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With Good Intentions	By : T-W-O Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Lucius/Hermione Views: 12260 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I own nothing of HP nor do I profit in any way from these missives. I almost own the house I'm writing this fanfic in, tho'.

Chapter List
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The hiatus hadn’t sat well with either party. Tensions ran high in the cottage. Winky and Kreacher had never made so many chocolate syrup and fyrewhiskey purchases in their long lives.

“Narcissa —” the spoiled husband of both women whinged.
“If Hermione can do this, you have no reason to complain. It’s been days, Lucius — not months.”
“I don’t see why —” he tried again.
“If you were thinking with the head I can see, you’d realize the timing must be perfect. A bit more time will only improve your odds. This is your plan, I might remind you. Now cease your whinging; Hermione’s had the worst of it.”
“Are we nearly done?” he inquired, with real concern for his wife.
“Yes. She’s managed to keep them all down, though Merlin knows how. You’re winning, Lucius; don’t fuck it all up.”

Turning away from the painted and unsympathetic harpy still running (or ruining) his life, the randy Lord muttered,

“As if ‘fucking’ of any kind is occurring on these premises…”

The book caught him near his nape and left a reddened area.

“We heard that, Lucius!”

This night the petulant Lord of the Temporary Manor drowned his sexual sorrows in their salon, surrounded by years of Hermione’s legal notes and case references, when he’d rather be surrounded by his wife's long, shapely legs exercising her marital rights on his willing body.
Waiting for Hermione’s complicated potions to work had him wearing her abominable birthday gift to him — “sweat” pants — to give himself room. For days unending his unyielding erection tolerated no material on his skin; any touch set off agony up and down his spine of the most excruciating kind. Whatever that squib doctor of hers concocted (in that “little blue pill” she shoved down his throat every day) left his bits aching and his formerly handsome cock near purple in color (his wife having the gaul to describe it as “more like eggplant, rather than a true purple”; he’d almost strangled her). The relief he sought awaited the evidence that the potions she took had reached their peak effect in her body (having been specifically crafted for this part of their insurrection by Hermione — with ample assistance from Malfoy wife #1's library of forbidden magics and purloined from Grimmauld Place by an almost gleeful Kreacher).

Halfway to piss-faced, the platinum blond snake nearly missed his wife enter the salon with a gentle smile and an outstretched hand.

“It’s time, Lucius.”

The dead member of the revolutionary committee had drilled her spoilt ex-husband to be patient, to recognize Hermione’s discomfort from all the potions, to treat her like a virgin on her weddings night — no matter how aroused or how needy he found himself.

Not a word of Narcissa’s lectures made its way through what was left of his thinking brain.

In a haze of sexual compulsion, Hermione’s “old man” charged off the settee — casting some spell with a finger wave behind him all while scooping his wife off her feet to plant her briskly onto her back and into the expanding cushions.

“LUC!’ she squeaked as she tumbled backwards, unused to his loss of control over his carnal self but not displeased to see the master of seduction coming sexually unglued.
“Apologies, wife, I’ve been without you too long. Thank that blue poison pill of yours for my haste!”

A spell hit Hermione, accelerating and increasing the flow of lubrication between her thighs. If the prat were in his right mind, he’d have known the precaution was unnecessary.

“Lucius, please be careful,” she warned as she hurriedly lifted her gown rather than have him rip it off of her.

She hadn’t moved fast enough — her wedding night knickers ripped so loudly the sound reverberated upstairs to Narcissa’s room. The portrait’s real-time admonition to “slow down” (yelled at the widower from her bedroom hanging place) went unheard by the man who lay partially atop Hermione, steering his over-stuffed member up and down her blood-engorged clit. Lucius wasn’t the only one wound up like a Swiss clock movement.

“I won’t hurt you except in ways we’ll both enjoy. You’ll get no rest tonight, my love, as I’ve had none from this pendulous feverish flesh painfully trapped between my thighs. Open your legs, wife.”

Whether from his pre-ejaculate or her lubrication, Lucius found himself hydroplaning in warm slickness, letting him set a rhythm well before he entered her. With a clockwise rotation of the hand guiding his cock, Hermione’s agitated inamorato inserted his middle two fingers deep within her. The resistance he felt acted as a braking system to his haze of lust.

“You’re so tight, love. I won’t last long when I enter.”

Those two fingers worked her g-spot, raising a thin patina of perspiration on her skin as the stimulation swamped her nervous system in pleasure signals. Thanks to the long list of techniques her older lover applied before his involuntary carnal hiatus, Hermione loved sex and making love — and she well knew the difference between them. Each moan from her brought a grunt in response; each breathy keen as her body arched into his provoked sucks, nips and bites from him that would leave visible marks of possession.
Deeply invested in their mutual pleasure, Lucius raised the bar by rocking his hips to sustain the intense frottage while his fingers increased the pressure inside her and his thumb tantalized the lower portion of her clit. His entire face invested itself in foreplay with her plumper breast, going beyond sucking and licking to prickly tickling from his 5:00 o’clock silky stubble and side-to-side massage with his aristocratic nose. The pace pushed her to catch up to where he’d been for the last week or more.

“I’ll be inside you very, very soon…” he groaned out as he stopped long enough to prevent spilling on her pubis.

Thanks to her own potion-altered state of arousal, Hermione was rocketing towards her own release at about 600 mph.

“Make sure — oh, Merlin!” she exhaled as the seam on his distended lower head slithered past a particularly tender part of her bulging lower lips and wiped the remainder of her instructions from her mouth, “Right there!”

The percussive pulse inside her most secret place gave him the best indication that playtime needed to end so that grown-up time could begin.

“Rub yourself,” he directed so that his hands could remain free as he maneuvered to support himself over her slight frame.

Knowing exactly where to light her own fuse meant Mrs. Malfoy (the Gryffindor) vaulted upward at nearly the same moment her husband plunged downward, yanking guttural utterances from both that echoed throughout the house. Kreacher and Winky apparated from their quarters (behind the kitchen) to the attic to get away from the sounds of unrestrained mating.
Hermione shrieked in overwhelming pleasure causing Lucius to spill himself inside her — his delivery portal pinned itself against the entrance to her womb as the organ mechanically sucked his seed up and in. Thanks to their individual chemical support systems, both lovers experienced extended bliss with muscles coiled and contracting outside of their control for a very long time.
Finally, with a bellow that shook the rafters, Lucius emptied the last of his load into his wife as she repeatedly attempted to close her legs to block him from remaining in an area too raw for further touch.

Lowering most of himself to the side, her patient lover reappeared, kissing her face, neck and ears to make her return to reality as pleasant as possible (when descending from somewhere near the stratosphere).

“That was…” Hermione began before running out of words.
“…well worth the wait. And we shall do this again very shortly…” Lucius finished with a gentle stroke of his rock-hard cock between her sex-slick thighs.
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With Good Intentions