Malfoy Manor, July 18th, 1997
Voldemort barely contained a yawn as Thanatos Nott prattled on and on about whatever the hell was going on in the Department of Tourism, Sports and Entertainment that he had been running for the past 20 years. Gods, he hated these meetings. They were boring, long-winded but unfortunately necessary, because while he was hesitant – alright, fine completely fucking adverse – in sharing any details of his several running operations, he knew that at least his Inner Circle need to have at least an abstract idea of what was happening in the different parts of his movement.
As Thanatos was only now approaching the second part of his ten-part report – for the department of fucking Tourism, Sports and Entertainment, he reminded himself – Voldemort sneaked a look at a dreadfully bored-looking Bellatrix. Not only had she already seen the report this afternoon when one of Thanatos' lackeys had delivered it to his office, but Bellatrix cared as much for Nott's department as she did for Rodolphus newest female conquest. So, basically, nothing. She cared nothing for it.
Voldemort's mind wandered away from Bellatrix and the meeting to take in the new look of the room they found themselves in, it was clear that Narcissa had redecorated their meeting place after he had claimed that the bright colours of the room had hurt his eyes.
The room, which had previously been used as a second dining room, had changed from a subtle beige to dark, nearly black, brown. The drapes, formerly left open to let in the rare English sun were closed all day long giving the room a mouldy feel. More importantly, the dark oak table was back. It was a regular table, yes. Nothing particularly remarkable about it, at all; and Narcissa had only probably brought it out of wherever the hell she had kept it because it went well with the new décor. Still, this table held some significance to him.
To him and Bellatrix.
He then took another glance at the woman in question.
She was finally back. She had been gone for two weeks and had returned today. They had had a brief moment together before the beginning of the meeting, but they hadn't really been able to talk about why she been away…
Voldemort discreetly lowered his eyes from her face and down to her still-flat stomach. They had been having their affair for nearly 25 years and this was their second pregnancy scare. The first had been easy enough to deal with; she had been 28 and had dealt with it herself, not consulting him on her decision or anything, he had been angry that she hadn't talked to him and at first she had said that it was none of his business what she did with her body, but later she had claimed that she knew his answer: that while Dumbledore lived, any child of his would be postponed. He hated to admit it, but she had been right.
But now, Dumbledore was dead, and she was pregnant... It was almost too perfect a timing to be true. He had still been on a high when two days after Dumbledore's death she had come to him with the news. They had wanted this during the First War when things seemed to be going their way in 1980. And now, it had happened…
He had immediately started making plans, had been mid-way to calling a Healer when she had stopped him saying that he was on too high a mood to make a decision this big. She had left, with the promise to not do anything rash, so he could have a few days alone to think.
He had known the answer as soon as she left – even before, really – but had let her do things her way. She seemed… uneasy, about the whole thing.
Nott finally seemed to enter the juicy part of his report as other people leaned forward, finally interested in what he had to say. Voldemort for his part got lost in the memory of how exactly he and Bella had gotten to where they were and why exactly this damned table brought back so many memories.
Malfoy Manor, August 17th, 1973
It was a nice, hot night. Perfect for the Annual Malfoy Summer Ball.
The Malfoy's ballroom was a grand piece comprised of high-ceilings and white walls decorated with silver trimmings, it excluded prestige, privilege, and ostentatious wealth… It was very Malfoy. But despite its enormous size, the room was full, almost stifling the guests if not for the open floor-to-ceiling windows that covered the entirety of the east wall of the room, and which led to the outside gardens, inviting the gentry of the Wizardry World to enjoy the warm evening… and enticing young lovers to use the famous labyrinth behind the Manor to conduct their illicit affairs.
Abraxas, dressed in white robes, smiled at people in the room as the ever-consummate politician he was, and his wife Catarina Malfoy also dressed in white, smiled demurely from his side. Their arms locked in a loose embrace as they walked and mingled with their guests, seemingly very much in love and a team.
Voldemort almost snorted at the scene. Abraxas and Catarina's marriage was… on the rocks, if one liked to understate. Abraxas was a known womanizer and Catarina's tastes ran towards the more… feminine side of things. It truly was the only thing they had in common… Well, women, money, and Lucius. It was wildly known and, in turn, wildly ignored by everyone in the typical style of the high-class. Much like his less than stellar family background.
Voldemort who had been leaning against the archway of one of the windows that led into the gardens was enjoying himself. A glass of wine in hand, a few flirting women around him, and a pureblood group waiting to be charmed by him before the first dance even started… He took in the people at the party and wondered where he should start, everyone was having a too good a time to be spoiled by politics just yet; and he couldn't really find his usual group because in typical Malfoy fashion there was a strict dress code where everyone had to be wearing white.
Well, everyone but him that is. He was wearing a black suit, complete with a black shirt and black tie. He hadn't completely ignored the dress-code however, and his suit had some white décor along the back… His short black hair was combed back with a few purposeful locks falling across his face, his hairstyle very much unlike the perfectly tied long hair of most men in the room. Well, he always did like to stand out.
A man dressed in an almost blinding white tunic approached Voldemort, much to his annoyance.
"Ahh, Riddle." Andrew Prewett greeted his former classmate.
"Prewett." Voldemort managed to grind out.
"Sorry, sorry, sorry," Andrew smiled easy, "I know you go by Gaunt these days, right?"
"Yes." Voldemort answered. He had other plans, but for now Gaunt was better than Riddle.
An awkward silence settled around the men. Luckily, Abraxas, sans Catarina for once tonight, arrived.
"Ahh, Andy!" Abraxas shook hands with Andrew, "Glad you could come. Where's your lovely wife?" The host asked when he saw Andrew's free arm.
"Oh, she couldn't come."
Voldemort almost breathed a sigh of relief, Hilda Prewett had an unhealthy obsession with him, he could barely get through a dance with the enthralled woman without feeling the need to take a bath afterward. Voldemort watched as Abraxas charmed Andrew into giving some money to his cause… He hated to admit, but sometimes Abraxas really was invaluable to him. Andrew and Abraxas shook his hand one last time, before disappearing off into the crowd.
Finally alone, Voldemort took another sip of wine and spared a nod at Rodolphus who walked into the gardens with a young woman of wavy black hair, a close enough lookalike of Bellatrix. The Dark Lord almost rolled his eyes. Rodolphus was completely enthralled by the Black witch, he would not stop thinking about her, would not stop desiring her, would not stop fantasising about her…Despite already being engaged to marry the woman, who in turn didn't give him the light of day. It was pathetic, really.
And then in the sea of white robes, white suits, and white dresses, a clash of black and gold made itself known in the crowd.
Well, it seemed that a certain Black had arrived.
Voldemort closed his eyes and smirked amusedly at the startled gasps… Blacks always did make their own rules. And him knowing a particular Black very well, given that he had spent the past days training her, he could take a gander at exactly who was creating all of this commotion.
And indeed, within seconds, the characteristic voice and laughter of Bellatrix Black seemed to stun the grandiose Ballroom with it's daring, loud sound. As people seemed to part for her, much in the same way they had when he'd entered the room earlier, he took in the first glimpse of her.
She was beautiful, as any blind man could sense through her sheer arrogance alone. And usually, whatever black-and-gold contraption of a dress she chose, only accentuated said beauty… But this dress seemed a little too much; her back was bare leaving a creamy expanse of skin for anyone to run their eyes over, it's fitted top adorned with golden trimmings pulled her chest together forming an almost scandalous cleavage, and while it's black floor-length skirt was loose enough to allow her to stride with her usual haughty gait, it was also tight enough to show her curved waist… Well, either way, it was very Bellatrix.
Voldemort allowed a small smirk at Bellatrix' entrance; if Rodolphus had to be enthralled by a woman… Well then, there were worse women to be under.
Bellatrix saw him smirking and returned the smile. She then started walking in his direction, barely stopping to talk to people who had been waiting all night to speak with her, her eyes never left his leaning silhouette.
Voldemort's smirk grew. Bellatrix unspoken attraction to him was… flattering. Not surprisingly, he was still a handsome man, after all, the Horcruxes allowing him, for now, to keep much of his normal body, although for how long he wasn't exactly sure… The fact that he was powerful and influential only seemed to add to her attraction to him. Better to enjoy her attention now then.
"Ah, Gaunt, I knew you wouldn't leave me here alone with these people."
"Miss Black," he smirked as he took her hand and kissed it, "Beautiful as ever."
Bellatrix snorted, "By the Gods, Gaunt. You've been training me like a dog these past few days, the least you can do is call me Bellatrix."
"Bellatrix," he allowed, "Beautiful as ever."
"Flatterer."
"I'd say it's only for you, but I don't like lying."
She laughed at his quip. Now that was more like the man she knew; quick-witted, mean and luring you to a false sense of security before attacking hard and fast.
"I appreciate the honesty." She dryly replied.
"Well," he added, "you do look beautiful."
She looked up at him, seemingly truly startled by his honesty. He tried to not look at her, turning his face towards someone in the crowd. He had meant it, and he could tell that she realized that he had. He watched her fight the rising blush in her cheeks, feeling truly complimented despite the simple enough words he had uttered.
"Well, you clean up quite nicely as well."
It was an understatement, really. He could see it in her eyes, she thought he looked good for her to almost drop to her knees and-… He looked at her and smirked knowingly. Her eyes widened as was almost afraid that he had actually read her mind when she was saved by the arrival of the most annoying Bones he knew.
"Ah, Bellatrix."
"Edgar, how have you been?" She forced the pleasantry out.
"Cut the crap, Black," the man hissed, "You're in big trouble."
"Moi?" She feigned ignorance.
"You bitch, I know exactly what you've been doing!" The man takes a step towards Bellatrix swinging his fist back looking ready to strike her.
Bellatrix, unarmed, reflexively took a step back while Voldemort seeing the almost-blow coming a mile away stepped in front of Bellatrix. He dodged the punch the Auror had thrown towards Bellatrix and then grabbed his wrist and pulled Bones towards him. To a casual outsider, it would look like two friends embracing.
"What exactly has she done, Bones?" Voldemort growled at the man.
"She has been rifling through ministry property." Edgar Bones snarled at the woman behind him.
Voldemort relaxed. It wasn't that bad, then.
"Is that true, Miss Black?" He teased the woman.
"Oh, I would never dare." She batted her eyelashes at him, her smiling lips never losing any of their shine as she stared up at him.
That had been happening a lot lately; the flirting, he meant.
He smirked as their gazes locked and he saw a mischievousness glint in her grey eyes. So she had been in the ministry. Still, it wouldn't do for Bones to know, "Well," Voldemort finally lifted his eyes from Bellatrix and looked towards the other man, "the lady as spoken." Only now did he release Bones' wrist from the grip he had had on him.
Edgar grunted and left them alone. Voldemort and Bellatrix smirked at his retreating back.
"He's going to be trouble, you know that, right?" She asked softly.
"Uhm…" He nodded. "I already have a plan in mind."
"Good." Bellatrix replied, "For his sister too, then?"
"No." He confessed, "I'm thinking of asking her to join us, in fact."
Bellatrix eyed him wide-eyed, "You want to ask Amelia Bones to join?"
"Yes." He responded harshly, "Got any problem with it?"
"As a matter of fact, I do, yes."
"Oh, I can't wait to hear how you think this will go badly…" He cynically commented.
"No," Bellatrix corrected him, knowing he hated it as much as she did when he mocked her, "I know this will go badly! I know Amelia, I went to school with her for Merlin's sake. This is just inviting Dumbledore to spy on us."
"It's worth the risk."
"Oh, you think so?" Bellatrix couldn't help the downright rude attitude in her voice. He left her so mad sometimes…
"Bellatrix." He warned.
They exchanged glares, their (in)famous temper rising in the face of a challenge. Their faces were close, their noses almost touching, the intensity around them increased two-fold under their argument. So lost in their little world, they didn't see a man approaching them.
"Bellatrix would you do me the honour…" He doesn't get to finish.
"In the middle of something here, Yaxley." Voldemort snarled, his eyes not straying from Bellatrix'.
"I-…Right. Of course, but-…" Again, interrupted before he can finish.
"Go ask Rowle to dance, Yaxley." Bellatrix sneered, technically not at Yaxley, though he felt that. Her grey eyes were still locked on red, willing Voldemort to give up.
"Riiight…" Yaxley drawled out and left, having grasped what was happening even if Voldemort and Bellatrix hadn't.
Voldemort seeing they were attracting more attention than necessary dragged her from that ballroom and over to the place where their meetings usually took place. As soon as the door opened, he shoved her inside, immeasurably angry with her. He strode forward, restrained anger in his every movement, making her walk backwards to avoid his temper. When her back hit the edge of the dark oak table that had been the place for every meeting she had attended where he had been her Lord, she gulped. Still, she would not back down; she was right, damn it.
He approached her still, despite ending up in her personal space seeing as she had nowhere to go. She straightened her back, looking him back in the eyes, again, unafraid. He seeing her defiance stepped even closer, trying to use his superior height to intimidate her. When that didn't work, he finally tried words.
"Let me give you a crash course, Bellatrix..." He snarled at her.
"I am a Black!" Bellatrix whispered hotly at him, mindful of the people outside the door, but her eyes told the fury within her at his dismissal of her complaints, "Politics is in my blood. I was raised in it, steeped into it since I was a child. I do not need a crash course."
They were so close that their noses were brushing against each other. They stared in each other's eyes – thunderous grey and burning red – willing the other to give in.
Voldemort could blame what happened next on a multitude of reasons; the adrenaline coursing through his veins – not for her grey eyes flashing with lust; the way he was being challenged like he hadn't been in years – not for her red-painted lips turned upward in an angry snarl and sarcastic quip; the way that the wine had surely gone to his head – and certainly not over his anger that her hair had been pulled into some sort of bun hanging low in her head instead of it being left free and wavy the way he liked it – not that he had an opinion (no, no, no, no) – but he had noticed.
But when their lips – finally, finally, finally – met in a bruising kiss, it hardly mattered what was the reason. As their lips locked and moved not unlike the verbal battle they'd just had, his hands had already moved behind her neck, working on undoing her complicated hair-do. Bellatrix, for her part, clung to his robes, making sure to keep her hands off his face (how she had just known he didn't like that, he'd never know) and rushed to deepen the kiss.
As he ran his hand along the curve of her waist and around her ass he decided that he would however, always blame her dress. Her black, backless, bewitching dress… A dress that left her shoulders bare for him to run his fingers along her back; a dress that had her modest chest pulled together to form a delectable cleavage; a dress that was loose enough that he could run his hand under it and up her thighs. The dress was an intricate work of black silk, golden lace trimmings and expert craftsmanship… It was a work of art.
It was almost a shame that it had to be ripped to pieces.
Almost.
A deftly placed Diffendo had solved their issue. The ripping sound of silk was barely heard by their lust-addled brains and she didn't even make a sound, instead rapidly stripping down the tattered top sides of her dress and letting it fall all around her, her breasts finally free from their confinement.
He kissed her already bruised lips hard enough to make her whimper and her spine dip, his big hands grasped her slim waist to hoist her unto the table and clash her against his chest. She clung to him and raised her legs to encircle around his waist and pull him even closer, her high heels digging into his upper thigh almost painfully. As their bodies connected and she felt the bulge in his pants close to her centre she whimpered. He, in turn, grabbed her now-free hair and pulled her head back allowing him to bury his face in her neck at feeling her so close to him.
"What are we doing?" He whispered against her.
"Do you need me to draw you a picture?"
He glared at her, his red eyes narrowing at her teasing. Well, if she didn't mind – or even remember – the fact that she was cheating on her fiancé, he would not be the one to bring it up. He moved his mouth from her neck and into her lips, biting her before plunging her into an all-consuming kiss. She whimpered when he released their joining lips as air became an issue.
"Would it kill you to show a little respect?" He mumbled into her mouth.
"Probably." She answered back sardonically, her mind still on their verbal spat of a few moments ago.
Voldemort grunted. Gods, she was so annoying, not exactly disrespectful as he had claimed but annoying nonetheless. He then, as a punishment she seemed to enjoy if her arched back was anything to go by, bit her neck hard enough to leave a mark. She gasped, and her hands flew to his shoulders in response, as if to leverage herself against him. She moaned loudly unable to keep quiet while he left marks up and down her neck and collarbone. He grabbed her tightly so that he could bend his attention to her breasts. He tormented her nipples. Licking with a rasp of his tongue and biting hard enough to make her gasp. She dragged her long nails over the table leaving tears and rips along the wood.
"Fuck."
"Language." He smirked into her nipple, knowing that the reprimand would do nothing but annoy her.
"Oh, shut up." The bite had gone out of her voice and had turned into near desperation.
She grinded against him, urging him to move faster; to do more; to, for the love of all the Gods, take her once and for all. As she pushed herself against his hard cock still covered by his pants, he growled deep in his throat unable to hide the effect she had on him.
"Oh, for Gods' sake," she whined against his lips, "are you waiting for a written invitation, Gaunt?"
His dark eyes flashed red at her insolence.
"You're going to call me Master before we're done." He growled at her.
"Unlikely," She taunted, though she herself had her doubts, "But, please, do try."
He pushed her away and she fell from his arms to come to rest on her elbows on the dark, oak table. He took in the sight of her – dishevelled beyond belief, eyes black from lust and lips swollen from his kisses – and decided that he would make her come undone that night.
"Do not," he said, "I repeat, do not touch my head, understand?" He issued an order .
She nodded. She had a fair amount of privileges but when he issued that tone, it was to be obeyed without question, even if she hadn't understood the reason behind the order. The reason, however, became apparent soon enough when he pulled her towards the edge of the table and knelt before her. She felt her heart pound… He couldn't possibly be thinking-…
He pulled her down onto his mouth and thrust his tongue into her as hard and as deep as he could. Bellatrix screamed, her back arching, and Voldemort gave her no mercy. In an effort to ground herself, she moved her hands to grasp the edge of the table – the order he had given clear enough in her mind – and settled in for the ride.
His tongue was flicking against her, moving against her sensitive clit in torturous movements and Bellatrix gasped (and writhed and sobbed and grinded and moaned) atop the dark oak table as she urged him to go faster. He then pushed two fingers deep inside her. That was torture enough, but then his teeth closed on her clit and his tongue lashed against her and his fingers twisted inside.
Bellatrix couldn't handle it. She had never –ever- let a man have this much power over her. She had driven them wild. But this…this was too raw and vulnerable. And then, suddenly, the fast build to her orgasm was over and her back arched like a bow as a cry was ripped from her mouth. She trembled as pleasure ran through her veins, leaving her dazed and sated and pleased. He took his fingers from inside of her after the aftershocks of her orgasm had ceased.
Feeling herself return to normal, she sighed, "Close." She gasped as she came down from her high, "But not enough to call you 'Master'."
He growled at her boldness and made himself upright again. His pants had become unbearably uncomfortable while he had been pleasuring her, and in a rapid movement she was too sated to follow, he undid the binding in his pants and lowered them to the ground, not even bothering to remove them completely.
He pulled her towards him by her thighs and buried himself to the hilt, deep inside her in one thrust. She cried in delight as he did so, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as pleasure assaulted her every sense, finally feeling full. Then, he barely left her time to adjust to having him inside her and started thrusting into her at an arduous pace, moving his hips rapidly, falling nearly completely out of her before burying himself to hilt once more. Bellatrix could do nothing more but match his rhythm and cling to him – her hands (and nails) finding purchase in his lean shoulders, leaving marks up and down his back.
It was glorious, mind-numbing, pure unadulterated sex.
As he, suddenly, mostly due to a slip of his foot, changed the angle of his pace, Bellatrix seemed to cease up, her mouth open in a silent scream and eyes glazed with pleasure as he managed to find that perfect little spot inside her that could make her come apart at the seams.
"Oh. Oh." She was finally able to produce sound, but nothing coherent. He continued his pounding, making sure to keep the same angle she had clearly enjoyed. She now, seemed unable to control her vocal cords, her moans, though not entirely screamed, were loud enough that if not for the volume of the conversations outside, everyone would know exactly what was going on in that room.
He kept moving as he found himself enjoying the sounds she made despite the fact that he had always hated noisy sex. He had never understood why men had bragged about the noisiness of their conquests, or why they whined that their wives were quiet as a mouse when in bed. Maybe it was the fact that he had lived in a rundown apartment complex where whores had (loudly) traded sex for money, and businessmen (as well as some Lords and Ladies from Noble Houses) had brought their illicit (and loud) affairs. Whatever the case, he had never understood. Until now, that is. With Bellatrix under him, he understood perfectly; the need to hear her proclaim her pleasure, and the urge to brag that he had turned Bellatrix Black into a shuddering mess of trembling legs, heavy breathing, and loud, incoherent moans.
As he repeatedly hit that perfect little spot inside her and her moans grew louder and raspier, he felt her walls clench around him, squeezing him more tightly with each thrust he drove into her. She was close. And she was driving him right there with her.
"I'm-…I'm…" She tried for words but couldn't get anything coherent pass her lips. Then, as she neared her climax and him not far behind, she whispered the words that would be their undoing, "Please." That she said aloud. And then inside his head, – not aloud, she was far too stubborn for that –, she said, 'Master'.
It was the last straw.
He shuddered, and groaned, and found respite at the juncture of her neck as he came inside her. She shuddered around him as she felt him spill inside her; she trembled as he kept thrusting through it all, and she arched her back as she felt her walls clenching around him when she too found her dazing release.
A long moment passed as the aftershocks of their orgasms ravaged their bodies with untold pleasure but soon enough the only sounds in the room were the panting of their heavy breathing, the previous sound of meeting bodies gone as were the moans and screams that had been ripped from their throats almost unwillingly.
Voldemort then, after a mindless eternity, slipped from inside of her with a groan matched by her; he righted himself while adjusting his cock back into his underwear and pants. He got away from the table, unable to stand so close to Bellatrix lest he fell into her madness once again, and composed the rest of his clothing, all without sparing a look at the woman propped up atop the table where he conducted his meetings. When he was satisfied with his appearance, he walked towards the door leading to the Ballroom.
Before leaving completely, he made the mistake of looking at the woman still laying atop the table.
As he took in the state of Bellatrix spread out across the table – a dishevelled mess of black hair, her grey eyes dazed and unfocused from pleasure, her cheeks flushed from effort and ecstasy, her lips swollen, smeared with red lipstick, with the top of her dress ripped in two, the bottom half wrinkled beyond recognition, her thighs bruised from where he had grabbed her, and the juncture of her legs wet with their mixed fluids – he felt himself harden again.
He made an abrupt move towards her, ready to submit to madness one more time that night. Ready to submit to the temptation that had always been there, though he would never admit it.
She saw him moving towards her and managed to bring herself semi-upright again. She knew what he wanted, there was a clear intent in his eyes. As he reached her and she almost clung to his newly-donned tie, a voice ran through the mansion cutting through their lust-addled minds.
"My friends," Abraxas' voice echoed in all the rooms of the Manor, "It is time to have our first dance, please return to the ballroom."
Voldemort stopped mid-step as what he had just done fully hit him. Bellatrix was now staring wide-eyed at him as she too seemed to grasp the enormity of what they had done. He spared one last look at her before leaving the room altogether. He walked purposefully back into the ballroom, he didn't utter another word to the woman he had just fucked, he didn't look back, and he never even saw Bellatrix again that night.
Malfoy Manor, July 18th, 1997
Voldemort contained a smile.
He remembered the day after that first time. How he had outwardly appeared calm while his head had been spinning in circles between: 'Fuck, I slept with a 22-year-old girl'; 'Fuck, I slept with an engaged woman', and, 'Fuck, fuck, fuck, I slept with Bellatrix Black.'
The fact that he had had a meeting with Cygnus that next day hadn't really helped matters. Of course when the man had come into his office smiling wide, Voldemort figured that their… indiscretion had remained secret. He also remembered asking, after the meeting, what had left Cygnus so happy.
The Black family Head had spun a tale of how Bellatrix – with a dark bruise (no, no, no, not a hickey on her neck, a slightly blushing Cygnus had insisted) – had been glowing this morning, of how she had come home early and dishevelled and of how Rodolphus had confirmed that they had slept together. And, while Cygnus wasn't completely happy about that, he thought that it was good that the engaged couple was getting along. Cygnus had left happy, having declared that surely the wedding couldn't be that far off now.
And Voldemort had been left seething.
Cygnus had thought that Rodolphus – sweet, docile, tame Rodolphus – had managed to leave Bellatrix panting, eyes glazed with pleasure, and legs failing beneath her…He thought that it had been Rodolphus who had taken Bellatrix. He thought that that barely-out-of-his-teens-boy had been the one that had made her moan so loud that the sounds of the party in the next room had barely been able to suppress the noise.
Seething was an understatement.
And, if that very same day Bellatrix had ended up bent over the desk in his office, with him buried deep inside her… Well, it was all Cygnus Black's fault.
Bellatrix shifted in her seat and crossed and uncrossed her legs in an effort to control the electric feeling coursing through her veins that was settling on her centre. That blasted man was just spending the entire meeting projecting images - memories - of their time together into her mind and distracting her from the admittedly boring meeting.
As Augustus stood up to give his report, Bellatrix managed to keep her eyes from rolling and had to bite back a groan. Augustus was so thorough and so slow talking. She settled back in her seat with a sigh and lightly, as to not make any noise, ran her short nails over the table top, appreciating the smooth, polished, dark oak wood that had been under her many, many times. And as the Dark Lord started paying attention - or pretend to, anyways - she let her mind wander to the time their trysts had started.
After that first - and second – time things had gone on as before. With him making his moves on the Ministry and she, training with him and occasionally planning something or another for her wedding. It had been normal; their two-time tryst completely left unspoken as if it had never occurred, both sure it had been a two-time thing that would never happen again.
Then, a few months later, the day she had been dreading had arrived. Her wedding day. It had been a grand affair, nearly a thousand guests, too much food, long hours on her feet, long hours getting ready, long hours listening to some man prattle on about love and commitment and then a chaste kiss with Rodolphus that seemed to last for a dull couple of centuries. All the nagging and threats and tears, and in the end, it had been like any other wedding; her Daddy had cried, his mother had thrown a fit over nothing, her mum had aww'd at the perfect times, his father had shared an excited handshake with her uncle, etc, etc…
The party after had been fun, though. She got to dance with Rabastian – by far the best of the Lestrange brothers –, with Evan and little teenage Regulus. And him, because while he hadn't been at the ceremony he made an appearance at the reception.
He had complimented her dress, the first person to have done so, for her dress had been black and gold, the colours of her family crest. A fact had caused quite the stir, since women were supposed to don their husband's colours on their wedding day to symbolize the transition from one family to another; she had raved and ranted and screamed about it with her and Rodolphus' mother but Bellatrix would not budge, she was a Black and nothing would change that. Besides, she would have looked horrid in yellow and blue.
After shocking everyone with his compliment he had led her in a dance. It had felt… exciting to be in his arms again. It wasn't awkward as one might expect, but there was an underlining tension she could not deny. They had danced a couple of songs before he made his exit, his presence already sufficiently marked.
And then the wedding night. It had been… fine. Yeah, just fine. Nothing more, nothing less. Nothing terribly exciting but nothing terribly wrong either. Fine. Just fine.
And in there laid the reason for the start of their affair.
'Fine', didn't cut it for Bellatrix. 'Fine', had left Bellatrix frustrated for months on end. 'Fine', had had her ready to literally blow the Dark Lord's subtle plan to smithereens just to relieve some tension.
And that's when he had offered his…assistance.
Malfoy Manor, May 1st, 1974
Gods, she was so annoyed.
Frustrated.
Horny.
She had been letting her frustrations at home influence her work with the Death Eaters. She hadn't been able to concentrate; she hadn't been leading her team as she should; she hadn't been thinking clearly and had blundered everything up.
She had though, been having sex with Rodolphus. And though she had been reluctant after their underwhelming first time, she figured that it would be better to relieve some tension with him than alone. She had been wrong. He was more boring, unimaginative than she remembered and quite honestly, even more frustrating than a months' long dry spell.
In summation; yes, she was blaming all of it on Rodolphus.
She flinched involuntarily as the sounds of Rabastian's screaming reached her ears. The Dark Lord was in top form today, Rabastian had merely started a verbal spat with Amelia Bones at a restaurant while Bellatrix had actually attacked a platoon of Aurors…
She was so dead.
Things had been different. He was harsher, more likely to punish you than manipulate you or flatter you… She had lost many of the familiarity she had had with him. Calling him 'Gaunt', for instance, was completely out of question. He no longer seemed to have a sense of humour, not laughing at parties, not responding to her teasing during practice, nor hosting intimate dinners for his Inner Circle… It was a struggle, she would not lie.
She gulped as she watched the door to the meeting room open. She watched Rabastian almost drag himself out of the room, looking worse for the wear. Bellatrix almost rushed to him as his knees almost buckled beneath him, but he managed to keep himself upright. Rabastian placed a hand on her shoulder in a comforting gesture before leaving towards Abraxas' office so he could apparate home to lick his wounds.
"Bella…Come." Sounded from inside their meeting room.
Gods, he was bound to be seething mad at her.
She took a deep breath, before walking purposefully into the room. She entered the room and took a look at him – his eyes no longer with red iris but full on red, his skin paler than was humanly possible, his dark hair still present but thinning – sitting at the head of the table, file upon file atop the table and he is leaning back in his chair, watching her enter.
She gulped as his eyes seemed to travel every expanse of her body. It had always been there the way he appreciated her body, but lately, it had increased ten-fold…She felt her body betray her as her mouth ran dry as all the remaining moisture in her body headed south. She swallowed the lump in her throat and licked her dry lips. She shook her head, trying to erase out of her mind all the delicious torture he could exact on her.
Gods, she was really, really horny.
"My Lord." She bowed to the waist.
"Bella." He looked at her, his red eyes burning into hers, "What you did today could have ruined, everything… If you hadn't somehow managed to erase everyone's memories." His tone was harsh, and she winced. He sighed then and asked, "What's going on with you, Bella? This isn't like you..." his voice soft-spoken, knowing full-well that for her it would work better than his regular harsh tone.
She shivered at his voice. He had technically been the last person, other than herself, that had been a decent lover of any sort. She was needy and horny and his soft-spoken voice so reminiscent of their…indiscretion… was definitely not helping.
"N-Nothing, my Lord."
"Do not lie to me, Bella."
Bellatrix closed her eyes, willing her mind to stay shut at his probing into her mind.
He didn't like that.
"Bella." He warned.
She rushed to explain, "It is an issue of a personal nature, my Lord." She tried to appeal to his distaste for personal affairs, "It will not interfere with my duties again."
One could only guess what might have happened if he hadn't invaded in private thoughts. Because while Voldemort had no desire to deal with his soldiers' problems, Tom Riddle couldn't help himself but having to know what exactly was going on. And no one awakened his inner Tom Riddle quite like Bellatrix Blac-…Lestrange. Bellatrix Lestrange.
But as it was he delved into her mind, the thoughts of Rodolphus underwhelming performance in bed filled both their minds. The awkward first time; the times during their honeymoon were he had truly tried his best, but she just ended up faking it, so it could all end; the times back home where he had taken her just right but then had blunder it all in the middle by trying to switch rhythms in a completely idiotic way; On and on and on and on…
When she finally managed to push him from her mind, it had been too late, and he had seen everything. She was quiet as he seemed to process what he had just seen.
"I see." He commented lightly, his eyebrows rising in surprise.
The silence was loud at that particular awkward revelation.
And then…
Then.
He just burst into laughter, his body seizing up as it seemed to be forcefully forced out of his lungs. He didn't even try to contain it, he just let it happen. Bellatrix glared at him, sighed, and crossed her arms honestly incensed by his reaction but there was nothing else she could do but let him get it out of his system.
"I can't believe this." He chuckles, unable to comprehend how Rodolphus could be fucking up this badly, "I honestly can't believe that this is happening…"
"Whatever, Gaunt."
For a moment she had forgotten the unspoken rule of not mentioning his name anymore and winced, expecting him to go ballistic over it. She breathed a sigh of relief when he still seemed more amused by the situation than anything else.
She watched as he managed to contain himself to a little chuckle.
"I am sorry that your marriage is not working out as you expected it too." He had the decency to sound contrite, though she doubted there was a shred of truth to it.
"Oh, but it is." She dryly replied, "That's the problem! It is actually going exactly as I expected it to go. Daddy is an idiot sometimes, I told him Rodolphus was too mild for me but no, Daddy had to have his way…"
Voldemort narrowed his eyes as he looked at her standing across the table, grumbling out complains and curses at her father. He then seemed to reach a conclusion about something if the way his eyes lightened up was anything to go by.
"I think I can help." He offered.
She rolled her eyes at him, "What? Are you going to give him some pointers?"
He ignored her sarcasm, "No. I'm not going to help him. I'm going to help you …" His red eyes ran along her body. She had always been beautiful, but now in throes of the war she was fighting for him… she was magnificent. He wanted her – had wanted her since that last time but had been sure she'd be nothing but a distraction – but now that she was… desperate he could do whatever damage control he'd need, "Come here." He beckoned.
"I-My Lord?" Bellatrix stumbles through her words.
He stands, seemingly unable to take her indecision anymore, and strides forward to take her by the back of her neck and plunge her into an all-consuming kiss full of lustful promise and delicious intent. Bellatrix could do nothing more but cling to him and let it happen.
He took hold of her waist and dragged her towards him, she willingly let herself be stirred and then turned around, so she could face away from him and be trapped between him and the dark, oak table. She moaned as she felt him close to her, the bulge beneath his robes come in contact with her ass; she gasped as he grasped a fistful of her hair and pulled; she grunted when his hand ripped the skirt of her dress and caressed her thigh.
"I've been thinking about you." He whispers in her ear, and she shivers against him, "I am alone, you enter my thoughts." She leaned back against him as one of his hands travelled up her thighs and the other grasped her throat, "I am fucking another woman, I think of you." She bucked in his arms at his words, "You, you, and you…All the time." and then again as his right hand caressed her wet underwear, "What sort of spell have you put me under? Temptress." He accused into her ear.
Bellatrix groaned as he pulled her underwear to one side, almost peeling it away from the sticky, swollen cunt. She was warm to the touch and he wasted no time in using one of his long, white fingers to play with her clit and another to tease her entrance. She sobbed once before trying to thrust herself into his fingers.
"So wet." He whispered, "You've been thinking about this, haven't you? Been thinking about me for months."
She nodded wildly, being near to agree to anything he'd say so long as he kept fucking her just like. She was so close, finally, finally after all these frustrating months she was close; his finger kept flicking her clit, his fingers teased her entrance, entering a little and then quickly retreating to tease her some more and then, just when she was on the brink of coming, he quickly withdrew his fingers leaving her empty and needy and desperate for more.
She sobbed, "Noo…" and bucked her hips in a frantic gesture.
"My, my…Bella, I thought I'd have to get you ready for my cock, but it seems like you already are."
Bellatrix mewled with need, "Please."
"Please, what?" He teased, and with a wave of his wand removed his black robes and sighed in relief as his hard cock was finally released from its unbearably tight confinement. He bent her over – her nipple grazing against the top of the table – and grasped her waist tightly before asking, "Please fuck you?"
Bellatrix nodded, but it wasn't good enough. He wanted to hear her say it. He lined his cock with her entrance the tip barely grazing her opening. Bellatrix could hardly think with the throbbing head between her legs and so close to her entrance but hazily, she realised he was waiting for something.
" Please, what?" He repeated. She would submit to him.
She didn't hesitate, "Please," she begged, rolling her hips in desperation. "Please fuck me—" She barely got the words.
It happened in one push, and she came with a cry as soon as he buried himself inside her. He groaned and shuddered, at the suddenness of it and at the way her walls were clenching around his cock… If she had been tight before…Gods.
"That was easy." He breathed into her ear.
She was almost embarrassed. Almost, if the tension in her back weren't dissipating with each passing second. She untensed a little and let herself relax against him again, giving him the go-ahead. He tightened the grip on her hips, followed by a deep thrust that painfully ground her hips into the edge of the table – not that she noticed between the delicious ache he was causing all inside her.
Whimpers fell from Bellatrix mouth as Voldemort fucked her intensely, pulling out almost entirely before plunging back in. Her breasts swayed with the force of their rhythm, the peaks of her nipples straining against the dark oak table. All the while, Voldemort hissed deliciously filthy things into her ear. "Hot… tight… fuck, Bella…"
She shuddered as he said her name. It sounded so good…
Voldemort's left hand left her hip and slid down, resting between her legs to play with her clit; he rubbed in short, circular strokes, ones that made Bellatrix's back arch, and a scream to be ripped out of her throat as pleasure assaulted her every sense. Bellatrix' eyes rolled, and her walls clenched, twitching in rhythm, and Voldemort throbbed in turn, grinding his pelvis against hers as he emptied himself inside her. He kept thrusting inside her, riding out his orgasm and all the while prolonging her own; then, he slowed his thrusts until he, exhausted, stopped.
He panted next to her ear, seemingly as satisfied as her. He then, removed himself from inside her with a grunt, their bodies protesting any sort of movement after that they'd had been through. Voldemort rose to his full height, his legs the slightest bit unsteady and his toes still tingling slightly.
"Satisfied?"
"Hum… yes." She answered clearly.
But he still frowned as she moved to get up on her more-or-less-steady legs; last time she hadn't been able to stand so soon…She then caught sight of his red eyes. There was a clear intent in them. She gulped.
"We're not done yet." He growled, "Oh, all the things I could do to you…"
She had no more warning before Voldemort pushed his hand between her shoulder blades. She caught herself on the edges of the table and gasped when he thrust two long fingers into her hard and fast, "Yes!" She moaned and didn't miss the way he smirked ferally into her shoulder at the way it sounded pouring from her lips. His hand fisted in her hair and he pulled, forcing her spine to dip and her hips to push back onto his thrusting fingers. She groaned deeply as pleasure built within for the third time. She tensed as a cry was ripped from her throat when her vision flashed white and then quickly to black for a couple of seconds as pleasure assaulted her every sense. When she untensed from her high, he released his grip on her hair and she fell forward, breaking her fall with her forearms as she laid her midsection on the table. She panted loudly, still trapped between him and the table. She relaxed, feeling her heaving breasts resting against the warm wood, sweat covering her sated body, and a delicious strained feeling to her muscles.
She then moaned as he started thrusting his fingers again.
"No..." She moaned, "Please, please…" An agonized whine escaped her lips, "Please, stop."
"Already?" He smiled smugly but didn't hesitate and removed his fingers from inside her.
The smug smile she could hear in his voice awakened the little voice of inside of Bellatrix that said, 'Fucking hit him right back', "Don't flatter yourself. It has been a while." She responded dryly, "Any idiot with an ounce of common sense could have figured it out…" It hadn't been a particularly good come back but in her defense… He had been really good.
"Hum…I'll pretend I believe you." He smirked at her back as she lifted up from the table, now on clearly shaky legs. He was good.
He gave her some space to fix herself up. He watched her repair the corset with a flick of her wand and watched her wave a wand around to make herself as presentable as possible just until she got home and into a bath.
He was stuck with a thought: something permanent but discreet was the best way to relieve the tension he had been feeling, and the fact that she was beautiful wasn't exactly an issue. She really was the best option, with as much to lose as he had, and with the same tastes as him… Even if today he had been particularly harsh, and sudden and-… She had enjoyed herself, yes, but he had been too rough, too unforgiving, too too-much, too-…
"Yes, well…" Bellatrix broke him out of his thoughts, "Thank you."
She moved to bow but thought better of it. It seemed a little too… awkward for that, anyway. Actually, everything around him seemed a little awkward now.
"We should do this again…" He called at her retreating back and tried not to blunder it all, she turned around surprised by his suggestion, "I can't have my best warrior distracted, after all." He smirked at her.
She returned the smile, "Of course not, my Lord. You know best."
Now, she did bow before him – her awkwardness gone at his proposal – and left the room pleasantly wincing, lightly limping and with a relieved smile on her lips. And she never looked back.
That had been the beginning of their affair… But the best was yet to come.