AN: For the Challenge on the Bellatrix Lestrange Forum. 400 words.

Delirious Comfort

I am sitting at my dressing table, hairbrush in hand, when Lucius appears at our bedchamber door. At the sight of him, I have to catch my breath. He is so handsome, he seems almost divine. Is it any wonder I've loved him since my thirteenth birthday?

"Cissa. Will you not come to bed, my love?" His voice is a purr, specifically designed, I often think, to make my heart, my Rosier Crystal of a heart, flutter. Yet, leaning my head against his chest, I decline my new husband's offer.

"I have to finish this first."

His answering pout, caught in the mirror, sends desirous shivers down my spine. He really does have the most luscious of lips. Turning on my stool, I touch my fingers to them, stifling his protest with the gentlest of touches.

"Patience is a virtue, Lucius."

"So is beauty. And kindness." he retorts, half angry with longing. I toss my head wordlessly, tickling his torso with my hair as I resume brushing.

As I hoped, he cedes to my silent request and takes my hair between his hands. "The usual 200, I presume?"

"I believe 100 will suffice." I hand him the emerald-studded brush and close my eyes blissfully as he begins to sweep it through my lustrous locks.

So many people have brushed my hair in the 19 years I have been alive. My governess, my sisters, my mother and countless more. But none of them have done it quite the way Lucius does it. None of them have managed to make my head spin with the tugging of the bristles. None of them have found the rhythm that makes me deliriously comfortable, as he does, almost instantly.

"Oh Lucius, your comfort could keep me almost delirious." The half-murmured words are out almost before I realise it. He pauses in his brushing.

"Sorry, Cissa?"

"Nothing. It's fine." Waving off his concern, I lose myself in the cadence of his strokes until, setting down the brush, he grasps my slender shoulders, tipping me back to kiss me. I squeal but go with him. I know he will never let me fall. Particularly not on the first night of our honeymoon.

I am right. Scooping me up, he carries me to the bed, whispering "Let's see if we can't change your middle name. Yes?"

Scarcely able to breathe, I consent. "Yes."

Lucius needs no second urging.