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Narcissa had irrefutably black eyes, and she stared out at him not unlike staring through a window. Lucius liked the look of her in the evening sun and all other hours in interval. He liked how her breathing was deep and concentrated and he envied the shape of her hands. The girl looked, if you took away the blonde hair and lucent skin, nothing like him. Lucius liked this in her, and in fact craved it for himself; he hated to watch the speculum that whirred or stood too near in the mirror. A slight fear of reflections kept him from many things, but a wife with blonde hair and pale skin and no other comparable features would make the perfect heir.
Lucius was so fascinated with her body that he drew tiny circles on her skin with his fingertips, as if to mark out where his kisses should rest. He painted shivers up her spine and on the curve of her breast, where he flushed the skin to so deep a pink it looked tender. She watched him through her half-shuttered window eyes and smiled at the textures he created with his not-quite artiste hands. Smoothing his palm over her hipbone, trailing his fingers along her calf, Lucius kept his eyes on her until they burned where he looked.
He took her to bed and made her prove her lust for him. Touching her was not enough; even the trembles and sighs and the small roll of her shoulders when he bit down hard on her inner thigh, they were not enough. Lucius wanted to see her eyes wide with a delicate curiosity that he could split in half and change to fear, if he wanted to. Whether he wanted to or not was not the challenge, but instead the solution - Lucius would have her fear if he wasn't too fearful to have it.
Lucius made Narcissa use her hands on him. He made no move to help her, to guide her, to show her what he liked, because in reality he did not know or even know how to begin. To show her would be akin to masturbating; to fuck himself would be to fuck a mirror. He gritted his teeth against the whispers he would have given when her hand closed around his cock, hot and cold and soft. Her thumb stroked the tip and he twisted on the bed, suddenly not able to stand the touch. Instead, he used his gentle fingers to spread her legs and he ran one soft thumb pad over the rise of her sex. This, too, was not like him, and comforting in its nature.
He wanted to do things to her. He wanted to pick her up and pull her over him and fuck her as if she had done terrible things to him. He wanted to know the sort of lust she would have for other men, but presented to him. He wanted to burn with jealousy and anger when she fucked him instead of made love.
She knew, of course. Women like her, they always knew. Lucius' own mother had been of a breed like Narcissa, and perhaps that was why he loved her. He'd hardly known his mother and what he had he'd despised, but still the manner was there. Narcissa was beautiful and pureblooded and he had quite fancied her even in the beginning.
The beginning. Time had no relation to this, and wouldn't until the sun ascended the sky, breaking clouds in its effort to remind them of their marriage and their awkwardness together. Narcissa was not awkward, but Lucius could make her that way, he was sure. He watched her eyes drift away from his when he touched her and smiled.
His finger inside of her prompted a gasp from both of them. Her black eyes widening and blinking back... something. Something not substantial enough to be tears but still enough to make him worry. Lucius shouldn't have done it, but he did. He leaned down to kiss her, lips nuzzling and moistening until she sighed, relaxing the tension in her hips and curling fingers in his hair. He shouldn't have done it, but he loved her, and love cannot be helped.
Whether Narcissa loved Lucius was still a mystery, but she did open her body to him. Her duty as a wife didn't extend to lingering glances and searing kisses. She could have just as easily refused his proposal; Lucius was rich but surely somewhere in the world there was someone better for her. Someone else to touch her, someone else who would have already taken her. Some better man with handsome dark eyes who owned a mansion of full-length mirrors would be her husband.
Narcissa smiled at him and made no other move to touch him. Lucius, uncertain, smiled back. She laughed widely at his hesitation and opened her arms wide to touch him, breasts pressed against his chest in a way that made his cock flush and strain. She reached down and stroked him, eyes wide, but this time with certain power. She knew he wanted this.
He swallowed hard and tried to gather the frayed reigns of control. Narcissa obliged without a change in anything that Lucius could see. He pressed his lips to the hollow of her neck and breathed there, learning the scent. Just underneath his lips he could feel her heart beating. This was why he loved her. It was a pity he didn't know what the name for this was.
She moved over him, pressing his hands and fingers to her in a forward attempt. She frowned at him when he scrambled to find where to touch but didn't move to help him. Bitterness grew in his chest until he realized that she didn't know what to do or say or how to do it anymore than he did. Sex was not new to them, but this was.
He smiled again, the second time that night, and in turn Narcissa smiled back. He kissed upwards to her mouth and swept her tongue neatly into his mouth. Lucius couldn't imagine any other way for them to be but this.
Lucius drifted lower to the right peak of her breast and bit, taking care to be gentle. She shivered and trembled and he decided right then that this was perfect. Slipping his finger out of her, he used his hand to grab at her waist, dragging her even closer. Hidden in her skin, he learned to use his mouth.
She was close, he could tell. Her hips rose and fell in little waves that varied from bite to bite. Narcissa shook and mumbled and moaned and he realized with amusement that her toes curled if he licked down the side of her breast. Deep in his throat, a moan rose that he hadn't been aware of. The reverberations of it made her pant, a startling sound that would take some getting used to.
She asked him then to fuck her, to make love to her, to do anything. Something. Her hand fumbled below his waist and tried to find what he would not give her. Lucius slid up her body, pressing kisses against the soft skin until he reached her mouth, and pushed her back towards the pillow.
Her legs drew around his waist. Lucius could feel how warm she was but couldn't think beyond her eyes. Black ink stared at him, desperate. He kissed Narcissa's warm mouth and slid inside of her, but it wasn't that easy. The barrier felt egg-shell thin but was probably anything but. Around him, Narcissa made small, thrashing movements, hands digging into the bed sheets. He was hurting her. Lucius started to withdraw but she stopped him with two short breaths.
She wanted it harder; she wanted him to move in her slow and solid, brushing in all of the rights spots. Feeling rather like a sinner, Lucius did what she begged, pushing past the resistance. A slow rim of blood and nothing more marked the loss of her virginity.
Narcissa felt good around him. Her breath was catching, her fingers digging into his shoulders. She had to keep pleading and encouraging him to take her faster, harder, all of those things that she wanted. His own breathing laboured and he looked down at her. Something like wonder, but knowing. He was not the only one in the marriage bed.
She surprised him when she came, clenching around him. The sound tore painfully out of her throat and her black eyes closed against it. Lucius wondered what it would feel like but her thrashing and moaning and, finally, his name brought him over the edge. He screamed and when it was over, buried his face in her neck.
When Narcissa awoke the next morning, the space beside her was empty, but in their room stood a proud, tall mirror.
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