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A Price for Happiness

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A Price for Happiness

 

Malfoy Manor, August 7th, 2011

Draco rearranges the covers around his son. The little boy was utterly exhausted after his anniversary, so he had fallen asleep the second he got to bed, before his father had the chance to sit on his bed for the usual story.

His son is eight tonight. And he still barely believes he was allowed this much happiness, even as he combs the silvery tresses off his child’s forehead.

A shadow disturbs the amber light that draws a rectangle on the floor. There’s a figure in that rectangle now. He doesn’t have to turn to know that it’s her, but he does turn slightly nonetheless when the smell of her perfume reaches him, just before her hands get a hold of his neck and shoulders. He leans into her touch, into her scent, into her body. He is inebriated by the smell of orange blossom that her skin exudes.

“Is he asleep?”

“Deeply,” he replies, getting up and turning so that he can look her in the eye, “why do you ask?” There’s a mischievous tweak to his lips, one she mimics perfectly as she laces her arms around his neck and pulls him closer.

Her kiss is the only answer he needs. He his lost in the feel of her lips, plush and soft, tender and welcoming, of her tongue when he finds it, deepening their kiss. His hands are on her back, making sure there isn’t a single atom between their bodies.

They break only when they absolutely must, faint from the lack of oxygen, dizzy with desire. Astoria stands on her tiptoes to kiss lightly and whisper in his ear,

“I have something for you,” she kisses him again, just under his ear lobe, and walks away from his embrace, “just give me a second.”

He stands there, feeling the emptiness between his arms, feeling the heat pool within him. He takes a glance over his shoulder, making sure his son is still peacefully asleep, and then he makes his way out of the room, shutting the door quietly.

He takes long strides to the double doors of their chambers, left open by her. He stops only inside their bedroom, alone in the blue surroundings, looking around, trying to discern her presence, hidden in the shadows the moon allows them. His ice blue eyes scan every nook.

He takes off his robes and throws them carelessly onto an armchair. He’ll play along. He hears a click, a faint little sound that compels him to turn towards it. The bathroom door comes ajar, but there is no light for him to see her with. The sound of her movements is different though, he can tell she is no longer wearing her dress robes from earlier.

She comes to him wearing her coral nightgown. It’s loose, made of light layers of fabric that wave about her body, offering only glimpses of her shape. He can make the shape of her shoulders, the swell of her breasts, and the curve of her hips. She is a vision, some ancient goddess that decided to come for him tonight.

He will worship her tonight, that most cherished creature, those expanses of flesh that he so desires.

She claims his lips once more, he claims her waist at first, but soon realizes his hands cannot possibly be still on her body, so he uses them to map all the places on her body that he intends to kiss, later, enjoying the feeling of the smooth fabric sliding over her skin under his hands.

“You do realize,” he tells her between kisses, “that changing was absolutely unnecessary for what we’re about to do.”

She giggles into their kiss. Astoria is more than a little aware of just how much her husband likes undressing her, of how he reverently looks at every bit of her that he uncovers. She unbuttons his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders, kissing his pale chest while keeping a hand over his heart. He is busy kissing a path down her neck, into the hollow behind her clavicle, palming the flesh of her breasts, teasing her nipples through the fabric.

He decides he’s had enough of the silky garment his wife wears, so he lifts it over her head. He is frozen in place then, taken aback by her. He was expecting underwear, the lacy, fragile kind that Astoria prefers, but she stands before him in all of her naked splendour. He tenderly takes hold of her hips, utterly lost in her warm brown eyes, smiling.

His smile is gone the very second she touches the evident bulge on his pants, his lips forming an ‘o’ as all air leaves his lungs and his eyelids shut. She kisses the base of his neck as she gets rid of his belt, but he doesn’t wait for her to start working at the placket of his trousers. He undoes it in haste, pushing the trousers down with his underwear, captive of a thirst he has to quench, captive of the only creature that can sate it. He kicks his shoes off, using his toes to get rid of his socks too, while Astoria caresses his back and his arms, and he buries his hands on her hair, raising her face to his, so that he can kiss her properly.

She lightly scratches his back, making him growl. He kisses her until she moans for mercy. She’s panting, her cheeks darker in the sparse light of the room.

Draco pushes her towards the bed, their bodies tangling together in anticipation. He lays her on the covers, but as she moves further up the bed, he stops her. He gets down on his knees, kissing a path up her thighs, massaging them as he goes. Then he lifts them, placing her long limbs on his shoulders and kissing her below her navel.

Astoria shivers at the feeling, arching her back. Then she succumbs to his ministrations, letting her body fall back, her fingers digging into his hair. He works her to the very brink of completion, and leaves her gasping for it, twice, before he lets her finish. She is barely aware of her surroundings as she moves further up the bed and he moves atop her, predatorily.

Draco enters her swiftly, without giving her time to recover, but he stops long enough for Astoria to open her eyes. He starts moving again, slowly, when she caresses his face with both hands, dragging him down to the never ending mysteries of her warm brown eyes, trying to break his resolve to take his time. There’s a metallic tang to his tongue and, relishing on the knowledge that she put it there, she sucks on it to the tempo of his thrusts, still slow and purposeful.

“Astoria,” he breaks the kiss, forcing his body to keep the same cadence “tell me you took your potion.”

She doesn’t reply so he thrusts into her at an angle, faster, getting her to open her eyes and gasp. He lowers his body, and whispers in her ear,

“I need an answer. Now,” he growls at the way she is starting to clench around him, “Astoria, tell me-”

“I didn’t. No, don’t stop,” she locks her legs around his hips, changing the angle and robbing them both of words for a moment, “I didn’t because I want another child, Draco.”

“Astoria, we can’t,” he stops moving, but she uses her legs and his waist as leverage to keep moving on him herself.

“We can, it will be alright.” Her legs lock even tighter around him, her hips rocking against his, utterly lost in her desire.

He wants to stop, to end this madness that very instant. He cannot lose her, he cannot risk her. Not after what happened with Scorpius. Still, the smell of her, those lips of her on every inch of his skin she can reach, it all tells him to keep going. His body is jerking on its own, unable to remain static.

He succumbs to her pleasure, in the end. She is moaning, low in her chest, writhing beneath him, her body pulsing with passion, clinging to him, pulling herself up towards him. He gives into her completely then, drinking the moans from her mouth and trusting in earnest, finding his completion, getting unreservedly lost in the white oblivion that comes with it.

Astoria is petting his hair when Draco regains his senses properly. His forehead is the curve of her neck, his hands are on her breast and waist. He wants to move off her, worried that he may be hurting her with his weight, but she still hasn’t unlocked her legs behind him.

“Astoria, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. It’s too risky, I can’t-”

She steals his words with a kiss, locking his eyes with hers.

“We both want it. Don’t deny it,” her eyebrows sketch perfect arches over her eyes, “I know you do. I’ve seen the way you look at babies when there’s a gathering.” She kisses him once more, softly.

“I would like another child, but I could never ask it of you. It took you so long to recover after Scorpius…”

“But I did, I recovered and I’ve never felt better in my entire life. It will be alright, Draco. It will.”

He just hopes that she is right, as he lies down beside her, cradling her in his arms. He hopes the curse in her blood, in her bones, will be lenient once more, and let him have happiness; even after all he has done to prove himself unworthy. He flinches at that last thought. Against all hope and everything that is wise, he wants more. He craves more and hopes the price is not her.