Draco saw their visitors out, still talking numbers. His incredible salvation of the business venture had left Narcissa stymied. She'd not imagined he could be so thorough. So prepared. So knowledgeable. So confident. So...dreadfully striking in his very demeanor. Hardly the sulking boy she'd known these last days.
He'd been positively brilliant.
It was an almost intoxicating feeling - seeing him in such a light. As the grown man who would save their damned name. Her supporter. A force to be reckoned with. She was reeling from the shock of Draco's welcomed imposition and its deeper meaning. The possibility that suddenly and completely she had something. She had a purpose. And a purpose she could love.
The silence in the lab gave way to bubbling tinctures and Luna's gentle humming. The smells of fig and mint heating and condensing. Cissa was condensing herself. Heating. She steadied against a table and clenched her jaw.
"I think that went very well." Luna had finally spoken. "Don't you?"
Deep breath. "Yes. Yes, I do."
"Draco made quite an impression."
"Yes, he did," Narcissa murmured.
"He was rather handsome, too."
Her nostrils flared and gaze narrowed at the girl. But there was no inappropriation in the comment. She doubted the dozey Ravenclaw had such impropriety in her.
But it was true.
And suddenly the Malfoy matron needed. "Watch the lab. When those tinctures are done, bottle them and start the myrrh. I'll be back."
"Yes, ma'am."
The foyer was quiet. Obviously the business types had departed. Back to their businesses. And it was time for Narcissa to see to her own business. Of the unfinished variety. Her stomach knotted as she climbed the stairs. Second floor, her heels clicked time on smooth marble. She knew where she would find him.
Lucius' study was become Draco's study. Gone were the lank-haired blonde caricatures of Malfoi ancestry. The walls were now bare and the colour of a somber fog. Where there had been velvet drapes, there was open window. Where there had been darkness, there was light.
There was Draco.
She paused in the half-opened door. Her son's back was to her. He bent over the massive cherry wood desk, standing. Her knots tightened. "Draco."
He straightened and turned. Didn't seem surprised to see her. "Narcissa."
Beguiling and begrudging. He wasn't mocking her. She swallowed and closed the door, leaned against it. "I came to say…" But what?
He leaned against the desk, hands in pockets. "Yes?"
Her chin rose. She recognised her own defensive posture and tried to soften it, only increasing the awkwardness in her stance. "You were incredible."
He scoffed lightly. "Because I made some connections? Crunched a few numbers?"
"Draco!" She pushed away from the wood, away from solid and into amorphose. "You saved us down there! They would have walked away from me laughing if you hadn't -"
"You are the brilliant one here, mother. Not I." He put his hand on her shoulders, possibly to stop her from coming closer. "It is your genius they want. Your scents. Your perfumes. I'm just the… technicality."
"Darling." Her eyes watered. She heard tight tears in her own voice. "You have done so much! So much for us! More than any technicality!" She took hold of his elbows. He was trembling in the fine black silk.
"What did you think I was doing these past weeks, hm? Just redecorating up here?" She shook her head, unnerved by his pique. "Or you thought I was simply skulking about. Sulking because of what happened in the lab that afternoon."
Her face burned. He'd mentioned it. And her hold on him had become his hold on her. He gripped her shoulders now, face too close. "No! No, Draco! I thought...I didn't think! I didn't know what to think. I don't know what happened that day but -"
"You don't know?"
Her brain shut down. His intensity was dizzying, his nearness could smell mint tea on his breath, feel it on her face. "No. I - I mean, I don't -"
"Let me remind you, then," he muttered darkly. HIs lips crashed into hers this time - not the gentle and curious question they had been days ago, but a demanding and certain answer. And he held her head in both his hands, swallowing her cranium in hungry fingers.
She was captive and captivated. She wouldn't have bolted anyway. Couldn't have if she'd wanted. Her body had quite come to its own conclusions regarding this matter and was insistently pressing itself to Draco's body.
He tasted of mint tea, too. His kiss was not at all shy and his firm thumbs aided in opening her mouth. His tongue swept the hot and unfamiliar territory. She was on fire. Her previously numb fingers grappled at his shoulders, fluttered to his stomach, curled in his hair. He felt like a heavenly thing from the devil and she whimpered. Moaned.
At the sound he released her head. Caught an arm around her waist and shifted them until Cissa felt the desk at her own back. She was grateful for the support, knees weakened and drunk on want. "Draco…" She gasped. Her head fell heavy backward as his mouth moved over her neck. "What's happening?"
"Everything," he groaned. His hands fisted and she felt her blouse tear beneath her stiff suit jacket. Somewhere, pearl buttons clattered.
"Oh!" The clip in her hair loosened and surrendered to the maelstrom they'd made. Adrenaline fueling tremor, she understood his awkward haste when she made for his own shirt. She needed flesh - the heat of his against hers - and his terrible wonderful mouth was wet through her brassiere. "I can't -"
He growled, seeing her dilemma. Her arms were trapped within half removed jacket. "Here." An animal grunt and he pulled her upright, worked the jacket and torn shirt down her porcelain arms, followed by his tongue. He licked her unashamed, tasted the mint he'd dreamed, the sweat he'd imagined.
And as soon as her arms were free she was returning the favour. "Turn!" She snapped. He liked the tension in her voice, the demand, the aching and crushing need. Back to her, he curled his shoulders back so she could tear his jacket down. But even bared she held him steady with strong legs and hands. "What?"
She answered with actions. He nearly melted when he felt her mouth - her teeth - tasting his shoulder blades. She bit - the wicked, wicked witch - and he snapped round like a dragon on defense. "Fuck, mum."
Her back hit the desk on his curse and his lips hit her stomach. She lurched and spat and launched fingers into his satin hair.
It was wrong. It was awful and dreadful and sick and taboo and the worst thing a mother could do but he was pushing her skirt up rough and licking - up a trembling knee, over silk stocking and past the curled barrier of a garter and suddenly the negative evaporated in a hissing haze of lust addled amnesia. "Yes, son!"
Her knickers were delicate lacy things of French origin. He tugged on them just enough to bare that trimmed and needy part of her. The fur of her feminine. Her face burned when she wondered how strongly her wanton smelled but even that was forgotten when his mouth moved tenderly and his tongue dipped lewdly.
"Ah!" She sang in time with each slice in her nerves. He was an expert marksman, targeted her already swollen clitoris and hunted it to a froth. Her neck arched. Eyes squeezed shut. Her right hand clutched his hair while her left scrambled scratches up his neck. "Oh, Draco!" There were tears on her temples and a tear through her knickers.
A truth curled up in her abdomen and prepared to strike. Her toes curled up in her pumps and she vaguely heard them clunk to the floor. His tongue dipped lower, strummed her sensitive slit, those certain fingers pressing her thighs open.
Her heels bumped against table before finding their places against his back. That truth tightened. He sucked and it struck. "Gods!" Her eyes snapped wide. "Yes! Yes! Yes, Draco!" Each wave garnered a loud approval and soon - too soon - the pleasure was too much.
Panting, neurons firing, she pushed at his head. It was possible he would have pleasured her this way endlessly, but she'd waited long enough and was lax now for filling. "Come here," she whispered, pushing onto one elbow and pulling the man.
He kissed his way up, nuzzling, moaning. "I want you so much," he confessed.
"Me too, love. Come here," she urged again.
"Gods, you smell like mint."
The sweat on him was cool and slick. "You smell like me," she replied, licking his ear.
"Ung! Same thing." He was struggling with his trousers. Hissed when his own hand stroked his too-hardness. "Hell!"
"Shhh." She sucked his bottom lip. He tasted like her, too. Her own fingers were swifter, agile. And then she was reaching inside his trousers, knuckles scraping sleek lining and fingers feeling steel in satin.
His hand slapped onto hers, stopped her wanderings. "Don't," he warned. "Too good." He kissed her. It was a stalling tactic. She recognized he was teetering.
"I want you inside me, darling," she barely whispered. Let her hot breath tease his ear.
Another growling groan. He seemed de-evolved. Base instincts climbing hierarchy, claiming control. His trousers dropped to a pool and he tugged her to the desk's cool edge. "No going back," he said.
"I know." She put her hands on his hips. Kissed the center of his chest. His heart beat fast beneath her lips. "I know."
He shifted. Pressed the tip of himself at the cleft of herself. She bit her lip. He watched her face, fascinated by the desire and anticipation playing at her mouth's corners. He bent, the straightened again. Frustration. "Not here," he finally decided.
"Hm? Oh!" She wrapped her legs around his hips when he lifted her with ease. His cock pressed at every crevice of her as he moved them to the window nearby. Propped her. The sill there was lower. A perfect angle and he was sliding inside her.
Their breath caught at once. Heads hit window - the back of hers and the front of his. "Slow! Slow," she keened.
"So fucking good," he muttered mindless. Ate her neck. Pulled out, pushed in. A little further this time. And again, they gasped.
"Draco."
"What, witch?" His voice shook. Haunches quivered like a thoroughbred's.
"Fuck me," she spoke against his lips. "I don't care."
"Good." He gripped her bunched skirt. Jerked her close and buried himself deep. A long, pained moan. "That's...that's magic, mum."
She keened at the pleasure. Thighs pulling him deeper. One arm wrapped round his shoulders while a hand pressed to the thick glass behind her. It was cold, almost steadying. But her son was a hot hard reminder of weakness. She was incapable of words, reduced to guttural grunts and whimpers.
Draco also braced against the window, one arm low round her hips and the other curled against window above her head. This way, he could look down. He could see every expression on her beautiful face in the muted dayglow. He could see the slide of his slick purple in and out of her wet red. He could see the juttering quiver of her firm round breasts, nipples hard from his ministrations and the chill on their sweaty skin.
It was perfect. Too perfect. The pleasure ribboning his spine and tightening his bollocks would not allow such perfection to last. "I...I can't…" He gasped.
"It's alright," she panted back. "I'm close, darling. I just -"
"Just what?" Desperation.
"I need you closer. I need -"
"Done!" He snapped, hefting her again and whirling them. The polished leather of the couch was a cold shock to her back. But they were horizontal at last, and Draco wrapped his arms tightly around his mother. She returned the gesture, nails just beginning to leave their moons in his shoulder blades. Her legs wrapped further up on his back this time, putting him so close to her he could barely thrust.
So they slowed to a grind and the grind was bliss. Narcissa felt that truth recoiling. "That's it, baby. Gods, fuck yes, Draco! That's bloody perfect!" Amazing how deep her voice was, how abandoned her utterances. In the window above them, she could see their handprints evaporating, the foggy outlines of their bodies.
"Merlin. Come for me, witch." The leather creaked. His hand pressed against the curved arm. "Please fucking come!"
"I - I -" But she couldn't finish. She simply was. Ironically, she tensed when she unraveled, teeth sinking into his shoulder.
Those damning ripples - her cunt gripping good - was too much. He huffed into her hair, clutched her head uncaring. "I'm coming," he gasped. "Can I -"
"Yes! Come in me, love. It's alright!"
Truthfully, she wanted it. The potion - years of the potion - promised to protect them from any great folly. And she needed to be filled that way. Needed her her son to fill her that way. To complete the circle.
And he damn well needed it, too. So much so that he wept as he did it. Offered her his tears with his essence, with the trickles of blood her teeth and nails had drawn. It was all a glorious sweaty sticky and disgusting mess of every possible fluid but it was…
"Perfect." They breathed the word together. Unpracticed. Bodies relaxing into each other. Hearts slowing to a match pace.
The floo crackled. The couch creaked as bodies shifted to embrace. Mother and son breathed. Kissed. Softened and forgave. Fingers stroked. Mints met. Breath and oils, sweat and skin. The musk of the Malfoys was most unique.
Draco held her to his chest a precious thing. Hard won. Soft and strong. Beautiful and frightening. His favourite paradoxes. His throat closed on the thought. Emotions were fucking inconvenient. "I love you," he whispered. Hoped the whisper would not reveal the lump in his throat.
She looked up at him. Fingers working Cuneiform on his chest. Her hair was a mess. "Do you?" She asked quietly. "Like this? Or like a mother? I don't know what I am anymore, Draco. We've done this thing now and -"
"I want this." He spoke firmly. "I need it. Need you."
She blinked. There were so many things to be discussed. To be analyzed. To be vaporized and condensed, collected and stored safely in tiny vials. She smelled warming leather and them. Us. If she could bottle it… "I love you, too," she sighed. He kissed her head. "Luna will be wondering where I've gone."
"I imagine Luna wonders many things."
She chuckled. It made him chuckle. "I'd like to clean up a bit."
"I'm sure you would." She sat up and he stroked her back. "Mistress Perfumier."
She looked over her shoulder. "Thanks to you." Couldn't resist bending for another kiss. "I can send Luna on for the day."
"You can. It's your business, after all."
"We could have a proper lie down. A rest. In a bed."
"If we go to a bed I'll make love to you properly."
She considered. "Fine, then. I'll send Luna home." She moved slowly. Worked her badly wrucked skirt down over bruised thighs. Her stockings were torn or running in several places. One garter had come loose. Near the desk, she collected her blouse and jacket. Looked about, at-a-loss written on her features. "I've no idea where my buttons are."
Draco stood, smiling. He held her, rumpled mess she was. He kissed her. "Luna will leave on her own. Come on." He urged her to the door, bent for his own cast of clothes. "We'll find you some more buttons."
Quietly, guiltlessly, they left the study. The fire crackled in the floo. Warm mint lingered over warm leather. A clink resounded.
A pearl button rolled beneath a desk.
AN: Eau d'Hermes. Chanel's Cuir de Russie. Tom Ford's Tuscan Leather. Shalimar by Guerlain. Bvlgari's Black. Take it or leave it, leather is in fragrance. And done properly, it is bloody brilliant. Thanks for reading, you all, and for humouring my passion. I enjoyed writing this tremendously!