The Wedding - COMPLETE

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Updated 6-11-07

I loved the reviews. They always inspire me and add new dimensions to my stories. I wanted all of you to know you've certainly had a hand in making this tale go the way it has. Thank you.

wilson and everyone - How about this picture as a facsimile for Lucius in jeans and a tee shirt? Imagine his hair being in a ponytail you can’t see. The tee shirt is actually a red tank, but you aren’t paying any attention to that, are you?

http://members.tripod.com/~ScottMadsen/flexposter.jpg

On to the Grangers' -

No kinky stuff in this chapter unless you class oral with kinky, then...it's kinky.
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Chapter Forty

The Potent Power of Denim

That afternoon Lucius and Hermione gathered their presents and apparated to Hermione’s family home to spend the afternoon with her parents. Hermione had brought her delinquent Death Eater to her parents’ home twice before so he wasn’t completely ill at ease with them, but they were unlike any people he had ever met before and he had trouble finding anything in common with them beyond Hermione herself. Compounding the problem was his feeling of being a misbehaving boarhound on a leash, needing her to accompany him everywhere.


Hermione’s father had previously made attempts to talk with Lucius about automobile repair (huh?), soccer (they almost had a conversation there), his dental practice (that bored everyone), their last holiday spent in Prague (Lucius had never been there, but could talk a bit about European travel in general), politics (a total washout), some remodeling of their bathroom (horrors, their shower was in the tub), and finally found food. Both men liked to eat and for a short time they were able to discuss various foods they enjoyed (Lucius offered up his newfound taste for burgers and chips, but Mr. Granger was watching his cholesterol). When Lucius asked what cholesterol was, the conversation died again.


In this visit, Lucius decided to merely smile and look content, but say the minimum and get through the afternoon that way. They all sat around the Christmas tree, sipping tea and munching on biscuits and small slices of cake when Mr. Granger accidentally said the magic word, “Finances”. He’d recently bought a new financial software program for his computer and mentioned it in passing and that was all it took.


Hermione and her mother became computer widows for the next two hours while Lucius sat fascinated by the series of intricate mathematical functions the odd screen was able to produce with mere clicking on a ‘keyboard’. His Arithmancy formulas could do many of the same operations and he put numbers on a piece of paper and gave the necessary spell using his wand, whereupon the numbers changed and reformulated themselves. Mr. Granger was suitably impressed and a new friendship began.


The two men were finally called back to the tree for exchanging gifts and they came reluctantly, but realized they could repeat their shared affinity for numbers anytime. Lucius saw now where Hermione had inherited her talent for Arithmancy.


The presents were an added bonus for Lucius who hadn’t been expecting much. Lucius and Hermione had given her parents season tickets to the big name opera company in their area. Hermione knew her folks were longtime devotees of opera and that the tickets would be well received. Hermione was given the latest Encyclopedia Brittanica set, which she was grateful for, as she wouldn’t likely be able to use it on the web at home anytime soon.


But Lucius’ gift was the most exciting for him. His iPod was downloaded with fifty new songs and he got a binder with all the lyrics to the songs, plus a book that gave him all the instructions on how to make the most of his new toy. Lucius was impatient to listen to his new songs and to read the supplementary material providing more uses for his toy than the brief manual that had come with the machine.


Lucius’ reticence was noticeably thinning all around and he began a cautious acceptance of Hermione’s parents into his narrow, protected world. They so obviously loved their daughter that Lucius felt he might be able to learn to accept their integration into his new child’s life when it was born. Perhaps a set of grandparents was a positive thing even if they were Muggles. He’d have to think about that awhile before deciding. The realities bombarding him due to his unborn child and its place in the world, his world, occasionally dredged up too many overwhelming emotions at a time and Lucius often needed to regroup, distancing himself from the possibility of being swamped and hurt.


His existence with Hermione was changing constantly, too - sometimes it was for the better, but then there were times Lucius couldn’t bear any additional intimacies and he’d retreat from her, shoring up his protective barriers and reaching out only for the sex he craved with her. As the months rolled on, Lucius felt he was on an insane seesaw, wanting to take but suspicious of his wife’s generosity, wanting to give but worried he’d be rejected and open himself for a pain he was more and more certain he couldn’t survive. Hermione had gotten too close, too important. Lucius was conflicted as never before.


Hermione didn’t know why she wasn’t making any more headway with her puzzling mate. He had seemed to be happier but lately his moods would swing toward irritation and moroseness. She didn’t know quite how to proceed except to offer her care as much as he would allow.


That was sometimes hard to accomplish when he made her so angry with some of his behavior she just wanted to clobber him. Lucius had for some reason drawn the conclusion that all he had to do was don his pair of jeans and she would instantly have sex with him. She had research to do, just as he had his financial responsibilities and it was harder for her to finish her work sometimes because she wasn’t always feeling at the top of her game as the pregnancy advanced.


Seeing Lucius come toward her with his jeans on now produced a dichotomy of emotion – he was so distractedly hot in them she wanted to rip them off and throw him to the floor immediately. But she had other calls on her time and he needed to understand that the Ministry and other clients had to be served, sometimes before him.


It was, therefore, truly unfortunate that he’d discovered that wearing the jeans with the top two buttons undone, barefoot, and sans tee shirt nearly drove her demented, so it was often her client who waited while Lucius got his rocks off. Every time Hermione stumbled back up the orgasmic cliff she’d been shot over, she had time to rue her weakness for that hard body and gorgeous face all over again. Finally, in desperation, Hermione took to working mornings at the Ministry where he couldn’t follow her, leaving Lucius with his financial work and unsated impulses at home.


It had all come to a head the morning that Lucius decided to have a nooner while she was deep in the history and cultural practices of England’s vampire population commissioned by St. Mungo’s Birth Certificate Office, there being some question of a vampire attaining Pureblood status if he drank from one. It seemed a pushy young vampire was now claiming blood kin status with a haughty Pureblood wizard and demanding an allowance after having dined on him briefly. The Pureblood was livid at being used as a snack, having a lowly vampire claim himself as part of the family, but most importantly, being asked for money.


Lucius had come sauntering into this fascinating conundrum half-dressed in his jeans, bare-chested and barefoot as usual, and leaned his hip up against the library table where Hermione had laid out all the specific references she needed for her work.


Hermione kept one wary eye on him while attempting to focus on unraveling the victim’s bloodline to be certain it was unbroken as a Pureblood when she heard the unmistakable sound of a rivet sliding out of the placket on his jeans. Oh, Gods, oh Gods, she moaned to herself. “Please, Lucius,” she tried to sound firm, “I’m in the middle of a rather elaborate problem just now. Can’t this wait until after dinner?”


Hermione cursed her libido and that purple sock she’d taunted her husband with before Christmas. She was responsible for Lucius turning up the heat on their sex life. He had been pulling back, not wanting to injure her in her advanced pregnancy and what did she do? She had showed him it was perfectly fine to have hot, sweaty sex without it hurting her or the baby.


Lucius grinned at the futile efforts of his wife to put him off. He wasn’t going anywhere at the moment except pearl-diving and he could smell the rising scent of her arousal even as she pleaded with him to put off their romp. He’d been sitting at his desk working on his figures for the fourth quarter report to the Ministry when his mind had started to wander down the mansion corridors toward his wife. Pretty soon all he could think about was getting her naked on her library table and feasting on her little pearl nubbin for lunch. The books said it was pregnant women who had increased libidos so why was he always so horny these days? Lucius undid another rivet on his jeans.


Hermione put her elbows on the table and dropped her head into her hands, moaning. Her knickers were valiantly sopping up her reaction to the brute slowly popping more rivets on his jeans and his mesmerizing scent was quickly relieving her mind of anything but what was hiding behind that damned denim.


She spread two fingers and peeked between them at the torso so enticingly displayed at her side. All that smooth, tawny skin sliding over washboard abs and truly magnificent pecs. But it was the tiny flaxen hair-trail leading down from his navel that was her undoing. She knew, oh, she knew exactly where that led. It led to her utter capitulation, the sadistic monster.


Lucius was increasingly horny because his facile mind was overlaying his darker problems with something easy to do, ignoring the difficult issue between them - his trust. It was getting more and more arduous to keep his heart in his self-made bulwark, protected from any more wounds and scarring, so he was turning to mind-blowing sex to keep his dark storage cavern under control.


Lucius ran his fingers into Hermione’s curls, sifting the pretty honey brown strands, then letting them fall, over and over. The rivets had given up their hold on their slots and the placket hung open, no longer containing what Hermione could see was a titanic erection, which Lucius idly stroked at the same speed as he sifted her hair.


Hermione was now staring openly at the male goods on display. Her knickers were going under, unable to cope with the juices she was creating. Titanic indeed! She didn’t need a premonition to know that particular ‘titanic’ was destined for a very wet demise between her legs.


She jumped up, defeated, “Okay, then. Let’s get this over with so I can go back to my research.” She stripped off her little mint green knit top that struggled to cover the baby’s presence, and shimmied out of her light beige pants and knickers all in one go.


The choleric little witch prepared to apparate to their bedroom, but Lucius held her arm, gently shaking his head, no. He continued to slowly stroke himself.


“What? No? No – why?” Hermione demanded. She was annoyed and avid for that tool being so loving handled in front of her.


Lucius rose and pointed to the spot where the Pureblood victim’s ancestry was being charted at Hermione’s table, “I’m going to have lunch right here.” He dropped his useless jeans and stood before his wife stark naked and fully erect.


“Lucius, I don’t want to disturb my papers. Let’s just go to -”


Lucius flicked his wrist and all her papers rose from the table to hover – in order - ten feet above the now cleared place he had designated for their assignation. “Up you go,” he smiled, assisting Hermione to sit on the very spot she had been using to determine if a vampire was going to call a Pureblood ‘Papa’.


Hermione was speechless, staring up at all her hard work floating above them like so many parchment sails on an invisible sea. Her attention was yanked back to her husband as he calmly sat in her seat, his staff pointing upward to the spot between her thighs where it was soon to go.


Lucius said, “Relax back, precious, you may as well be comfortable. This may take awhile,” and he spread her slim upper legs apart with his hands on her knees, then slooowly slid his palms toward her center.


Hermione groaned at the advancing warmth of his hands traveling up to the only place left on earth of importance to her any more. She fluidly lay back on the table, trembling with a libido that had gone up in flames – again.


Lucius leaned forward and kissed her taut belly, starting at her popped out eight-month navel and traveling kiss by kiss down toward where his palms rested on either side of his target.


Hermione’s tumultuous heartbeat stuttered as the strong, refined fingers of her husband gently stretched her moist petals wide, blowing on the exposed pink skin before leaning forward and licking a path forward to aft and back three times, then settling to his noontime meal. She could feel his pale hair softly shushing against her sensitized thighs as he concentrated on driving what few remaining nerve cells she owned wild before they happily self-destructed under the tutelage of his tongue.


As Lucius gained a firm, thorough beachhead on her body with his tongue, his hands moved upward, soothing her swollen baby bump while his face remained firmly planted between his precious’ legs. Searching fingers then meandered up to torture the crests of Hermione’s breasts with firm pinches and rolls, making her hips buck up against his juice-slicked face.


All too soon, Hermione’s breath started hitching and her soft mewls became staccato screams keeping time with his laving tongue and soft sucking. She held onto his sculpted biceps feebly, as her body undulated restlessly on the table. Lucius knew how close she was and he wanted to slow the tempo, so he ceased his erotic ministrations and stood up.


Hermione’s eyes popped open with dismay at the defection of her dilatory pearl diver, gazing up at her handsome mate with supreme irritation, until he moved closer to the table and settled her legs around his narrow waist. A new touch began with Excaliber’s head circling the very spot Hermione would have suggested for his exploration.


Lucius played a few seconds with his wife’s body but he was burning up from his feminine feast and now needed the cool relief of her wet channel for his own sanity. He took himself in his hand, placed his twitching tool’s glans at the entrance to his sprite’s core and with a single solid thrust crammed his length straight up her sheath as he leaned over her on arms elbow-locked, palms on the table to keep her safe from his weight on her belly. His hips began a primitive dance of their own, sliding him thoroughly in and out of his idea of Valhalla.


Hermione’s tiny fingers clutching his shoulders and her cavern clutching his cock soon made him delirious with the scattered sensations on his hypersensitized skin. He began moaning with the tender abrading of his most prized feature inside her and it took only seconds of his self-inflicted torture before he was keening his own immoral melody of want, groaning his appreciation of his precious -her breasts, her warm sheath, her legs pulling him into her – he loved it all and told her so in rude, lascivious detail.

Hearing his deep, sex-roughened voice enumerating all those earthy enjoyments wasn’t enough. He began growling at her with each deep thrust, “Come, come” and that was enough to knock her over the edge. Hermione’s fingernails scored his shoulders as she plunged into the carnal abyss he’d so skillfully dug for her.


Lucius hammered himself into her several more times, escalating his own male potency to screaming pitch, then followed her over. His arms collapsed down to elbows on the table as he tried to keep from passing out and slumping onto his wife, his breathing like an erratic bellows. He numbly watched his wife lying limp from the climax she’d endured at his command.


A few minutes went by as both partners slowly returned to themselves, then Lucius pulled himself free and stood up again. He leaned down and retrieved his jeans, pulled his wand out of a back pocket and cleaned up both their lethargic, sweaty bodies. Stepping into his jeans, he leaned over his half-awake wife, kissed her, and sauntered back out of the library.


Hermione groaned, coming up on her elbows as she surveyed her poor, abused research floating in the air. The dastard hadn’t even returned her work to the table. She wasn’t sure how he’d done it, so she couldn’t reverse the spell herself. She wanted the research to return to the table in the correct order.


Hermione dressed and called for an elf, sending it to Lucius’ study for directions on getting her parchments back down. The elf returned and chanted a brief charm, whereupon all the papers floated back to the table as they had been.


Hermione wasn’t ever going to be able to look at that table again without instantly igniting her knickers in a bonfire of unwanted amatory lust and that’s why she went to the Ministry in the mornings.

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A/N: Sorry about the smut. It just seems to seep into the story every once in a while. Ah well, (shrugs) I suppose you can skip the chapter if you want. Hmmmm, I probably should have said that at the start of this, shouldn't I? Well, you can get even by giving me a blistering review. (The only bad review is no review.)