His touch was surprisingly cold as he tugged at the satin bow at her hip, absently twisting the ribbon around his fingers. Slow afternoons were rare at the Manor, but they - like lazy aristocrats - indulged every opportunity to waste the entire day in bed.
Marlene drifted, flushed from the summer heat and her own daydreams. Lucius stared idly at the ceiling while his thoughts - and hand - wandered. The relaxed silence carried on unbroken for ages, until a single question began to circulate inside his head.
Rolling over, he pinned her legs beneath his chest, lips gently dragging over the silky space between her navel and the lacy waistband of her knickers. Startled, she sucked in a sharp breath, glancing down the length of her torso to the top of his dirty blond head.
"Have you ever wondered," he began softly, kissing the bow he'd been fondling for the last hour. "Have you ever wondered if what you feel is just an illusion?"
Marlene closed her eyes, fighting the stuffy haze and drowsiness that surrounded her, and tried to focus on his voice. "How do you mean?" she asked, hardly a note of her Scots brogue noticeable in her accent.
"Your fantasies," he answered. "Being my pet and wanting to be controlled... enjoying pain." He bit down on her hip bone, leaving the imprint of his teeth on her skin. She hardly flinched, but moaned her pleasure at the action. "What if it's just compensation for what you've been through?"
It was a struggle to keep her thoughts in check. Her body wanted more; her mouth wanted to beg for it; her brain had no interest in the deep conversation he was instigating. Lifting her hands, she tried to rub the sleep from her eyes, gasping as the cold metal of her handcuffs touched her face. She was so accustomed to them, and other forms of bondage, that they'd completely slipped her mind.
"I was interested in this long before you found me." She used the term 'found' loosely, of course. 'Kidnapped' and 'held hostage' had become too harsh a description as their affection evolved. "Intrigued by these," she held out her hands, running her fingers through his hair, "and the culture."
Lucius raised his head, glancing at her with cold, merciless eyes. It used to frighten her - that heartless expression of his. Not anymore. "How can you be sure? How can you know that your mind isn't simply telling you that?"
"I can't."
He sat up, wrapping one hand around the light chain that bound her wrists together. With a sharp tug, he pulled her upright. A second had her struggling to her knees. This was an important conversation; it wouldn't do to have her languidly answering while half-asleep.
"How did you know that you were interested in pain?" Pain was her favourite - and the best place to start.
She wobbled as she fought to balance herself on the feather-top mattress. With nothing to brace her hands, it was a trial, but one she'd endured countless times before. Like finding her sea-legs, she slowly settled her weight, spreading her knees apart to keep from tipping onto her face. He would have let her fall face first into his lap, no questions asked.
Taking a relaxing breath, Marley searched for an answer. "Well... I've always enjoyed it. As a kid, I was always picking fights with the lads, no matter how rough it got." The memory of her family stung slightly, but she pushed it aside. "An' Quidditch, obviously. It's no fun 'less you get at least one bludger to the back, or collide with someone else."
Lucius remained silent. Taking the hint, she continued.
"I thought it was the risk. The thrill, y'ken, of maybe gettin' hurt." Her hazel eyes glazed over as the memories resurfaced. "But it's more'n that. it's the pain, itself. Something about it... I don't like broken bones, exactly, but the bruises. After a while, they seem so pretty, knowin' where they've come from."
Still silent; she licked her lips, unsure of what else to say.
"It... it makes my heart race. Always has."
He let go of the handcuffs. "You like getting hit by bludgers." There was a disbelieving note in his tone.
"Well, not in the head, obviously. An' I prefer hittin' other people, but-" she paused again, always wary what effect her words would have. "Yeah, I guess. Before you, yeah... Quidditch was the easiest way to... to get what I wanted, without anybody realisin' what it was."
"And now?" he prompted.
She rocked on her knees, wanting to sit back on her heels - but not daring to. "Now I don't have to hide what I want. Now, I hardly have to ask for it. You know... without me sayin' anything."
"Straighten up." It was an obvious command, and she obeyed immediately, eyes drifting to the bedspread, as he'd trained her long ago. "I don't know what you want. We just happen to share a similar set of interests when it comes to sex."
Marley didn't respond; she was waiting patiently for permission to speak again.
He bit back a sigh. "Sit down..." She slowly, but silently, sank down into the bed. "You're not the girl I went to school with, pet. Did I really break you?"
Her eyes went out of focus as she stared at the silver threads intricately woven into the blanket beneath her. She said nothing - but he had asked a question, and he expected her to answer.
"Marley?"
She bit her lip, considering it a moment longer. "No... you broke... I can't explain it, Lucius. You broke something - some fear I had to express myself, to reach for what I really wanted. We live in a bizarre world, but- this? This is freakish to everyone, even our kind."
He snorted. "Your kind, maybe. You haven't seen Bella and Roddy's play room."
She pursed her lips and held back a shudder. His interests she appreciated; his touch she yearned for. But those two - she wanted nothing to do with them, or what they considered fun. Theirs was a dark, aromantic and sadistic kind of satisfaction that unluckily stretched into the bedroom.
Of course, an outside observer would have said the same of her, and him.
"Our kind, in general, I mean... they don't understand this." Thin, white scars blossomed out from the centre of her chest to her shoulders, gracefully looping around to her back, and down her spine. A simple, silver collar adorned her throat - no more out of place to them than a diamond necklace. Out of context, it all seemed harmless. But in action?
Reaching out, he tugged her down into the bed beside him, wrapping both arms loosely around her. "Why have you changed then, if I haven't broken you?"
Marlene curled up against his side, willing herself to purr at being cradled so lovingly in her Master's arms. "You tamed me," she answered quietly. "A wild, Scottish heathen like me cannae be broken." Try as she might, there was no denying the smile spreading across her lips. "Y'cannae break me... but ye've tamed me, fair enough."
Lucius chuckled, kissing the top of her head and catching a whiff of heather and thistle in her curly, dark hair. "My wild, Scottish tiger," he murmured softly.
She growled with delight.