fic: that bad type (hp, lucissa)
Feb. 14th, 2020 11:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
human_veilthat bad type
(hp, lucissa, 1.5k, explicit)
Post-Raid. Or: Power makes for an effective aphrodisiac.
They Apparate as the Dark Mark lights the sky, Lucius’ hand taking hold of hers and pulling her close before they disappear with a crack, the panicked screams of a terrified crowd muted to a quiet backdrop as they land far into the woods. Narcissa scans the area to assure they’re alone, compact space lit with the light of Lucius’ wand.
She steps back once she’s sure it’s safe, hand reaching to pull back the hood of her cloak, her long, blonde hair tied in a loose braid down her back. Lucius follows suit, hood and mask disappearing with a wave of his wand. He looks dishevelled, strands of pale hair out of place and sticking to sweaty skin, but he’s smiling: thin and feral, lip curled to expose teeth. Narcissa loves it.
“I told you you’d have fun.”
There is a humorous tilt to his tone, cool eyes glinting in the low light. It draws a smile from Narcissa as she removes her own mask.
The raid had been the real incentive to come, not the Quidditch match; her husband’s careful planning and the promise that she could join in the activities had intrigued her from day one. She steps forward, closing the space between them.
“You certainly didn’t disappoint,” she says, placing her hand on his chest. Even through the robes, she can feel the erratic beat of his heart, his breath heavier than usual. When she looks, his eyes are blown black, pupils dilated. Adrenaline, she thinks. Or… She leans up, mouth brushing his in a brief kiss, her lips lingering on Lucius’ when she adds, “Draco will be safe,” in a quiet murmur.
It’s a careful proposition. The words are true, of course: No one involved with the raid would dare attack their son, and they’d both instructed Draco on what to say if questioned by anyone of importance. But it’s still a risky act. They’re still near the sight, distant screams audible over the sway of trees around them, peeks of orange and red and thick, black smoke visible through the branches, fires still burning while the crowd struggles in their panic. There is the indiscernible murmur of whoever chose to remain: loved ones screaming for one another, suspects pulled aside for questioning, people attempting to assess the damage. The Ministry officials present will be well out of their depth, Narcissa thinks with wry amusement, but she and Lucius and Draco... the three of them will walk away unharmed, no trace that leads back to them left behind.
As it should be.
Lucius’ smile widens, hands coming to rest at her waist. Narcissa knows he shares her thoughts.
He kisses her, mouth hot and wet and harsh. There is already warmth pooling in her stomach, a latent need being set alight. It doubles as Lucius catches her lip between his teeth, the pain of the bite barely registering through the adrenaline as her body burns white-hot.
“Are you really so insatiable?” he asks her, amused still, and she winds her arms around his shoulders.
“Always,” she murmurs, smiling against his mouth.
He urges her backward, hands removing the thick Death Eater cloak with ease and discarding it on the ground, leaving only the thin, summer robe she’d had on underneath. Her back hits a tree, Lucius’ larger frame covering hers as he slips a leg between her thighs, mouth kissing down her neck as he rubs against her cunt, a soft, stuttered gasp escaping her mouth as she grinds back against him, wet already. Fingers clench at his shoulders, one hand tangled in his hair, her touch keeping him in place. Directing him as he moves from her neck to her chest, his hand bunching the front of her robe and pulling down so the collar lowers, her breasts exposed to the cool night air. Narcissa arches into the touch, head hitting the tree as Lucius kisses down the V of her chest, teeth leaving little marks in their wake.
“Don’t tease,” she groans, as his tongue licks across her nipple. She tugs his hair for good measure, feels the vibration of his answering chuckle against her skin, low and dark. It only makes her clench around nothing: impatient.
Lucius listens. Straightens and steps back to discard his outer cloak, hands fiddling with his fly. She watches him, breath heavy, chest panting, and pulls her robe up around her waist.
She loves this, she does. The aftermath. High on adrenaline and dizzy with power: hers and her husband’s. There is nothing quite like the knowledge that you can bring so many down with ease. Nothing quite like being faced with your own supremacy. She moans as Lucius grabs her again, touch quick and efficient as he lifts her, her back pressed to the tree as her legs wind around him, knickers pulled aside.
She feels the hot, hard head of his cock against her thigh for only a second. The rock of his hips is swift, precise, his prick filling her with a single, careful thrust. They both groan at the sensation, Narcissa’s eyes fluttering shut as Lucius rocks up into her, grip tight and breath hot where he mouths at her neck.
“Yes,” she breathes, hand fisted in Lucius’ hair as she tries to meet his rhythm, skin flushed as heat burns its way through her body. Her legs clench tight around Lucius’ torso, the horror of the campsite a distant backdrop as he pistons in and out, cries of terror muted by their own breathing.
For all his teasing, Narcissa knows Lucius loves this just as much as she does. Can read it in his desperation. The way his actions grow animalistic, desire overtaking propriety as he fucks her fast, hard, the groan he lets slip bordering a growl. Even secluded as they are, they’re still out in the open, are still playing with the possibility of getting caught. And what a misfortune that would be, Narcissa thinks, aware of the incriminating evidence strewn across the forest floor. But she isn’t worried. The opposite, in fact; the prospect of it sends a thrill through her core.
“I bet you want to get caught,” Lucius says, like he’d read her mind. It’s said directly into her ear, the feel of it making her shiver. She clenches around her husband’s cock, the hand that isn’t tangled in his hair digging into his shoulder, and swallows the groan that threatens to spill. He chuckles: quick and airy, barely audible. “You do, don’t you?” Hands tighten around her ass, his hold pulling her closer. “Of course you do. You’d love to have someone watch me fuck you.” He bites her neck, soothes the mark with his tongue. “Catch you begging like a common whore.”
Narcissa groans, head falling back, against the trunk of the tree. Lucius’ voice is warm with affection, even with the words he speaks, the haughty tilt something she knows he adds because she likes it. “Please,” she says, the word half-caught in her throat. She isn’t entirely sure what she’s asking for, but she does know this isn’t going to last much longer. That it was never meant to.
He bites another mark into her neck. Hisses the word, Exhibitionist, as he shifts their weight, manages to put a hand between them. Fingers reach for her clit as he continues to thrust in and out at an unrelenting pace, her nerves alight with ecstasy as he rubs the little nub. Narcissa cries out. Doesn’t bother being quiet. She isn’t the only one screaming, though she’s likely the only one doing it in pleasure. She can hear Lucius, too, the quiet little grunts filling the space between them. She can feel him slipping. Control weakening as he grows closer to orgasm.
The rock of his hips turns stuttered, breath harsh and heavy as he catches her mouth with his own, the press of lips wet, messy, Lucius’ body tensing when she pulls his lip between her teeth and bites. She feels him empty inside of her and groans at the sensation, chasing her own release as he slumps, body shaking with faint vibrations. Thankfully, though, he doesn’t stop. Instead, he kisses her again. Rubs her clit once, twice more. It’s all that’s needed to send her over the edge, head dropping to her husband’s shoulder as her body shakes with pleasure.
They don’t stay that way for long, her leg cramping and Lucius’ hold weakening as adrenaline slowly drains from the both of them. He eases her back onto the ground and Narcissa falls back against the tree trunk, her hand reaching for Lucius’ as he does the same.
“A common whore, hm?” she says, the teasing tilt lost in her heavy breathing.
Lucius snorts, the kiss he presses to the top of her head expected. Narcissa leans against him, eyes shut as she listens to the still-panicked crowd, the cries not as loud as they had been before. Some must have left, she realises, as Lucius bends to retrieve their discarded clothing.
He passes her cloak along, fiddling with his own, and Narcissa takes a final moment to relish in the aftermath: the last chance to revel in her own iniquity before they leave to play the innocent.
