Voldemort stared at the ceiling with his hands folded over his chest. As Bellatrix climbed into bed beside him, he rolled away from her a little, mumbling,

"Night, Bella."

He could feel her hesitation through their bond, and she murmured from behind him,

"You're troubled."

He just swallowed and stared into the dark bathroom. Bellatrix added worriedly,

"I can't feel what's wrong."

"No. I've got some shields up," he admitted, and Bellatrix touched at his shoulder.

"Have I angered you, Master?"

"No," he answered honestly. He shut his eyes and tried not to think of her dancing on his feet, of her ten-year-old face surrounded by a halo of wild black curls. He tried not to think of her scandalous dress when she'd been sixteen, of her wedding to Rodolphus. He tried not to think of any of that, of her life before she'd been his. He felt realisation come over her, and she whispered,

"I am almost twenty-two years old, My Lord."

"I know," he replied softly. Bellatrix squeezed at his shoulder a little and reminded him,

"I was a widow before I married you. I'd already been married once before. I am an experienced soldier; I've got loads of combat experience fighting for you. I've made a Horcrux. I am almost twenty-two. I'm not a little girl."

"I know that," he snapped, rolling his shoulder until her hand fell off. Bellatrix was hurt then. He could feel it in the way their shared breathing hitched and caught. She was on the verge of tears. But she sounded awfully brave as she said,

"I've been wondering something, My Lord. That spell that you used on me… Interminagaudens. Does it work in reverse? If a witch were to use it on a wizard…?"

He scoffed. "If you were to use it on me, you mean."

"Yes." She sounded uncertain then. Voldemort rolled slowly to face her, studying the sharp angles and soft curves of her in the dim light of a single wall sconce. He shrugged a bit.

"I found that spell in a filthy old tome a long time ago. I never used it until you. I suppose it must work both ways, though I've no idea what that looks or feels like."

"I think about it sometimes," Bellatrix said seriously. Voldemort felt a little twitch in his cock then, the spark of arousal despite his mental misgivings. He licked his bottom lip, determined to let her ease him back into the dynamic they'd settled into.

"What do you think about?" he asked, and she started to peel off her thin black nightgown. Voldemort watched in wonder as she tossed it aside, lay on her back, and started to glide her hands around herself. She squeezed at her breasts, slid her palms down over her flat stomach, and thought,

I think about you covering me in it. So much of it that it runs off my skin in streams onto the sheets. More of it than I can fathom. It is your essence, the very core of you, and I want it. So much of it… your come.

"Oh." Voldemort felt a pulsing rush between his legs then, and he pushed his pyjama trousers down under the blankets. He kicked them away and touched at his hardening cock as he leaned over to kiss Bellatrix gently.

"Please," she whispered onto his lips, "please come all over me. Please let me try the spell."

"All right." He felt helpless tonight, like he was drowning in her. Suddenly he thought of the first time he'd ever kissed her. He'd been drunk. It had been New Year's, and he'd gotten drunk after making Inferi. She'd come when he'd Summoned her like the good girl she was, still tipsy from the party she'd thrown with Rodolphus. Voldemort had made her dance with him, and then they'd kissed and she'd left in a hurry, for it had felt very wrong then for them to kiss.

It didn't feel wrong now.

Every single thing changed that night, he felt her think, and his heart sped up a little in his chest. He dragged his teeth over her lip, tugging on it a little, and asked her through their minds,

You want to be covered in it, do you?

"Yes," she whispered aloud. "Yes, Master. Yes."

He could feel her thinking about the first time he'd entered her, in his office at Malfoy Manor, when she'd been utterly shocked by his size and completely overwhelmed by how good and right he felt invading her.

"Mmph." Voldemort rolled more to hover over Bellatrix, and he pulled back until he was kneeling above her. He took his cock in both hands as if he were aiming some sort of weapon, and he said in a shaking voice, "Go on, then. Get your wand."

Bellatrix smiled a little and nodded. She reached for her wand from the table beside her, aimed it at Voldemort, and wordlessly asked for permission. He smirked.

"I'm ready."

"Interminagaudens," Bellatrix incanted, and the spell socked Voldemort like a punch to his gut. Suddenly Bellatrix dropped her wand and gasped, and he could tell that she was feeling an onslaught of pleasure through the bond.

There was no build-up, no tightening before the snap. Everything just burst like a firework, his satisfaction sending his ears into a hot ring as though he'd taken Pepperup Potion. His vision blurred for a moment, and he almost lost his balance above Bellatrix. Then his seed started to pump out, creamy ropes of it bursting out in a throbbing volley. At first, it landed in long streams from Bellatrix's forehead down to her collarbone, from her nipples to her belly button. But the longer it went on, the more the streams turned into puddles, and then into a solid coating. Bellatrix was moaning, writhing, and Voldemort knew she'd climaxed right alongside him.

After what felt like an absolute eternity of physical bliss, he grew weary, like he'd run a great distance. Their breath was laboured; their hearts were racing. Their lungs were on fire and their stomachs clenching with the effort of it all. Still he came, more and more, until the room smelled so strongly of sex that Voldemort felt a little sick. He swallowed hard, shut his eyes, and thought,

So much. Too much. I'm dizzy. Bella, please; I'm dizzy.

"F-Finite Incantatem," he heard her whisper, and finally the sensation of the neverending orgasm dissolved, the heat and buzz letting up slowly. Voldemort grunted in shock as he studied Bellatrix's beautiful breasts and stomach, her lovely face, all utterly coated by his filth.

"Not filth," she corrected him aloud. She dragged her fingers from her neck down over her chest and stomach and then pushed her fingers against her clit, gasping softly. "Not filth. It's… oh."

Voldemort couldn't speak. His throat was dry and his body was completely sapped. He climbed off of Bellatrix, his legs quivering as he struggled to make his way beside her. He lay on his back and reached with trembling fingers for his wand. He nonverbally cleaned his own body up, Scouring and siphoning and freshening himself. Then he stared at Bellatrix, at the rise and fall of her chest, at the way her fingers played with the come on her stomach, and he groaned quietly. He finally aimed his wand at her and whispered,

"Tergeo. Tergeo… Scourgify Duo. Fragrancirosa."

Soon enough, she lay quiet and still, clean and smelling of roses.

"Thank you, Master," she whispered, and Voldemort sighed as he set his wand down. He opened up his mind to her and let her relive a memory with him.

She'd just come back from an attack on Muggles, two days after her twentieth birthday. She stood beside Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange in Voldemort's office, panting with excitement, her brown eyes gleaming. She was euphoric as she said happily,

'I don't suppose I've ever had that much fun, My Lord.'

Voldemort cocked an eyebrow and made a snide remark about her needing to get out more, but all he could really do was stare. He studied her form, carefully ensconced in battle attire. He eyed her mane of curls, and he thought suddenly that he'd known this was coming. Ever since she'd been a little girl lighting things on fire and stealing Champagne, she'd been preparing for this life. She'd told him years earlier that she wanted to serve him, that she wanted nothing else.

And she did look happy, and beautiful, and completely unattainable where she stood beside her husband. Voldemort cleared his throat roughly and praised the trio for their fine work before sending them away. Just before Rodolphus ushered Bellatrix out of the office, she glanced over her shoulder, smiling just a little. Her wide brown eyes glistened with delight, and Voldemort felt like he was going to buckle over at the waist. He just nodded at her, and then she was gone.

He sank down in his chair and touched at his forehead, thinking that Bellatrix made him feel things that he shouldn't, terrifying things that he'd never felt before.

"I loved you before I knew what it meant to love anyone," Voldemort said where he lay beside her. She moved to curl up against him, both of them naked and beyond sated, and she murmured,

"I was made just exactly for you, My Lord. You are the reason I am breathing. You are…"

Everything, her mind finished, or maybe his did. He finally shut his eyes and mumbled,

"Get some sleep, Bellatrix. Tomorrow morning, the Daily Prophet will be here, and then I'll know just what sort of mess those goblins got us into. Goodnight."

Goodnight, My Lord, she thought at him.

Author's Note: Sorry for that interjection of lemon with minimal other plot! Ha! I have a very, very busy day on vacation tomorrow and even busier the next day, but I promise to upload a chapter ASAP. In the interim, your feedback is valued more than I can say. Thank you for reading.