Black Silk
It was horrible. It was exceptional. A twisted mixture of pleasure and pain that probably even Voldemort himself couldn't match. You could say that it was funny how Lucius outshone his master in bed.
If you wanted to laugh at such sordid things.
Luckily, it was doubtful that Narcissa would ever be able to say that she could compare the two, though it was more than probable that Voldemort frequently turned his attention to her sister, who was just as bound by marriage as Narcissa was. Her older, stunning, clever sister. At least Bellatrix knew how to get what she wanted.
But what did Narcissa want? She had always wanted Lucius, and now she had him. But still he wouldn't let her in. He wouldn't let her see what she knew he must be inside. Not even when they were alone. Not even when they were in bed. Even then he made her wear a blindfold. That black, silk, godforsaken blindfold. No one was allowed to see what was beneath his icy shell, a cover that she had always known, and that grew stronger every day, so that every day her hopes that she would one day get him to remove it dimmed.
What would happen when her hopes disappeared?
When he took her to bed, he was the same controlling Death Eater she thought he must be with everyone else he hurt. He made her beg, plead - for him to go faster, harder. He made her struggle, and would hurt her for doing so. It was like a test - he wanted to make sure she would still obey his every command.
And afterwards, every time, she would whisper that she loved him, still hoping that he would see, and that maybe one day he would love her in return.
But every time she would hear the same three words, as he turned away from her.
"Go to sleep."
Every time, she would close her eyes, and let the pounding of her heart lull her to sleep.
And every time, Lucius would wait until her breathing steadied, before he turned back over to face her, and slipped his arms around her.