Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Hungry Thirsty Crazy	By : AndreaLorraine Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Lucius/Hermione Views: 47434 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 13
- 14
- 15
Author�s Note:� At
long last, here it is.� I know this
chapter took me forever � a little over a month.� I had to revise it a few times because I wasn�t
happy with the way it was turning out.�
It ended up being a very long chapter, but I�m sure you won�t mind.� The offer still stands to join the update list
by shooting an e-mail to fbs_updates@yahoo.com.� Next chapter I start responding in more
detail to reviews; I was going to do it this chapter, but I confess, I�m
knackered!� This chapter took a lot of
mental effort so I think I�m going to go relax with a glass of wine and watch
some TV.� I hope you enjoy the fruit of
my labors. ;)

They had switched places.� Hermione was the one sitting at the desk,
posed over a blank sheet of parchment, and Lucius was
perched in the windowsill lost in thought.�
He hadn�t asked her to return the sheaf of parchment that was Soif, nor did he press her about what she was doing
now.� In fact, he had been very, very
quiet on all fronts since they had reluctantly emerged from her bedroom.

He hadn�t pressed her for
anything.� Though it was clear that he
had been left in an uncomfortable state after their prolonged kissing and
touching, he had not protested her desire to come up for air.� Of course, she�d be lying if she tried to say
that she wasn�t left in an uncomfortable state, too � uncomfortably
aroused.� But she wasn�t ready to lose
complete control with him yet.� The more
she thought about it, the more grateful she was that for just one moment, Lucius�s condition had reared its ugly head and slowed her
down.

Now, as she stared into the paper,
all she could see was Ron�s face.� What did this mean?� She had thought, once upon a time, that she
was in love with Ron.� Now it seemed all
too easy to forget about him.� Was it just
this?� This isolation with Lucius?

She glanced at him.� He was staring out at the fertile world
beyond their Tuscan window.� He looked so
normal like that, pensive, unguarded�she wondered where his mind roamed.� She hoped that wherever it was, it was
pleasant, for she knew very well that there were many unpleasant things lurking
in his head.

This task was similarly
unpalatable.� She felt like Ron deserved
more than a Dear John letter.� She wanted
to be with Lucius so much that it hurt, but she
couldn�t bring herself to do it while she was still attached to Ron.��

She stared at Lucius
a while longer before saying, �If you were still married to Narcissa,
would you have separated from her before�being with me?�

�Do you want me to be honest?� he
asked, not turning away from his view.

�Yes.�

He stretched one of his legs
out.� �I don�t know.�

�You don�t know?�

�That is what I said.�� His retort didn�t have any bite to it; it was
noncommittal.

�Why?�

�I am not sure we would even be
here if I was still married,� he said.�
�It�s situational.� I can�t know
what I would have done.�

�That�s a Slytherin
response if ever I heard one,� she smiled.�
That at last drew his gaze away from the countryside.

�Perhaps.�� His eyes traveled over her, once, a knowing
sweep.� �Do you want to separate from
Ronald before you are with me?�

Hermione�s eyes widened.� �You knew all this time that I was with him?�

�No, I didn�t.� I suspected it might be the case, though, and
you have just confirmed it.�

�Then how could you just take
someone else�s woman?� she demanded.� She
wasn�t sure how to feel, as was often the case around him.

�It is not a matter of taking.� I�ve already said I can�t and won�t just take
when it comes to you.� I wouldn�t have
stopped you the other day, when you wanted to leave.�� He leaned his head against his bent knee,
watching her closely.� �It�s yourself
you�re angry at, not me.�

�I�m not angry!� she snapped.� A moment later she sighed, because she had
just proved his point.�

�I know you could care less what I
think, but he doesn�t deserve you.� He
doesn�t stimulate you, or make you feel appreciated, or give you what you
need.�

�How do you know?� she huffed,
crossing her arms over her chest.�
�You�re just saying that because he�s a Weasley
and you don�t like them.�

�I would say it whether he was a Weasley or not.� We
are in each other�s minds, Hermione.� You
have barely thought of him.�� He
frowned.� �It�s true that I don�t know
much about love, but the clich�s say that if you loved him, he would fill your
mind.� You would miss him, spend hours
pining after him, waiting until you could be reunited.� You would think of his smile.� His eyes.�
All that.�� A thought strayed past
his defenses, seeping into her mind.� I have fortunately been spared the Ronald Weasley love parade.

She cast a half-hearted glare at
him and sunk down further in the chair.�
She didn�t know what had inspired this great outburst of verbosity from
him, but everything he was saying was much too accurate.

�He�s�he just doesn�t�� she trailed
off.

Lucius
unfolded his legs from the windowsill.�
�Lovers will always come with stipulations, I think. �But some are more tolerable than others.�� He stood and advanced on her, leaning down
with his hands on the arms of the chair.�
�I want you,� he whispered, heat invading his words.� �I want every inch of you.� But I will wait for you to do what you need to
do.�� He kissed her softly on the
forehead and then retreated without another word.

She sat there, a little stunned,
for minutes that went uncounted.� She
never would have expected such patience from Lucius.� It seemed like he was taking her assertion that
he was becoming a better version of himself to heart.� It was still rather questionable of him to
have pursued her when he knew she was involved with someone, but she couldn�t
muster any anger for it.� She hadn�t
exactly resisted him.

Her own psychology confused
her.� She had been much more accepting of
this arrangement with Lucius than she ever thought
possible; Hermione of yesteryear would have found a way to have the man
arrested and thrown back in Azkaban.� But
even if she couldn�t quite fathom herself, she could see the route Lucius had taken to this point.

It had never been his intent to
actually desire her.� Those first bold
flirtations had been pure intimidation, designed to exploit his weaponized sexuality and her susceptibility to it.� Just another way to get what he wanted.� What she had nearly said to him earlier when
he obliquely accused her of using her body to get him to lift the Vow was: I�m not you, Lucius.� Whether he realized it or not, he relied on
his looks as much as any seductress and she would bet that he had used sex to
further his agenda more than once.� But
hypocrisy was never easy to spot in yourself; her exacting observation was not
something he needed when he already thought he was useless and beyond repair.

So yes, initially it had all been
an act to keep her in line.� But then,
when she had called him on his strategy, the game shifted.� Something within him shifted.� Then she had
stood up to him, tripping him on the road, and there was no more acting.� That intimidation had been real.� So had the tension radiating between
them.� He needed her, but she was too
smart for his games or his control.�
After that he had gone into full retreat.

They had circled around one
another, neither sure what to expect.�
She had fired the first shot by solving the riddle of his divorce.� Shockingly, he let that shell pierce him and
tried a new strategy in the form of earnestness.� That was his letter.� It had put them back on level ground.

Then she had upped the ante by
demanding to be called by her first name.�
But as far as he was concerned, there was taking a hit one couldn�t
avoid and there was submitting to a wound that one could.� She had no doubt that the stalemate would
have gone on indefinitely, if more comfortably, if not for her illness.

The heatstroke had placed control
firmly back in his hands.� Once he had it
back, he had promptly thrown it all away.�
He�d used her name, cared for her, sacrificed his own comfort and time,
and stayed with her until he knew she was better.� Lucius had laid
down his weapons to the advancement of fate.

Fate had cruel but purposeful
ideas.� Through pain it had pushed him
into her arms.� Through curiosity and
compassion it had made her embrace him.�
But Hermione couldn�t help thinking that right now, fate had stepped
away, leaving them entwined and teetering on the edge of the devil�s chasm that
was free choice.

With a heavy sigh, she set the
quill to the parchment.

Dear Ron,

I really need to see
you, today.� This is extremely
important.� Tell the people at your auror training that it�s an emergency.� I will vouch for you.� I don�t want to upset you; it isn�t really an
emergency, but like I said it is extremely important.� Please, be at my flat at 15:30.� I know this is short notice, so I�ll wait one
hour for you.� If you can come, but will
be later than 16:30, please owl me.

Hermione

�� Blinking,
she lowered the quill.� It had come out
in one big jumble and her hand hurt from writing so fast without any pause
except to re-dip once for ink.� She
wondered if this was what writing felt like for Lucius.� Her letter was no literary gem, that was for
certain, but it was going to determine how the rest of this plot played out�

�� She picked
it up, blew on the ink to dry it, and folded the letter.� Belatedly she realized that she didn�t have a
bird to send it with.� Bugger.� With a sigh, Hermione wandered towards Lucius�s room to ask if he knew of anywhere to get a post
owl.

�� He was
reclining in his bed reading something intently.� After a moment�s scrutiny she realized that
it was the copy of The Critiquill.� But more exciting than that, he was polishing
off the last bite of toast smeared with red jam.� There was another piece on a plate on the
night stand.� He was eating of his own
volition and without any badgering from her.�
She resisted the urge to smile because she knew it would annoy him.

�� I have a
stalker,� he said when he finished chewing.

�� I
know.� I read it.�

�� Naturally.�� He picked up the second piece of toast.� Going
to yell at me for eating in bed?

�� She smirked
at him.� Very indecorous, Mr. Malfoy.

�� My father
would�ve hided me,� he said conversationally, and then bit into the toast with
gusto.

�� Hermione
was puzzled but heartened at his odd mood.�
He could be as odd as he wanted if it meant he would take care of
himself and be generally agreeable.�
�That article doesn�t worry you at all?�
They sound pretty serious.�

�� I have no
doubt that they�re serious.� But so am
I.�

�� You are safe, right?�

�I might have lost my will to live,
but not my wits.�

�Lucius!�
she said, exasperated.� She hated when he
said things like that.

It
was past tense, you know.

Her eyes flickered up to him.� His answering gaze was subdued but meaningful.� Hermione heard the rustle of paper when he
closed the magazine and remembered why she had come in.

�Do you know where I can get a post
owl?� I have to send this.�

�The owl that I assume delivered
this,� he held up the thin magazine, �never left.� It�s out in the tree to the right of the
fountain.�

�Oh,� she said.� Well, that was fortuitous.� She turned to leave and then stopped.� �Who is P. Netherwood?�

He frowned, his demeanor instantly
changed.� �Where did you hear that name?�

�It was on the letter that came
with that magazine.� He�s the one who
sent it.� Didn�t you see the letter?�

He flipped through a few pages and
pulled out the scrap of paper.� It was
rippled with water damage, the ink blurred beyond legibility.� �If you mean this, yes, I saw it, but unless
it is a Rorschach test, I can�t do much with it.�

Memory came to Hermione in a
flash.� She had been so out of sorts from
Lucius�s absence days before that she had put the
scrap of paper down on the bag that had been wrapped around the magazine � the
bag that was soaked with drops of rainwater.�
Then she had shoved the note in the magazine without even noticing, and
there it had stayed, soaking through with the water it had picked up and making
the ink run to the point of no return.

�It was from P. Netherwood.� The signature was a stamp.� The note said something like �You might be
interested in the article on page 36�.��
She stopped and thought.� �How do
you know what a Rorschach test is?�

�I read about it in one of your muggle novels and didn�t know what it was so I looked it up
while I was in Australia.�

Ah,
so you have been nicking my books.

Ah,
he shot back, so you have been
reading my mail.

She was beaten.� Hermione contemplated him.� What he�d done to figure out the Rorschach
test was disturbingly � no, exactly � like what she would have done.

�The book,� he said suddenly, �had
some sarcastic joke about a character, saying that the only thing he could see
in a Rorschach blot was his mother.� That
sounded rather hellish to me�I wanted to know what it was and how to avoid it.�

She had to smile.� At the same time, she experienced that same
pained feeling she�d gotten when he made the joke about losing his will to
live.� She knew dark humor was healthy,
but his bordered on uncomfortably honest at best and morbid at the worst.

�So what do you see in that blot?�
she asked, nodding towards the ruined letter.

�It�s not much better than reading
tea leaves,� he snorted.� �But in this
case, I definitely see stupidity.�� He
sat up and swung his legs over the bed, standing.� �Stupidity that will be remedied
shortly.�� Lucius
brushed by her, heading out to the common area.�
As he did, he spoke over his shoulder, �Don�t send your letter yet.� I need to send one also.�

He was at the desk already
scribbling when she emerged.� Haltingly,
she set her letter down near his arm.

�Don�t read it.�

�I won�t.�

She caught a glimpse of what he was
writing.

�not like to have to
elaborate to you how precarious�

�� Who is Netherwood?�

�It is better if I don�t tell you.�

Hermione bit her lips.� Damn it.�
His secrecy wounded her.� After
all this�after everything�he felt
that he couldn�t trust her?

�Is it?� she managed, trying to
sound conversational and failing miserably.

His hand paused.� He had perceived the hurt in her voice.� Lucius sighed.

He
is my publisher.� Patrick Netherwood.

�Your publisher!� she nearly
exploded.� �And he put a name on
something he sent to you?�

�Apparently so,� Lucius said grimly.�
�Hence the stupidity.�

�Doesn�t he understand that someone
could intercept it?� Doesn�t he--�

Hermione.� The cool, calm boom of his voice in her skull
stopped the rising tide of worry.� �He
will understand by the end of this letter.�
Which will be unsigned, untraceable, and unreadable to anyone who is not
Netherwood.�

Hermione relaxed slightly.� But the worry niggled at her; what if the
damage had already been done?� She voiced
that thought and Lucius did not immediately
answer.� The quill scratched on, probably
lashing Netherwood fiercely.

�If,� Lucius
started a moment later, very calm, too
calm, �my identity has been compromised, then there is nothing I can do about
it.�� He crossed a t with a firm
slash.� �Salazar Slytherin
said that you must cross a bridge when you come to it.� He also said that before you come to it, you
should have a plan for everything that could possibly happen while you are
crossing the span.�

�But you don�t know all the possibilities,� she protested.

His mouth flattened into a hard
line and his eyes went flinty.

�I know enough.�

Hermione was at her flat.� It felt small, dark, and confined.� Crookshanks was the
only bright spot; he rubbed against her legs ostentatiously and was clearly
glad to see her.� She had spelled his
food, water, and litter box before leaving, so he was taken care of, but like
most familiars he missed his mummy when she was not present for him to
annoy.�

She was thankful for his presence,
though, as the minutes ticked by.� He
kept her attention off the clock, at least superficially.� She sat on the couch and stroked his soft but
clumpy fur, watching his puffy tail twitch from side to side.� As it passed 16:00, the thought crossed her
mind that Crookshanks was truly the only male who had
ever loved her unconditionally.

She dug her nails into his fur and
scratched just the way he liked.� The cat
purred happily and in a few minutes his eyes drooped closed.� If only Crooks was a real man and not just an
eleven pound, pug-faced ball of unruly orange fur�

Well, if Ron didn�t show up, she
would soon be describing him similarly.�
In a way she was banking on his absence, but she knew that if it
happened, it would hurt.� If he showed
up, well, she wasn�t sure she would be able to break up with him, and that
would hurt in an entirely different sort of way.� Oh, what was she doing to herself?

It was the most excruciating hour
of her life.� Maybe that was an
exaggeration, as she could recall times that were worse, but it was the
slowest, most tension-riddled hour she had passed in a long time.� But when the clock switched from 16:29 to
16:30, there was no Ron.� There was no
owl, either.� She had checked everywhere,
including outside.

Outwardly, she was calm.� She wasn�t going to do anything rash.� She checked for a third time that she hadn�t
mixed up the hour with the time difference; she hadn�t.� Then there was the possibility that Ron
hadn�t gotten the message.� Lucius had mentioned he was going to request delivery
notices to make sure their messages were received, but his in particular; she
couldn�t blame him.� The logical thing
was to floo and ask him if the letters had been
delivered.

Robotically, she moved to her floo.� She said the
password to open it to the network and then took a small handful of
powder.� Throwing it in, she said,

�Lucius Malfoy.��

That would only work for her and Smythe; Lucius had told her as
much.� Anyone else who called his name
into the floo would be referred to a house elf at the
Manor.� Sure enough, the shape of his
room at the Tuscan villa materialized as she stepped forward and stuck her head
into the green flames.

�Lucius?�

He wasn�t in the room.� However, he either heard her call his name or
the sound of the fireplace connecting.� A
moment later he strode in.

�Is everything--�

�It�s fine.� Did you get the delivery notices?�

He paused slightly at her brusque
tone.� Then he nodded.� He reached into his pocket and extracted two
scraps of parchment.

�Mr. Netherwood
received my note at 13:13 � I hope that is not an omen.� Your note was delivered at 14:06.�� He looked at the floor for a brief moment,
and then back up to her glance.� �Mr. Weasley signed for it.�

She nodded.� �Okay.��
She couldn�t think of anything else to say; her brain was blanking.� �I�okay.��
An expression of concern spread over his features, but she couldn�t bear
to see it; as he opened his mouth, Hermione stepped back out of the floo and cut the connection.� Then she disconnected the floo
from the network and walked the four steps to the couch.� And there she sat for the next thirty
minutes, numb from head to toe.

When at last her brain began to
work again, Hermione looked around the room.�
It still felt small, like a jail cell almost; all the little touches
that she�d once found heart-warming felt foreign.� There was not enough light and its aged smell
was suddenly aversive.�

Lucius
had been right.� She didn�t miss
Ron.� What she had missed in those weeks
before the life-changing run-in with Lucius was the
idea of Ron.� The security of him, of
knowing that she had someone.� The
familiarity.� She had become one of those
women who clung because they feared that there would never be anybody
else.� One of those women who thought
that a sub-par relationship was the best she was capable of having.

This entire situation was just a
microcosm of everything with Ron.� The
relationship was built on convenience � for him.� If it wasn�t important to him, it wasn�t
important.� That had never changed from
day one.� It was the way he had been
raised.� Hermione thought Molly was a
great mother; one would be hard pressed to find someone more dedicated to her
children.� However, for Ron it had
resulted in him expecting to be catered to and taken care of.� Hermione had been raised very differently.

She was an only child.� Both of her parents had successful dental
practices, and her birth hadn�t stopped either of them from working.� Hermione didn�t mind; she had always had
excellent babysitters and her parents made sure that they got to spend quality
time with her every single day.� She
didn�t feel like she had missed anything.�
However, that upbringing had made her a very independent person.� Early on she had learned that no one else was
going to solve her problems and that she was perfectly capable of taking care
of herself.� So was Ron, but why bother
if someone else would do it for you?

Up until this point, Hermione
had.� She had exasperatedly gone along
with it, except in certain cases where she put her foot down.� But it was never going to change.� Ron was never going to change.� No amount of compromise or cajoling would
work.� The bottom line was that him not
showing up when she asked him (and had explicitly indicated that it was
extremely important)�was a reflection of how much he cared about her and her
needs.��

He would deny it to the ends of the
earth.� He also wouldn�t understand why
she was angry at him in the first place; he never did in instances like
this.� She was tired of it.� There were women out there who liked to take
care of their men, who enjoying doing everything for them, being a long-suffering,
substitute mother type.� Hermione wasn�t
one of them.� As bossy as she could
sometimes be, she had no tolerance for the incompetence of others � especially
not the planned incompetence that men like Ron used.

As she was thinking, still rooted
to the couch, there was a tapping at the window.� Her head jerked up.� If Ron dared
to show up now�but it wasn�t him.� It was
an owl.� Hermione�s jaw clenched of its
own accord.� If this letter was not an
apology on par with Shakespeare, she was going to become very, very angry.

She fed the owl a treat and took
the note.� The likelihood of this letter
being anything but inflammatory was very low.�
She knew Ron.� Ron had very little
tact and even less common sense.� Those were
things you just couldn�t teach a man.

So even as she unfolded it, she
knew she wouldn�t like it.� Her hands
were already shaking in angry anticipation.�
Ron didn�t disappoint.

Hermione,

I don�t know what is
going on with you lately, but you left with no explanation and have only sent
me one paragraph of communication in the last ten days.� Now you expect me to just drop everything and
come to see you?� I�m not on vacation
like you, Hermione.� I can�t just
leave.� Today we�re working on flying
formations for aerial battles.� I can�t
miss it.� I won�t miss it just because
you decide that you finally want to talk to me at the most inconvenient
time.� I�ll try to get coverage this
weekend and come to see you then.

Ron��

�� There
was something truly terrible about people living up to your bad
expectations.� She tried to stay calm but
her mind couldn�t be quelled.� What if
there was something seriously wrong?�
What if she was his wife?� What if
she was pregnant with his children?�
Would he still refuse to see her, then?�
Would aerial formations that they would practice for weeks still be more
important?

�� She
had talked to Harry about the auror training
regimens.� She had it on his authority
that nothing was completed in one
day.� The core of an auror�s
training was practice; grueling, repetitive practice.� Ron might miss two hours of one session.� What would it matter?� They would be back out there tomorrow doing
the same formation, and whatever he missed he�d be caught up on by Harry.� The auror trainers
were lenient, knowing that many of their students had families and other
obligations.� In the aftermath of the war
they knew they were lucky that anyone
wanted to be an auror; the best way to prevent a
shortage was to be flexible and keep their trainees motivated.

�� Was
it so much to ask that he take her seriously when she said something was
important?� Was it so demanding to want
him to be where she asked, when she asked, just once?� Hermione didn�t think so.�

�� It
was pretty damned ballsy of him to send a letter forty minutes after her grace period expired, and
never mind the content of said letter.�
Ron apparently had a unique gift for insulting her and everything about
her in only a few sentences.� This letter
said, in veiled words, that this was her fault, she was impinging on his time,
her job and life were less important than his, and that what she wanted and
needed was of less meaning to him than flying formations.

�� Hermione
crumpled the letter up and transfigured it into catnip.� Crookshanks was on
it in a second, shooting out from under the couch to attack the clump of dried
green leaves.� That was about all the
letter was good for � giving Crooks a decent high.

�� She
thought about writing a response.� She
was of half a mind to do it.� However,
she thought that it would be much more satisfying if she gave no reply, let him
show up on Saturday, and then forty minutes after he arrived, sent him a letter
saying that they were through and she never wanted to speak to him again.� Lucius would be
proud.

�� Lucius�

�� Hermione
sighed.� There was no guarantee that he
was the better choice.� Then again, there
was no guarantee that he wasn�t.� He was
smart; she would never have to water herself down for him.� He could do things for himself.� In fact, she foresaw more trouble with him
trying to run her life than his own,
though perhaps he knew better.� She was
drawn to him in a way that she�d never felt with anyone else.� It was heady and dangerous; he was that kind
of man.

�� Every
woman needed at least one of those, right?�
A story for the grandchildren?� A
man who could make her feel like a goddess during the brief but wild ride.� A man who made her abandon all sense and
just�live.� That was no small task, to
make Hermione Granger shut off her mind and exist in the now.

�� It
was time to start.� She rocketed off the
couch and bent down to pick up her stoned cat.�
She didn�t know when she�d be back to her flat and she suspected that
Crooks would enjoy Tuscany.� He would have a playmate in the little orange
kitten, a nice warm windowsill to lounge on, and two people to annoy instead of
just one.� That sounded like cat heaven
to her.

�� Hermione
grabbed a few things and then set the floo to lock
after she went through.� She could only
imagine what flooing would be like for Crookshanks under the influence of catnip; the thought made
her smile as she grabbed a handful of powder and once again called out Lucius�s name.

�� She
lost her balance as she went through, of course.� And Lucius just so
happened to be sitting in the chair right near the fireplace.� In a plume of ash, she squeaked and fell into
his lap.� It was a good thing he had
quick reflexes; he dropped the book he was reading and opened his arms to
cushion her fall just in time.

�� Crookshanks was mashed between them, and under different
circumstances he probably would have clawed the hell out of Lucius.� Fortunately, his little cat brain was
completely blown by the floo and the subsequent
fall.� He was still between them, with
wide, dazed eyes, the very end of his tail twitching.

�� Hello,�
Lucius said at last, trying to suppress a smile.

�� I�m
sorry.� I didn�t elbow you or anything,
did I?�

�� No.�

�� Hermione
winced.� She was actually on his lap
sideways.� She tried to get up, but his
hands held her still.

�� Is
everything all right?� You�left suddenly
before, and this seems like it was a rather hasty trip.�

�� Crookshanks chose that moment to wiggle out from between
them and jump down to the floor.� He
didn�t land very gracefully, and when he began to walk it resembled a wave
pattern more than a straight line.� Lucius raised an eyebrow at her.

�� That�s
my familiar, Crookshanks.� He�s just had catnip.� He isn�t usually like that.�

�� He
nodded.� And my question?

�� I�m fine.

�� Another raised eyebrow.� Are you
certain?� I will understand if you need
time to yourself.� You were kind enough
to give it to me.

�� Manners.� How refreshing.

�� Really,
I�m fine.� I just�� her eyes drifted down
to the book he�d dropped to try to escape the intensity of his gaze.� �Hey!�
That�s mine.� Will you stop
nicking my books?�

�� You
haven�t given my manuscript back yet.� I
have nothing else to do.�

�� She
met his eyes again, realizing he was right.�
�Do you promise not to try to destroy it again?�

�� Promises
are a--�

�� Fool�s
contract, I know,� she bit off, irritated.�
�Where did you learn that phrase?�
Your father?�� She said it on
purpose, to jar him.�

�� It
worked.� Some of the relaxation drained
out of his face.� Yes.� He used to say that to me
when I was younger.� Nothing had any
value to him unless it was guaranteed, through blood, money, or magic.� He swallowed, looking distinctly
uncomfortable.� I guess I am more like him than I know.

�� Her
heart spasmed.�
She hadn�t meant for it to bring Lucius down,
only to remind him of the source of his ingrained response � and therefore of
its complete lack of validity.

�� You�re
nothing like him,� she said softly.

�� You
didn�t know him,� he responded.� �I was
exactly like him.� I was worse.�

�� Past
tense, you know,� Hermione intoned, echoing his sentiments from their
discussion earlier.

�� He
sighed and leaned his face into her chest.�
A moment of silence stretched.�
Then his mind said,

�� Are you going to stay with me?

�� She
lifted a hand to stroke his hair.� Her
departure had been rather cryptic before.�
He had probably spent the better part of an hour wondering if she would
come back at all.� He wouldn�t admit to
worrying, or to being massively nervous about leaving so much up to chance, but
she could feel it in his mind.

�� Hermione
twined her fingers into his pale mane and tugged gently, so that he looked
up.� Once he did, she closed her eyes and
kissed him.� As she�d hoped, his lips
chased everything away; thoughts of Ron, of how careless this was, and the
desperate little voice in the back of her mind that said he will hurt you Hermione he will ruin you if you let yourself fall
because even if he miraculously turns into a saint he is going to die he is
going to leave you and what will you have then�

�� They were breathing one
another�s air, lips millimeters apart in that drunk way that new lovers
had.�

�� I�m
staying,� Hermione whispered.� Indefinitely.

They had kissed and touched and
luxuriated in one another for nearly an hour.�
She might go so far as to say they had snogged
one another into near-unconsciousness after their resettlement to the bed.� However, Lucius�s
stomach had at last propelled them back to reality.

�� As it
rumbled again, loudly, an incredulous look moved over his face.

�� I�m�hungry,�
he said, amazed.

�� Hermione
smiled.� �That�s good.� Do you want to tell Jo-Jo to cook something?�

�� No.� Let�s go into the village.�� He pressed one more gentle, chaste kiss to
her lips and extracted the thigh that he�d worked between hers.� He winced as he stood; there was a definite
tent in his trousers that still demanded attention.� She felt much the same, though the only
tangible evidence of her roaring desire was the current saturated state of her
undergarments.

�� She raised
an eyebrow at him.� He raised one right
back.� And then he fairly tackled her
back onto the bed.� His hand was in her
knickers before she could count to three.

�� Oh�oh
God!� she nearly yelped as his fingers moved over her clitoris, sliding slickly
with her moisture.� It was like little
aphrodisiac firecrackers going off under her skin.

�� I have
wanted to touch you for weeks,� he whispered huskily in her ear.� �Taste you�make love to you...�

�� Hermione
sucked in a shuddering breath, a flush of arousal careening through her at his
words.� So much for sense and caution;
but really, it had been rather stupid of her to think that she could
participate in behaviors that ramped them both up so thoroughly and then just
walk away without any kind of completion.�
But�

�� Is it safe?

�� Lucius
smiled a Cheshire cat grin.� �If I can
kiss your mouth�I can also kiss you�� his fingers suddenly dipped lower,
between her folds to tease her opening, �here.�

�� Her brain nearly
short-circuited.� It was the look on his
face, the mischievous lust in his eyes, and some devastatingly sexy tone in his
voice.� All of it overloaded her; she
whimpered.

�� Is that a
yes?�� He was sucking on her ear, his
fingers ghosting over her clit.

�� Yes,� she
said breathlessly.� Yes yes yes yes!

�� He began his descent without
another word.� For the second time that
day, his fingers slid the straps of her dress down, peeling it away from the
skin he wanted to devour.� It being the second
time didn�t detract from the sensation when he fastened his lips around her
nipple in the slightest.� He sucked and
then flickered his tongue over the rosy, peaked skin, all the while still
tracing feather-light circles around her clitoris.� She was already breathing hard, aroused
beyond all reason.

�� He sensed
it.� He didn�t linger, working the dress
down her body with his lips in hot pursuit.�
The sight of his pale crown trailing down triggered the powerful memory
of her fantasizing a month ago.� It was
right after he had trapped her into the Vow.�
He had dreamed about her, about doing exactly what he was about to
do.� She had seen it.� Felt it.�
And then she had masturbated herself into a fine orgasmic frenzy, her
mind substituting her fingers for his tongue.

�� It was
happening.� Her dress was on the floor
and he was peeling her knickers off.� Lucius Malfoy was about to go
down on her.� He was kissing her navel
and then the spot just above the line of her pubic hair.� His hands nudged her thighs apart.� Hermione felt delirious.

�� She gasped
as he unexpectedly nuzzled between her legs and inhaled.� No man had ever done that to her, but this
was Lucius; she knew what smell meant to him.� Evidently it pleased him because a low rumble
issued from his throat.� She had no time
to reflect on what a lovely sound it was; in the next moment, his practiced
fingers parted her nether lips and he pressed a kiss to the swollen bud it
revealed.

�� His lips
were quickly followed by his tongue.� It
incinerated her; gasps quickly turned to moans under his onslaught.� He knew exactly what he was doing.� Each stroke of his tongue drew a peal of
pleasure out of her.� She had never been
so sensitive before.� She could feel the
texture of his tongue, the very slight roughness bestowed by the taste buds,
and in combination with its hot wriggling Hermione was speeding towards ecstasy
faster than she ever had before.

�� Just as she
thought she would lose it, he eased off.�
Hermione groaned in both frustration and relief; she didn�t want it to
be over so quickly, but the desire to come was overwhelming.� He teased her, sliding his tongue over the
plump lips of her sex, the inside of her thigh.�
All the while, his warm breath tickled all of her most responsive
places.� Ooh, and there he was,
fearlessly laving the skin beneath her opening � so that was her perineum.� Who
knew that little patch of skin could be so profusely innervated?� She found herself twisting against his
grip.� Even that was pleasurable;
somehow, the feeling of his strong, sure hands on her thighs just spurred her
on.�

Him, too.� He was blowing softly against the source of
her moisture.� Then her entire world
shifted on its axis with the skillful application of what was now her favorite
part of his body.� His tongue swept
around her entrance, tasting, testing, and then pushing shallowly into
her.� Merlin help her, the man could eat
pussy.

He stayed there for some time,
gamely plumbing her depths while his nose bumped most agreeably against her
clit.� She was outright squirming at his
treatment.� This was every bit as good as
she had imagined.� In fact, it was
better.� That was saying something,
because her imagination could be very powerful and it certainly had high
expectations.� You knew, Hermione
reflected, that your partner was doing a good job when your eyes were rolling
back in your skull and breathing was nearly impossible.� That was her current state of affairs.

�Lucius!�
she managed to choke out, bucking hard enough to make him lift his head.� A lazy smile speared across his face, half of
which was anointed with her arousal.

�Oh, I�m sorry,� he said silkily,
as if he were not facedown in her most private of places, �did you need to
come?�

Wicked
man!� She could have slapped him, but
settled for taking a handful of his hair and giving it a good yank.

His eyes flashed slightly, yet he
chuckled.� You can�t begin to know the ways I�ll tease you�

Good God, his words might be enough
to do her in.� He didn�t prolong the
sweet agony, though.� After taking a firm
hold of the place where thigh met hip, his lips covered the feverishly inflamed
bud of her clit and he sucked � hard.

�Oh FUCK!�� The words exploded out of her in a
shout.� It was like being struck by
lightning.� It was almost too much; it bordered on painful.� A paradoxical sob clogged her throat.� She knew she was trembling.� Her toes were curling, digging into the bed.

It was blinding her.� Separating her body from her mind�s
control.� The orgasm that was building
was thunderous.� She could feel it
curling in her loins, bunching the muscles into pleasurable contortions.� It was like a tiger waiting to spring after
its prey.

�Lucius!� Yes!� Lucius!!!�� His name
was spilling from her lips like a mantra.

Yes�say
my name�� His mind�s voice was a low,
rasping growl.� Come for me�

With ten more seconds of his
excruciating alternation of sucking and licking the over stimulated center of
her sexual satisfaction, she did.�
Everything seemed to pause for a precarious second, teetering on the
edge of absolute bliss.� Then she flew
over the side, screaming as she plummeted into a fantastic fit of raw,
spasmodic pleasure.� It went on and on
and on; Hermione felt ready to black out.

When at last it began to recede,
her hips were off the bed, her back arched, and her hands thrown up above her
head in fists.� She was breathing in
great, heaving gasps.� Lucius climbed up her body, whispering sweet words to her
that she couldn�t even process.� That was
how he gently coaxed her into relaxation.

For a few minutes there was nothing
but pleased exhaustion.� Then she opened
her eyes and looked at him.� His eyes
were drinking in the sight of her, nude and flushed and debauched in his bed.� She wanted very much to see him the same way.

Hermione pounced on him.� His eyes widened slightly in surprise at her
sudden move.� Before he could say
anything, she kissed his warm, musk-tinged lips.� That sold him; his hands propelled her on
fully on top of him, straddling his hips, and his eyes slipped shut as his
tongue sought hers.� She was probably
making a neat little puddle on his clothing where her core rested against
him.� No matter.� She kissed his chin and his jaw as she worked
on his shirt.

Damn
it buttons are the devil�s invention�!

He chuckled, reaching down to help
her.� In a few more seconds she had
pushed the pesky fabric obstruction away and the lovely planes of his chest
were open to her.� She wanted to put her
lips and hands all over him, but first�an experiment.

She trailed her mouth along his
neck.� It had felt so good to do it the
first time they kissed, to feel his pulse pound along her lips.� This time was no exception.� There was something inherently erotic in
kissing and being kissed on the neck; perhaps because it was such a vulnerable
spot, a place that no one would have access to without a certain level of
intimacy.� However, that wasn�t her
ultimate goal.� It was time to see if Lucius�s initial attack on her ear so many weeks ago was a
reflection of his own desires.�

Oh, yes.� That was nothing short of magic.� His lips fell open and his blues fluttered
under pale lashes.� When she applied her
tongue, his entire body twitched beneath her.�
In half a minute she had him breathing very heavily.� His hands were trailing up and down her back,
his nails biting very lightly into the soft skin.

She had never been like this with a
man.� She had never wanted to kiss every
inch of anyone else.� But the need burned
in her now; she wanted to stimulate every pale acre of Lucius�s
skin, from his forehead to the soles of his feet.

I
don�t think I can survive that.

He had heard her thought.� She was probably torturing him.� He had been aroused for nearly ninety minutes
with no relief.� Hermione gave him an
apologetic little smile.� Her exploration
could wait.� Right now he needed
completion.� He needed to come as hard as
she had; she wouldn�t be satisfied with anything else.

With an excited tremor in her
hands, she reached for his trousers.� He
tensed.

�Hermione��

�You�re not a leper,� she
said.� �I can touch you.� I want to touch you.�

A trace of misery invaded his
features.� �I want it, too, but I haven�t
had the chance to speak to Smythe yet.�� He reached up to smooth his knuckles along
her cheek.� �The thought of infecting
you�I can�t�it would kill me.�

�You won�t.�� She kissed the back of his hand, fighting the
sadness that wanted to rise in her chest.

He gave her a crooked little
smile.� �After I talk to Smythe, you can touch me all you want.�

Hermione felt like crying.� �I��

I
just want to make you feel how you made me feel.

His hands tangled in her hair and
drew her down.� Lucius
kissed her thoroughly.� He was so adept
at fogging her brain and driving rational thought away�� When he pulled back he cupped her jaw, his
thumb tracing across her lower lip as his eyes pierced hers, sure and
passionate.

�You already have.��

The sentiment warmed her, but still
it wasn�t enough.� Lucius
had been denying himself for so long.�
She wanted him to feel good.� She
wanted him to forget that he had this stupid disease.� He was moving about the room, trying to
distract himself from the desire that drew them together like magnets.� She was stubbornly lying in his bed, still
nude, trying to tempt him back into her arms.

He looked up, leaning against the
back of a chair, and gave a rueful and slightly pained smile.� �My strategy is not working.�

�What strategy is that?�

�Thinking of absolutely horrible
things to calm myself down.�

�Don�t do that,� she said, propping
up on her elbow.� With a settling breath,
Hermione prepared to say something and hoped he wouldn�t be offended by
it.� �If you�re too worried about me
touching you, then why don�t you just touch yourself?�

He blinked, a little surprised.� �You�would not think that inappropriate or
selfish?�

She laughed, exasperated.� �Lucius, you just
had your face in my vagina and you�re asking me about appropriateness?� And why would it be selfish?�

His lips twitched, barely
containing a smirk.� �Well, there isn�t
anything in it for you.�

�There�s plenty in it for me.� I get to watch a gorgeous man touch himself
and know that he�s thinking of me while he does it.�� She rolled out of bed in what she hoped was a
seductive way and crossed the room.�
There was no denying the way his eyes traveled up and down her body,
silently feasting.� He let her take hold
of his still-unbuttoned shirt and drag him back into bed.

To emphasize her point, she undid
the button on his trousers and carefully lowered the zipper.� He groaned in relief as it eased some of the
pressure on his erection.� He wasn�t kidding
when he said his strategy wasn�t working.

�At least, you better be thinking
of me.�� She smiled and gave her newly
unearthed treasure a gentle squeeze through his much put-upon boxers.

�Ah,� he sighed at the touch.� �I think I can manage that.� You�re sure?�

Hermione nodded.� �I�m sure.��
She settled against his side and kissed his ear.� �It will be�educational, because I�ll be able
to see what you like, and practice it on you after Smythe
gives us the go-ahead��

�Mm hm,�
he murmured, wiggling his hips so that his trousers slouched down.� �Go on��

�And maybe later, you can watch
me.�

His hand was sliding down his fine
abdominals, dipping below the waistband of his boxers.� �And then I can practice on you?� he said,
his fingers stroking up and down the length that the last bit of clothing
obscured.� Hermione almost couldn�t think
as she watched his hand stray lower, to fondle his testicles beneath the
fabric.

�You�re a tease,� she breathed,
riveted.

�I didn�t hear you complaining.�

�That�s because my thighs were clamped
over your ears.�

He laughed, a deeply satisfied
chuckle.� And more than watching him
reacquaint himself with his estranged sexuality, his smile spurred a profound,
gratifying, and distinctly quivery feeling inside her.� She supposed that that was what people
referred to as �the warm fuzzies.�� Merlin help her.

Yes, Merlin help her, because he
was squirming out of his clothes as gracefully as he could.� In a short minute he was gloriously
nude.� She had seen him before, but not
like this.� Not purposefully nude, ready
to give and receive pleasure, to ratchet their level of intimacy up to
something breathtaking but indefinable.

He pulled her back against his side
and a pulse of pleasure shot from his mind to hers at the feeling of skin on
skin.� She could feel how much he wanted
to roll on top of her, to rub every inch of his body along hers.� With an expression that was mildly tortured,
he reached for the erection that rested like organic steel against his abdomen.

Hermione�s breath caught as he
grasped the rigid length.� Words like
�beautiful� didn�t really apply to a man�s misguided center of pride.� The best thing she could think of to compare
to Lucius at full arousal was the sensation of quiet,
slightly fearful awe one experienced when in a new and fascinating place.� He was definitely fascinating�

This was much hotter than she had
initially thought it would be.� Watching
him treat himself to slow, firm strokes, his eyes closed and his chest rising
in gradually quickening breaths, was completely intoxicating. �She tried to pay attention to those
educational things; how tightly he squeezed, the pace, where he enjoyed the
touch most, but she couldn�t seem to keep a thought inside her head.� She could only watch him, her own arousal
building exponentially.

He turned his head.� Kiss
me.

Hermione complied, glad to have
something to do.� His lips were patient
and slow, the way his hand was as it worked his erection.� Perturbed with the vengeful tide of sexual
energy he�d stoked in her, she lifted her chin, pressing her lips more fully
against his and letting her tongue stray out to taste him.� She mapped the creases of his upper lip, the
front of his teeth, and at last the tip of his tongue as it met hers.

If she had been wearing knickers,
they would have melted from the subsequent kisses.� As it was, she was surprised she didn�t have
a spontaneous orgasm when he moaned softly into her mouth.� He pulled away a second later, breathing
heavily.� He murmured something.

A lubricating spell.� His hand was moving more easily over his
thick cock.� Hermione had to bite her lip
very hard to keep from reaching out to help him.� She wanted to make him scream.� She wanted to touch and taste and slide down
over that turgid length until he shattered and completely lost control.

This wasn�t enough.� This wasn�t wrenching his mind free of its
earthly moorings like his treatment had done for her.� She couldn�t just watch.� She had to touch him; the desire was becoming
so strong that something wild was pushing against her judgment.� How could she�oh!� It came to her in a stroke of genius.�

Hermione smiled and hoped it didn�t
look too predatory.� With an attempt to
calm herself, she retreated into her brain and reached out for him
mentally.� The connection was instant and
shivery, making both of them inhale sharply at the same time.� His eyes flew open, struggling to focus on
her.

Then she pushed that button, the
one she had discovered during their first kiss.�
That shot of psychic bliss.� His
entire body jumped and a ragged gasp escaped him.� Yes.�
One step closer to the Lucius she wanted to
see, the man twisting among the sheets in ecstasy.

Step two.� Hermione let the erotic sight of him spur her
mind.� She created images of things she
wanted to do to him.� Of things she was
sure he�d like to do to her.� She had
always had a good imagination, in spite of her logical grounding.� Sure of what her visions would do to him, she
let them flow past her barriers and into his mind.

The effect was instantaneous.� His neck arched back and his free hand fisted
in the sheet.� She watched him hungrily,
gradually escalating the images.� The
dream-sight of her on her knees sucking his cock enthusiastically had him
moaning low in his throat and increasing the speed of his tight-fisted
ministrations.� She could see a pearly
white bead on the tip of his cock; orgasm was not so far away.

She would push him to it.� She envisioned every way she wanted to be
with him, every position, every place, starting with the bed they were in.� There was missionary here, her legs locked
around him as he pounded into her, her on top out on the lounge chairs in front
of the fountain � and he really liked
that idea, for the muscles in his thighs spasmed and
his hips rose to his strokes, which were faster and harder than they had been
before � against the wall in the loo, just before a
morning bath�

What finally did him in was the
powerful image of her draped over his desk, the one he wrote on, while he took
her from behind.� His breath
hitched.�

�Oh God.� Oh yes.�
Yesssss�!�

He was trembling, his face
crunching up.� He was going to come.� With a few more brutal, practiced strokes, he
was lost.� He climaxed with a loud,
beseeching cry, a sound that made her insides clench with need.� So, too, did the look on his face as his seed
spurted hotly over his belly and between his still-moving fingers in relentless
surges.� It was sheer, undiluted rapture:
eyes rolled back, brow creased, mouth open in a soundless scream.� That was an image she would never forget,
along with the sight of his cloudy essence dripping down the back of his hand
as he writhed and shuddered through the last seizures of orgasm.�

She could not say how long it was
before she regained the ability to do anything but stare at him.� They were both breathing hard.� He seemed unable to move for a moment, just
laying there with his hand still loosely clasped around his spent manhood.� Then, as if someone had suddenly reactivated
his brain, he relinquished his grasp.� A
slight look of distaste crossed his features as he noticed the stickiness that
bathed his hand.

�Feel better?� she asked.� Her throat was dry from what she�d just
witnessed.� She was still humming with
need.� Damn her mind and its bright
ideas.

�Much,� he murmured, dazed.� �You are�a naughty little witch.�

�I heard that�s what you liked,�
she responded playfully.

�Did you?�� He smiled slightly, but it reached his eyes
in a way that it hadn�t in the last few days.�
She simply stared at him for a few moments.� He stared back, clear-eyed and tranquil, and
her heart did that disturbing spasm thing again.� A devil-may-care expression crossed Lucius�s flushed face.�
�Why don�t you give me my wand so I can clean this up, and then I can
give you a little relief?�� He leaned
close to her ear, nipping it.� �I know how
turned on you are.�

�� Hermione
squirmed away and reached for his wand.�
It didn�t feel quite so strange in her hand this time.� He cast a quick Scourgify,
banishing the evidence of his orgasm, and then decisively leaned into her neck.

�I thought you were hungry,� she
squeaked under the onslaught of his lips and his hand caressing her breast.

�There are many kinds of hunger,�
he purred.� �Some outweigh others.�

God, she wanted him.� But this was bordering on perilous.�

Lucius, I won�t be able to control myself if we keep going.� I�ll make you do things that could be
dangerous.

She meant it, too.� Thankfully, it took the wind out of his
sails.� His hot, open-mouthed kisses
turned to the gentle tickle of breath on her neck, and his hand slid from her
breast down to her ribs.

You�re
right.� After I see Smythe�

Wordlessly, they curled around each
other.� Fifteen minutes of stupefied
relaxation followed.� Enveloped by him,
his smell filling her nose, she felt her lust cool into muted
anticipation.� His stomach rumbled again
and Hermione couldn�t resist smoothing her fingers over his abdominals, as if
she could comfort the protesting organ beneath.�
His hand covered hers and brought it up to his lips.� Just then, there was a hesitant knock at the
door.� They exchanged a glance, one that
was glad that the knock hadn�t come earlier.�
Lucius pulled the sheet up over their bodies
and said,

�� Enter.�

�� Jo-Jo poked
an apprehensive head into the room.� �Er, Healer Smythe sent a package
for Master and Miss.�

�� For both
of us?� Lucius asked, a note of curiosity in his
voice.

�� Yes.�

�� He held out
a hand and Jo-Jo levitated a modest-sized box to the bed.� After asking the elf to bring them some
water, Lucius opened it and pulled out two envelopes.

�� There�s
one for each of us.�� He held an envelope
out to her.� Perplexed, Hermione took it
and extracted the letter.� It was several
pages long, but the first one was graced with only two lines:

��

Dear Miss Granger,

Is it still
presumption if it turns out to be right?

�� Her mouth fell open.� The cheek!�
So what if Smythe had been right?� He didn�t have to rub it in her face.� And how would he know, anyway?� She shook her head, leafing through the other
pages.� They looked to be a series of
protective spells, designed so that she could engage in just about any sexual
behavior with Lucius without any worry of disease
transmission.� The last page made her
blush and feel a little bit nauseous at the same time; what kind of people did Smythe think she and Lucius
were?� She would never do that, but,
well, she couldn�t fault the healer for being thorough.

�� What on
earth?� Lucius looked confused.

�� What does
yours say?� she asked.

�� He handed
it to her.

Lucius,

Glad to see you are
feeling better.� Add an Unbreakable charm
and a No-slip spell and you�re back in action.

�� �Add an Unbreakable charm to what?� he asked.

�� Hermione
frowned.� �What else is in the box?�

�� Lucius reached in and pulled out a smaller box.� Hermione had to stifle a giggle.

�� Thirty-six
lubricated latex condoms?� he read.�
�What the hell are--�

�� I�ll tell
you after dinner,� she replied.

�� And the
whole walk into town, she couldn�t keep the smile off her face.��

�
- 13
- 14
- 15
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Hungry Thirsty Crazy