The Radiant

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Ginny stood in her closet, shuffling through her clothes.

“We’re going to be eating at The Sylph tonight.”

Lucius had entered the closet. She hadn’t even heard him, and jumped a little.

“Lucius—you’re too light on your feet sometimes.” He smiled at her, and she noticed that he was already dressed in his evening robes—long, dark blue billowing things. Underneath, he wore a formal striped button-up shirt with a dark blue ascot, and navy slacks. “You look very nice,” she breathed, suddenly aware that she was wearing only her bra and underpants.

“So do you,” he said, advancing toward her, and suddenly she felt like prey. He pressed up against her, the acres of his clothed body touching her nearly naked skin, and she groaned, feeling her underpants dampen. Ginny tunneled her hands into the gathering of his hair, and pulled him sharply down to her, kissing him so hard that he made a slight sound of exclamation into her mouth. He returned the kiss almost desperately, pushing her back into the hanging clothes, farther back so that the clothing fell around then, far enough back that her body hit the wall, and Ginny growled and raised a thigh, looping it around his waist, grinding herself into his growing erection.

“Christ,” he murmured, biting sharply at her neck, replacing Draco’s marks with his own.

Ginny let out a soft, feminine puff of breath. His mouth was scorching hot, burning at her skin, and his big hands were grabbing frantically at her skin—her bottom, her hips—sliding up under her bra, teasing along the straps.

“God. Am I ever going to stop wanting you?” Her voice was gravelly and plaintive, and he shook his head as he ground his erection against her.

“No—no,” Lucius murmured. “Take off the underwear.”

Ginny looked at him. “What?”

“Do it.” She obliged, unhooking her thigh from around him and stepping out from the mess of clothing, into the middle of the closet, bending over, sliding them down her long legs, drawing up and holding them out on a single fingertip. Lucius took them from her and slipped them into a pocket of his robes. “Lie down on the floor and spread your legs.”

Ginny gave him a look, but complied, settling onto her back and letting her thighs fall apart. Lucius was standing above her, his hands in his pockets now, his stance casual, but she noticed how his eyes tracked right between her legs as she spread them open.

“What time is our reservation?”

“We won’t be late,” he murmured, sinking to his knees between her legs. He brushed his tied-back hair over one shoulder, shrugging out of his outer robes and removing his ascot.

“You’re ruining your outfit,” she laughed, propping herself up on her forearms, watching him.

“Don’t care,” he said, his eyes never leaving her. He shoved his discarded clothing to one side of the walk-in closet, and then lowered himself to his forearms between her thighs.

Ginny watched him intently. The moments when Lucius sought her out simply to go down on her—no sex, no reciprocation—were the most interesting to her, and he often seemed the most vulnerable in those times. There was something about having him down before her that made him so.

“Take off your bra, as well.”

She complied fluidly, tossing the garment over her head, rubbing light fingertips over her soft nipples.

He brought his face down close between her thighs, inhaling, and Ginny fell back then, staring up at the ceiling as he traced a hot fingertip up and down her labia, avoiding any nerve-rich areas but bringing aroused blood to the area.

Just as she was about to cry out, he lowered his face to her, curling his arms up and under her thighs, fingers on her hips, and, as he held her in place, he parted her with his tongue and began steadily licking her.

Ginny made a breathy sound and gasped as her hips tilted up automatically. He pulled them back down, holding her tightly. When he made a sound of pleasure that was muffled by the wet skin between her legs, Ginny moaned. It aroused her even more when she could hear and feel and know that he was enjoying his task at hand. He grunted softly, and Ginny realised that she was wetter than before, and he moved his face down farther between her legs, strengthening his tongue and inserting it into her as far as he could manage.

That was when her hands flew to his head, fingers curling in his hair. Lucius laughed against her, and her fingers tightened their grip.

Lucius tongue-fucked her determinedly, slowly, steadily, and Ginny kept her head pressed back into the carpeted floor, revelling in the wet, slick sounds that they were making, that his mouth was making on her, against her skin, inside of her.

“Please, Lucius.” She hated how her voice sounded plaintive in the plush quiet of the small chamber, but when he complied wordlessly, moving up and using the strong flat of his tongue to move back and forth across her clitoris, Ginny hissed.

He uncurled his arms from her thighs and moved them up her body, cupping her breasts loosely, and then tugging on the hardened nipples methodically, in time with his tongue strokes.

Ginny breathed heavily, and brought her own hands down, gripping her inner thighs and pulling them up towards her chest, opening herself more for him.

He pinched her nipples viciously, and palpated his tongue directly against her clitoris.

“Oh, god,” she cried out, winding her fingers through his hair even more tightly, feeling Lucius flinch from the pain but continue his ministrations anyway. “I’m coming—oh, Lucius, I’m coming.” Her voice had a desperate, sweetened ring to it.

She came, hard, her thighs lowering and savagely tightening around his head, and Lucius had to let go of her breasts and instead grip tightly onto her hips to keep her in place as she yelled. Even as her pelvis rolled and she thrashed, he stayed with her, rising up onto his knees to be able to move with her as she uncontrollably jerked in her orgasm. He stayed against her, still licking her, until she begged him, breathlessly, to stop, her hips jerking away from his face in tender aftershocks.

She shakily raised herself onto her elbows, and looked down at him, still between her legs, lightly licking at her in slow intervals. He lifted his head, his strong chin and jaw wet with her come, and she smiled, rocking herself tremulously toward him, upright, gingerly on her knees, and then she grabbed his face, kissing him, using her small, rough tongue to clean her arousal off of his skin.

Lucius kissed her back, and she tasted her creamy saltiness in his mouth. He spoke into her ear. “Wear the dark blue velvet.”

Ginny laughed and stood up loosely, her head light and fuzzy, and Lucius stood behind her as she chose the dress from the rack, as she selected her shoes, as she re-brushed her hair. When she reached for her underpants from his pocket, he moved fluidly out of her reach.

“No, not tonight.”

Ginny raised her eyebrows at him.

“Good grief. Agreeing to have your baby certainly gave you a boost of confidence.” She smiled and turned around, shimmying into the soft dress.

He was behind her in an instant, his lush mouth at her ear, his body pressed to hers.

“Say it again,” he whispered harshly.

Ginny understood.

“Agreeing to have your baby,” she said softly. “Agreeing to have your baby—here—” and she took one of his hands and spanned the fingers across her stomach, pressing the palm into her flesh. “Your baby, here. Your seed, your baby,” she said, nuzzling erratic, open-mouthed kisses on his mouth and jaw. He was biting at her earlobe, humming, licking her skin. “Your son or daughter will be here, within me, and I will grow and I will be marked as yours for always. For always. I want to carry that baby. I want you to make love to me during pregnancy when my body becomes sensitive and attuned. I want you to see my body change—because of you—throughout—everything softer and fuller and rounder and yours. I want you to be there—for everything.” She kissed him over her shoulder, and he met her lips with a scorching, wet ease. His hand on her stomach tightened.

Lucius released her slowly, zipping up the back of the dress and taking a step back to admire her.

“You look lovely.” His voice was low.

She turned and slipped into a pair of high heels, her face almost level with his face, and smiled.

“We will be late, you know.”

“I don’t care.”


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Lucius watched as Ginny sliced open her tuna tartare. She drew her fork softly down the rippled, pink insides, and sighed with delight at the look of it. When she slid a piece onto her fork and brought it to her mouth, slipping it between her lips, she sighed again, closing her eyes as she chewed.

“Delicious,” she murmured, opening her eyes and looking at him. “Have a piece?”

They were at a large, quiet table in the restaurant, situated by one of the big windows. Lucius needn’t have worried so much about the stares—the clientele at The Sylph was distinguished enough that a simple glance when the couple entered the dining room sufficed.

The photographers that were sure to be outside were another story altogether.

He was tempted to sigh, and to fuss about that, but one look at his partner sitting across from him somewhat dispelled the anxious feelings from his head.

Lucius had no choice but to open his mouth and accept the piece of fish that she slid between his lips. She was right—it was delicious, cool and fresh and rich. He hummed and nodded.

“About children, Lucius,” she began, after swallowing another piece. He looked up at her quickly. “No, no, I just have a few questions—about things—bloodlines and things, I suppose.” She drew the corner of her mouth up, and shrugged slightly.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean—things with Draco are tenuous enough right now. I don’t want to—if we have son—I don’t want our son to inherit. Anything. Well, anything that had been promised to Draco.”

Lucius nodded thoughtfully. She seemed slightly uncomfortable talking about inheritance so openly, but since it was something so often discussed in Pureblood society, he was not taken aback.

“Well, Draco has been mainly promised everything after I pass away, but I was planning on giving it to him earlier than that. I’m not going to want to be heading up the Malfoy estate when I’m an old man.”

“So if we have a son—what then?” She looked uncertain, nervous.

“Well, then I would I have to think.” He steepled his hands under his chin, and was quiet for a moment. “I would make Draco my heir in that he would don the mantle of running all the Malfoy industries, charities, and businesses. He has a head for numbers. He would inherit the Manor and everything that comes with that—the titles, the family artifacts, the art, the portraits, the history. If we were to have a son, theoretically he would be born out of wedlock and, based on Pureblood society, he wouldn’t rank a proper inheritance. However, since I am essentially a pariah from that society, I think rules could be bent. If we had a son, he would inherit the other Malfoy houses, and a percentage of the Malfoy gold. It would be a smaller cut than what Draco would inherit, but it would still be quite substantial—something in the range of 30-40% of the total wealth that I have.” Lucius looked at her. “Is that satisfactory?”

Ginny smiled. “Even a smaller percentage of your money would guarantee a lifetime of comfort for someone. It’s not the money that I am so worried about. It’s that Draco might feel threatened by another boy.” She was quiet. “What if it is a daughter?”

Lucius smiled, then. “Firstly, I would have to beat the men off of her with a stick. Secondly—that would be different. I feel as though Draco would be remarkably less threatened by a sibling of a different gender, and I might be able to grant her some of the Malfoy industries—maybe something in the mining sector.”

Ginny laughed. “The mining sector?”

“Yes,” he said, smiling at her. “It’s a legitimate part of my industries. Focuses on rubies, actually.”

“So you’d give the girl-baby the business with jewels and shiny baubles.”

“I could sign away the armory to her, if that would balance things out.”

“Yes, I like that idea. I want my child to know the art of the broad-sword and the long-sword intimately.”

“Why is it that I think you’re being serious?” Lucius ate another forkful of his duck, and swallowed. “Here, try some.” He held out another bite for her, and Ginny leaned forward and lipped it off of the utensil, chewing slowly.

“It’s fantastic. How are you doing, by the way?”

“What do you mean?” He took another bite.

“Being out. It’s a rarity for you.”

He smiled slightly at her. “I know it is.”

“Is this a one-off, or will you try to increase your public appearances?” Ginny tried to sound nonchalant, but Lucius noticed the soft set of her lower lip.

“Well,” he said, setting his napkin down. “I suppose I can try to come out more. I’m not going to sending a pregnant wife out into the world.”

Ginny dropped her fork on her plate.

“What?” Lucius frowned slightly at her. “What’s wrong?”

She stared at him for a few seconds before coming to the conclusion that he hadn’t realised what he had said. And there was her choice—did she bring it to his notice and potentially embarrass him, make him skittish and gun-shy? Or did she ignore it?

Ginny ignored it.

“Nothing, sorry. I just remembered that I didn’t send out an important owl to the paper yesterday.” She picked up her utensils and resumed eating. Lucius gave her an odd look for a moment before continuing.

“I have a sort of agoraphobia, now, I think—after being in the Manor for so many years and not wanting to venture out. I get all—my heart rate is somewhat higher than it would normally be. I’m simply out of practice with the outside world. I used to be very good at this—small talk with people I didn’t know, shaking hands—everything. But now—”

“Are you tense right now?” She hadn’t noticed before, but his eyebrows were slick with sweat, and his jaw was set uncomfortably, his fingers curled around his silverware.

“Somewhat. As I said—It’s being out of practice, I suppose.”

Ginny slipped a foot out of a pump, and slid it up his trouser-clad leg.

“You’re lucky the tablecloths are long in this place,” he said warningly, eating another bite of his dinner, his mouth still set in a tense line.

“I’m just trying to distract you from your anxiety,” she replied, using her toes to knead into his calf muscles. He looked resolutely down at his plate, but she saw the faint beginnings of a smile around his mouth.

“Ginevra,” he began, but when she slid her foot higher to nestle between his thighs, he shook his head.

“You’re hard,” she whispered, a wicked smile on her face.

“I’ve been hard since I went down on you on our closet floor,” he hissed back at her, taking a long swig of his wine. Ginny laughed. “And you’re being very naughty, pet.”

“Oh, I’m your pet now?” She slid her foot higher up, nudging his testicles with her toes. He bit his lip and his brow furrowed. “Will you spank me when we get home?”

“If you keep on—if you raise that foot one inch higher I will put you over my knee and paddle you with a hairbrush as soon we get inside the Manor.” His face was serious.

Ginny, still smiling, looked at him for a moment, and then moved her foot rapidly up, the sole resting against his painfully hard length.

Lucius snarled and reached under the table, yanking her foot off of his groin and dropping it to the ground.

Ginny laughed out loud. “I told you it would distract you! You look much less tense now—well,” she continued, tilting a head, “maybe tense in a different way. Much less tense about the atmosphere and being in public, though.”

“Finish your damn dinner. I’m this close from doing something highly inappropriate in the middle of this restaurant.”

“Such as?” She had stopped laughing but was still grinning.

“Such as hiking that dress up and letting all the other patrons know that you’re missing a vital piece of your wardrobe!” He was speaking low and hard, but she could see how aroused he was.

“Well, take me home then, sir, and spank me until my throat is sore from screaming.”

She thought he was going to burst an artery. He sat, immobile, for a moment, and stared at her, a flush in his cheeks.

She had never seen someone get out of a restaurant so fast. While he had settled the bill, Lucius had sent her to the coat check, and by the time she had received their outerwear, he was there, behind her, helping her into her coat, throwing his cloak over his shoulders, and ushering her out of the door.

The photographers had been waiting for them. Lucius and Ginny’s appearance caused a flurry.

The flashbulbs were just as bright the second time around, but Lucius hardly noticed. Ginny shielded her eyes, looking down, but he ploughed through the reporters, not even stopping to give them a second glance. The questions were thrown from all angles, but Ginny and Lucius didn’t answer—Ginny because she was being dragged behind one hundred and eighty pounds of pure muscle, and Lucius because all of his blood had left his brain.


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“Damn,” she murmured, pressing a palm to her spinning head.

“Clothes. Off.” They were in the main hallway of the Manor, and Lucius was unbuttoning his robes with quick and determined fingers. “Damn it, I think I tipped that waiter three times what I should have. Why isn’t your dress off?” He flung his robes to the floor, grabbing her.

“You Apparated us so quickly that my head is spinning,” she said. “Lucius,” she began, but he turned her around brusquely and yanked the zipper of the dress down. “Oh, you’re going to rip it—”

“I don’t bloody care,” he growled, jerking the dress off of her. She made as if to turn to him, but he hefted her over a shoulder.

“Are you serious?” She laughed as she stared down at the floor, past his buttocks, at the heels of his leather boots as he walked them up the stairs to his room.

“There is something to be said for showing ownership over your woman,” he replied smoothly, clapping a hand to her bottom. Ginny yelped.

By the time they got to their room, she was laughing so hard she was nearly crying.

“You won’t be laughing in a minute,” he said, and set her on her feet

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she said, still chuckling. “I’m not impugning your masculinity, but—”

Her words were cut short when he sat down in a chair, tilted her over his lap, and trapped her legs by hooking one of his over them.

She hadn’t even noticed the hairbrush in his hand.

She noticed when it landed on her buttock.

Ginny gasped.

“Not laughing now, are you, my little slut?” His words were strong and deep, and she could feel his powerful erection pressing into her. Poor man, she thought. Last night he was nearly cuckolded by his own son, and today he’s held back an erection all day.

“No,” she groaned, and was rewarded by another volley of hard smacks.

“I’m not even going to count tonight. I’m just going to go until my arm is sore.” Ginny squealed out loud at that statement, half-horrified and half-aroused. “You were a bad little thing in the restaurant tonight. Though, I do admit,” he added, still continuing the barrage of hits, “you did distract me. So thank you.” He ceased his assault for a moment, bending forward and kissing her down on her lower back, right where her buttocks began.

“You’re welcome,” she breathed.

“Now,” he said, straightening. “No more maudlin behaviour. I have a punishment to mete out.”

He took his time laying into her, alternating between each buttock, layering the ovoid red welts on top of each other, just overlapping slightly. She had given up crying out and instead just clutched at his right thigh, moaning when he hit a particularly sensitive or already-bruised place. When he wandered down to the area where her thighs met her buttocks, however, she shrieked and bucked.

“Ah, yes. You are ever the submissive when I’m spanking you on a less-sensitive place.” He laughed above her and used one of his forearms to pin her upper body back down onto his thighs, resuming his snapping blows to her upper thighs.

Ginny cried quietly, unable to stop the tears but honestly relishing in the burn, her inner thighs becoming wetter and wetter as she became more and more aroused. It was this Lucius that she truly loved sometimes, the furious, exquisite dominant who took her to task and owned her. It made her forget the tribulations of every day life, the disparities in their pasts, anything.

She moaned.

“That’s it, my little pussy. Moan for me.” He sounded like he was smiling but she didn’t want to risk raising her head. His strikes were coming perilously close to between her legs. She could hear him breathing heavily above her, and the hits were slowing, but he was still relentless, making her gasp with every clap of the brush against her soft flesh. “Remember who is your lord and master.” He sounded nearly breathless.

Finally, he threw the hairbrush to the floor in front of them, slumping over her and resting his forehead on her upper back, licking at her skin, his breath hot and strong against her.

“You weren’t nearly as vocal last time,” she said, her mouth against the material of his pants.

“I know,” he replied, his face against her skin. “I was more inspired this time.”

“Do you feel better?”

He hesitated.

“Yes.”

Ginny struggled to sit up, and he had to help her, rising with her and turning her in his lap. Settling on his knees, she looked at him with an honest and discerning look.

“You sound hesitant.”

“Well—”

“What if I—” she couldn’t believe what she was about to say, but every inch of her wanted it. “—What if I spanked you?”


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