Dark Desire:
The street was quiet, the houses glowing dimly in the winter chill. From some of these homes could be heard the sound of laughter, of families gathered together in celebration of another year passing. From one house though no sound came. And that was for the best. For if any had heard the sounds, the screams, that had come from that building in recent hours they would have been chilled beyond the bones.
This house was no different from any of the others, at least on the outside. The inside told a very different story.
Bellatrix Lestrange looked around at what they had done, at the art which they had created together. And as she looked, eyes focusing on the blood splattered walls and table, she smiled.
Rodolphus blinked dazedly, still disoriented by the euphoria that came upon him every time he killed. It had been some time since he had seen that particular smile upon her features. This smile told of indescribable happiness, of pride in good work done and of the dark heart that beat beneath her pale chest.
Glancing around himself, taking in the bodies strewn haphazardly around the room, Rodolphus could not help but join in on her happiness, laughing in a way that perfectly suited her smile, matching it madness for madness.
"The Dark Lord will be pleased." Bellatrix's voice broke through his laughter, shattering it with the reminder of where they were and the work they had yet to do. Rodolphus sighed, not quite wanting to leave this place which contained so much wonderful pain.
"Let's get a move on then." Rodolphus was adjusting the grip on his wand, preparing to cast their final spell – the spell that would alert all to the wonderful work they had done. Soon the whole wizarding world would come to appreciate the artistic talents of Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange.
Bellatrix stepped forward, distracting him from his thoughts of glory. His eyes were caught by the movement of her hand as it trailed through the blood on the table. Rodolphus watched, almost mesmerized, as she lifted her fingers to her mouth, slowly sucking away the remnants of their work from all but one finger.
He watched her, smirking, knowing what it was she wanted, and tempted to deny her that desire even as she stepped forward, silently offering him a taste of what they had achieved and what could be his if they just stayed a little longer. He knew her. Knew that once they left this place, any and all desire would be quashed. Bellatrix Lestrange loved pain and blood. Rodolphus often thought that without it she wouldn't know how to exist. But once they left this place, this home of pain and suffering, she would return to the stiff and prim woman she was, devoid of all feeling, especially lust – at least until she was presented with another opportunity to cause pain.
Rodolphus closed his eyes, refusing to see the triumph on her face as he gave into his desire. He flicked his tongue against the blood that coated her finger, indulging in the sweet taste of their success.
He would give into her, not because he would give her anything she wanted – he wouldn't – but because they had the same, dark desire. Because he, like Bellatrix, understood that a kill wasn't fulfilled until the lust that resulted from it was too. Rodolphus opened his eyes, the custom smirk once again plastered onto his features. In one swift motion he pulled Bellatrix forcefully towards him, their bodies colliding to the sound of her moan of expectation.
He pulled her closer, slamming her body against his own. Their mouths met cruelly, teeth gnashing together as each fought for dominance over the other. Bella gripped his robes, holding his body to her as she assaulted his mouth. She bit down on his lip, hard enough to draw blood and harder still. Rodolphus growled as his blood seeped into their mouths, a reminder of the blood that had aroused this desire for release in them.
Rodolphus spun them around, throwing Bellatrix onto the table and hiking up her robes to reveal the nakedness beneath.
Bellatrix waved her wand, clearing the table of the debris which lay upon it. In this way were the bodies upon it dismissed from her attention. The lives once lived brushed aside, mingling with the dinner that their murderers had so rudely interrupted.
Rodolphus thrust into her with no warning, revelling in her cry of pain and the feeling of her nails gouging their way down his back. His thoughts swirled around the pain of earlier hours, the screams of those they had come to kill. He pounded into Bellatrix and thought of the pain those others had endured. This was surely nothing compared to what they had suffered and suddenly he wanted this to be more. He wanted to torture her, to make her writhe in pain and pleasure all at once.
Her nails were carving their way up his back, her teeth ripping into him, and he wanted nothing more than to cause her pain; to find release in her screams. He pulled his wand out, pointing it straight at her heart. He noted the momentary glint of fear in her eyes before he said the words, smiling to himself at the thought of what he was about to do.
"Crucio," he whispered, shivering in anticipation of what was to come. He drank in the sound of her screams as she clung to him, her nails drawing blood where they dug into his naked flesh. Her teeth tore a new hole in his lips, flooding both their senses with the taste of his blood. He could feel it all building in him, the pain, the screams and the blood all merging to bring him to the end. With a massive strength of will he slowed it down, releasing her from the curse if not from his incessant pounding into her.
"My Lord," she moaned, and he could tell that her release was beginning to take hold. He did not mind, could not care less who she thought of when he fucked her. Theirs was a marriage of convenience. Their fucking was very much along the same lines.
He pushed deeper inside her, causing Bellatrix to cry out in pain and enjoyment, all of her nerves no doubt sensitive from the assault of the curse. This was what he lived for. The pain and the blood, the lust and the release. He didn't do this, any of it, out of some sick, twisted notion that he loved her. He didn't. In fact, he hated her most of the time. No, he did this out of the need for release. It was always so exciting, torturing and murdering these mudbloods and blood traitors, and it wasn't as if he was about to fuck one of them. Even if it would be exciting to hear them scream and beg for mercy. No, he valued his blood far too much to dirty himself on one of them. Bellatrix would just have to do.
Bellatrix's body was shuddering, violently reacting to the continued assault upon her body. And yet Rodolphus could tell that she enjoyed it, that she was revelling in the pain he caused her body to feel. He often suspected it was the only thing she ever felt. This was the moment, when all of the pain, the violence had built up in him. The sound of her screams, their screams, built up in him, causing him to almost feel pain in the need for release. Rodolphus cried out, thrusting ever deeper into the body that lay beneath him. She screamed once more, and whether it was out of pain or pleasure or both he could not care. He was lost. The dark desire had possessed him, had taken control of his body, his senses. For the moment there was no Rodolphus and no Bellatrix, just the screams, the pain and the blood and the release that they provided.
Before they left, before the Dark Mark was created over their heads, Rodolphus looked around at the beauty that they had created. His eyes focused on the bodies before them and the blood that was beginning to dry. He turned to Bellatrix, pride glowing in his eyes.
"It's poetry," he said, eyes glinting with madness. "Poetry carved in flesh."