July, 1975
"Avada Kedavra!"
Emerald light rockets through the night air, a jet, a blast of Voldemort's fury. It lands square against the chest of a dark-haired witch, some member of the Order of the Phoenix, and she crumples like a rag doll to the grass outside the Yorkshire cottage.
"Stupefy! BOMBARDA! Flipendo Trio!" Other spells fly through the air, careening around from wand to body, sending witches and wizards flying, smashing against trees. Explosions form craters in the ground. A mighty oak comes creaking and toppling to the ground, its leaves rustling loudly as it falls.
"Avada Kedavra!" shrieks a shrill voice, and Voldemort glances over to see his sturdiest little lieutenant, Bellatrix Lestrange, aiming her bent wand at a dusty-haired, tall wizard. He shoots back into the wreckage of the toppled oak tree in a vibrant flash of jade light, and then he is gone. Bellatrix cackles madly, her masked face doing nothing to conceal her identity. Everyone in the Order can tell that the short, corseted, wild-haired female is Bellatrix. No matter. Let them tell it is her. Let her kill them.
"Let's go!" cries a voice, a voice from the opposition. The Order is running scared, with at least two of their members dead tonight and more injured. They start to gather up bodies, and Voldemort kills at least one more before they start Disapparating one by one, making their escapes. Soon they are gone, vanished, cowards.
"Cowards," Voldemort speaks aloud, and his masked Death Eaters laugh. Voldemort raises his wand and tattoos the sky. "Morsmordre."
He dismisses his Death Eaters, but he rushes over to Bellatrix before she leaves for Castle Lestrange with her husband and brother-in-law. He snatches her wrist and pulls her back. He's hungry for her tonight. He's always hungry for her - damn her - but tonight the hunger feels insatiable. Somehow, she's satiate it.
He yanks on her wrist and murmurs,
"You come with me."
"Yes, Master," she hums from behind her mask. Her beautiful silver mask, twined with its elegant design, yet another mark that she's his. She glances over her shoulder to where Rodolphus and Rabastan are waiting, and Rodolphus wisely mumbles,
"See you later, Bella. Master." He bows his head.
"Well done, then," Voldemort tells Rodolphus, his fingers still wrapped around the man's wife's wrist. He gives a crisp nod. "Go. Dismissed."
Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange Disapparate, leaving Bellatrix alone in the field with Voldemort. He glances at the toppled tree, up at his Dark Mark in the sky, and then down at her. He peels off her mask - something only he and she can do, owing to the spells put upon it - and he stares down into her eyes. She is more beautiful tonight than usual. Still young, at twenty-three, making him feel old at forty-eight. Her eyes are dark but bright. Her nose is long and thin; her lips are full and perfect for kissing. Her brows are thick and expressive. Her curls are untamed and shiny and black. She is short, even for a witch, and only reaches Voldemort's shoulder. She has a narrow waist and hips, lithe little arms. He has been attracted to her since she joined his ranks at seventeen. He has been fucking her since she was twenty, the year she got married.
He couldn't take it, knowing that she was in bed in Rodolphus Lestrange. Being in meetings with the both of them, knowing that boy was claiming her night after night. Voldemort couldn't take it. So he'd proposed a not-very-optional arrangement to Bellatrix and Rodolphus wherein he had access to Bellatrix whenever it pleased him. Rodolphus begrudgingly went along with his master's wishes. Bellatrix was far more willing. In fact, she seems to quite like it. At least, she seems to like it when her back is arched and she's moaning in pleasure with her face flushed.
Tonight, Voldemort is hungry for her. He takes her free hand and Disapparates straight into his quarters at Malfoy Manor. Only he can bypass all the wards he's placed on the manor that normally require one to Apparate into the gardens. Only he can Apparate straight into a room in the manor. And he does, coming straight into his sitting room with Bellatrix.
He crushes her mouth immediately, dropping her mask on the ground with a little thunk. She moans softly up into his mouth, her voice soft and gentle. But she wasn't soft and gentle on that battlefield, he thinks. She was vicious, and that's why he craves her. He buries his fingers into her hair and shoves his tongue between her full lips, and he yanks her against him by the small of her back. She moans again, more loudly this time, and he pulls his mouth away, his lips bruised a little. He puffs breath as he stares down at her and whispers,
"Who'd you kill?"
She blinks. "Calix Avery, Master."
He scoffs. "Blood traitor."
"Yes." Bellatrix smirks and lets out a long, hard breath. "It felt good. It felt so good."
"Did it?" He tucks her hair behind her ear and bends to kiss her cheek. He brushes his lips along her cheekbone. "Did it feel good to serve me, Bella? Hmm?"
"Always," she whispers back. "Sends a buzz up my spine to do your will, My Lord. My Master."
"Do my will now," he tells her. "Please me."
"Yes." She stares up at him, her hands going to his chest, her fingers cinching on his robes, begging permission to undress him, and he nods. She strips off his robes slowly, methodically, with the practise of a witch who's done this for years. It feels just as good now as it felt the first time he let her peel off his robes. He tips his head back and groans a little when she unbuttons his black dress shirt and pushes it off his bare chest. Her hands search him. Her fingers are expert, running all over his skin, dragging in circles and lines that feel like heaven.
"Off with those damned clothes of yours," he commands, and he half-watches her strip as he takes off his own boots and trousers and underwear. He watches a little as she unbuckles her outward corset, as she slides down her off-the-shoulder black dress, as she slithers out of her black leggings and kicks off her boots. Then she's there in a black pair of knickers and literally nothing else, and Voldemort grunts.
"Get in the bedroom," he commands, clutching his cock in one hand. She skitters through the sitting room and practically prances into the bedroom, and he knows she's excited. Good. She'll be wet for him tonight. He stalks into the room, his cock getting more firm by the moment in his hand, and soon enough it's throbbing and pulsing beneath his palm and fingers.
She's up on the sturdy black bed, obedient as always, and she glances at him, waiting for instruction. Voldemort tries to contemplate how he wants her tonight, this night of victory, and he finally decides he wants to taste her, to see her. He gulps and murmurs,
"Just… on your back."
"On my back?" She forgets the Master. She's surprised. She's used to being pounded from behind, or being made to suck his cock, or being told to ride him. But there's a certain intimacy in her lying on her back with him atop her, and she isn't used to it. It's abnormal. He doesn't care.
"On your back," he repeats, and Bellatrix does as she is commanded. She pulls herself up against the pillows and reclines there, smiling a little at him, her hair falling down around her, and Voldemort thinks she looks like a painting. He pauses for a moment, staring at her, and her little smile falters.
"Something wrong, Master?"
"No." He does not elaborate. "Knickers off." He climbs up onto the bed, a predator stalking prey, and he crawls across the blankets toward her. The embroidered brocade scratches his knees a little, but he continues toward her and parts her legs with one hand as he leans heavily onto the other. He gasps a little to feel just how wet she is, and her mouth falls open.
"Bella." He speaks her name in a way that shames him immediately, and he swallows hard. She blinks slowly as his fingers move and pulse, and he realises that she needs very little from him to come. Yes, he thinks. Come. Come for your master.
One of his hands goes to a breast, then to her ribs and her hips. His other fingers twist and drag, pushing rhythmically against just the right places, caressing her lips, tracing her entrance, and then all of a sudden she snaps. She's shaking where she lies, and her walls are snapping, contracting around Voldemort's fingers. Her hands grip the brocade blanket for dear life, and a rosy flush works its way from her cheeks to her perfect little breasts.
"Bella." This time he's unashamed of the way his voice cracks as he speaks her name. He's too aroused to be embarrassed. He can't do anything but think of burying himself to the hilt within her, to think of thrusting his tongue along with his cock, and he whispers frantically, "Bella."
Suddenly he's yanked his hand from her and shoved her legs further apart, and he's lined himself up and shoved himself in. He hisses loudly - she's wet and warm and tight in a way that nearly sends him over the edge at once. It doesn't help that she curls her little legs up around his hips and holds him fast. It feels too good, with her latched on like that, her arms around his shoulders, her warm sheath around his cock. It feels too good.
He pauses to bend and kiss her, but that doesn't help, either. She tastes delicious. She moans softly against his lips, and suddenly Voldemort realises this is not going to last. He starts to pump his hips. In and out. In and out. In and out. Too good. It feels too good.
"Bella." He rips his mouth from hers and sits up back on his knees, staring down at the way her breasts sway as he fucks her. He studies the way her teeth go into her bottom lip, the way her fingers snarl into her curls desperately, the way she gazes up at him. She's in love with him.
She's in love with him.
Voldemort loses himself at that thought. It's too much. Contemplating her adoration for him is entirely too much. His ears ring and he sees spots as his veins burst with red-hot pleasure. His come pumps into her beautiful body as she whispers one word over and over.
Master. Master. Master.
She's in love with him.
Voldemort finally pulls himself out of her body and nonverbally, wandlessly Scours the mess. He collapses onto his back on the bed and watches as Bellatrix hurries off the bed. She always hurries to leave. He always quickly sends her away. Once he's finished, it's over, and once it's over, there is no reason for her to stay. It's hardly as though they're going to cuddle up in bed together.
That thought makes Voldemort's chest feel strange. It makes his stomach feel odd.
"Bella," he calls, sitting up naked in bed. He stares at her as she hurries to get dressed. She's halfway through buckling up her leather corset as she stares at him and then bows her head respectfully.
"My Lord?"
"Tell me," he barks harshly, and for a long moment, Bellatrix looks very confused. But Voldemort narrows his eyes at her, and he says in a low voice, "Tell me how you feel, Bellatrix."
Her lips part fearfully, and she pushes curls out of her face. Finally she sighs and shrugs helplessly.
"I love you, Master."
He smirks and nods, and he calls to her,
"That was exceptionally well-done fighting, Bella. You made me proud. You pleased me. What a good girl you are. I shall see you soon. Goodnight."
She looks elated then, and she finishes buckling up her corset and slides on her boots. "Goodnight, My Lord."
Author's Note: If you know my writing, you'll recognize this was an experiment in present tense for me. Also just wanted to write a canon-compliant one-shot for these two that fits the mid-war period. Thanks for reading. Please do leave a review!