Voldemort stared at Bellatrix as he pulled out his cufflinks and set them on the shelf inside his wardrobe. He unclasped the black velvet robe he'd worn over his tuxedo shirt, and he stripped it off and hung it up. She stood there in her beautiful dress, fingering the pendant at her neck, waiting. He'd told her to wait; he'd told her he wanted to undress her himself. So she stood there, obedient and wide-eyed, her gaze studying the way his waistcoat and white shirt were coming off.
Her eyes felt like fire coursing up and down his torso, and Voldemort could feel blood flushing through his cock in his dress trousers. He kicked off his shiny black shoes and unbuttoned the trousers, pulling them off with his underwear and socks as his half-hard cock sprang out. He glanced toward the bathroom and noted,
"I could use a shower."
Bellatrix nodded, pulling out her wand and murmuring a few spells to Vanish her makeup from her face. When Voldemort frowned at her, she smiled crookedly and said,
"It probably isn't too attractive to have black eyeliner running down my cheeks."
"Oh." Voldemort shrugged. "I know nothing of… cosmetics."
Bellatrix turned round, and he let his fingertips drift around her bare back as he considered what it had felt like to realise he could fall in love, to realise he'd already done it. He'd seen in her mind what love meant. It was soft around the edges but aggressively confident. It was quiet moments of admiration, thudding moments of want. It was the sensation of being unable to continue without the other. And Bellatrix felt that toward him now. She'd shown him; he'd seen the way her mind and her soul had combined to assure her that she loved her master.
Everything she felt for him, he felt twice as insistently. The terrifying sensation of attachment, the overwhelming attraction that went far beyond the physical. Lord Voldemort had always thought himself utterly incapable of all this. Love was for fools, for the blind and the weak. Love was not for feared, powerful Dark Lords. And, anyway, his ability to care that deeply for the welfare and happiness of another human had never made itself evident.
Not until now.
"Bella." He dragged the zip of her gown down, from its place behind the heavy, low drape to the middle of her backside, and he helped her pull the gown off. His mouth fell open then; she wore absolutely nothing underneath. She stepped out of her black heels and was naked, and Voldemort breathed, "Not even knickers?"
He let the gown fall in a liquid-like puddle on the ground, and Bellatrix laughed a little as she shook her head.
"There would have been a line from knickers," she insisted, "and the back didn't allow a bra. It was easier to just… you know…"
"I don't mind," Voldemort heard himself say. He stepped closer to her, and she whispered,
"Shower?"
He nodded, feeling himself firm up more as he flicked his wand toward the bathroom to set the taps running. He and Bellatrix set their wands on his bed, and she noted distantly,
"I shall need to brew up a new potion soon. It takes a month to brew, and in two months' letime, my annual dose will expire."
"Contraceptive potion, you mean." Voldemort gulped, horrified by the mental image of his most needed soldier swollen up and then cradling a mewling child. He curled his lip in disgust at the idea, and he promised her, "I'll brew it for you. I'll start tomorrow."
Her cheeks flushed a little as they stepped into the shower, taking turns beneath the hot stream. Bellatrix put her palms to Voldemort's wet chest and whispered, her voice bouncing off the black tile.
"I got to dance with you five times tonight. Five. It was glorious, Master."
"It was, a little." He took his time washing her, relishing the way the soap made his hands glide over her breasts and stomach and hips, the way she held her arms out and watched him wash them. He circled his soapy fingertips around her back and let his enormous cock fold up against her abdomen. She leaned into it, leaned against him as he massaged the soap into her back. He ground his hips onto her just a little, letting his cock glide along her slick stomach.
"Mmph." She tipped her head back, and Voldemort leaned down to brush his lips on hers. The water rinsed the soap from her, and as Voldemort stepped back and started washing himself, he watched her heavy-lidded eyes creep downward.
"You want it, don't you?" He finished washing his legs and arms and used a soap-covered hand to caress the tip of his cock and to show off its size. Even his large hand didn't come close to encircling it entirely, and as she watched, Bellatrix seemed to take note of that. Her gaze flicked to the bench of black tile that was inlaid into the shower wall, and she asked carefully,
"Master, would you… would you sit? Please?"
"Hmm. Yes. That sounds just fine." He cocked up an eyebrow at her as he put the soap back into its shelf and finished rinsing himself. He sat, feeling the cool tile shock his warm skin, and he let his cock jut out proudly toward her. Bellatrix stalked toward him, but before she could climb onto him, Voldemort pressed his fingers between her legs. He sighed, feeling the heat and wet that had nothing to do with the shower. She was slick as an oyster, and as he twisted two fingers up into her, he found his own breath huffing desperately. He studied the way water streamed over her breasts and dripped from her peaked nipples. He watched the water course in rivulets over her flat stomach. And he groaned.
"Come here," he said finally, pulling his hand away from her. He helped her straddle him, wedging her knees between his thighs and the walls. The last time she'd done this - the last time she'd tried to mount him like this - her body hadn't been able to take it. It had hardly lasted. Voldemort touched between her legs again, and, summoning all his magical force, he murmured,
"Allevio."
"My Lord," Bellatrix protested, frowning, "I want to feel it."
"You'll feel it," he promised, helping guide her hips up. He let her work his tip in, knowing that alone was a difficult feat. As she did it, he brought her mouth down to his and kissed her, tasting sweet leftover sugar from wedding cake in her mouth. Champagne, he could taste. She was delicious. He carefully squeezed and cradled a breast as she swiveled her hips a little and worked her way down onto his length. She felt like the tightest, sweetest embrace around him. Her body was screaming, rejecting the invasion, but Bellatrix was soldiering onward like the good girl she was.
"Unnff…" She made a rather ungraceful sound as she slid down too far in one go, and she collapsed away from his mouth, her face going into the crook of his neck. She marveled against his skin, "Oh, it doesn't hurt… it… oh… oh."
She was rocking just a little, up a tiny bit and down again, a little forward motion every time she thrust down. Voldemort wrapped her up tightly in his arms and whispered,
"Good girl. Keep going."
He planted his feet firmly onto the wet black tile, feeling like he was standing on the edge of a precipice. She was everything right now, almost too much. She was here, snug against him, snug around him, soft and warm and beautiful. She was brilliant. Her assassination work had earned him a fortune from his spy network at Gringotts. She was unafraid, devoted, funny, intelligent. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful…
"Bellatrix," Voldemort heard himself say breathlessly. Her hips were going faster now, and she had managed to take more than half his length into her body. She was keening quietly against his neck, struggling against his size despite his Painkilling Charm. She was close, he could feel. She was squeezing him more tightly round the shoulders, and her mouth had started frantically kissing the skin of his neck. She was moaning, rocking, tightening. Voldemort pressed his hands against her damp skin, splayed on her back, and he whispered, "Bellatrix."
"Ahh!" She kissed him hard on the mouth all of a sudden, and he was very aware of the way the walls of her womanhood cinched and hugged him in an arrythmic, primal way. Her nipples were so hard that he could feel them poke against his chest, and her hands shook as she snared her fingernails through his greying hair. Her kiss was messy, unfocused, but he steadied her face and kissed her back, breathing in her climax and feeling his own approaching like a steam train.
"I love you," his voice whispered. His voice had done it all on its own; Voldemort would never have said it like that. But his breath and his voice acted just the same, hot against Bellatrix's trembling lips as he said disbelievingly, "I didn't think… didn't think I'd ever want it. Want this. But I do want it, and I can neither help nor deny that… oh, bloody hell, Bella. I love… you."
He choked out that last syllable, bucking his hips up as his seed erupted eagerly into Bellatrix's body. His ears went hot and his vision blurred for a half second, and he felt so lightheaded that something compelled him to wandlessly turn down the temperature of the water. As he sat there panting, recovering, he found Bellatrix's eyes. He was still inside of her, very slowly going soft, and she seemed hesitant to climb off. Finally she did, and they both rinsed off again as she let his come wash out of her and down the drain. Voldemort shut the water off and exited the shower, handing Bellatrix a white towel and using one to quickly dry himself off.
He stalked briskly from the bathroom, feeling like an emotional moron as he threw open his wardrobe and started yanking out pyjamas and underwear.
"M-My Lord?"
"Yes, Bella?" He flicked his eyes over to see her standing in the bathroom doorway, looking achingly pretty with a towel wrapped around her body, her half-dry curls flung over one bare shoulder.
"I am afraid," she said quietly. "I do not want to anger you. But I want to say it back."
Voldemort blinked quickly, yanking on his pyjamas and slamming his wardrobe doors shut. He shrugged at her then and gulped.
"Say whatever you like."
"Master," Bellatrix murmured, stepping carefully toward him. She dared to thread her fingers through his, to hold his hands in hers, and she stared at the buttons on his pyjama shirt as she whispered, "I love you, too."
"Yes, well. Let's not make a habit of saying it so very often," Voldemort snapped. "It is a maudlin sentiment, and as true as it may be, there is no need for it to constantly be verbalised."
"Of course." Bellatrix raised her eyes to him at last, and he felt compelled to kiss her. He did, closing his eyes and remembering how it good it had felt to dance with her all night, to pretend that she wasn't even married to Rodolphus Lestrange.
"Bella," he said a few minutes later, once they'd settled into bed and she was curled against him, "We're going to riot."
"We are?" She seemed a little too excited by the prospect, and he smirked at her as she pushed up onto one elbow. Her voice was filled with glee as she asked, "When? Where?"
"Quidditch," he said simply. "Caerphilly against Tutshill. The match is in Wales next week. Half the Tutshill team are Mudbloods. The others - Abraxas and Maximus Malfoy, Nott, Mulciber, Avery, Yaxley, Rookwood, a few more - will light some of the Tutshill fan seating on fire and block exits. Create panic. During the chaos, you and I will be flying over the pitch, and we will eliminate the Tutshill players who are Mudbloods."
"Flying," Bellatrix repeated. Her smile was still broad. Voldemort nodded crisply.
"You'll be on a broom, fully Disillusioned. It's a night game; they won't be able to track you. I'll be flying unassisted."
Bellatrix scowled and shook her head. It was impossible, she was thinking, but Voldemort's smirk grew, and he informed her,
"It's a self-taught but fully mastered skill. Now, are you committed to spending the next week preparing fully for this attack, Bellatrix? It will be a show of force unlike anything we've done so far. I need to know I can count on my bravest, most able soldier. Can I?"
He reached up to cup her jaw, and Bellatrix nodded eagerly as she covered her hand with his. "Oh, yes, Master," she said happily, her eyes welling a little. "You can count on me."
"Good girl, Bella." He sighed a little, watching the excitement in her eyes and the speed of her breath. "I should have waited until morning to discuss this with you; I've riled you up. Accio Dreamless Sleep."
Author's Note: I'm really looking forward to writing the logistics of this large-scale attack! Woo hoo! Tomorrow is my 30th birthday (ack!) so I may or may not sneak a chapter in. If I don't update until Tuesday, I appreciate your patience. As always, thank you for reading and PLEASE do leave a review if you get a quick moment. The feedback is very much appreciated.