As always, for my dragon, who has the moves like Jagger...and all my kind readers and reviewers who inspire me so. You're simply brilliant... This one gets a little serious, so beware!
Malfoy Manner: Cake Topper
They'd just sat down to brunch when Mint popped into the solarium. Narcissa hastily jerked her foot out of Draco's lap, blushing. Draco rolled his eyes.
"Mistress and young master has post." The elf placed two handsomely ribboned parchments on the octagonal table, bowed to Narcissa and popped away.
Draco stared where the elf had been, eyes narrowed. "That creature does not respect me. It makes faces at me." He took up a parchment.
His mother was already reading hers. "You threatened to kick it. I should not expect respect after that."
"I was joking!"
Narcissa put her missive down. Draco was fighting the ribbon's tight knot. "Elves don't joke," his mother told him. She snatched the parchment from him with a sigh and easily slipped the knot. Handing it back, she smirked. "You won't like this."
"Won't like what?" He hadn't yet dropped the subject of their elf. "And why are you so insistent on skulking about our own house like two Slytherins out after curfew? I'm sure elves have seen far worse than what we get up to in other purebloods' homes."
"What? D'you think the elf could be standing out in the hall, listening? Whilst it washes the dirt off the dirt that it washes off the walls?" He gestured to the doorway. "That's all they bloody care about. Cleaning and cooking and drawing your bath and such." He leveled matter-of-fact glare at her, noting that her lips were already pursed, but feeling reckless. "Look here, mum. If I wanted to set you on my fruit medley right now and have my way, do you imagine the elf would give a tinker's damn?"
She did not respond. Just stared at him coldly. Her nostrils flared.
"Hmmm?" Draco leaned toward her. He'd consequently given himself an erection. "Shite. Nevermind, mum." He rubbed his forehead and picked up the parchment. "So what is this all about, then? Surely Hogwarts doesn't need more money, already. Old McGonagall must be buying up anything plaid as quickly as plaid-makers can make it."
To the Honorable Mr. Draco Malfoy:
You are cordially invited to the nuptial celebrations of Miss Luna Lovegood to Mr. Neville Longbottom on the 19th Day of November in this the year 2000 at One O'Clock in the afternoon at the charming beach cottage of Mr. Bill and Mrs. Fleur Weasley. This auspicious day has been chosen by the bride and groom for it being the day of numerous leaf- dancing dingwhillets. May their bright and airy capers bless bride, groom and guests with much happiness and births of twins. Come and share matrimonial joy with us! For convenience of travel, this invitation shall act as a portkey. Please RSVP for yourself and a guest by August 10th.
Draco swallowed a bit of bile that had risen in his throat. "How simply awful," he said. "RSVP? Are they insane? No, nevermind. Answered my own question." He crumpled the parchment and tossed it to the table. It landed in the marmalade, and he rescued it quickly, checking to be certain his mother hadn't noticed. She was writing something. He felt a crawling sensation up his spine.
"What are you doing, mum?"
"I'm sending an RSVP, Draco."
He glared at the ceiling and unleashed a frustrated growl. "Mother. I am not going to that wedding."
"I didn't ask you to, son."
He looked at her. "You didn't?"
She was briskly rolling a piece of fine parchment. "Mint?"
The elf popped in at Narcissa's side. "Yes, Mint's Mistress?"
"Seal and send this, please."
The elf hugged the parchment roll to its chest. "Oh, of course, Mint's Mistress."
"Come off it, elf!" Draco suddenly snapped. "I've already spoken to Mint's Mistress about your shenanigans. She says you can stop making those faces at me."
Mint reeled in shock. "Mint never!" It fell at Narcissa's feet.
The stunt earned him a scalding stare. He felt the fire in it. "Nonsense, Draco," his mother hissed. She didn't see the elf at her side pulling heinous faces in his direction.
Draco pointed to it. "See?"
"I see my grown son acting like a child." Narcissa looked at the elf whose sad eyes watered up at her. "You may go, Mint," she said gently.
The elf popped out with one last glower at Draco, who was incensed. "You buggering little gobshite!" He yelled. "I will kick you like a muggle housecat!"
"Draco!" His mother had risen from the table.
"I should like to spend the rest of my day out of your presence, I believe."
"Wait," he said. She stopped in the door. "You really won't make me go to that wedding?"
"Absolutely not!" She replied as though disgraced by the very idea. "I thought perhaps to invite someone who could feasibly behave themselves in such a situation. Perhaps…the Minister would attend with me."
She left. He heard her heels clicking away down the hall.
His lips pursed. "Perhaps the Minister would attend with me," he mocked. "Bloody harassing, haranguing harridan and…harpy!" He yelled after her. But his hands scrambled to straighten the crumpled invitation and grabbed a sheet of her fine parchment. He'd be damned before Kingsley Shacklebolt attended to his mother in any way.
The weeks before the wedding passed amidst great tension between the Malfoy heir and his matron. He even found himself closed out of her room a few times, finding his own bed lonely and desolate now. She avoided him at meals more often than not, and if he did manage to ambush her for company it was usually during her bath, whereupon she reacted with such violence he worried she would draw her wand. And he certainly didn't want to duel his mother.
The question was, why was she being such an impossible bitch? He'd found her a few days after the wedding invitation debacle and told her he wanted to attend with her. He didn't admit it had anything to do with his distaste for Kingsley Shacklebolt, but he'd damn well told her he was taking her.
He'd been…better… with the elf. Just avoided the stupid creature, really. It obviously preferred his mother, and she obviously adored it, so he quit threatening, slandering and vexing it. Eventually, it also quit threatening, slandering and vexing him.
There had been relative peace. He could think of no upsetting post. Even the solicitor had stayed away. What the devil had her in such a foul mood? His attempts at speaking to her about the issue had been summarily dismissed by words so sharp they quite nearly hurt, and she tensed like an adder about to strike when he stood too near her.
So he…stayed away. And ached. It truly was the worst. Missing her; kissing her, holding her, touching her, fucking her; the way her toes curled in pleasure, her nails scratching at his scalp or back, her hot little pants against his ear, her sweaty thighs stroking up his hips.
He groaned and buried his face in his cold, hateful pillow. Why?
Three days before the wedding she announced at breakfast that she wanted to go to Diagon Alley. He glanced at her over the Daily Prophet, completely defeated. "Of course, mother."
She seemed surprised by his harmonious concordance. "We should think about a wedding gift."
He nodded. His balls hurt. "I'm sure you'll…come up with a good idea," he said. His voice sounded tight even to himself.
She sighed. "Draco…"
Then she was standing just behind his chair. He smelled her and salivated. 'Pathetic,' he thought. Hesitantly, she reached for his shoulder. "Draco."
"Don't touch me, mother," he bit out. "Just tell me when you wish to leave for Diagon Alley." She left and he harshly rubbed away the tears in his eyes.
They bought a clock for the future Longbottoms with barely a word spoken between them. When they returned to the manor, Draco informed her he would see her in time to leave for the event. After that, he retired to his rooms for nearly that entire duration.
By the time they portkeyed to Shell Cottage, there was no hiding the frost between them. It was a good thing their social circle had come to expect such chill from Malfoys, otherwise there may have been concern. But his mother handled the situation with her usual sangfroid, mingling and chatting pleasantly.
The wedding service was simple and elegant. It took place on the beach with onlookers standing around barefoot – except for his mother and himself. They had blended into the backgrounds on that issue, locking eyes from a few yards apart. Draco's eyes fell to her burgundy suede heels. He loved her damned shoes… He swallowed a thick lump and looked away again, back to Longbottom's gobsmacked grin. Lovegood, batty as she was, made a very pretty and graceful bride.
The reception was held beneath a thatched roof on a grassy rise, with aproned witches and wizards carrying trays of fruity alcoholic beverages. Fairy lights tinkled all about and warming charms abounded. Draco was on his second fruity alcoholic beverage watching his mother sip her first. Malfoy luck had seated them with Potter and a few Weasleys. Alright, really, since the youngest Weasel man had become convinced Draco was his quidditch soul mate since the World Cup game. This provided ample distraction from Draco's painful crotch and mannequin mother.
Interminable toasts were made by many annoying people. Some he knew and some he didn't. He was watching his mother's finger trace an aimless design in the condensation on her glass, hearing snippets of what was said.
"I've known Luna and Neville for 14 years now and I have to tell you blah blah blah swollen bloody badger's bollocks and that sound a dolphin makes…"
Her perfectly sculpted fingernail tapped the glass rim unconsciously. She was listening to Ginny Weasley with intent. Her other hand was cupping the place where her jaw ended right before her ear. Whenever he kissed that place, she would open like a morning glory…
"I was so proud to be Neville's best man today and bugger bugger bugger arse shite fuck and anal buggering…"
He stared. He caught her eyes cut to him twice, but he never once looked away. Even when the Weasel raved about the Chudley Cannons, Draco's eyes were on his mother. Nervously, she tucked a coil of white silk behind her ear. He once rooted his fingers in that hair so deeply it was as if his arms grew from her head…
Finally, there was music. And when there was music, there was dancing. He watched his mother take Arthur Weasley's hand and walk to the floor. Once upon a time, that would have been unbelievable.
"Hello, Draco." He blinked, looking away from his mother's swaying hips into the warm eyes of Hermione Granger.
"Erm…Ron says I should tell you his cousin Estrelle thinks you're handsome and would like to dance with you." Her…hair…shimmied as she waved a hand dismissively. "Silly, I know. But, there it is."
He tried a smile. It felt pulled over his gritted teeth. "I see." Where was his voice? He cleared his throat. "I shall seek out Estrelle, then."
Granger grinned. Hooked a finger over her shoulder. "Over there," she said. "By the snack table. In the mauve frock."
He looked. Mauve? It was purple if it was anything. But Estrelle was…passable. Actually, she was quite pretty. A ginger, yes, but with thick, rich curls spilling over prim, freckled shoulders. She saw him looking at her and erupted into a red blush. He smiled, and fairly swaggered over.
Estrelle was shy, it seemed. She accepted his genteel invitation to dance with downcast eyes that might have been green. She didn't look at his face enough for him to tell. Her hands were warm and dry, but clutched him almost desperately. She danced stiffly, while he had inherited his mother's smooth grace.
Small talk during the dance was just that – small. Estrelle barely formed complete sentences when she spoke, and gave one word replies to his questions. Painfully shy…
But dancing with her kept him from staring at his mother. And he had to admit, Estrelle's trim body was intriguingly different from his mother's softer, fuller curves. He wondered what this girl's small breasts would look like were she naked and writhing beneath him… Then he looked up to laugh at something she'd whispered, and caught his mother's eyes on him over Arthur Weasley's tweed shoulder.
Her eyes. They were wide and moist…frightened. He knew every look her eyes were capable of producing. He snapped his gaze away, back to his timid dance partner. Estrelle's eyes were wide, too…but he couldn't read the nuances. Was she scared, nervous, intimidated or happy? Who the hell knew?
The song ended with a flourish and Draco spun the girl out. She was unpracticed and flailed into Potter and Ginny Weasley. They laughed, but Estrelle seemed terribly embarrassed. Draco apologized. The girl was off before the next song began, disappeared into the crowd.
"Sorry about Estrelle, Draco." Ginny Weasley was talking to him. "It's not your fault. She's a bit of a late bloomer. And really shy."
"I could tell," he said.
A new song had begun and Draco made to weave to their table. Arthur's voice stopped him. "I'd say it's about time a young man gave his mother the honor of a dance, wouldn't you Draco?"
And so simply, her hand was placed in his, and Arthur was cutting in on Potter and Ginny. There was a moment where the air around them seemed to turn to glass and they were captive inside it. Of course, his mother broke through. She smiled her social smile. "Shall we, Draco?"
He didn't trust his throat to reply without screaming, so he simply started waltzing. He was waltzing with the woman who'd taught him how to waltz in the first place. He remembered putting his little feet atop hers in the manor's dining room…Now, he looked down upon the top of her head as they glided across the well-charmed ground.
"You still dance well," she said.
He stared over her head at all the people he wished weren't there. Grunted in reply.
"That was a pretty girl you danced with. What was her name?"
No one else would have heard it – the tiny catch in her voice, a quaver that spoke volumes. He looked at her face at last. Her eyes were still moist, but nearly at half mast now. The effects of their bodies touching after so long apart, he suspected. His own body was nearly dissolving to be absorbed by hers.
"What?" He asked quietly.
"The girl you were dancing with. What was her name?"
His hand tightened a little on her back. She shivered. He felt her firmness and softness through the brocade jacket she wore.
It suddenly clicked. "I forget," he said slowly. "That's what this is about, isn't it?"
Her forehead creased. "What do you mean?"
He didn't slow their waltz. "These last months…it makes perfect sense now. Merlin." He chuffed, the breath puffing against her coiffed bangs. "You think…"
"What?" Her normally calm voice sounded desperate.
"You think I want to run off and marry some girl."
A dam broke. There weren't tears but words. "You must soon enough, Draco. You must let go of me, of…of this."
His grip tightened even further. "I want you, mother."
"You think that now, son, but –"
He spat the words at her. "There is no other woman for me, Narcissa! You stupid bint! We're the last two completely depraved and fucked up souls in this whole world. I will love you and only you until…until one of us ends, mother. You belong to me and I to you."
"Draco…" His voice must have been rising.
"Mother!" He looked around. Couples were closing in on them. "Let's go out and talk, shall we?"
She looked apprehensive.
"Or better yet," he continued quickly, directly into her ear. "Let's go home and talk…after I fuck you for ten hours solid."
"Draco!" She was shaking.
"I miss you, mum. And you've been very silly. Say yes." He spun her once and changed his mind before he caught her. "Fuck it. Say no, for all I care. We're going home."
The word echoed throughout the enclosure. Music and dancing stopped and couples gravitated toward the audacious cake, topped with some kind of fantastic beasty and a weird plant.
He stared at his mother's eyes. "Well?"
"They're cutting the cake, Draco."
"I don't want bloody cake. I want bloody you." He turned her swiftly - didn't give a damn who saw – and marched her from the tiki hut.
She tried half-heartedly to resist only once, but it was futile. He kissed her hard, leaving her gasping into his mouth and terrified someone would see them. But he apparated before that could happen. His wand was out when they hit the Manor entrance. They passed through the gates like mist. He flicked his wrist and the double doors crashed open. He practically dragged her up the stone stairs, hearing her heels click as she struggled to keep up. That stoccato fueled his passion.
Her – their – door was open. He shoved her through and slammed it behind him. He tore at his clothes.
"Draco…" In the moon's glow, she appeared almost as shy as Estrelle.
"Undress," he clipped. "I want you in bed. Naked. Now."
He was thrilled when she put up no further protest. Her hands shook as she discarded her long, emerald jacket. Her skirt slipped to the floor and he was on her before she got any further, eating her mouth. Under an easily torn silk slip were easily freed garters. Under those were her hot, pale thighs. Unthinking, he slapped one. She screamed in his mouth and pulled away, gasped when her back hit the feather mattress.
"Draco!" There was a hint of fear in her admonition.
'Good,' he thought. 'There should be.' He climbed over her. Her palms pushed against his chest. "I hate you, mum, for what you've put us through these months." He pried her legs open with his own.
"Months!" His fingers tore her knickers on one side, just enough to bare her moist cunt. He smelled her desire and groaned, tested then tasted her wetness on his fingers while she mewled.
"Draco…" Now just a plea in itself, his name from her lips.
He looked into her wide, passion-blacked eyes. "Never again." She shook her head. He slapped her hands away from his chest, grabbed them in one of his own and raised them over her head. "Say it."
"Never again!" She sobbed.
His other arm pulled her to him as if they could fuse their skins together and he pushed into her. It was quick and had been a while. "Ow!" She cried out.
Then it took some time for her to readjust, to find the position her hips needed, and he still held her arms over her head. "Draco." Every word was a grunt. He was fucking her mercilessly. "Please...I want...to hold you." He let go her arms and she wrapped him up. "I'm sorry, son…" she gasped. "It can't…can't…always be…this way."
He was surprised he didn't melt her eyes with his gaze. "Always," he said. "I will fuck you until my cock falls off, mum. And if you die before then, I'll fuck your beautiful corpse til it rots and then I'll fuck the rot."
Giving her no time to reply to that, he rolled them, pushed her elbows up til she straddled him. "You, too," he growled. "Just like this. You'll fuck me til I die or you kill me." He squeezed her arse cheeks. "Ride me, Narcissa!"
She moved slowly at first, the deeper angle requiring some adjustment. They breathed together, unhooked her corset. He started at the bottom and she at the top until her bare tits filled his palms. He felt tears on his face now, didn't care. "Missed you…" he whispered.
She was posting, now, pushing against his raised knee for leverage. "Oh!" Her head flew back. "I missed you, too!" She keened and clutched, coming hard. He drew his feet up further and gripped her hips harder, moving her to his pace and thrusting upward.
She screamed at the pain – it felt as if he could fuck his hate out inside her. Suddenly, he sat up, arranging them lotus style together. Bracing one strong arm against the bed, he kept surging into her, biting her neck and shoulders.
His orgasm hurt. His magic mingled in it, touching hers, reaching for it and finding it after so long. He felt hers roll forward into his, like a wave of nostalgia from her abdomen. Perfect. He groaned long between her breasts and cried without caring.
She cried, too, stroking his hair and kissing his temples. "I'm so sorry, Draco…"
"Just us, mum," he said. "Like this. Forever."
He felt her nod. He would sleep this night in their bed, and wake wearing her in the morning. Just like it should be. And like it always would be.