Disclaimer: I own neither the series nor the characters.
Summary: AU; Bellatrix propositions Sirius to join the Death Eaters. He doesn't exactly have the willpower to decline her solicitation.
Warning(s): Substance abuse; bondage; mature references.
Seduction, Smoke
"…Well, if this shit ain't fire,
Then why nod with it?
The hate in your blood
Can't stop your soul
From vibing with it…"
J. Cole, "Rise and Shine"
Sirius shuddered as she straddled him in the chair, pressing her thin lips to his, forcing him to swallow the smoke. Rope bound his pale hands to the back of the chair and his feet to the floor. Sweat from his long, curly black hair dripped onto his bare shoulders. He was freezing.
He'd seen the last of Hogwarts months ago, yet here he was in the dungeons again, against the stone cold walls, not too far from cold hearted snakes.
Bellatrix patrolled the space, carelessly holding the pipe between two long fingers as her maniacal laughter assaulted his eardrums.
No…this wasn't the dungeons. The cold hearted snakes, though, had retired for the night.
This was library of 12 Grimmauld Place. Colder than the rest of the house, the place was a habitual dwelling to Orion Black, a man more interested in mistresses—and Sirius couldn't blame him, really, Walburga was literally hell in stilettos—and cigars than anything else.
His head unconsciously fell to his chest.
Orion and Walburga, thrilled their disappointment finally graduated, called themselves hosting a celebration in his honor. If nothing else, said "festivities" were a telling mark of how little the pair knew of their son. All they did was organize another bloody ball with the people he hated most.
He cursed himself. Foolish, he had been, rejecting the many opportunities to disassociate himself from The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.
Now he was trapped. Addicted to her. To it.
"Come away with me, Sirius." Andromeda pleaded, finding him disoriented one late night in a Manchester bar. Tears swam in dark brown orbs, concern engraved on beautiful patrician features as she examined him, analyzing what the fuck happened to her beloved cousin. Grey pupils dilated beneath drooping eyelids; hands shook uncontrollably; words slurred.
"Bellatrix did this." Fire burned as Andromeda spoke the name of the woman she so closely resembled. The Blacks were, no doubt, hopelessly fucked. Racist. Power-hungry. Incestuous. But Bellatrix took the meaning of "fucked up" and expanded on its definition. She was why Andromeda left, after all. Naively so, everyone believed she ran off just for the hell of it.
What a cock and bull story. Andromeda was as Slytherin as Bellatrix, but her ambition was different. Bellatrix wanted fame in one day being noted as the Dark Lord's right hand. She, unlike Narcissa, couldn't care less in getting dolled up. Andromeda, on the other hand, dreamt of the day she would breathe, "I do" to Antonin Dolohov." Andromeda's future should have mocked those of her sisters, for Andromeda would have boasted what neither sibling could produce. Along with being the wife of, arguably, the country's most attractive pureblood and, simultaneously, the envy of every woman, Andromeda would have children, whereas barren Bellatrix could not—and they would be dark haired with chiseled features, a feat Narcissa could hardly hope to accomplish, given her and Lucius's genetics.
The lot of Andromeda's aspirations erupted in a firestorm of despair and hopelessness. Sirius saw the change. His aunt and uncle attributed her erratic behavior and developed curtness to "teenage rebellion," oblivious to the tyranny of their eldest child—a monster repeatedly employing Muffliato to transform her near doppelganger sister into a junkie. Andromeda lost weight and become increasingly secluded. She raided Bellatrix's bedroom and went mental if unable to acquire the source. The Healers, fearful of what suffering the Blacks would bring down on their heads should they dare suggest a Black was substance dependent, lied and blamed "seizures." Dolohov kicked her to the curb, sensitively sighing, "There's a ward in St. Mungo's for people with your...condition." And so, Ted was Andromeda's liberty—a diversion—from the harsh realities of her life. She never imagined marrying a muggleborn, reduced to birthing his plain-faced offspring. Although the years eventually fostered love, but bitterness lingered. Andromeda envied her peers, the lives of the elite. She was a Black, destined for unity with another aristocrat—a Greengrass, a Zabini, a Crouch—not a commoner, a Tonks.
Sirius retained a deadpanned expression as her fingers enclosed around his wrist. She'd known, long before she found him high and wasted. Sirius had a feeling Andromeda had always known what was happening.
"Bugger off, Andromeda." He retorted, jerking away. He was furious at how calm and collected her words had been, as if such a decision could be made so—so lightheartedly. In case you've forgotten, I've a month left at school and then I'm on my own. As a Black." He added viciously. It's central that his message sinks in—that his words are painful and leave her heart stinging. It's wrong, but Sirius can't be at peace unless Andromeda's thinks it's her fault. She opted to run out on the family and Bellatrix overlooked Narcissa and Regulus, singling him out as the weakest link.
Andromeda made him a predator magnet.
Tonight, the predator once more captured her prey. Most women would've been pleasuring their husbands at this hour, but Bellatrix was the exception to the rule.
Flames, maybe a thousand, illuminated the room.
But hellfire itself could not liquefy the century-old ice of Black Manor.
Sirius lifted his head and Bellatrix, watching the lion's eyes spark, turned swiftly. She wrapped her hand painfully tight around Sirius's throat and he swore loudly, bucking in the chair, convinced a vein had been punctured.
"Well, well, well. About to change, were you?" she drawled lazily, purposely dragging her nails to his chest, scratching him, grinning at the fruits of her labor. "I'm beautiful, Sirius." Her words were excruciating, like a rake scraping a chalkboard. "If you want me, Sirius, take me. But as a Black man, not that dingy dog. There are some things even we Blackswon't do."
Sirius averted his eyes, furious with himself. He knew it's wrong to stare, but a woman smoking just looked so…so…so alluring.
This was unhealthy.
"I want it."
Bellatrix smirks. "I know." He's keen to her sly words. Christ! She couldn't be serious for two sodding minutes, could she? Whenever he needed to get high, she needed to copulate.
He retaliated by roaring, literally; his own indignation overwhelmed his senses, holding his tongue. Sirius was a child again, incapable of speaking proper English. What Bellatrix wanted, Bellatrix got. Sirius was sleeping, crimson sheets pulled over his head, when she infiltrated his room. She ripped the covers from his body, tore the shirt from his chest and dragged him downstairs. She handled him in exactly the same manner as rapists did to the unsuspecting. The only difference was that Sirius did expect him. He didn't know when, but he knew she'd come back for him. This woman took far too much joy in manipulating his mind, in rocking his world, in ascertaining how he'd react. This little pastime of hers may have been acceptable in the old days, but enough was enough.
Bellatrix was twenty-five.
"Your husband would be shocked to know you fancy being bedded by your own kin."
"You've lost nothing in wagering that assessment, love." Bellatrix cooed, ruffling black, unruly curls which are so like her own. "I expect what shocks my husband could fill several books."
She snaked her arms around him from behind, allowing her head to rest on his wounded chest.
"The Dark Lord asks after you, dear." She whispered, tone sensuous. It is enough to drive him mad. He merely nods, the hair beneath his chin tickling Bellatrix's fingers as awaits his response.
Sirius stayed silent, weighing his options before speaking too quickly. On the one hand, joining the Dark Lord's ranks would be a massive "fuck you" to the parents who never believed in him. He could have Bellatrix in Lestrange's bed and get a daily laugh in how thick the great oaf was.
Might that corrupt path destroy him in the end, though? Sirius didn't exactly sympathize with the lower class, but what this regime did was extreme. Could he sleep peacefully at night, if instructed to commit such atrocities?
Mind versus morality.
The classic Catch-22.
"You needn't worry." He articulated after a while. Bellatrix noticeably relaxed, appreciatively patting the markings on his chest.
"I was worried." She hesitantly admitted, wand tip pressed to nearly translucent skin as she murmured a healing spell and untied the ropes. "I knew you'd see reason in the end, however. If doubtful, you wouldn't mimic a bobblehead. Your uneasy blood may despise our cause, Sirius, but your Black soul yearns for our kind to attain justice."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah." He spat, tired of her sermon as his palms rubbed the broken skin around his now sensitive wrists. "Look, bitch, are you going to fuck with me all night or all you going to give me the shit?"
Bellatrix chuckled and strode from behind the chair to face him. "I find the former more satisfying. Why wake Regulus? He's such a bore, doesn't really have your stamina."
Sirius stared at Bellatrix, dumbstruck. "Sodding pedophile." He actually couldn't give a sod about Regulus, his virtue or the validity of Bellatrix's statement. It wasn't as though he harbored any genuine love for either. Regulus could fuck Bellatrix's brains out, for all he cared, as long as she remembered what was rightfully Sirius's.
He sneered, snatching the object of desire as she dangled it before him. She straddled him again, eyes flashing with the glint of satisfaction as the young man drew smoke into his mouth. Bellatrix gasped as he asserted himself, pulling her forward and kissing her hard—possessively—releasing smoke into her open mouth.
Sex and drugs. They were both interchangeable, as far as the duo was concerned.
And if the little people required a martyr, placing faith in Sirius Black would be one hell of a shot in the dark.
Fin.
Author's Note: As I go reevaluate my life and try to figure out where the hell these Blackcest references came from, YOU lovely people let me know how this was, okay? *wink wink*