In my head the title should actually be Bites, Bruises, Blood and Bellamort, but anyway.
The first part of Louise_Foxhall's Triptych Challenge so one chapter had to be all description, the next all dialogue and, the last, a combination. My prompt was Bellatrix/Voldemort when Rodolphus catches Bella as she comes home, having left the Dark Lord's bed.
As well, this also counts as my 50th story published on the site! *Celebrates*. Yes, only half a century, though I'm getting there. With that number, this fic had to be a Bellamort one just like when I first started to write, even if I loath to look at some of my first fics. Oh well, we all improve.
Finally, if the small hints were not enough, this is set pre downfall, probably around 1977.
The house was quiet; Rodolphus must be abed. Good. She did not want to see him. She did not want to tolerate his fumbling advanced and sweet words. Not tonight. Not after him.
Closing the ornately engraved front door behind her, the sounds of crickets and the squawking of bats was finally silenced. The only noise was Bellatrix's heeled shoes clanking noisily on the tiled floor before she stepped out of them.
She did not want to wake her husband.
However, even those few steps were enough for someone to hear. A house elf bowed low before and, as was customary, it reached for her cloak.
She did not relinquish it. Instead, she pushed past the creature and instinctively clutched the fabric possessively in talon like nails. She did not want to release it. Normally she would have, just not after tonight. Not yet. Not when the memory was still fresh.
When her Master summoned her privately to his quarter, he would normally order him to strip for him. It was his usual request the moment she entered his bedchamber. Standing unyielding by the hearth, sitting straight backed on his favourite leather armchair or significantly more relaxed reclining on his bed, his eyes would never leave hers as he would request, without emotion, for her clothes to disappear.
She never disobeyed. She would always slide each garment off teasingly and sensually slow. First she would unclasp her cloak without fuss, then she would unbutton her heavy robes button by button and, while she was left in her underclothes, she would dare to step a little closer while she would strip away the last bits of clothing that covered her body. He would never assist. She did not begrudge him that.
She was the servant. She should do the work.
Last night had been a little different. He had not been in his room like he usually was when he summoned her. Instead, as she had stepped into the dimly lit room filled with dark tones and simple antique furniture, she had been confronted without any life, other than his serpent Nagini snoozing by the fire.
Her heart had been caught as if she had made a terrible mistake that would result in imminent punishment, but, before she could even have moved, hands had encircled her waist. She had gasped loud and vocal until it had transformed into low moans as cool lips like blocks of ice had settled along the side of her elegant throat. Hands had pushed waves of free inky hair away, but neither spoke. She had been so caught up in the presence of her Lord, Bella had been sure she had been unable to physically have uttered a word.
Then, if it had not been unusual enough, long fingered hands like pianists' had circled her throat, but it had not been for any anticipated acts of violence, only to precisely unclip her cloak. She had vaguely heard it gracefully slide to the floor in a pile of silk. However, her attention had been focused entirely on those same hands as one by one her buttons had been opened and her body had been exposed. All the while his lips and teeth had continued to cover her throat to bathe her in marks and elicit moans and mewls.
Following usual protocol, she had been led to the bed while his body had pressed against hers from behind. It had been dreadfully difficult to not turn around and kiss, touch or even to ground her arse backwards against him. However, filled with memories of the many lessons he had enshrined within her, she had not protested or resisted. She merely had fallen face first onto the cushioned surface before she had allowed herself to turn onto her back to finally see her Master. As always, he had been as expressionless with his icy facade firmly in place. His eyes had still been empty, but she had pleasantly noticed a tiny curve in his lips.
He had not wasted any time joining her on the bed. Despite being fully clothed, in contrast to her own nakedness, she had not presumed to change the situation. Dutifully she had just waited with eyes glued to him and hands fisted in the quilt, least she succumb to the urge to touch him.
Her master had not allowed her to wait for long. Those lips that had previously ghosted over her neck had returned. First her breasts had been the target of his assaults. It had not been gentle or soft this time, but that was how both combatants liked it. Bites and blood had marred her usual perfectly pale flesh.
She had not complained once. Bella had been unsure she could talk. Only guttural moans had left her as her Lord had taken pleasure savaging her body.
He had not stopped.
Her breasts had been abandoned as he had sunk lower. The cool trailing tongue, like the body of the serpent that still rested by the fire, had curved downwards over her flat stomach, over her navel and much much lower.
Everything had seemed to have stopped. It was not because other men had not done this before, Rodolphus certainly had always taken pleasure in slipping his tongue between her folds, but because it had been Him. She should have been the one pleasuring him with her mouth. Not the other way around. It had seemed blasphemous. However, all negatives had been forgotten as his tongue had slipped inside her.
Even now, as she attempted to make her way up the stairs on legs that seemed to feel a lot more like jelly, the memory was starting to make her feel wet all over again. Bella was sure she would be unable to think of tonight without the same thoughts and feelings engulfing her time and time again.
She longed to spend the night lost in her thoughts, covered in the clothes he had touched and caressing the marks he had made over her flesh, but she knew it was not wise. The Dark Lord had always been clear that she must ensure what they did remain private. Her husband was not to find out in case it spread disharmony through the ranks.
She had to hide away the proof of tonight. It would be her usual routine of showering and casting healing charms to wash and hideaway the marks of her Lord that she would rather wear like a trophy.
Despite that, she would never defy him.
Slowly and quietly, she eased open her and Rodolphus' bedroom door at the highest level of the house. Like everything, it was dark: The only light was emitting from the flickering hearth that allowed her to see shadowed figures and shapes inside.
Rodolphus was covered in blanks unmoving, as always, while he lay strangely still and straight in bed with only his head visible. From the crack in the opening of the door, she could see his eyes were closed.
Relieved and still as silent as a mouse, she stepped inside. Shutting it behind her, she moved around the room to the bathroom as she eased herself out of her clothes while she walked. First the cloak, then the robes and, just as she was about to enter the bathroom and take off her underwear, she heard the sound of stirring behind her. Stiffening, she turned to face her husband who was sitting up in bed his ice blue eyes focused on the bites and bruises littering her body.