Author's Note: This is for the final round of Penelope's competition on the HPFFC forum. The prompt was addiction. Reviews are much appreciated!
The M rating is for mostly implications, and it's mainly the first scene.
Searching for Control
He tries to break her, to possess her. She's a warrior, fierce and independent, but she's his wife, and he longs to dominate, to make her look at him the same way she looks at him.
Every night, it's the same. She stalks into the bedroom, a beautiful blend of fire and ice, and he's there waiting for her, a cruel smirk playing at the corner of his lips. He walks towards her, circling her, coming closer and closer, until he's breathing against her neck and she's standing perfectly still, and suddenly he's the predator, and she's the prey.
And time seems to suspend for that one moment, and then she whirls around, her eyes burning, and it makes him want her even more. He captures her flailing wrists, reveling in the sense of control, and she tosses him a look of pure loathing, even as he throws her on the bed and she presses against him, sinking her teeth into his skin.
He begins to thrust against her, his eyes glinting with desire and a lust for control, and she rakes her nails against the rippling flesh of his back, her laughter clear and cold as he hisses sharply in pain. She makes him hurt, nails and teeth and harsh whispers of crucio, and even without a wand, it sends waves of pain through his body. He moves faster and harder, silently punishing her, watching as she grits her teeth and refuses to make a sound.
It's a game, a race to see who will break first, and even as she struggles against him, there's passion in her eyes, and he thinks that maybe it's for him this time, and only him.
She writhes underneath him, her black hair strewn across the cool white sheets stained with blood, the name he dreads escaping her lips, fluttering into the air. My Lord…
He hisses in anger, and she laughs defiantly, and their twisted dance begins again.
---
Rodolphus craves the thrill of the fight, the empowering feeling of domination.
He craves it, spends his whole life looking for it, but between serving the Dark Lord and being husband to a fierce warrior, he feels like he's always in desperate need of it.
He finds his release on the battlefield. There, amidst the streams of red and green light, it doesn't matter if he can't control his wife, or that he's always a servant, never a master, because there, he holds the power.
He spends his free time inventing spells that render the victim completely helpless and in the attacker's power. Bellatrix mocks him, says that crucio should be enough for any real wizard, and maybe she's right, but still, he knows that he's not as good as inflicting pain as Bellatrix is, and the feeling of being inferior than his wife spurs him to develop his own spells, spells that will put him in the position of utmost control, for once.
And he casts them, and watches as his victims beg for mercy, and revels in the sweet taste of power.
---
He remembers the first time he was introduced to the intoxicating thrill of Muggle-baiting.
The screams of terror, the pleas for mercy, the smell of fear invigorated him, enthralled him.
The absolute power and domination he had over the helpless Muggles captivated him instantly. And once he tasted that power, he never could go back.
---
As the spells whiz around him, his eyes meet Bellatrix's. She looks through him, no doubt looking for the Dark Lord, and even as Rodolphus shoots spell after spell at the Order members, he feels a familiar rush of anger go through him, and with it, he feels the lust for control, the desperation for domination.
He turns away from Bellatrix and her wild, unbreakable spirit, and his eyes land on a boy that barely looks old enough to be allowed into Hogsmeade, much less fight. He smiles, his blood pumping, and shoots a spell in the boy's direction.
The boy whirls around, and Rodolphus can see the naked terror on his face, hidden behind a layer of false bravado. It won't take much to break this child, Rodolphus thinks to himself, and a truly wicked grin lights up his gaunt face.
The boy bravely tries a Stunning Spell, which Rodolphus deflects instantly. "So you want to play?" he says tauntingly (if it's one thing he learned from Bellatrix, it's how to taunt). He casually points his wand at the boy, and watches as he falls to his knees, helpless.
Rodolphus points his wand again, and the boy screams, a high, keening sound that would make him shiver, but the adrenaline that comes from the domination prevents any lingering remorse or guilt.
Rodolphus lifts his wand, smiling benevolently as the boy struggles to breathe. He sends a fresh wave of torture through his prey, and stops abruptly; waiting for the desperate pleas that come at this point in a heated gush of tears and shaky breaths. This victim doesn't disappoint, and Rodolphus takes in the pleasure that comes with listening to the begging and the pleading of someone absolutely at his mercy. He listens until he feels at ease once more, satisfied by the sense of control, and carelessly flicks the wand at the boy, not bothering to watch as his victim slumps into his death.
Emboldened by the fight, he strides back into the battlefield and doesn't flinch when a woman he recognizes as Professor McGonagall flies manically towards him. "You killed him," she screams, dancing past his spells and casting some of her own. "How could you kill a child? He was sixteen, my God."
Rodolphus grins mockingly at her. "Such a child shouldn't be out on the battle field with the grownups, should he? I cast the spell, but he died because whoever was responsible for him didn't do her job very well. Bad choice letting these children fight, McGonagall. They'll all be dead soon."
McGonagall shrieks with fury, and Rodolphus thinks for a moment that he has gained the upper hand. The power surges through him and he laughs, exhilarated, and doesn't notice as McGonagall points her wand at him.
He's blind to anything but the sense of control that fulfills him and gratifies him, and doesn't pay attention to the wave of green light.
Until it washes over him, and the power vanishes, and he's nothing.