"Master!"
Bellatrix shrieked, writhing desperately on the ugly brown bed. She came hard with his tongue inside of her, and he groaned loudly against her body, his hands clasping desperately at her knees and then trailing up her thighs to her hips. He squeezed her waist as her walls clenched around his mouth, and as she panted and moaned softly, he sat up and informed her breathlessly,
"Damn it. I do enjoy that. Oh, Merlin's Beard. Nongravidare Maxima."
She felt the shimmering sort of heat of the contraceptive spell taking her over, and then she grinned as Voldemort slid up her body and slipped straight into her. She sighed at the feel of him filling her, at the sensation of his cock stuffing her up, and she brought her knees up to her chest and her arms around his shoulders. He bent to touch his forehead to hers, and as he began to pump his hips, he said in a shaking voice,
"So, perhaps I have got a thing for tasting you. I hope you'll oblige me from time to time."
"I'll oblige you whenever you like, Master," Bellatrix said, and he reminded her,
"Tom. Call me Tom. I don't want you to forget in public. Oh. Oh."
"Master… sorry. Tom. Tom." Bellatrix drove her head back against the feel of him accelerating his hips, of his tip hitting her cervix over and over again. She kissed his shoulder and breathed against his neck, and she squeezed her knees around his waist. Over and over he filled her, emptied her, made her gasp and moan. He stilled suddenly, going very tense, and he whispered in a trembling tone,
"Bella…"
She shut her eyes at that, for he'd sounded almost tender, almost… affectionate? Surely not. She rubbed at his bare back as his come leaked out between them, and when eventually he let his cock slip out of her, he lay on his back beside her and whispered,
"Well, I quite like that."
She smiled and informed him, "So do I. But, My Lord, I was wondering if we could go see the Playgirls Revue downstairs. I'm morbidly curious."
"I think it's just some scantily clad girls prancing about," Voldemort said, and Bellatrix giggled.
"I'd like to see that," she said. "Muggle girls making whores of themselves. Seems funny."
"Funny? You've an odd sense of humour. If that's what you want, then get dressed," Voldemort said. "I've certainly got little objection to seeing dozens of girls wearing nothing but glitter circles on their nipples and shimmery knickers."
Bellatrix's mouth fell open. "They wear nothing but that?"
Her cheeks went hot, and Voldemort smirked. "You sure you want to see it?"
"Perhaps not," Bellatrix admitted meekly, and Voldemort told her,
"We could go to the casino. I could show you how I cheat the slot machine. It's rather fun, actually."
"All right." Bellatrix grinned, and the two of them dressed again after casting some spells to clean themselves up. They made their way back out through the smoky corridor and down the stairs, back out through the lounge full of men in sport coats with women hanging on them. The pianist was still hard at work, his voice gravelly after years of playing and singing through the cigarette smoke. Bellatrix followed Voldemort into the casino, and he led her to the the rows of slot machines. Bally, they all said on the front, and Bellatrix asked,
"What's Bally, Tom?"
He gave her a long look at the sound of the name, and then half his mouth turned up and he said simply,
"It's the brand. The company that makes the machine. That's all. Here. Sit."
He gestured to the backed stool before the slot machine, and Bellatrix laughed softly as she heaved herself up onto it. She crossed her legs demurely, and Voldemort reached into his pocket and muttered,
"Gemino Maxima."
Bellatrix rolled her eyes; he was multiplying pennies in his pocket. Sure enough, he pulled out a handful of coins, and they were all of exactly the same level of dinginess. Bellatrix didn't reckon the Muggles would think to notice that. She picked up a penny and asked,
"Now what?"
"Now you put the penny into the slot machine," Voldemort said matter-of-factly. "Up here. Yes… now pull down on this crank. Pull hard!"
Bellatrix laughed uproariously as she yanked on the lever to the right of the machine. She watched as the wheels before her spun and spun, and the machine made some tinkling little music. It all seemed very mechanical, distinctly unmagical. Then, suddenly, the wheels stopped spinning, and Bellatrix was looking at a picture of a lemon, a number 7, and a star. She frowned.
"What does that mean?" she asked, and Voldemort tipped his head.
"Means you lose," he said. "Try again. See what happens this time."
He winked at her, actually winked at her, and Bellatrix grinned. She quickly stifled the grin and put on a serious face, popping a penny from her handful of coins into the machine. She pulled on the crank, and the wheels spun again. She heard Voldemort take a very deep breath beside her, heard him murmur a few spells she didn't recognise, and then suddenly the wheels stopped again. Click, click, click. 7. 7. 7.
"I win?" Bellatrix guessed, and Voldemort nodded.
"Oh, yes. You win," he said. The machine lit up, blinking with little lightbulbs all round the outside of it. Bellatrix yelped as pennies started pouring out of the machine into the tray at the bottom. People started gathering around, yelling and cheering.
"She won! She won!" someone cried. "Good job, sweetheart!"
"Erm… thanks," Bellatrix said. "Want some pennies?"
She had no use for the endless stream of Muggle coins, so she started handing fistfuls of them to the gleeful idiots who had clustered around the slot machine. They began snatching rather roughly at the money then, big men grabbing coins out of Bellatrix's hands, and Voldemort snapped,
"Enough. Get away."
"She said we could take it," one man drawled, and Voldemort snarled,
"Leave your hands off her. Get away."
Bellatrix watched the man in the strange hat - a cowboy hat, she'd heard someone say - shudder where he stood. A Confundus Charm. He nodded and handed his pennies to a small woman next to him, and he tipped his hat and told Bellatrix,
"Sorry, there, little lady."
"It's fine," Bellatrix said. She'd had quite enough of the slot machine, so she got off the stool.
"You seem awfully sober for people who just won the penny slot!" cried the bartender from the half-empty bar.
"Oh, drinks sound wonderful," Bellatrix blurted, and Voldemort led her over toward the bar. The bartender, who had been cleaning out a glass with a cloth, set the glass down and said,
"Feel like gambling a little more?"
"That very much depends," Voldemort said, sitting on a backless stool. Bellatrix sat beside him, and the bartender, a skinny middle-aged man with a thick mustache, said,
"I'll make a deal with ya. You pay me for six shots of whiskey, and the girl's are free. You make it through all six, Mister, and the seventh is on me."
"We'll both be on the floor!" Bellatrix exclaimed, and Voldemort pinched his lips. He narrowed his eyes at the smirking bartender, then asked Bellatrix,
"You want to shoot whiskey, Bella?"
"Erm… all right," she nodded, gulping hard. The bartender laughed and nodded.
"You got a good sport here. Daughter?"
"Girlfriend," Bellatrix said quickly. Voldemort licked his bottom lip, drumming his fingers, and the bartender cackled loudly.
"You lucky dog! All right. You only pay for four shots, you got a good-looking little girl like that with you. Hoo boy. All right. That'll be two bucks, Mister."
Voldemort pulled out three single dollar bills and handed them over, and the bartender grinned.
"Thank ya kindly. Here we go. Y'all ready? Woooo!"
He pulled out two shot glasses and a bottle of whiskey, and he filled the glasses to the brim. Bellatrix shut her eyes and knocked hers back. It didn't burn as badly as wizarding Firewhisky. She could tolerate this, she thought. She set her empty glass down, and Voldemort asked her,
"Want some water?"
"No," she managed, shaking her head and coughing a little.
"Again!" the bartender exclaimed, pouring more into each glass. They repeated the process until they'd had four shots each. On the fifth, Bellatrix began to feel very sick, and she turned down the sixth shot. Voldemort said he didn't want a seventh. By then, Bellatrix's head was spinning and her heart felt strange.
"I want to go to bed, Master," she drawled after a while.
"Oh, that's how it is," laughed the bartender. "Master, huh? You ain't got her, like… enslaved or nothing, right? I don't need to call the police?"
"No; it's just a nickname," Voldemort slurred. "We play around."
"Adorable," the bartender said flatly. Bellatrix leaned her head onto Voldemort's shoulder and whimpered,
"I'm dizzy and I want to go to bed."
"All right." He took her hand and stumbled with her through the casino, through the smoky piano lounge. They fell going up the stairs, and it took them an inordinately long time to stand back up again. When they finally reached their floor, Bellatrix lamented,
"I left… ah, fucking hell, Master; I left my key… in your room."
"It's no problem," he mumbled, "because you can just come into my room. To get it."
"All right." It took him five minutes to open his door then, because he dropped the key three times. He finally just slammed his hand onto the door and yelled,
"Alohomora!"
The door clicked and swung open, and Bellatrix giggled as she said,
"Doesn't feel all the time here like you can do… erm… what's the word?"
"Magic," he muttered, shutting the door, and she nodded, which made her even more dizzy.
"Mmm-hmm. Magic." She started to strip her dress off, and she kicked her shoes off, and she set her purse down, and Voldemort told her,
"Don't get your key. Just stay here."
"All right." Bellatrix felt very drowsy as he shucked off his suit one piece at a time, staggering around as he did. He finally made it down to his underwear, his suit jacker and his tie and shirt and trousers scattered all over the room. They stumbled toward the beds, and he told her,
"Don't sleep in a separate bed. Sleep with me."
"All right." Bellatrix smiled a little then as she climbed into the hideous brown bed with him, curling up beside him and letting him cradle her in his arms. He was warm, his skin bare and his breath heavy with whiskey. He kissed her forehead and told her,
"You're so damned beautiful."
"Thanks," Bellatrix mumbled, stroking at his chest. Voldemort caressed her curls and informed her,
"I was… oh, bloody hell… I was so proud of you… at that wedding… you were the only one that made me proud. You make me proud. You do."
"Thanks," Bellatrix said again, burrowing her face against his chest.
"I like being with you," he whispered, his voice suddenly very quiet. Bellatrix could feel his heart speed up. She was quiet, too, then, until at last she said in a blurry voice,
"Thanks."
"Bellatrix." He said the name as if pondering it, as if it were something he had to consider for a later date. Bellatrix shut her eyes and fell asleep hard and fast, curled up there against him, drunk in Las Vegas.
Author's Note: Viva Las Vegas, am I right? Thank you so much to all those who have read and reviewed so far! I'd love to know your thoughts.