A/N: Written for the OTP Boot Camp Challenge with the prompt 'carcass'. Again it is rated M for a reason and I hope the fic is affective since it did become a little strange as I continued to write. Also, once I finished, I realised Voldemort did not say anything throughout the whole fic. It is deliberate. It is a mark of what kind of man he is
Voldemort recruited each of his Death Eaters under the belief that, like most humans, he knew who they were. He could analyse their behaviour and the deepest depths of their mind to uncover their true personality and predict how they would act. With each mark he burned on a man's flesh, he became even more confident of the fact.
It was why this experience was so jarring.
After arriving to his modest home in the North of England, his wards had notified him immediately that another was intruding on his solitude. It was only a mild warning suggesting the person had some permission. He had concluded it was a Death Eater entering via their mark. He had been correct. However, he had been wrong when he had assumed they would be waiting for him in his sitting room.
Instead he found the intruder in the cellar.
The candles in the brackets had been lit throwing light over the shabby and desolate room and the two occupants.
Only one was alive.
Youthful at only twenty one years of age and still unmarried with an aristocratic sheen to her skin, sculpted features and thick shiny dark hair, Bellatrix Black was undeniably a beauty. However, he had admitted her to his ranks not because of her looks, but because of her unyielding loyalty to the cause and her tenacity and ability to duel. He was aware lust lingered in her eyes when she glanced at him in a way reminiscent of his youthful days when he went by another name, but it was more of a novelty than anything significant.
He did not know if that was what motivated her tonight or not.
He had given her a set of thick dark robes that obscured her feminine figure to wear as a member of the Death Eaters, though they did not coat her body as she sat in his cellar. No clothing covered her at all.
Only blood.
Her hair was half thrown over her shoulder and half over her full and pert breasts which were highlighted in the light from the candles. A part from the hair, scarlet speckles and smears marred her perfect flesh. The trails of blood continued down her stomach and between her legs.
The source was obvious; the muggle carcass. The filth he had kept restrained in his cellar for practice was unmoving with shreds taken from his clothing and blood still oozing from the slashes and stabs that littered its body. It had not been a clean kill and, from the positions of the strikes, he presumed it must have been slow. It did not bother him in the slightest. In reality the muggle only drew his attention for a moment.
It was soon pulled back to the beautiful naked woman.
Her hands were painted scarlet and positioned between her legs that were spread wide and gave him the perfect view from where even he was frozen by the doorway. One of her fingers was pumping inside of her while the other rubbed her swollen clit assisted by blood and her juices that coated her skin.
He could have scolded her and banished her from his home for coming by unannounced. He could have simply left, but those thoughts did not even enter his mind as he watched the advance of her fingers. He was sure he had not been this turned on by a woman since the late fifties. It was not to say he did not pleasure himself, but that was only a mechanical action and not accompanied by any fantasies. Now there was a swelling below his robes at Bellatrix's display as his mind diverted in a new direction.
She was looking at him as well. It took him more time than it should have to realise she had discovered his presence, but it did not make her stop her ministrations; they only quickened. He did not say anything to her and, a part from her erratic breathing, no sound escaped her lips. Words were needless. He assumed she could see the way his eyes gleamed red like they did whenever any sort of passion or emotions surged through his body.
Not even bothering to close the door and stepping of the muggle carcass, he reached her side. He pushed her back with great force; enough for her head to slam back against the stone. It must have been painful yet she showed no pain as she lifted her hands from herself. Her bloodied hands fisted in his robes and worked to unbutton them.
He ignored his usual desire to concern himself with the possible mess as he freed himself. He was painfully hard from her display and he needed no further urging as he thrust into her. She was already wet and willing so he slid easily inside her as they both moaned at the contact.
He was not a romantic nor was he sentimental, but the threads of pleasure spread through him as she constricted around him and he pushed hard against her. It had been so long. He wondered why he had waited as his own hands could not compare to a woman's wet and willing body around him. He was tempted to swear to never allow himself to wait so long again as he continued his movement.
He kept his hands on the stone rather than clutch at her as he tried to maintain some measure of control. He at least kept his breathing and rhythm even, but he abandoned ordering Bellatrix not to touch him. The legs around his waist pulled him deeper inside her and increased both of their pleasure as she practically screamed in his ear while she reached her peak.
Voldemort gained no emotional connection or care that she her needs had been fulfilled, but the way her body tightened even further and convulsed around him drove him over the edge. He could not help but hiss through his clenched teeth as he fell forward onto her.
Even he conceded he needed a moment to pause as his heart rate slowly started to return to a normal rhythm. Bellatrix's hands ran up and down his still clothed back, though he was feeling charitable enough to not push her away. He only lay still and rested.
He counted it out in his mind; only allowing himself thirty seconds before he pushed himself off her. His eyes lingered on her flushed and bright face, before they trailed to the blood coating her body and now his. It only amused him as he kicked the carcass away before he swept from the room without a word. He did not bother or need to express any needless sentiments or exchanges with Bellatrix.
It seemed a muggle body could be some use in death and a servant could be of use in a number of other ways.