When they Apparated into Marsham House, Voldemort shooed Tippy away and murmured to Bellatrix,

"May I take your cloak?"

"Oh. Thank you." She stripped it off and handed it to him, and as he hung it on the rack by the door, she slowly padded up the stairs. She hadn't been up here in almost seven months. The very last time she'd come down these stairs, she'd been holding a folder full of divorce documents, crying her eyes out. Now her heart thumped as she reached the top of the steps and peered into 'her' rooms. They were still green, like he'd transformed them to be for her. She stepped closer to them and realised he'd left them exactly as they'd been. Her wardrobes were still there. Her boudoir was still set up with the silver brushes and mirrors he'd bought for her. It was perfectly clean.

"I couldn't exactly change it," Voldemort muttered from behind her, and when she whirled around, she whispered,

"And your rooms? Who's been in your rooms?"

"No one," he said very seriously. Bellatrix tipped her head.

"Tell me the truth."

"I am," he nodded. "I've been quite alone, very much on purpose. I have learnt, over these last months, that if it can not be you, it must be no one.. There has been no one in my bed, Bellatrix."

"Well," she said softly, "I'd… I'd like to break your drought."

He smirked a little and seized her fingers, taking her and leading her toward his dark and shadowy rooms. Inside, he lit the wall sconces and murmured,

"Happy birthday."

"Thank you." She slipped her dress up and over her head, obviously surprising him. He stared at her there in her black lace bra and knickers, and his jaw just dropped. He slowly unfastened the clasps of his outer robe and let it fall, and then he paused and leaned onto the footboard of his bed.

"I need to take something," he said.

"Take something?" Bellatrix repeated, and he nodded.

"Girding Potion," he said, sounding embarrassed. Bellatrix's eyebrows went up. Cillian had taken Girding Potion, the one time they'd had sex, because he'd been very worried about finishing too quickly. But Cillian was in his early twenties. Lord Voldemort was a man in his forties. So far as Bellatrix knew, premature ejaculation was a trouble for the young. But there Voldemort stood, eyes shut, panting a little, and he actually dared to ask her,

"Would you mind going to the Potions Stores downstairs…"

"I'll be right back," she said, feeling rather amused. She couldn't help, as she padded down the stairs with her wand in her hand, feeling a little proud of herself that she'd made a man like Voldemort feel so anticipatory that he'd worried about finishing straight away. She opened the Potions stores cupboard in the conservatory and aimed her wand at them.

"Accio Girding Potion," she said, and the small red bottle came flying up at her. She carried the bottle back through the house and up the stairs, and when she got back up there, Voldemort had stripped down to just his trousers. He'd grown a little flabby, she could see, more so than he'd been before their divorce. He was still far from 'fat,' as he liked to denigrate himself, but he had a bit of a paunch, and his broadness had a softness about it. Bellatrix didn't mind one bit; she found him immensely sexy. But he shifted on his feet and said,

"I apologise for having aged so badly."

"On the contrary, Master; I find you delicious," Bellatrix said, but she realised at once that he thought she was mocking her. She let her smile fade, and she walked right up to him and put her hand on his chest. She put the bottle of Girding Potion in one of his hands, and she whispered,

"I am attracted to you."

He stared at the Girding Potion for a while and then Banished it to the bedside table. He flicked his eyes up and down Bellatrix's form, and he said firmly,

"Take off the bra and knickers. Please."

Oh. He was taking control now. Her cheeks went hot, and she nodded. She liked this.

"Yes, Master."

She stripped down for him, and she could see him becoming terribly aroused by not only the sight of her naked form, but by the way she'd obeyed him. She gave him a serious look and asked,

"What shall I do now?"

His dark eyes flared. He visibly gulped. He pointed to the bed and said,

"Go lie down."

"Yes, Master," she whispered, and she heard him let out a rickety breath. She climbed up onto his bed, and she prompted him,

"Shall I just leave my hands like this, or… or are you going to…"

"Put them above your head," he barked, and Bellatrix tried not to smirk. Oh, yes. She liked this. This wasn't even a game. This was real. He was her master. He was Lord Voldemort. And this - this - was what he needed. She was flushed wet between her legs now, and she gasped when she put her hands up and heard him incant,

"Incarcerous."

Her wrists were suddenly bound to the headboard of the bed, and Bellatrix moaned. Voldemort whipped his wand at her and snarled,

"Gaudens."

Bellatrix squirmed as a sudden orgasm took her over. Her walls clenched hard through the climax, and she drove her head back and yanked at the ropes.

"Master!"

"Gaudens!" he exclaimed, and before she could even begin recovering from the first one, another wave of pleasure took her over. Bellatrix cried out in bliss, in agony, and white heat washed over her.

"Gaudens!" she distantly heard Voldemort say. At some point, she heard him say it a fourth time, and then a fifth and a sixth. By then, she couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. This was torture. Sweet torture.

"No… more…" she begged him, for her body felt like it was made of jelly and was utterly exhausted.

"Emancipare," she heard him breathlessly incant. Then she heard the sink running in the bathroom, and suddenly his voice was beside her.

"Here you are."

She tried to sit up, dizzy and tired, and she whispered, "Oh, where am I?"

She was handed a glass of water, which she sipped, and she muttered,

"I've never… oh, Master, I can't… felt so…."

"Good, I hope," he said stiffly. "Lie on your stomach, will you?"

"Yes." She set her glass down and shook like a leaf as she moved onto her stomach. She heard him stripping off his trousers, and then she felt the tip of his wand at her abdomen and heard him incant,

"Nongravidare."

He tipped her hips up and back, and when he pushed it, she was so sensitised from all the coming that it almost hurt. But after a moment, the sliding in and out felt awfully good. His hands on her backside felt awfully good. Then he began to speed up his thrusts. In and out, in and out, in and out, in and out. Banging, pushing, thrusting, yanking. It felt so damned good. And soon enough, the rubbing against Bellatrix's clit was incessant, and the push onto her cervix was nonstop, and she was moaning helplessly. She banged her fist onto the pillow and exclaimed desperately,

"I'm going to come."

"Liar," Voldemort laughed from behind her, but Bellatrix's walls contracted of their own accord, and she knew he could see and feel it perfectly well from where he was. He paused for a moment, scoffing in wonder, then groaning and apparently losing himself to the visual stimulus of her coming around his cock. She felt him pumping his seed into her, twitching inside of her, and he marveled,

"I didn't even inflict that one on you."

"Oh, yes you did," Bellatrix whined into the pillow. After a long moment, he pulled out of her and muttered some wandless spells to clean them up, and he came to lie beside her. The two of them curled up naked below the sheets, and suddenly all of this felt very familiar. Too familiar.

"Bella?" Voldemort asked after about ten minutes of complete silence, and she rolled her head toward him. He shrugged. "You're a damned good Occlumens now. What are you thinking about?"

"I'm wondering if I should go home," Bellatrix said, "so that I don't regret it in the morning."

"And if you regret it in the morning?" Voldemort asked, chewing his lip. "I'll let you throw vases and be very angry with me if you do."

Bellatrix choked a little laugh and shook her head. She sighed and said,

"Ask me on a second date."

"A second date," Voldemort smiled, and he reached to tuck her hair behind her ear. He was more limited, she knew, owing to his public status, as to where he could take a person on a date. So her eyes burned a little when he said, "Miss Black, I wonder if you would do me the profound honour of going to Amsterdam by Portkey for the evening and attending a wizarding cabaret there."

"Amsterdam," Bellatrix repeated in shock, and she shrugged. "All right. When?"

"Thursday," Voldemort said. "The twenty-fifth."

"All right." Bellatrix grinned and sat up. She pulled herself out of the bed and began to dress, and Voldemort cleared his throat from where he sat.

"You're not staying the night. You… erm… you said you wanted to stay the night."

"I do want to," she said honestly, "very, very badly, and that's exactly why I'm going home."

"That makes absolutely no sense to me," Voldemort protested, seeming almost angry. Bellatrix flashed him a little smile and nodded.

"I know." She pulled on her shoes and said sincerely, "Master, thank you for a spectacular birthday party and an all-round wondrous birthday. I look forward to Amsterdam."

"Well, goodnight, then," he said rather grumpily from the bed. He rose, naked, and walked quickly over to her. "May I at least kiss you goodnight?"

"Yes," she affirmed, and he took the opportunity to take her face in his hands and bent, pushing his tongue between her lips and dragging it over the roof of her mouth.

She wasn't ready for it all to be the same again, she thought. She needed this all to begin again with him. She wanted to be happy with him, and that meant one foot in front of the other. One foot. Then the next foot. Sex after the party. Then a night in Amsterdam. She had to go home tonight.

She put her hands on his chest and pulled back a little, staring up at him, and she whispered,

"Thank you for what you did at the party. For what you said."

"Happy birthday, Bellatrix," he replied, touching at the locket round her neck. She smiled a bit and nodded.

"Thursday, then. I'm sure I'll hear from you sooner on Death Eater business. Goodnight, My Lord."

"Goodnight, Bella," he said, and with that, she Disapparated.

Author's Note: Makeup sex! Makeup sex! Makeup sex! Amsterdam! Amsterdam! Amsterdam! At least Bellatrix had the good sense not to spend the night, eh? It would seem that doing that *right now* might ruin everything. Thank you so much for feedback.