Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Shimmer ❯ Chapter 1

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Shimmery. The oil on her skin shimmers. Her golden hair shimmers. She shimmers and an overwhelming sense of awe takes over him as his fingers slide down her back, smoothing the shiny oil into her skin.
 
“Does that feel good, mother?”
 
“Mmm,” she responds, arching her back against his hands in a way that makes his mind flood with images of what he cannot have.
 
She allows him this, and only this. A nightly ritual of rubbing warm oil over her shoulders, down her spine, to the arch of her back. Because there is no one else to do it for her, she says. Because her skin needs to stay soft and supple and smooth for when Lucius returns. Because of many things, but never, never, because she's lonely and needs his attention. Never that. That would be undignified, and Narcissa Malfoy is anything but.
 
It's over too soon; she never lets him continue for too long. Draco always tries prolonging the massage, by going as slowly as he possibly can, but if he stalls too long he fears a shadow of suspicion may set in her mind and he must withdraw himself from her before what's going on becomes too clear.
 
Draco loves her. Not only the brilliant, luminous love of a child for his mother, but something darker … deeper; a black hurricane that consumes his being with want, need, and lust.
 
“Let me stay with you.”
 
He's shaking as the words spill from his lips, his mind a whirling blur of insanity. Please don't say no. Please.
 
She turns her head slightly, back turned to him, and slowly draws the silky nightgown back up.
 
“Draco.” Her normally inflexible tone is soft, unsure. “You are no longer a child. Surely you don't need me to coddle you.”
 
Please,” he whispers, and then for good measure adds, “I miss him and I'm scared.”
 
Her breath hitches sharply at his admission, which is not entirely true, fabricated because he knows that she misses his father, afraid that he won't ever return to them.
 
“Draco,” lightly chiding, but vulnerable enough that he knows he's won. “One does not speak of such weakness.”
 
Her body shifts to the side of the bed and that is consent enough for him. He slides into the satiny sheets beside her, grateful that he had the insight to have come dressed in his nightclothes.
 
She turns to him and entwines her fingers with his.
 
“You look so much like your father.”
 
He swallows thickly, staring into her cool blue eyes that mirror his own. Gently, he leans forward, brushing his mouth against her lips in what should be a chaste manner but is laden with his sexual desire. She stiffens slightly, the calm façade only slipping for a brief moment.
 
“I love you, mother.”
 
Her expression is impassive, she lets go of his hand and brushes a stray lock of long, silvery hair from his face.
 
Her voice betrays her, heavy with worry, “I love you too, Draco.”
 
She turns from him then, rolling onto her opposite side, but says nothing when he presses his chest to her back and wraps a firm arm around her.
 
He's not sure what gives him the courage to be so forward. Whether it's the vulnerability she exudes but tries to hide, or just the nearness of her body. He's always thought of her as powerful, the epitome of authority, but now enveloped by his body, he realizes just how small and delicate she really is.
 
He's been hard since she sent him to fetch the oil, and now that arousal is pulsing angrily against his stomach, compelling him to push slightly forward into the slope of her back.
 
This time her composure disappears, her body twisting sharply around, face taut and eyes flashing.
 
“You are my son, Draco!”
 
Once, perhaps when he was smaller, he would've shrunk away from her, but now instead of intimidation all he feels is desire and the knowledge that she's not strong enough to deny him.
 
Swiftly he moves himself onto her, holding her firmly but not hard enough to bruise. An expression of shock and then fear settles itself onto her usually elegant features, perhaps the realization that her son is no longer a boy … but, rather, a large and virile man.
 
Please.” He breathes into her ear, nuzzling its soft shell while inhaling the scent of her.
 
“My son,” she repeats, but the words come out lacking conviction.
 
He pushes his hand into her nightgown, the fastening having loosened in the struggle, seeking out the crux between her legs. Gently he presses his fingertips into the soft hair he finds there and then down to tenderly stroke her slit. His mother's body is so tense that she's shaking. Her breathing is ragged, though he knows it's due to fear and not arousal, for she is completely dry.
 
Draco is no monster; he will not force himself into her unwilling body and injure this beautiful flower.
 
“I will not harm you, mother. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Trust me … please trust me.”
 
He's surprised that his pleas do not fall on deaf ears because he knows that he is being frightening and that this is wrong. Her body relaxes and she gives him a look filled with unconditional love and sadness.
 
“I forgive you, Draco.”
 
He leans forward and presses his needy mouth against hers, begging her for validation that he is still loved. Her lips part and his tongue rushes in to seek out all the hidden places it can find. Years of pent up desire flood through him and into her as he feverishly deepens the kiss.
 
Stars dance behind his eyes, he's squeezing them shut so tightly, concentrating solely on the wet warmth of her mouth. She is compliant, though does not kiss him back, but it is more than enough, and Draco feels that this is the best kiss he's ever experienced. Quite unlike all of the awkward teenage snogging sessions back at Hogwarts with girls who couldn't hold a candle to her.
 
She's only slightly damp when he pulls away from kissing her, not yet ready to accept him. He pushes the silky fabric of her robes completely open and gazes in awe down at her. Full breasts sit upon her thin frame, skin glowing and all he can think is: goddess. Slowly he trails delicate closed mouthed kisses - she is not the type to want to be slobbered on - down her body, until he reaches the pale, soft petals of her womanhood.
 
She's holding his hand now, fingers wrapped tightly around, with her nails pressing softly into his knuckles.
 
He uses his free hand to spread her open, inhaling the light musk as his lips meet hers. Tenderly he moves his mouth and tongue over her, paying careful attention to what makes her breath hitch and her fingers clench around his. Her sighs of pleasure, soft and unobtrusive, set his blood on fire. She is fine-bred and dignified, not abrasive like those tarts he wasted his time on in the past. He nuzzles her clit and laps up the juices that seep from her greedily. Her hips quiver and she pulls sharply on his hand.
 
“Enough, Draco.”
 
Her voice is husky and wanting. He briefly wonders if his father has ever made her feel this way, but then quickly pushes all thoughts of his father out of his head. He does not feel guilty. No, Draco feels anything but guilty for this. He is more deserving of Narcissa than any other man, if anyone is deserving of her at all.
 
Crawling up her, he tries to memorize this moment, this moment of victory. His mother wants him, needs him, is allowing him to pleasure her and take pleasure with her. He hastily pulls off his trousers and night shirt, and then whispers into her ear.
 
“Gods, you are beautiful.”
 
Which is most definitely an understatement, Draco thinks. His mother is above a simple word used to describe mere humans. Her cheeks are flushed, smoky eyes hooded, and Draco doesn't think he's ever seen anyone look more magnanimous or more divine.
 
She wraps her arms around his back as he positions himself. Draco presses his face into her neck and breathes, “You mean so much to me.”
 
He moans as he sinks himself into her slick heat, the tight muscles of his mother enveloping him like a hot embrace. He goes slowly, filled with reverence for this beautiful creature that is wrapped in his arms.
 
It's hard to control himself, the slow drag of tight wetness driving him insane. He wants to push, push as hard as he can, fill her up with seed that is genetically part of her. Her muscles are twitching like butterfly wings against him and all he can see is the redness of blood pulsing behind his eyes.
 
Suddenly he can't breathe; she's tensing under him and making those heart-wrenching soft breathy noises, her face taut and eyes glassy. Draco wants to scream out his pleasure, wants to curse and cry and smash his body into hers as her muscles grip him like a vise. His cock jerks deep inside her and he stills, until the pulsing wracks through his body and he's shaking and coming, strangled noises catching in his throat.
 
A few moments pass before he can do anything but tremble and breathe. He pushes himself up onto his elbows, still buried within her, and gazes at her face. She tips her chin up and presses her mouth softly against his; sighing Draco runs his tongue along her lower lip, until she parts for him and tentatively kisses him back.
 
He feels her hands trail down slowly to his hips and push. His eyebrows furrow as he slips from her, heart clenching painfully at the loss of contact.
 
“Draco,” she says slowly, lifting a hand to run thin fingers through his long silvery hair. “I love you more than anything else in the world … but this is not proper. We cannot do this again.”
 
He thinks briefly about arguing with her, about telling her how he feels like he will die if she was ever taken from him, about how he wishes to marry her and take care of her and the perfect life they could have together, in some far away country where no one would know their names.
 
But Draco is not stupid; he knows that his mother still loves his father, and that she would never agree to marry him. No, if he wants her he must gently coerce her.
 
“Will you let me stay here with you? Always?”
 
His mother's face hardens and he wonders if she realizes that he will not give her up so easily. She is too weak, physically and mentally, to fight him.
 
“Until your father returns, but only if this never happens again. Tell me, Draco, that this will never happen again.”
 
“It will never,” -Stop, Draco thinks, making sure to leave off the end. He snuggles himself firmly against her side, laying his head on her chest and listening to her heartbeat.
 
“I love you more than anything too.”
 
She sighs and continues to stroke his hair, a soothing methodic motion that lures him towards sleep.
 
As he drifts away, he thinks of his father and of how to make sure that he never ever makes it home. The comfort she'd need - and turn to him for - if his father died … maybe she'd even agree to go away and marry him. He focuses on that blissful thought and the knowledge that she is his, even if she doesn't know it yet.
 
His dreams are filled with luminous light, and a lady with hair that gleams like the golden sun and skin that glows as if the Gods themselves bless her with their essence. In dreams he lives in a world where he is free to be with her forever, a world in which she never ceases to shimmer.