Mine

Mine
Narcissa/Lily wan want to be under her feet, in her skin. I want to be a part of her, piece of her, taste the breast, best, breath of her and have her come under my hand. Ashamed to say it, own it, think it any time but night? Yes. But I want my Narcissa Malfoy.

I want to run my finger up her white thigh, the one which is hastily covered during quidditch practice, the one with the red suck marks that Lucius-oh-so-fucking-pretty-Malfoy puts there. I want to bite her, mark her, make her mine. Pretty pink ‘Cissa spread out beneath me. Lick, bite, suck. Teeth and taste and juice down my face and all I can feel is the spreading wetness beneath me and her rising up in stuttered gasps. My Narcissa Malfoy.

I want to crawl into her bed at night and tie her up, starting with those perfect ankles, shackling them to the bed, and then those translucent wrists to the headboard. I want to coat her in honey until she is one glimmering, shimmering, golden statue. Then I want to lick it off. Teeth and tongue gently laving that aristocratic neck, those collarbones, always in stark relief. Pinkish brown nipples standing to attention as the cold draft seeps through the dungeon. Lick my way down, around in and out, never touching her, always keeping her on edge until she is crying in frustration. She is so thin, so fragile. I want to break her with my touch.

I want her to lose control. I want her beneath me writhing like a steam train, plunging in and out of me, just a cool breath and my fingers, and her impaling herself on them. I want to break the Black façade, break the Malfoy demeanor, I want to take that married woman, so young and beautiful and crack her like an egg, and have the insides spill where they may. I want to piece her back together like a Mondrain.

I want to take her to the top of the Astronomy Tower and throw her off, I want to tie her up and fuck her until she screams. I want to sit beside her with a hand on the back of her chair, a smile on my face, and the knowledge that this perfect pureblood is mine. Not that damnable, arrogant bastard’s. I want to pick up Narcissa Malfoy and wipe James Potter’s face with her, him and that slavering pack of beasts and fools for friends. I want to throw the image of her down at his feet and show him why he will never have me, show him why I will never need him. Point at all his pureblood riches and laugh.

I want to breathe her, sink into her, bathe in her and eat her like an ice-cream on a cold day in November. I want to stroke satin skin and scratch my name in snow. I want to take marble and etch my name on it with acid. I want to take a branding iron and sere her until she screams. I want to mark her as mine. My Narcissa.