-Tempest-
Summary: Disciplining his wife is Always a challange.
Warnings: There is a slight d/s element to this, as well as frottage and...arousal by threat? I'm sure there's a fancy word for that somewhere!
"I do begin to have bloody thoughts."
-Shakespeare
Bellatrix had an unfortunate tendency to push at the wrong moment. Rodolphus was a calm, patient man, and he was well-aware he had a harridan for a wife.
Most of the time he envisioned her like some ancient tirieme; furious and fighting and tossed about by the angry seas while he drifted, serene, in her wake. He was content, most of the time, to watch her bow break the water and coast along unseen beside her.
However, when she dared to criticize him in front of those whom were under his command...
He felt the flames of anger lick at him, urging him to put aside his dispassionate facade and make her suffer for what she had done, roar up like a vortex and pull her under, drowning her and her sharp, caustic tongue.
Usually, he liked her temper and her audacity; found it one part of what made her so deliciously enticing.
At the numbingly dull dinner parties they were forced to attend, for example, she would make cutting remarks and insult whomever she deemed unworthy with a tiny, amused smile on her face as if she knew things she shouldn't. He would watch the way she cut her steak, pressing the knife's edge into the meat with expert precision, and admire how the blood was called forth as if she sang to it to obey her.
She tortured with that same innate skillfulness. The victims she slowly eviscerated gave up their screams with the same obscene beauty, and she licked her lips as she did when she ate her steak, a look of ecstasy overtaking her.
When she looked at him across the table with insouciance written all over her face, shining candles sparkling in cut crystal goblets, he fisted his hands against the desire to fuck her on the table, amidst delicate china and horrified gasps.
When she looked at him after a raid standing beside her victims with arms akimbo and blood splattered in whimsical patterns on the glowing-white skin of her face, he wanted to shove her against the wall and fuck her there, too.
Tonight, however, he did not want to fuck her but hit her, hurt her, and not in the way she liked. Her pointed little comments pricked his skin like barbs, zinging through him and causing his ire to rise dangerously close to the surface.
He could tell by the slight hunch of her shoulders, the way she hid her face behind the fall of her hair that she knew she had gone too far. When Bellatrix tried to make herself inconspicuous, to fold in on herself and escape his notice... that was when she knew she pushed beyond the limits, too fast. She might have been brazen, she might have been lusted for blood with every pulse of her black heart, but she knew that when she pushed him past the edge he would rise up, furious, from the waves of his complacency and drag her under screaming. The water would choke her insolence, drown her rage, force her hastily spoken words back down her throat.
Rodolphus had been thought by some to be a kind man. Even when he took the chin of his victims in between his fingers, they looked at him as if by some miraculous Providence he had been sent to save them.
Save you from the pain, from the screams, from the madness of my wife...I am angel, but I am not sent from above, precious ones.
It pleased him to be the one to bow them out of life when Bellatrix finished dancing them through the steps of her exquisite pain.
x-x
They have a perfectly beautiful dance they perform; twirling of wands and stepping around victims bound with magical restraints, the rise and fall of their breath as they work in tandem. All of it is a choreographed recital; from their grand entrance until the finale, when the Mark explodes into light over the house, like a gruesome marquee announcing a sold-out performance.
She is the diva in their theatre, Bellatrix, the prima donna who accepts bodies as accolades instead of roses. Rodolphus waits in the shadows, the invisible presence whose only function is to pull the curtains before the show, and close them in a ringing swoosh of overdone velvet when the show has come to a close.
Without him, however, she cannot take her final bow and Delight in their praise. Without him there to perform his mundane but necessary task, the audience will never see her and she'll remain waiting, forever clothed in elegance and trembling with passion and art, locked behind the scenes.
Nothing makes Bellatrix Black Lestrange more furious than being ignored. That is what he does, of course, as he coolly and efficiently issues orders of the end of the raid. A pool of blood coalesced at her feet; she pulled a face and crossed her arms over her chest, not bothering to move.
x-x
"Rodolphus," She said, and he took his time in turning to face her. He fancied the light might hit him as he did so; highlighting the sinister glow of the mask and making his cloak billow out like Dracula descending the steps of his castle.
"Yes, Bellatrix?" If ice were to take voice, it would sound like those two words; the raw chill that blasted cheeks and stung eyes worse than winter, no hint of spring to be found.
She paused at his frigid tone; she more than anyone knew when to fear him the most, though he noticed she gave a quick look around to make sure no one would see as she dropped her chin and whispered a sulky, "Nothing."
"Indeed."
He left her to her own devices as he exited the house, and he allowed the newest recruit- the tall, gangly boy named Severus who watched the proceedings with a clinical indifference that made Rodolphus proud- to cast the Mark. Severus raised his wand like a demented conductor, the words tumbling from his lips with all the beauty of a requiem, and the Mark burst into vivid life above the house, an aurora borealis against the ink of the black sky.
Nodding, Rodolphus clapped his hand on Severus' shoulder and gave him a brief word of praise before he dismissed the others. He was left in the coolness of the spring night with his wife standing in the shadows of the front porch, death full and satisfied in the house with the distinctive emblem of terror gleaming in the ebony sky above.
"We're going." His voice had no more life in it than the house that rested in silence behind them.
She said not a word as she joined him on the lawn and pulled her wand to Apparate.
x-x
They Apparated back to the bedroom out of habit. Everything in the room looked suspiciously normal; from the mahogany four-poster bed covered with a deep blue silk coverlet, to the red fringed pillows adorning Bella's favorite chaise lounge. The floor was polished hardwood adorned with the same vibrant jeweled toned colors Bellatrix was fond of.
The room was a foil for her dark, opulent beauty, framing her in regal loveliness.
Both were silent as they disrobed, masks and cloaks going in the secret place beneath the floorboard. Murmuring the concealment charms, Rodolphus turned to her at last. Without a word, he walked across the floor, which creaked under his footfalls, his hand raised.
he backhanded her, hard, right on her pretty little mouth that gave voice to such impertinence. "Don't you ever do that again."
The air around them snapped with the sharp bite of his hand on her cheek, and he smiled in satisfaction as her head recoiled from the blow.
She felt artfully, as if the movement was orchestrated for her by Terpsichore; for only a muse could have given her such intrinsic, balletic grace. He would have stumbled over a table and crashed ingloriously to the floor, but Bellatrix... she was sprawled on the chaise lounge in her corset and stockings and small, skimpy black knickers, framed by the deep rich wood grain and scarlet satin. Her hand lifted to touch her lips gently, moving over the bruised skin and pressing in a bit.
"You dress like a whore under those robes," He told her pleasantly, pulling off his shirt. He tossed the fine linen to the floor without concern; their floors were so polished he can see his reflection in the gleaming wood. The Lestranges had enough money not to worry about dust, and Bellatrix thought the blood that sometimes decorated their coverlet or the floor gave the room a piquant charm.
"Do you think that is going to upset me, Rodolphus?" She laughed huskily, arranging her limbs with languid movements on the chaise. Any other time he would appreciate the drape of white skin over rich cherry wood, but not now. Now, he wanted to see those limpid dark eyes of hers filled with tears.
He sat on the bed across from her, dressed only in his trousers. The mattress was soft beneath him, the slik coverlet cool as he rested his palms atop it. "No. Maybe I should toss you in the closet."
That made the blood drain from her face, and it pleased him immensely. Her easy sprawl disappeared as her muscles tensed, as she readied herself to run. Bellatrix hated enclosed spaces almost as much as she hated the ignominy o being ignored.
"Would you like that, my Bella? Would you like me to lock you in the closet, when you can't breathe, with no one to see you and pet you?" He reached a hand out, as if he was going to capture her arm, and rose to his feet.
She was breathing faster, like an animal being chased or threatened, but other than shifting her body restlessly on the chaise, she did not attempt to flee. Her eyes traveled slowly down the lean lines of his body, stopping at the faint bulge pressed against his trousers. "I see you would, too. That's sick, Rodolphus, wanting to toss me in the closet and getting hard over it." She licked her lips slowly, staring at his cock.
"Oh, it's not that, dearest. It's the idea of hearing you scream, knowing you're afraid, in the dark, alone...leaving you in there and drinking brandy by myself in the study," He said in a sultry murmur, eyes heavy-lidded.
"Bastard," She hissed, and now he knew she was afraid; her very worst fear, being contained and abandoned, shut away and ignored. Yet there was a crimson flush creeping vine-like up the smooth Ivory skin of her cheekbones- arousal, despite a fear so strong that he could almost flick his tongue like a snake and taste the sharp bitterness of it in the air between them.
He started stroking his cock with light fingers as he spoke to her. "Why aren't you running, pet?"
"Stop it," she whined, watching him with the faintest trace of petulance mingled with her Obvious trepidation.
"Why? I thought you liked to watch me." He crept closer so that he was standing directly in front of her, still touching himself through his trousers, eyes narrowed.
"Not when you're talking about sticking me in a closet, you sick fuck," she muttered, before biting her lip and looking up at him.
He smacked her again. "I shouldn't do that," He said with a sigh, watching as she sucked on her bottom lip and winked at him. "It's only what you want."
She nodded, and the movement made her hair flow around her shoulders like water caressing sand. "Mmm." Her hand went between her legs. "I-what if I told you I wasn't sorry that I spoke like that in front of everyone?" Her breathing was labored as she began stroking herself, fingers moving rhythmically over the black satin of her knickers.
Rodolphus made a growling noise low in his throat, wrath prickling his skin, coiling low and tight in his belly. "I would tell you that I'll shrink the closet so that you have to lie on the floor, like you're in your fucking grave," he snarled, his hand caressing his cock faster. The material was rough and scratchy on his skin.
"Rodolphus, no," She moaned, and while it obviously scared her, she was still rubbing herself frantically, writhing about like a moth trapped in a spider's web and trying desperately to escape. "You wouldn't..."
"You want me to do it?" His knees were going weak; the combined pleasure of threatening her, watching her shudder in fear, and yet surrender to some sinister sexual urge was too much for him to bear.
Yet...to move away from her was to give in to the lust and not the anger; and that he refused to do. He would win, he would show her she was wrong, and she could not take his ire and twist it with sex and leave him panting after her, hard and wanting, like some attention-starved dog.
"Bitch," He breathed viciously, removing his hand from his cock. That he had to stop his pleasure to discipline her frustrated him, made him growl and tighten his hands into fists until his knuckles turned white.
The smile that curved over her mouth was so triumphant, she could have tipped her head back and howled at the moon in exultation and it wouldn't have been as Obvious that she was pleased.
"Right," Rodolphus muttered, and whip-like, he reached out and yanked her from the chaise to haul her over to the closet. She made a shrieking noise and attempted to step on his foot; ridiculous, as she was not wearing shoes and he had on his boots.
He slammed her into the wall beside the closet hard enough to hear her teeth rattle and hauled the door open. It made a satisfying creaking noise as he grabbed her dark hair and turned her face to the gaping darkness. "Do you want to go in there? Do you? So help me, I'll shove you in there for a week if you don't apologize to me."
Bellatrix wrapped one leg around his waist and pushed herself against him, and he could feel the wet heat of her burning against his trousers.
"No," She said, excitement trembling in her voice. "I don't want that." She rubbed against him, and he nearly saw start burst in bright white flames at the edges of his eyes.
"Then apologize," He snarled, edging her closer to the open closet. "Or I swear to you, Bellatrix, you'll see God in there." His voice dropped to a chill, impassioned tone that he knew would agitate her even further. When he was enraged, she could siphon that tempest inside him and twine it with her own, en then he was irrevocably lost to her.
It was only in the cold, icy dephts of his impassivity that he could resist her, push her away.
She went still in his embrace and looked up at him. Her desire to fight him was clearly etched on her alluring face; equally as strong was her fervor to escape his prescribed torment for her refusal to confess her transgressions and beg pardon.
Slowly, her hands came up to rest on his shoulders, and her chin lowered. "I hate it when you do this to me." Suppressed tears infused her voice, making it soft and vulnerable, and the sigh that escaped her was resigned, accepting.
He pulled her to him, soothing her with soft whispers and a gentle touch. "I know," He saidm oddly touched by her rare moment of vulnerability. "I know, Bella. But you understand, don't you? I was in charge, and for my own wife to gainsay me in front of the others... they would not respect me."
She drew in a shaking breath and lifted her head. "I'll kill them for you."
He touched her face lightly. "I know, beautiful. I know." His voice hardened again. "Beg pardon, Bella."
"Fuck me, then I'll apologize. You have me too worked up." Her lips melted into a twisted smile; all bloody and mangled from his slaps and her sharp teeth. "I'll even beg pardon on my knees for you. On my knees, Rodolphus." She purred enticingly.
He smiled unpleasantly, ignoring the thrill that went through him at the thought. "Beg pardon now, or I'll lock you in the fucking closet and touch myself while you scream."
She started rubbing on him again, shivering in his arms. "That's scary," She breathed, nails digging into his shoulders.
"Mmm. I know. I think of it, you in there, all alone, sobbing and crying for me, and I'll sit right out here and tell how hard it makes me to hear you beg." He smiled wider as he was practically Climbing inside of him, wrapping her long legs around his waist.
Her hands tangled in his hair and pulled. "Fuck me." Gone was seduction; in this place was desperation and hot, biting need.
Rodolphus moved so that her head and back slammed against the wall. "Apologize." He looked towards the closet as he pressed his cock rhythmically against her. "I mean it, Bellatrix." She was trembling in his arms, inner thighs shaking as she thrust her hips at him.
"Oh..don't want to go in there, don't want to scream..."
"I'll count to three," he bit out, unable to stop himself from increasing the fervor of his thrusts as he rubbed his clothed cock against the soaked fabric of her knickers. "Then I'm putting you in there, I'm shrinking it so it's very small, and you can curl up on the floor and scream for me to let you out. Then I'll take my cock in my hand and laugh at you, and you can hear me, and I'll tell you how much I like to make you scream and cry. One.."
She was making a little crying, mewling sounds as she writhed against him. "No, please, no.."
"Two..." He wanted to throw her down and fuck her senseless, but if she didn't apologize he was putting her in that closet and doing exactly what he said.
"God, so close," She moaned, head back tossing back and forth, hair a furious writhing mass of dark silk covering her back. "Just..a little more, please..."
"I'm not kidding, you little bitch," he hissed, one arm braced on the wall as he forced his cock to rub harder against her. "You think I'm not serious? You know I'll do it, don't you? You know I'll come to the sound of your screams, leave you in there, and you can't breathe, and God, Bellatrix Black Lestrange, you apologize to me right now..." He leaned down and put his mouth very close to her ear. "I'm going to say it, and if you don't apologize.."
Her answer was a choked, indiscernible noise. Her legs tightened around him; the look on her face was erotic blend of arousal and pure terror. Her eyes were open and glazed, tears falling from her eyes to splash on her flushed cheeks and dance over her bruised, bloody mouth.
"Three."
Bellatrix gave a keening cry that would have made a bean sidhe jealous, sobbing his name as she came from the combined pleasure of his cock rubbing against her and his silkily whispered threats. Rodolphus spilled himself soon after, unable to stop it, the delicious friction and her tearful fright too erotic for him to combat.
"Do you have something to say to me?" He gave her a stern look.
She looked up at him, a peaceful expression on her tear-streaked face. "I'm sorry I spoke like that to you in front of the others."
"You're properly chastised, then?" He held her to him, smelling sweat and sex and resisting the urge to lean down and lick the tears from her face.
She nodded. Her hair was damp and tickled his nose. He fought back a smile.
"Good," He said, reaching a hand out to shove the closet door shut. "Now let's go to bed and do that again."
She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly. "I know I wasn't supposed to like that, but.."
He swatted her gently on her bottom as he carried her to bed. "Next time, I'm counting to five."
Bellatrix laughed in the darkness.