Author's Notes: Written for the September edition of Ashleigh's Monthly Competitions on the HPFC Forum – writing about your first OTP.

)O(

The Dark Lord was rough with Bellatrix when he had her, and she lay still and tried not to wince or protest, no matter how it hurt. She was honoured to be chosen – to be favoured – and a little pain was but a small price to pay to express how deeply she adored her Master. Neither did she moan or beg for more – she had done that in the past, and been rewarded with a slap and a reprimand. She was his, used for his pleasure, and he did not want his plaything to beg. Idly, she wondered why he bothered with her, when clearly she was used only as a tool for masturbation. For all his roughness, his movements were mechanical, and he did not look at her.

"Do I bore you, Bellatrix?"

Bellatrix winced at the dangerous note in the Dark Lord's voice. "No, my Lord, never."

"Your thoughts seem to indicate otherwise."

Bellatrix flushed crimson and ducked her head, mortified. "I'm sorry, my Lord."

"Is there something you would sooner be doing than bedding your Master?"

"No, my Lord, nothing!"

He said nothing more, and returned to his firm, steady pace, and Bellatrix watched him. She focussed on the way that – though his face was expressionless – the muscles around his mouth strained with every thrust, as though he was trying not to show his reaction. She thought of how she lusted after him, how he was her fantasy, the man she desired more than any other, and she was his, in his bed with him between her legs. As long as she thought of that and did not allow her mind to wander, she did not grow bored with his pace or impassiveness.

He did close his eyes and moan when he climaxed – the one show of pleasure during the act – and she dug her nails into his back. He didn't stiffen or push her hands away, only let out a long, low groan.

"You please me, Bellatrix," he murmured.

Tears of gratitude rose Bellatrix's eyes immediately. For all the discomfort of sex itself, being told she pleased the Dark Lord more than compensated. He had complimented her before, of course, on other matters, but this was different from being told that she had served him well. This was a personal affair, a private affair, entirely unlike her work as a Death Eater.

"Do I, my Lord?"

"Very much." He lay beside her, and – encouraged by his assurance that he was pleased – she dared to edge closer until her body touched his. Even then, he did not move away, though it was a far more intimate position than he usually allowed. Ordinarily, he required some measure of distance between them after sex – ordinarily, in fact, she was not even permitted to stay.

"My Lord?"

"Bellatrix?" For all their closeness, his voice had the same formality he would use if they were in a meeting – and yet, that pleased Bellatrix too. It served as a wonderfully clear reminder that she was lying in bed with her Master. The Dark Lord had taken her to bed, and was allowing her to lie beside him, like a lover. He even had one hand resting lightly on her shoulder.

"Do you…" She swallowed, her heartbeat quickening. "Master, I must ask, do you…"

He must have known what she would ask, and yet he showed no reaction. He lay still, and his voice was cordial and expressionless. "Do I?"

"Do you love me, my Lord?"

For the briefest second, his hand tightened on her shoulder and he drew her closer – just a little, just the very slightest bit. But then it dropped away.

"No, Bellatrix," he said. "I do not."

)O(

Fin