Sirius Black is sleeping.
The man is an idiot. He presumably has a perfectly good hideout somewhere, but does he sleep there? No. He comes to the cheapest, crappiest brothel in Knockturn Alley, gets his miserable rocks off, and then lies down in a doorway and sleeps with the fleas like a -
Well, like the dog that he currently is. Filthy, flea-bitten cretin.
At least his mind is easier to fuck with that way.
She watches him, reflecting with some amusement that any one of them could have pulled this particular mission off. Hell, even Scabior could have managed it. But giving it to her means the Dark Lord gets to have her afterwards, and at this point, neither he nor she is really sure whether sex is the means or the end.
She does know that he would never have played any of tonight's games over anything that really mattered, though - at least not right beforehand. When he needs her at her best, not only will he not distract her himself, he won't allow anyone else to, either. Although he certainly makes it up to her afterwards.
In a way, she thinks that's really why she's been given this mission tonight. He is sating her so she can focus on the real mission tomorrow.
He knows her too well.
She remembers again his hand clenching on her belly, and shivers. There's nothing in the world better than when he loses control with her. She feels that slow, deep ache again in her clit, and squirms. Her knickers are tight, and she grinds down against their center seam.
She wants to get back to him, to let him do anything and everything to her, and so, swiftly, efficiently, she slides into the cretin's mind.
She finds herself in his half-formed dream.
He is in Azkaban, watching. Watching everything, everyone. Herself and Rodolphus, others too. Every thought lightly coated with hatred and slime and blackness. The Dementors seem further from him than from some, but closer, too. Like he is infected with them yet also immune.
His senses seem uncannily sharp in the dim light. She is the only woman there, and his eyes follow her everywhere. He eyes the slope of her breast with malevolent hunger.
As his gaze traces her breast down in his dream, Bella's hand traces hers in the alley, her fingers brushing over the embroidery of her dress, reminding her that she is outside his mind as well as within it.
A slow, greedy smile rises on her lips. She had just intended to plant the desired image in his mind, take what she needed, and leave. But now, seeing what is already there, and its potential, she has a much better plan.
She leans back against the wall. Slips her hand into an opening at her skirt that appears to be a pocket, but isn't. Through it, she searches beneath her dress, beneath her knickers. Finds her clit with her fingertips, and, leisurely, she begins to rotate it. Lets her juices flow, drenching her knickers, letting her scent fill the air.
So doing, she sets herself free in his mind.
"You really ought to fuck her while she's asleep, you know."
Rodolphus says this lazily beside him as he watches Bella sleep in the corner.
In his dream, it does not seem extraordinary that his estranged cousin-in-law should sit companionably beside him and say such a thing. It is as natural as any ridiculous notion taken for granted in a dream, and Sirius considers the suggestion with the appropriate level of seriousness.
"Should I, really?"
"Oh, yes," Rodolphus says. "She likes it when I do it. Says she dreams of the Dark Lord." In a joking undertone, he adds, "Can't say I see the appeal, myself."
Sirius narrows his eyes, because even his hazy dream-logic is momentarily troubled by the ease of Rodolphus' response. He says suspiciously, "Why would you let me do that?"
Rodolphus shrugs. "I haven't seen her take it in years. I miss watching it." He adds fondly, "There's nothing quite like watching someone appreciate her. She's really quite magnificent, don't you think?"
Sirius might not share the fondness, but he can't deny the magnificence. He hasn't seen another woman in years, and the way her prison dress is pulled up to reveal pale, creamy thighs makes his eyes water.
Not to mention his cock.
Rodolphus recedes into the periphery of his dream, his function fulfilled, and Sirius rises and walks over to the sleeping woman.
He drops to his knees, and gently grasps her sleeping form. Turns her carefully onto her back. She shifts in her sleep, but does not wake, and her thighs fall open easily as he does it.
He kneels between them.
Her prison dress is shorter than it was in reality, and it has ridden up her thighs. Slowly, carefully, he draws it up, over her hips, bringing her pussy into view.
He glances up at Bella's face. She appears still deeply asleep. His mind has edited her dress further, made it low-cut and thin and tight, and her breasts swell against the fabric. It's worn through in spots, and he can see her nipples, hard and proud in the cool night air.
His cock is hard and proud, too, standing firmly to attention against his stomach. (That has been edited too, with an additional couple of inches).
He turns his attention back between her thighs.
She's bare, the way he likes it (oh, the convenience of dreams) and the flesh of her lips is pink and swollen and lush. Between them, her clit is hard, standing to attention, and her slit is parted, a cavern with gleaming moisture pooling visibly inside.
He takes his cock firmly in hand. It gleams with clear fluid, mirroring her open, waiting cunt.
Slowly, he eases his cockhead up and down her pussy. He nudges it over her clit and back again, watching it swell, feeling it slide back and forth over the tip of his cock. He eases it down into the dip of her opening, coating it with her juices. It takes all his strength not to just ram it into her, but he draws it out again, back up to her clit.
The sleeping woman before him arches, moaning. Her legs fall open wider and her mouth falls open, too. The tip of her tongue runs lazily over her lips.
With his free hand, he gives her breast a squeeze, feeling a little surge of power when her breaths grow shallow and faster. His squeezes grow firmer until he is kneading her cruelly, and she squirms and writhes under his hand.
"That's it, Bella," he mutters. "Beg me to fuck you. Beg for my cock."
Bella moans again in her sleep, higher and pleading this time. Her hips ease back and forth blindly against him. Trying to get him inside her.
With difficulty, he holds back, rotating her clit with his thumb while he pumps his cock.
She whines a little, pushing down against him, whimpering. "My Lord, please-"
Irritated by the mention of her sodding Lord, he thrusts three blunt fingers into her, hard. He curls them, cutting off her whimpers. They are replaced with sudden clenching and moans.
"That's better," he hisses. "Good girl." He pulls his hand free and insinuates his slick fingers into her mouth.
She sucks on them on reflex, her eyes still closed. She gives a little protesting whine, her hips rotating a little, and he can see her slit twitching where he pulled his fingers away.
"You don't like an empty cunt, then, Bella?" he taunts. "You need cock? Tell me you need my cock. Tell me you need it in your slutty little pussy. Tell me you want me to fuck your hole. All your holes."
"Cock," she mumbles, a slight, hungry catch in her voice.
"Close enough," he smirks, and, abruptly, he slides easily into her.
"Ohhh," she sighs, her walls clinging to him as he shoves himself into her up to the hilt.
"Fuck," he gasps. "Fuck. You were made to take it." He thrusts into her, hard. He isn't going to last long. "You like my prick, Bella? You like it?"
"I love it," she groans ecstatically. "My Lord!"
He's too into it now to give a shit who she thinks he is. He just fucks her harder.
(As his orgasm approaches, Bella allows a glimpse of them to break into the dream. Himself sleeping as a dog on one side of the alley, her leaning against the other wall with her hand beneath her skirt, eyes closed, touching herself).
He pauses in the dream, arrested on the brink, and then there is a flicker in both their minds as he becomes aware. Biding for time, he resumes thrusting, but more evenly now.
(In the alley, the dog Transfigures into a man, watching her warily as he does it. He studies her for a second or two from a distance, brow puckering, and it seems to be strongly on his mind to kill her. Bella watches him in his own mind's eye, ready to Apparate away if need be, but the impulse seemingly passes. Instead, he comes up close to the writhing woman before him, watching her dispassionately. Her eyes are still closed and her fingers are moving frantically beneath her skirt).
"Come on, Bella," he murmurs in his dream as he fucks her hard into the floor. "Come for the Dark Lord."
("Come on, Bella," he murmurs in the alley as he tests the edges of her mind. His hand is lifting her skirt, slowly, and his eyes fix on the way she fucks herself with her hand. "Show me the Dark Lord. Show me where to find him.")
Bella's mouth falls open in his dream as her body spasms. Her mind falls open, too. "My Lord," she rasps as she is on the edge. "Please - let me come-"
(In the alley, Bella allows the clouds of her mind to part. A calendar with tomorrow's date circled. Then, the Department of Mysteries. The hallway. Rows and rows of prophecies. She allows him to walk, and stores the memory away in her mind for re-use when they strike tomorrow. Perhaps he will go there, perhaps not, but either way, the Dark Lord can use the memory to lure the boy).
He pauses in the dream, cruelly. "You want to come, Bella?"
"Yes," she begs. "Please!"
He has never been able to resist a begging woman. Especially not this one.
("Come for me, then, you filthy little slut," he hisses in the alley, shoving his fingers hard up into her drenched, clenching pussy, and she comes all over his hand.)
"What in Merlin's name are you doing, bitch? Are you that hard up for a fuck these days?"
His hands are on her wrists, holding them to the wall, and that means regrettably that neither his nor hers are still in her cunt. Bella clenches and squirms, her body aching.
"I mean, I'd understand it if you were here to kill me, but what the bloody hell was that?"
Bella shrugs and pouts, deliberately girlish. "I just thought it would be fun to fuck with you a bit. Can't a girl have a bit of fun?"
Sirius gives a sound of disgust. "You're just as mental now as you were when we were at school."
Bella pokes her tongue out at him. "Two wars and Azkaban didn't make either of us sane. There's a bloody surprise."
"Shut up. Incarcerous," he adds.
Vines descend from a planter box in the window above her head and twine around her wrists, her upper body, holding her firmly in place against the wall. Too firmly for her to free herself with the force of her body. The pressure, the tautness of being held that way sends a thrill of pleasure pulsing through her veins.
She could break the vines with magic if she really wanted to, but she doesn't. If he wants to get his rocks off pretending she's at his mercy, fine. She'll play. And anyway, even the illusion of danger adds a new thrill; it's a long time since she's played with someone who hates her the way Sirius does. She can smell the blood lust on him and it awakens her own.
He is unbuttoning her skirt from the waist, opening it, baring her to the cool night air. Her legs are spread wide. Her knickers are pulled to one side, into the crease of her inner thigh, pussy lips hot and swollen and open where she'd gotten herself off with her hand.
His eyes crawl over her, gleaming darkly with unconcealed hunger and loathing. He tugs at her knickers and, deliberately, cruelly, he rips open the center seam. The threads break open easily; they are made to be torn. He pulls the two halves of her knickers wide apart to frame her pussy and looks at his handiwork with satisfaction.
The rough hostility of it makes her cunt let go, makes slick wetness seep down her thighs, and she knows he must be able to see it and smell it, knows it must make his cock hard and ache in his pants, knows it must make him hate himself and her.
He finds the false pockets of her skirt with a curious arch of his eyebrows.
"Still just as much of a whore," he says reflectively. "Is there anything about you that isn't fuckable?"
"Not much," she says cheerfully. She hasn't missed the way his cock is tenting in his pants. He might hate her, but that doesn't stop him from jolting to attention at the idea of her hands in her dress, playing frantically with her clit while he fucked her in his dream. The bastard's gagging for it, looking for any excuse at all to cram his cock into her and pound her until she's a quivering, pussy-drenched wreck against the wall.
How positively delicious.
He turns his attention to her breasts. He unbuttons her dress from the top, baring her down to where the vines are holding her waist. Tugs the cups of her bra down so her breasts spill out. Their dusky tips are round and full; they tighten in the cool night air, and he squeezes them with blunt, hard fingers, drawing them out to their full extent.
"That's better," he says, standing back to admire the way he has displayed her, wet and oh, so fuckable. "That's the Bella I remember. Pinned down and spread wide open, just waiting for someone to fuck her brains out. Am I the first tonight? Or has someone been there before me?" He slides his fingers into her, and out again, tasting her. "First. Should I be honoured?"
"Hardly," she says, but his words make her ache. Slick juices trickle freely from her cunt, down her thighs. He catches them with his fingers and spreads them over her clit until she groans and pushes herself down into his hand.
"I remember the last time I had you like this," he hisses, and the gleam in his eye reminds her of the old Sirius, before he became so utterly insufferable. "Seventh Year. Prim little school uniform. Your shirt was stretched so tight over your tits that the buttons ripped off in my hands. Your skirt barely covered your arse and your slutty little knickers. You and Rod set it up. He'd already fucked you. He was dripping out of you when I found you, all trussed up and soaking wet and begging for it. You were a filthy little fuckwhore even then." His grin flickers sideways. "Maybe your little dream tonight wasn't as farfetched as I thought. Maybe he really does like to see you take it."
"No, that one was for the greater good," she says, although he isn't wrong about Rodolphus. "We hoped to entice you back to the family."
"Ugh," he says. "Pity."
"Oh, don't be a sore loser. You still got to fuck me."
"Pfft. Who hasn't?"
Bella's eyes narrow, and with a flick of her head, she Vanishes the vines and starts to pull away.
He is on her then, his breath hot and heavy, pinning her hard with all his weight. "Oh, no, you don't. You don't get away that easily."
A thrill shoots through her at the dark gleam in his eye, at the sudden force of his body and the way he's pinned her. The way his cock is shoved hard into her belly, winding her. The way his ragged voice promises to fuck her without mercy. Underneath all the insufferable ideas and self-pity, he's still a Black. He's cruel and ruthless and he'll fuck her that way, trying to break her limits, but she doesn't have any. Her nipples ache, pressed hard against his chest, and her cunt is overflowing down her thighs.
"What's the matter, Mutt?" she hisses. "Did I hurt your widdle feelings? Stop fucking around and fuck me. Go on, I dare you. Show the filthy fuckwhore who's in charge. If you can."
With a roar of frustration, he turns her around, and shoves her hard to the wall, so fast it knocks the breath out of her. He drags her arms behind her, yanking them across her back, holding them crossed in one tight, cruel hand.
She rolls her hips up and out, open and waiting.
With one quick move, he has her skirt all the way up around her waist, and then he shoves himself up into her, all the way to the hilt, making her cry out. Her breasts are pressed flat to the wall and her body is stretched, from shoulders to wrists. His cock is thick and it opens her wide. Her whole body shudders with his slamming thrusts, and she cries out with each one, pinned between the wall and his merciless prick.
"Take it, bitch," he rasps. "Take it all. I'm going to fuck you til you can't even walk."
Only one man has ever managed that, and Sirius doesn't even come close, but the thought of it makes her groan, makes shudders grip her, makes her vocabulary shrink to fuck and yes and hard and deep. Her cries echo through the alleyway, a rhythmic beat breaking through them as he pounds her into the wall. He wrings one climax after another out of her until they all run together, until finally he comes himself.
He pulls out of her with a roar, turning her around, and doesn't help her when her knees buckle beneath her. His cock is still jerking in his hand, and he holds himself out. Spurts of his come lash her breasts, marking her nipples and bra. He smears the swollen, wet tip of his cock across her mouth.
"Take it," he hisses.
She sucks him clean, hungrily, relishing the taste and shape of him beneath her tongue. It doesn't stop her from staring up at him malevolently, but his cock is too good to waste on politics.
"Happy?" she snaps when she's done.
He uses his thumb to spread his come over her mouth and chin. He eyes his handiwork critically. "Now, I'm happy."
She wonders what he thinks he's doing. Humiliating her, maybe? Or maybe just marking her. Underneath it all, he really is just a filthy bloody dog.
He hauls her up by the arm, none too gently, and she leans docilely against the wall. He buttons her dress up over her naked breasts, the cups of her bra still pulled down. He buttons it down over her hips, just past her torn knickers, and leaves the rest of her skirt open. Cool air reaches her thighs and her swollen flesh. She doesn't need a mirror to know she looks a bloody mess. Makeup smeared, hair wild, semen splashed on her dress and trickling down her mouth and her thighs. She smells to high heaven of sex; it's on her skin and in the fabric of her clothes. She looks well and truly, well, fucked.
"Go on," he snarls, "go back to them like that. They think you're a warrior? I know what you are. You're just a good fuck. If you're the best they've got, then we're gonna win."
She leans in close. "I'm both," she hisses. "And that'swhy we'll win."