Author's Notes: Another fic written at the request of the Bellatrix Lestrange forum Chat Thread. Also being used for Luck O' The Irish Seamione's Romance Competition.

You know, it feels crack-y to me, but maybe that's because I fail to think of men in women's underwear as anything but completely ridiculous…


The whole matter had started off when Bellatrix had left some of her own overly provocative undergarments lying strewn about. Narcissa had blushed fiercely when Lucius had questioned her about them, and refused when he tried to coax her into putting them on. Lucius had laughed at his wife's embarrassment, and teased her, and said that if he had seen her in nothing at all, modesty oughtn't prevent her from dressing in lingerie.

"Why don't you wear it, then?" Narcissa had asked.

The words hung awkwardly in the air for a moment, then Lucius chuckled, and pulled off his shirt. Narcissa watched with increasing shock as her husband, her handsome, dignified, masculine husband wriggled into the black lace bra that Bellatrix had left.

It looked ridiculous of course, the elastic straining around his chest and the cups hanging loose, but Narcissa felt a flush of heat quite apart from embarrassment go through her, and she had a sudden wild desire to see him dressed in the rest of Bellatrix's underclothes.

She hadn't known how to voice it, that mad urge to see a man clothed in seductive, feminine garments, but Lucius seemed to guess, for he was already kicking off his shoes and trousers. Narcissa perched on the edge of her bed, watching with amazement as Lucius stepped into Bellatrix's black knickers, and started to work them up his legs.

Seeing the lace stretching over the pale flesh of his thighs had been too much for Narcissa, and she slid to her knees in front of him, hooking her own fingers beneath the fabric and pulling them up the rest of the way.

The thin material strained to fit all the way around Lucius's waist, and it hugged him so close that every detail was visible. Narcissa's head swum a little, looking at this picture of weird, erotic deviation. She thought she couldn't feel any more aroused, or any more confused. Then Lucius reached for the stockings.

When he worked his foot into the bottom of the first stocking, he was still grinning, chuckling as though the whole matter was a joke. When he started pulling it up his leg, the laughs quieted, and Narcissa noticed him running his tongue along his upper lip, a little habit of his when he was aroused. By the time he had both of Bellatrix's stockings pulled as high up his legs as they would go – thank Merlin Bellatrix is as tall as she is – and Lucius straightened so that Narcissa could admire the effect, the bulge in the front of the knickers threatened to tear the delicate lace. And the sight of him simply killed Narcissa.

She had never before felt so strong a need to touch and feel and fuck as she did when she saw her husband dressed in that ridiculous costume. Narcissa had always been a quiet, unaggressive bedmate, but somehow the sight of Lucius all decked in black lace made her need him. She grabbed him by the shoulders, and dragged him down onto the bed, kissing and biting and fumbling to get his cock out of the knickers and into her.

Over the several months since that initial venture, the couple had amassed quite a collection of lingerie that fit Lucius. Black and red and white, lace and silk, plain and intricate, and dressing her husband in any of it was enough to make Narcissa wild with anticipation. And after the first few nights, the matter stopped feeling so ridiculous, and Narcissa stopped blushing at the thought of what she was doing.

Though she did blush when she had to explain to Bellatrix what had happened to her underclothes…