A Different Kind of Dirty

Narcissa was gloriously naked. She sauntered across his room toward his bed, one brow raised. "You're staring," she breathed.

"Can you blame me?" His erection bobbed in the shaft of sunlight. "You're beautiful."

She chuckled, crawled onto the bed. "You're sweet." She licked her plump pink lips.

"Am I?" He watched her crouch between his raised knees.

"I think so," she murmured. Her hands were sin on the insides of his thighs, massaging and tickling his swollen sac. She took his erection in her mouth gently, set up the rhythm a practiced lover develops over time. She hummed devilishly before releasing him with a soft pop. "Yes, very sweet."

His head fell back and he let her work him for a time, til the build in his bollocks was a painful throbbing. "Oh fuck, witch. I want to be inside you now. Let me fuck you, Narcissa!"

Her hair - a mysterious curtain of dark and light - scraped over his thighs as she rose over his own naked body. Her tits were spectacular, swaying into his mouth as though magnetically drawn to his tongue. He sucked at each coral nipple and thrilled to her gasps and moans.

When he tumbled her beneath him, she scratched blood red nails up his back. "Fuck me," she hissed. "I want your big cock inside me, darling! Slamming into me, making me come!"

He did not deny her, groaned when he eased into her impossible tightness. They set up a fast cadence, a rhythm of lust set to cries of passion. She burned around his cock and he pumped his hips like a demon. "I want to come in you!" He shouted against her ear.

"Yes!" She was coming already, milking his cock dry with her gripping, hot channel, senses overwrought by the pleasure he was giving her. "Oh, yes!" He spilled as she screamed her pleasure to the vaulted ceiling. "Oh, yes Draco!"


He jolted upright in his bed, nearly pinching his sensitive prick in his trousers as he zipped hastily. "Yes, mum?" He called back. His voice cracked embarrassingly.

"I'm going out to the greenhouse." Her voice was approaching. He was about to settle his errant hair when he caught sight of the glob of cum on his hand.

"Ew!" He flicked his wrist with a slight squeal, sent the sticky fluid splattering onto his nightstand.

A brief knock and his door opened slowly. "Did you hear me?"

"Yes!" He crossed his legs casually. "Greenhouse. Right."

She was pretty and proper in a simple white cotton frock still too elegant for gardening. And her smile devilment. "You can send the elf to summon me for tea, if you don't mind. You know how I get with my orchids."

He smiled back, huffed a breath. "Oh, yes. Your orchids." He forced an insouciant laugh.

Her eyes quirked. "Are you alright, son?"

"Me?" A shrug. "Pfft. I'm fine!" He gestured to her grandly with the still-sticky hand. "How are you?"

She nodded, merriment on her usually cool features. "I'm well, thank you." One long-fingered hand fell onto his forehead and the other rested on his nightstand. He winced. "No fever," she murmured. "You do seem out of sorts, though."

"I was…asleep." He glanced up at her worry. "Just fell asleep!"

"Ah." She pulled away, grimacing at her hand and rubbing the fingers together curiously. Draco watched this with a pained expression. "Well. I shall see you at tea, then. And do have the elf come in and clean." Her lip curled at her fingers. "There's something awful on your furniture."

"Yes, mum." He watched her leave, and realized her frocks were getting shorter. Not short, per se – but shorter. He could see her smooth, pale ankles today. His forehead creased. She'd certainly exhibited some strange behaviors of her own, lately… Some wizard? He wondered. No. Surely I would know.

He sighed and produced his wand to swiftly clean his bedside table. Not that I should be considering strange behaviors… I just masturbated to thoughts of my mother. He snorted and entered his lavish lavatory. He'd gotten used to it.

He washed his hands and affixed his hair, looking at his reflection in the mirror. He curled his lip at himself. I do not look like my father. He let his eyes soften and go half-mast, pouted, like the wizards in Witch Weekly. I'm much sexier.

Narcissa paused upon entering the greenhouse. The initial humidity and heat always overpowered her for a moment. But then she weaved through dense vines and tropical blooms. The smells of fertilizer, dirt and various flowers comforted her. She found peace in this place, this sticky moment.

Her delicate beauties awaited her, softly dancing in the charmed airflow. "Hello, darlings," she cooed. She knew they could hear her, knew they responded because they showed her their love in their muted hues and feminine folds.

She hummed as she pruned them. She used only her gentle fingers. Their moisture levels were checked, leaves and stems were analyzed for insect presence. She occasionally brushed a cheek or her lips ever so delicately against one. As if the blossoms had become the receptacles for all of her aimless affections.

As the realization flitted across her mind, her quiescent smile turned to a scowl. "Hell," she muttered. "I need a proper shag." How long now had Lucius been in Azkaban? Nine months? Ten? But even before that... Well, they hadn't been an affectionate couple even early in their marriage. But still, he'd been convenient enough and fairly satisfactory. She flicked a clump of dirt from the orchid table. Fairly...

A click snapped her reverie. "Guh!" She smirked at the intruder's voice. "It smells like hippogriff shite in here. Mum?"

"Over here, Draco."

He was fighting his way far less gracefully than her through the tropical blooms and twining vines. "Oh, what the devil is this spiny thing? Mum? Blimey, it's hot as Merlin's bollocks by the fire in here."

She leaned against an empty block of wooden shelves, reigning in laughter well enough. He finally appeared through a dense fall of well charmed Japonica. "Well, hello son. So kind of you to come. You could have sent the elf, you know."

Draco stared at her for a moment, his face working oddly. "I know." He was taking her in busily. It was a lot to process. The simple white cotton frock had moistened in the humidity and rather...molded to her legs and frame. Her skin was dewy (oh, he knew it was sweat - but hell, she made it pretty) and her cheeks had a high pink in them. Little tendrils of wet hair coiled from her bun, reaching for her neck much like the vines that surrounded them. "I just..." He cleared his throat. "I thought I would come see what you got up to down here."

Her brows leapt in surprise and pleasure. She cherished moments with her son, and his recent foray into manhood had made those moments seem considerably less. If anything, he seemed to avoid her half the time. "Truly?"

He spread his arms. "I'm here, aren't I?" He wiped his hands together, dusting loose soil from them. "So. Show me some bloody foliage."

This time, she didn't disguise her laughter. "Very well. But you'll want to take your jacket off. It's even hotter toward the back."

"Hotter? Is that possible?" But he did as she suggested.

He rolled his sleeves, as well, and her eyes lingered too long on his forearms; one, pristine and sinewy, the other marred by a faded snake and skull tattoo. She swallowed thickly. "Come on. You can help me water the magical herbs."

"Help?" He passed beneath the fall of white clematis she chivalrously parted for him. "I didn't say anything about helping. This isn't herbology class, you know." But he was grinning even as she summoned two watering cans.

"You did well in herbology class, if I recall correctly."

"That's what money and Ravenclaws are for, mother." He followed her to a beveled terrace, shedding his tie and unbuttoning his collar when she paused to tisk and swat at him.

"Please tell me you didn't buy all of your marks, Draco." She gestured for him to begin watering opposite her. They stepped gingerly among the rows and levels of flourishing greenery. "You did learn something at Hogwarts, I hope."

She bent to pluck a few weeds and Draco was captivated by a direct view of creamy, sweaty cleavage. "Oh, I learned quite a few things. Just not from teachers and not in classrooms."

She blinked at him and wiped a drop of sweat from her forehead. The motion left a streak of dirt. "What do you mean?"

Draco shrugged and backed out of the herb garden carefully. "Slytherin girls find the best hiding places. "She was gaping at him. "What?" He asked. "You should know! You were one!"

"I'll have you know I was on my best behavior when I was a student!" Her hand went to her chest defensively.

"So were they!" He laughed at her embarrassed blush and offered his hand to help her back to the stone walkway. She made a show of refusing his offer. Impatient, he waved the hand. "Come on, then," he urged. "I'm trying to be a gentleman."

"Hardly!" But she smiled indulgently and finally took the offered hand. "You should be ashamed."

"But I'm not." She stumbled a bit and he steadied her with the first available bastion - his body. He looked down at her. Petite as she was, he had several inches in his favor. "You've dirt here, you know?" His thumb wiped at her forehead, smeared the mess further. "And here." His thumb swiped across her chest, just above her right breast, dipping a few centimeters beneath her frock (and propriety).

She gasped, dropping the watering can to raise both hands to her over-exposed chest. "Draco!" But she glanced down, too - took in the dirty hand print he spoke of. Her son took advantage of her bent head, reached swiftly to a vine above her and plucked a blood red blossom. When her head rose again, the flower was in her face. "Oh!"

"This is pretty." He flustered her further. Stopped a coming tirade. "What is it?"

"It...er..." She drew back to regard the flower. Blushed again. "It's a passion flower." She didn't meet his mischievous eyes. Something was tearing in her chest. Some...divergence was beginning. It was a wonderful feeling, even if she couldn't put her finger on it. And his tallness - the hardness of his body - his new and suddenly apparent adulthood... She was overwhelmed.

Draco tucked the flower snugly behind her ear, perhaps stroking the shell of that ear a bit too long in the process. The way her head turned and her nostrils flared was arousing. It felt safe, here in the hidden sultry confines of the greenhouse, to flirt with his pretty mother. And if she flirted back - even a little - then she felt safe, too. "A passion flower," he whispered. "Does it do anything?"

She bit her lip. "In certain potions, it..."

"It what?"

"It acts as a stimulant," she blurted quickly. "And it's lovely and smells nice. Alright?"

He bent to the flower, deliberately inhaled its fragrance. It did smell wonderful, blended as it was with the smell of her sweat and her essence. He noticed her chest rising and falling faster. "You're right. It does smell good." And was that a tiny whimper?

She pushed past him, seeming slightly unsteady on her feet. "We should go to tea."

But there was something blooming between them, there in the sun and heat and mugginess of her glass haven. And he was loath to let it go. He grabbed her arm, took hold of her dirty hand and turned her to him. "Wait."

She looked at him expectantly, some tension in her usually placid features. "Yes?"

The passion flower was a stark contrast to the light and dark of her hair, the paleness of her skin and blueness of her eyes. It brought out the red in her lips. Perhaps it was aptly named, after all. "Show me your orchids."

Desperation. She looked to the door of the greenhouse, then back to her son. The something blooming between them was a frightening, tempting, possibly poisonous plant. She felt right to fear it, but wanted so wrongly to nurture it. "Draco, you can't want -"

"But I do want," he overrode her. Seven steps between them. He still held her hand firmly in his. "Show me."

The hesitation in her fight or flight form was telling. She glanced to the orchid table, then back to her son. Felt his eyes devouring her resistance. Finally, "Alright." She slipped her hand free of his. Felt him close at her back, following. They slipped through the curtain of clematis and she rubbed her hands nervously together. Her fingers fell uncertainly upon the edge of the orchid table. She nodded to the nodding beauties. "Here they are."

Her son's hands - unsettlingly long - settled alongside hers. He stood behind her, looking easily over the top of her head but not touching her. It was a more vexing pathos even than his body pressing to hers. "There isn't much to them," he said. "Considering how much of your time they require. Tell me what they are."

"What they are..." She couldn't seem to focus.

His arm brushed hers as he reached past her, barely brushed the curled leaf. "What's this one called?"

"Neofinetia," she murmured. His hand closed over her shoulder. He leaned a little further in, pressed his chest to her back. She shivered despite the cloistering heat.

"It has tentacles," he commented. His fingers stroked another plant. "And this weird one?"

"A black jewel." His thumb stroked just behind her earlobe. "Or a - a - a lady slipper." Surely that wasn't an erection pressing above her bum?

His hand hovered, finally cupped a deep pink bloom. "I think this one is my favorite." His breath puffed into her ear. "What is it?"

She watched, hypnotized, as his finger slipped down the darkest seam of the flower's hanging petal. "Cattleya," she breathed. "It's my first."

"Your favorite, too then?" His left hand fisted in her heavy skirt and she jumped. "Know what it reminds me of?" His lips pushed unapologetically against her ear. The hand slid her skirt up her thigh.

"I..." Her eyes closed. Sensations, scents and her son's strange coercion overwhelmed her. "Oh, Draco... What are you..." His hand opened on her slick thigh and she went boneless, panicked. "Draco!" Boldly, his mouth opened on her neck. "Ah!" His fingers brushed perilously close to her own tightly pained petals.

He kissed beneath her jaw. "Narcissus," he whispered. The 's' sussurated from his tongue, seduced her. "It's a flower, too. Correct?"

His sinful fingertips brushed the thin fur over her mons and she jolted violently, momentarily regretted foregoing knickers that morning. "Yes!" She cried, gripping the table edge for support. She didn't know if she was answering his question, or encouraging his salacious touch. Probably both, she suspected.

His free hand pushed down the loosened and slicked neck of her frock until rough and slightly dirty fingers scuffed her aroused nipple, cupped the thick flesh of her breast. She gasped. "Show me that one, mother." She turned her head. He bit at her lips. "Let me see your narcissus." Fingers penetrated the spreading lips of her feminine folds, insistent - even when she squirmed - and exploring.

Narcissa clenched her eyes shut against the onslaught of her own shameful, wet desire. "Son," she sobbed helplessly.

He kissed her, told her with his tongue in her mouth what he longed to do with his tongue elsewhere. He turned her, boosted her onto the orchid table. "Mother," he answered. His hands were busy at her skirt, pushing it over her hips, past the weak reluctance of her own fluttering hands. "Just like one of your orchids." Then she was bared at last, willingly defeated and breathless beneath her son's victory.

He tugged her to the table edge, causing her to upset her balance. Ever wary of her delicate flowers, she dropped backward halting, propped on sticky elbows to watch Draco begin a slow, calculated analysis of her embarrassingly eager cunt. He hooked a pale leg high over his elbow. "Beautiful," he murmured, parting her swollen foliage with slightly dirty fingers.

"Merlin," she hissed. His finger found the pool of her lust, slicked some up through her sensitized slit to her blood-choked clit. "Ah!"

He glanced up at her from glistening petals. Sweat. Dirt. The red flower in her hair quivered with her body's uncontrollable trembling. She was gorgeous. "Is your nectar as sweet?" He wondered. Her bowed lips parted, but his mouth descended before she could reply.

Powerless beneath his pleasure, Cissa lay back in complete surrender. Blossoms swayed before her blurring vision. Her fingers twined like tendrils in Draco's fine hair, encouraging his ministrations. He was surprisingly gentle. Curious. He learned her reactions and filed them away for repetition.

Suction on her inner lips. The textured scuff of his tongue delving. A barely there scrape of teeth on feathery folds. The uncomfortable and arousing feel of his fingers prodding, parting, peeling back petals to taste deeper, sample more of her sweetness.

Her lips ached from biting them. Her throat hurt from thready cries. Her thighs burned from tensing, working with and against her son's body movements. She couldn't recall ever feeling such abandoned indulgence. And it was building, pulsing and pushing inside her like a seed pod sprouting. If he could just...

As if reading her thoughts, Draco pumped two fingers into her heat leisurely. She arched, screamed, upset two orchids and nearly tore a shank of his blonde locks. "Fuck, yes!" She panted with his rhythm, held and released her breath in time with the mathematic flicks of his tongue at her clit. Bliss stabbed her hard in the belly. The orgasm was so sudden and strong it momentarily dehumanized her. She grunted like a best, ground against Draco's face. Hissed and whinnied. Humiliating...

But to Draco? The loss of control was his utmost victory. His prize above all prizes. His discovery of the key to having her for himself. To owning her forever. His cock twitched, demanding its own glory. He looked up over inches of heaving witch and bunched cotton to his mother's lax and satisfied face.

She rose up on one elbow. "Gods, Draco."

He nodded. Licked his lips. Placed a sweet kiss on her knee nearest his ear. "Alright, mum?" He took her free hand and helped her to sit. He was half afraid she might bolt, but the worry was for naught. Once she could face him squarely, she took hold of his head and kissed him like a wanton. Wrapped arms and legs around his torso.

He groaned while she nuzzled and kissed her way up his neck. "Oh, hell witch..." Over her bare shoulder, he caught sight of a long tray of moss and lamb's ear on another low table. Perfect. He maneuvered her easily across the way and deposited her on the soft surface.

Gone was her resistance. She attacked his shirt buttons with shaking hands, awkwardly meshing with his own wrists and forearms at work on his trousers. But soon he was naked enough and she was drawing him into the green like a nymph.

"Ah!" He hadn't expected the furry leaves of lamb's ear or curls of moss to be wet. They were obviously freshly watered. Narcissa smiled and slid against him, turned them on their sides. Truthfully, the water was cool and felt brilliant on their over-heated skin. The witch curled her thigh over his hip and her arms over his shoulder. The angle was rather odd, but the couple was no exception to that description, so it seemed to make perfect sense that their first joining should take place just this way: sideways in the mud.

Draco's breath caught the moment his hardness disappeared into her softness. He watched his mother's face - the widening of her eyes and brightening of her cheeks. She gasped every time he shifted his hips, and had soon enough adjusted to the feel of him. "Mmm." She tugged him atop her, let her back take the brunt of the mud. "Harder, Draco," she murmured against his lips. Her nails pressed into his buttocks, urging each quickening thrust.

His knees scratched in the loose wet soil, but the pain was muted by the pleasure of her flesh rippling around him, the warmth, the pulse of her heartbeat. He smelled the freshness of foliage, felt the coolness contrasting the heat between himself and his mother. It was too much. The bliss threatened to undo him. "Narcissa," he growled warningly.

He didn't need to expound. Obviously, his mother was in the same position. She chuckled lowly, stretched and arched beneath him. Her hair tangled in moss. She pulled Draco's face to her chest and shattered around him, mewling nonsense in his ear. Draco clamped his mouth onto her clavicle, cursed and hissed there through his own brutal, tearing orgasm.

She soothed him, murmured sweetnesses to him. Draco kissed the bite, then her lips, rolled them again in the mud. It eased the fever in his back - the burn of muscles exercised with haste. They lay for a moment in cool filth, breathing in the smells of sweat, fertilizer and sex. Narcissa's fingers worked teasing designs on Draco's chest. "Son?"

"Mm?" He was plucking leaves and moss from her hair.

"I just wanted to be certain you remembered I'm your mother."

"I've not forgotten." He sighed.


"No." He spoke slowly, deliberately. "I was just realizing how quite dirty we are."

She blinked. He could feel her lashes batting against his breast - a tiny tickle. "Just now you realize this?"

"No wonder you have such a long bath after tending your plants."

"Oh!" She glanced up at him. "I thought you meant..."

"Meant what?"

A flip of her wrist. "Just...a different kind of dirty, I guess."


"Nothing." She placed a palm on his flat, hard belly. Traced a fine downy trail starting beneath his navel. There was a streak or two of dirt drying there. She flicked at it with her nails and he lurched.

"Stop! Tickles."


He shifted, pushed up on the tray and swung his legs over the table. "Let's go have a bloody bath and some tea, eh?"

She sat up behind him and adjusted her frock back onto her shoulders. The white gown was practically brown. "Sounds nice enough."

Draco looked down at her as he redressed himself. She was squalid and relaxed. Lovely. "I hope these plants aren't completely destroyed."

She shrugged, well-shagged and beyond caring about the plants. "They're hearty. They'll survive." She reached for his hand, let him pull her up. "But don't be surprised when I ask you to help me get them sorted tomorrow."

He embraced her. Kissed her. Ushered her toward the greenhouse door. "Don't be surprised if I'm pleased to be of service, mum."

She laughed aloud as they left, the door clattering closed behind them. In the silence left behind, orchids bobbed complacently, nodding knowingly to one another...

AN: A get well soon present to Narcissa Nerea. My way of sending flowers, I guess. And a huge thanks to the Silver Tongued Slytherin for his Brummy-o Britpicking. Fingers crossed, our first published collaboration is a success, Double Oh Something. -M