A/N One-shot Lucissa. I'm not exactly sure where this plot bunny came from, but all I know is, for better or worse, I just *had* to put Lucius in his wife's makeup. Hahaha!
Humour, fluff, drag, offensive language and explicit smut. Mature readers only, please!
Beta'd by the awesome StoryWriter831. JK Rowling owns everything etc.
It Started With A Kiss Goodbye
...
It started with a kiss goodbye.
Lucius was relaxing on the terrace, sipping his morning tea and skimming through the weekend papers, when his wife appeared in the doorway, in full twin-set-and-pearls shopping regalia, replete with dragon-skin handbag and matching stilettos.
A brief sigh of disappointment expelled from Lucius's lips.
He'd thought Cissy was sleeping in and had been vaguely fantasising about going through to the bedroom to give her a good, hard seeing-to. It had been, by his reckoning, at least three months since last they...(he sought mentally about for an elegant euphemism)...'had conjugal relations'.
Then, irritated by the thwarting of his fantasy, he silently amended: Fucked. Since last they fucked.
There had been a time, many a long year ago (before parenthood and business and prison and war had got in the way) when morning sex had been something of a weekendly ritual. There was a definite stirring beneath Lucius's fluffy bath-robe as he reminisced on those days, whilst his wife moved towards him with her skittering, feminine steps, a pretty smile curving her ruby-red lips. ...Ah, her soft, sweet lips, capable of forming the most enchanting mewls of pleasure...not to mention their other capabilities...He indulged a brief mental image of her on her knees, smudging ruby-red lipstick all over his cock...
Lucius coughed and tried to tune into what those lips were currently saying.
"—to discuss the cake and flowers," she was telling him, (ugh, these interminable wedding plans, would they never end?), "and then pop over to Madam Malkin's to see how Astoria's dress is coming along. I can't believe there's only three weeks to go! You will talk Draco out of his ridiculous little goatee before then, won't you darling?"
Lucius peered over his reading glasses and made a non-committal sound of acknowledgement. I suppose a blow-job is out of the question, then, he thought ruefully, and somewhat facetiously, considering his wife hadn't engaged him in that enjoyable act in the best part of a decade.
Narcissa bent over him and pressed her lips briefly to his, murmuring, "I'll be back by lunch-time, darling."
Lucius toyed mentally with the idea of manfully grabbing her and carrying her over to their bed in the bridal-style favoured by the conquering heroes in her ridiculous bodice-ripper novels (oh, yes, he'd flicked through them often enough to know what they contained; hell, he'd even joddled one off in the shower after reading a particularly descriptive encounter in, 'To Tame A She-Dragon')...but by the time that rogue thought crossed his mind, Narcissa had already skittered back through the door and disappeared.
With a second, more audible, sigh, Lucius discarded his reading glasses, folded his newspaper and stood up. Brushing himself down, he surveyed the bulge in the front of the fluffy robe with regret.
Moving through to the bedchamber, he selected a pair of light-grey morning-suit trousers and a becomingly casual cashmere jersey, then made his way to the en-suite.
Glancing (as was his habit) in Narcissa's large dressing-table mirror as he passed it by, Lucius came to a sudden halt.
A strange but pleasant sensation spiralled over his body as he turned to fully face his reflection. Narcissa had forgotten to finish her makeup with a fixing-spell, and his mouth was now stained with the red of her lipstick...and he was damned if he didn't look rather fetching in it.
In something of a trance he stepped closer to the dressing-table, then before he knew it he was sitting on the spindly-legged, elegant little chair and gliding the top drawer open. Then the ruby lipstick was in his hands and he was uncapping, twisting, and bringing it up to his lips.
Forehead furrowed in concentration, Lucius applied the waxy substance from corner to corner, keeping within the natural lines of his mouth, vaguely acknowledging Narcissa's deft artistry of application which he had never appreciated until now. Once he had meticulously filled in the points of his Cupid's bow, he sat back and surveyed himself with satisfaction.
He had often been told, especially in his younger days, that he was something of a "beautiful" man, rather than merely a handsome one...and he was rather inclined to agree. Despite straddling the wrong end of forty, he still maintained the sharp, chiselled cheekbones, pointed chin and wrinkle-free countenance that many a wizard or witch might envy. ...Really, he could pass for Narcissa's older sister—(not Drom or Bella though; definitely not Bella! Ugh! No, not her)—but an imaginary blonde sister of a more Amazonian stature than petite, fine-boned Cissy. ...Add some eye-makeup and a little rouge, maybe a pair of earrings...yes, he would almost certainly pass for a lady, and a beautiful one at that...
Almost certainly?
Only almost?
Scrabbling through the drawer again, Lucius identified and withdrew a slim, gold tube and unscrewed the top part of it. Eyeing the little black brush-head, he experienced a sudden pang of insecurity at the thought of bringing the pointy little implement close to his naked eyeball.
Muttering darkly about "primitive methods...practically muggle...high time someone invented a charm..." he carefully raised the mascara-wand to his eyelashes and swept it along them. The item was ridiculously small in his large, long-fingered hands and he couldn't seem to work it properly, he almost poked his eye twice and his lashes were clumping and making black marks all over his eyelids—damn, damn it! How did Narcissa make it look so easy?
But after several minutes of faffing about, using his fingers to de-clump and a little spittle to wipe away the black ridges, he was reasonably satisfied with the results. His silver eyes, already quite striking, now positively jumped out from his face, emphasized by a fringe of thick, jetty lashes.
Next, the blusher. There was a large, flat compact of the stuff, on top of which lay a round-headed brush, far less fiddly or dangerous than the mascara-wand which had so nearly taken out his eye. With returning confidence, Lucius swirled the brush across the rose-tinted palette and made a flamboyant sweep following the line of his cheekbone.
It was very highly pigmented and Lucius wasn't sure he could recall Narcissa's face ever having actual stripes down each side of it...and yet, the colour was not unbecoming. He definitely looked more feminine and even a little younger, if he did say so himself. Late thirties. Mid-to-late thirties.
He found himself making a fluttering, pouting expression at himself, the way Cissy did whenever she was trying to persuade him to attend one of her silly soirees. He was quite taken by his own feminine wiles.
And now for the final touch...Lucius reached for one of the velvet boxes sitting on top of the dressing-tables. Snapping open the lid, he extracted a pair of diamond drop earrings and fastened them to his earlobes with a temporary sticking charm. Flicking his hair behind his shoulders, he gently shook his head, observing the alluring way the earrings shimmered next to the slope of his jawline.
Oh, I could definitely fall for me, he thought, and was somewhat bemused to discover that the bulge in his fluffy bathrobe had returned as if in concurrence. And then he stood up and—Merlin alone knew what he was thinking—he leaned in towards the mirror, closer...closer...until his warm, waxy lips connected with the cold, unyielding surface of the mirror. Drawing back, he saw he had left a perfect lip-shaped stamp upon it.
He only had time to think that he'd better remember to clean it off before Narcissa returned when there was an odd little squeak behind him, like a sneezing mouse.
Lucius's silver eyes snapped wide as they met with a pair of china-blue ones in the reflection—and there she was, his carefully coiffed, perfectly presented little wife, staring at him in utter shock from the doorway.
Oh, fuck it, she forgot something, was his first thought, quickly superseded by, well, at least it's not Draco. Lastly he arrived at, Keep calm and remember how to Obliviate.
Reaching for his wand, he turned towards her, murmuring, "Back so soon, my dear?—" when her voice interrupted his, thrumming with imperative urgency.
"Shut up! Just shut up! Don't you dare say another word!"
And before he quite knew what was happening, Cissy was racing across the room and launching herself at him, her arms wrapping around his neck and her mouth pressing greedily up to his. Lucius could hardly believe his luck. When the initial surprise had dissolved—why that little minx, she never said—he pulled her further up until her legs were wrapped around his waist, his arms supporting her thighs, his fluffy robe-bulge pressing eagerly up against her squirming, writhing body.
His tongue plunged thickly into her mouth, twisting and twining with hers with a kind of passionate, almost teenage abandon, teeth nipping, noses clashing, growls and mewls emitting respectively from their throats.
Lucius strode over to the bed and unceremoniously deposited her on it, hoarsely muttering a Divestio over and appreciatively watching his wife's now-rumpled clothes disappear, revealing her luminously pale bare skin and deliciously pink appointments.
He had no time to dwell further on them, for she was already grasping his shoulders and pushing him downwards, her breath coming in panting little gasps. Her slim fingers bunched in his hair as her back arched to the hot trail of red, waxen kisses he impressed on her skin as he made his way to a kneeling position between her parted legs.
"Lick me," she ordered in a gasping whisper.
Lucius was delighted. Cissy was usually so timid and compliant in bed, rather submissive to his whims, always a little...removed from the proceedings, as it were. But something about his feminized appearance had shorted that control-fuse, and she was as abandoned and engaged as he had always hoped, but never believed, she could be. Oh yes, he very much liked this new, bossy version of his wife...
Spreading her open, he stared for a long moment at the beauty of her—like a dewy rose, he thought poetically (he always got rather poetic when it came to the female anatomy) pretty pink petals, glistening and vulnerable, trembling to his touch...
"I said lick me!" Narcissa repeated impatiently, half-sitting up on her elbows and glaring at him.
"Yes, ma'am," Lucius breathed, then obediently dipped his head and pressed his mouth to her, his lips melding to the soft warmth of her, his tongue flickering into her damp depths. He was gratified to hear her cry of pleasure; glancing up at her, he saw she was still propped up on her elbows, gazing at him with a fascinated, almost hypnotized, expression; her cheeks beautifully flushed, her eyes dilated to velvety pools of darkness.
And then he really set to work, kissing, licking, laving and teasing every crease, fold and ridge of her, eliciting from her a veritable symphony of moans and whimpers and adorable little demands—"More! There! Stop! No, don't stop! Yes, yes, oh Merlin, yes!"—which enflamed him like never before. He varied his technique, licking her with long, flat-tongued laps, from wet core to sensitive nub which had her writhing up to him with frantic need, until at last he felt the muscles of her thighs clench, her body lift, and a spasm shuddered through her as she came to the dancing delve of his tongue, the slippery sweet-salt of her coating his lips and chin. "Oh! Ahh! Yes, Lucius! YESSSS!"
How delightful she was like this! Panting and undone, crying out her pleasure and his name as if they were inextricably linked. His cock was responding just as enthusiastically, if not so poetically, as his mind to the pretty picture she presented, splayed graphically before him like...well, never mind what like. Tasteful similes be damned, he needed to fuck her tight little wet cunt (what a lewd wretch he was turning into!) this instant, or he would burst.
Pulling himself up and over her, their gazes met. Cissy was still panting, she looked rather dazed as she stared up into his black-lashed eyes.
"Do you want me to fuck you, Cissy?" he growled hoarsely, one hand already curling around his hard length, readying to guide himself into her.
She nodded, then whispered, "Yes, please, Luci. Please...please fuck me."
He couldn't recall ever hearing her say that word before. The crudeness of it coming from her refined little lips was almost too much for him. Without further ado he aligned himself and slowly sunk inside her, groaning in pleasure as her warm, wet depths welcomed in his engorged cock. Cissy gasped and moaned as he filled her up, her legs wrapping around his waist, her hips lifting to embrace him fully.
Her lips fell open, her eyelids fell shut, and Lucius bent down to claim her mouth with his as he drew slowly out, then plunged deeply in.
Gradually his pace accelerated as he built up a pounding rhythm. Cissy, usually so passive and pliant, squirmed and bucked beneath him, meeting him thrust for hard thrust. Her back arched, the soft flesh of her breasts jiggling pleasurably against his chest with each powerful, plowing surge. Her whimpers and moans were punctuated with gasping obscenities as she begged him to do, well, exactly what he was doing. "Fuck me, Lucius! Ah! Yes! Please, please fuck me!"
He was more than happy to oblige. The sensation of her channel spasming as she climaxed was absolutely incredible and it occurred to him with an odd pang that she might never actually have come on his cock before—not like this, anyway, with such a shuddering, fluttering, frenzied intensity which caused her muscles to greedily clamp his length and drew him all the more deeply inside her. The friction was driving him to his own inevitable conclusion; grasping her legs he threw them over his shoulders and knelt upright and over her, plunging and hammering erratically until—"Uuuuhhfff!"—with a loud groan he came with great, shooting spurts.
Lucius collapsed on top of Cissy, unable for several seconds to support his weight as a gentleman ought. The muscles of his arms seemed to have liquified and his whole body thrummed and vibrated with a kind of delicious weakness he had never before given entirely in to. But his gentlemanly instincts soon kicked in and he rolled off his wife, pulling her around with his arms so they lay entwined. They spent a while simply catching their breaths, their bodies fused together with a fine layer of sweat.
But after a while Lucius was a little chagrined to discover he was feeling somewhat bashful, now that the frenzy of their love-making had subsided. He cleared his throat. "Thank you my dear, that was delightful," he murmured with conscientious courtesy. Then, rather hurriedly he added, "Erm...I...I don't make a habit of...ahem...you know; getting into your things."
Cissy smiled up at him languidly. "I don't mind, Luci," she replied soporifically. "You do make a very pretty girl, for a boy." Her eyes sparkled mischievously as she leaned in and planted a long, slow kiss on his lips. "You know," she whispered, "I have a silver robe that goes just perfectly with those earrings..."
...
Finis.
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