smiled, eyes glittering with enjoyment, "So much so I can't breath."
"Excellent," he whispered huskily, but over the din of the music coming from the room and the large group talking in drunken slur he couldn't be heard anyway.
She smiled and sipped some wine. He loosened his cravat, then removed it, for this opium den was becoming too hazy with smoke and heat and he rolled up his sleeves. Her eyes flitted in alarm as his Mark came into view but then she remembered they were in like minded company and he seen in her eyes abated worry. He enjoyed seeing her worry over things like their reputation, for it mattered to her as much as it mattered to him. Yes, the young Malfoy couple were matched in more ways than blood. Lineage and wealth aside, their predilections were what drew them together. His indulgent whims and arrogance and lust for blood, her enjoyment of pain and being adored bonded them as well as thier blood.
He watched Bellatrix dance, his hand still at the base of his wife's neck but covered by her wealth of blond hair. Bellatrix was a whore, he knew and he oft wondered how Narcissa had been born of such a despicable family. They lacked control over their wickedness, they lacked the ability to repress emotion. Narcissa was ice; cold, dispassionate pleasure and how he adored her for it.
Bellatrix gyrated against her husband and he wondered if Narcissa could do that, if she could hold all male attention with a thrust of her hips. But of course, he realised she could do it by walking into a room, hips set back and arched like a cat. She could court the attention of anyone and the very thought made him jealous.
"You are mine," he whispered, nipping the back of her neck sharply between his fingers. She let out a little cry.
"I know," she turned eyes on him and in a swift look dispelled all notion that she would ever act like Bellatrix, "I know I am not allowed."
"You can, for me," he motioned his head to Bellatrix, who was dancing in the centre of the room, sandwiched between Rudolphus and Rabastan.
"I would never," she turned her nose up at the thought, " I am not like her."
"Thank mercy," he smiled arrogantly and turned his eyes back on Bellatrix.
He knew, when Narcissa's head came to rest in his lap that she was feeling slightly jealous for she only ever divested herself on him in public when she felt threatened, which was very rarely. He chuckled nastily, for he liked to make her feel inferior but the look in her eyes told him this was no laughing matter. And he agreed, she could walk out of their home any day with any other man and never come back to him.
"Cissy," he smiled, bending to divest a kiss on her lips. However, she bit his own as a form of punishment, so hard that blood tricked into his mouth. She reached up and smearing the blood licked the remainder from her finger.
"Your blood is sour," she said meaningfully and at this, he laughed.
"And black," she added, licking her lips, "You murdered tonight. I smell it on you, I taste it."
"You have a fussy pallet," he answered bending again to kiss her sinister laugh from her lips. his actions were immaterial, maningless compared to her beauty.
He took the wine in her hand from her and drank the liquid, feeling the headiness of her and all that surrounded him seep into his cursed blood. He smiled down at her and tugged sharply at her hair, which cascaded down and surrounded her like a diabolic halo.
Then, from the dim light erupted a flash of a camera and ensconced forever in it was the curse of blood and belief's shared between them, captured by Snape. They were untouchable.
He took her home that night and intricately, delicately undone the laces of the silk corset in which she was imprisoned. He took her to bed and she scratched his back and bit his lip until he bled red on the sheets and her screams lamented the air like a hymn of evil.
She woke the next morning and did not bleed like a woman for the nine months following. Thus another child of blood arrived, Draco. His blood was a mingling of the two, between reality and appearance, between what was inherently evil in them and what failed to be good. And most importantly, he was a Malfoy who was a blur of purity and a vessel of the sanctity of blood.
For Kimmeth, because you made me!
Hope you enjoyed.
I like to think Malfoy, in all manifestation was not a good thing untill DH in which they had to redeem themselves, rather than suffer. They thus, realised they were too arrogant and intolerant and they had to let go of thier values. Thought y'all should know.