The Savoy Hotel, London
29 June 1970
Lord Voldemort paced through the elegantly-outfitted hotel suite like a caged animal. He'd been here for five days now, ordering Muggle food and staring out the window at the city where he'd been raised as one of them. He hadn't had a choice; the Ministry wanted his blood.
On the twenty-fourth of June, his plants in the Ministry had informed him that a raid on Malfoy Manor was imminent. The Auror Office wanted to bring him in, to put him before the Wizengamot on suspicion of attempting to overthrow the Ministry, on charges of past murders. They'd find him guilty and try and haul him off to Azkaban. But because Voldemort had been entirely unwilling to endure such a circus, he'd dashed off to London and had told his most loyal Death Eaters to send owls to find him when the heat had simmered down a bit.
On the twenty-sixth of June, he'd received communication from Abraxas Malfoy that the Manor had been raided, that nothing of note had been found and that the Aurors had been left frustrated and angry by their apparent inability to pin down Voldemort or to rake in any of his followers. Voldemort had written back that he'd be staying in London for a few weeks, just in case, and not to bother him unless something dire happened.
But today he felt agitated, like he was liable to punch the glass out of the window if he didn't find some sort of relief. He'd Conjured and Vanished. He'd Transfigured the curtains to one colour and then back again. He'd knocked himself out with Dreamless Sleep for a while. He'd even watched Muggle television - some ridiculous, surrealist 'comedy' called Monty Python. Nothing had helped to staunch the feeling that he was going to go mad in here if he stayed much longer. But he also knew that trotting back into the wizarding world was asking for trouble. He couldn't afford trouble. Not yet.
Finally, on the twenty-ninth of June, as the sun went down over the rooftops of the city, Voldemort pressed his wand to his own Dark Mark and Summoned her. Bellatrix Black. Her purpose was to serve his carnal needs, to make him feel relaxed. To help him find pleasure. He needed that just now. He desired her. He'd thought many times over the last five days about her on her knees, of the sight and smell of her. She'd been delicious, and he wanted her again.
He made his way to the suite's sitting area and sank into one of the cream-coloured armchairs as he stared at the wallpaper and waited for Bellatrix to arrive. She'd be able to Apparate straight in here at his Summons, and so he was unsurprised by the little pop behind him after awhile. He didn't turn round; he just held up one hand and beckoned to her with a finger.
Her footsteps plodded on the plush dark blue carpets as she walked around to the front of his chair, and she looked annoyingly pretty in a flowing black peasant-style dress that she'd belted with thick dark leather. Her hair had been tied loosely over one shoulder, and she smiled a little as she rubbed one black leather sandal over the carpet.
"My Lord," she acknowledged him, dipping a little. "I'm so very glad that you... that the raid on the Manor led to nothing."
"Hmm." He just nodded and gestured for the armchair opposite him. "Sit."
She did, and he tipped his head back as he shut his eyes. He remembered the file he'd had his Ministry plants compose for him. All the information he could ever want about Bellatrix Black, right there on paper.
"Born twenty-first September of nineteen fifty-one," he recited. "Younger sisters Andromeda and Narcissa. Childhood spent causing all manner of discord at home and then receiving quite a few behavioural citations as a Slytherin at Hogwarts. Not a Prefect by any stretch of the imagination. Was in Gobstones Club for a year until you discovered you weren't very good, then quit in a huff. Excelled in Transfiguration, Charms, and Potions despite an acrimonious relationship with nearly all your professors. Dated Rodolphus Lestrange throughout your sixth year and most of your seventh, with him severing the relationship this last February. You applied for a few Ministry positions and were denied all of them on the basis of personality, but you didn't really want them, anyway. Have I got it all right?"
He opened his eyes and lowered his gaze, drumming his fingers on the arms of his chair. Bellatrix looked self-conscious but nodded.
"You've got it all right, My Lord." She glanced around her, and he knew she was wondering where the blazes they were.
"It's a Muggle hotel," he murmured. "Laying low."
"Ah." She nodded. "That makes sense."
She turned her face to him again, her cheekbones going a little pink. Voldemort cleared his throat; he didn't like her staring so closely at him. He flicked his fingers through the air as he ordered her,
"Take your clothes off. No rush."
Her eyes went a little wide, but she obeyed him immediately. She rose to her feet and then bent to slowly peel off her black leather sandals. She unfastened the belt around her waist, and Voldemort could see that her hands were shaking like mad. She set the belt down behind her and pulled her black dress up and over her head. He was surprised to see that she had no bra on, though that made sense given the off-the-shoulder design of the dress. Still, it was brazen. She wore high-waisted black lace knickers that showed off her tiny waist and the little curve in her hip, and suddenly Voldemort felt his fingers cinch around the arms of the chair.
"Just... stand there a moment," he commanded her. She forced her hands down, away from her chest, and let herself be utterly bare to him. Her breasts were perfect, Voldemort decided at once. There was no other way to describe them, really. He wasn't being flattering in his own mind. They were really quite perfect. They were round and small with little perky pink nipples, and he wanted them. He wanted to touch them, to kiss them. So he rubbed at his thigh, ignoring the way she could plainly see the bulge of his burgeoning erection, and he said quietly,
"Come here. Come sit on my lap."
"Yes, Master." Bellatrix ambled toward him and seemed a little confused about what exactly he meant. She started to sit with her back to him, but he grunted a little laugh and informed her,
"I am not Father Christmas. Like this, Bellatrix." He turned her round by her waist and pulled her down so that one knee was on each side of his hips. She gasped when her knickers ground against his erection, and Voldemort shut his eyes for a moment at how good it felt. He kept his eyes shut and let his fingers trail up her ribcage, his thumbs flicking at her nipples blindly. She moaned softly, and when he opened his eyes, Voldemort saw that her back had arched and her own hands had fisted at her sides. He impulsively leaned forward and clamped his mouth around one of her nipples, sucking a whole mouthful of her small breast into his mouth. She cried out, whether from pain or pleasure he neither knew nor cared. Her fingers bravely went to his shoulders, and Voldemort tore his face from her chest as he instructed her,
"Unbutton my shirt, Bella."
Her gaze flared at the sound of her truncated name. She started to unbutton the black dress shirt he wore beneath his outer robe, and then her hips circled a few times, seemingly driven by instinct. Voldemort dug his teeth into his bottom lip, and as Bellatrix pushed his shirt away, he reminded her,
"You fantasised about being tied up and pounded from behind. Rather a bold dream for a supposed virgin."
For a half-second, she looked offended about the 'supposed' verbiage, but then she whispered,
"Perhaps someday I can work my way up to such things, Master."
His mouth fell open then, for she was cheeky in a way he hadn't anticipated her being. Yet there was no intended disrespect or insubordination in her tone. She was just flirting with him, and he found he quite liked it.
To steady himself again, he pushed aside the crotch of her knickers and pressed his fingers against her satiny folds. He smirked at her when he felt the dewy warmth there, and he said in a taunting voice,
"I knew it. Drenched. Completely soaked. You little minx; you want it so badly, don't you?"
"I do, My Lord. I do want you." She nodded, and for some reason, the way she'd worded that reply made Voldemort's head spin. He found himself pulsing his fingers against her, gliding along her entrance and fiddling with her clit until her head tipped back and her palms pressed mindlessly against his chest. That chest began to heave as Voldemort grew more and more excited. Everything came alive within him; his veins were on fire with need as he asked hoarsely,
"Are you going to come, Bella?"
"Mmm-hmm." Bellatrix nodded frantically, her head falling forward. Impulsively and helplessly, Voldemort reached with his free hand to untie the ribbon that loosely bound her hair into a ponytail. She shook it out a little, letting it fall around her face. When she did, the heady smell of black pepper and vanilla combined and radiated from her, making Voldemort twitch beneath her. His fingers quickened, and he found himself staring straight into her wide, dark eyes as she neared her edge. Her eyes glazed over a little, and her lids started to flutter shut, and Voldemort heard his voice whisper,
"No. Look at me. I want to see your face when you come. Pretty little girl."
He added that last bit so he wouldn't sound like an infatuated boy. And when she did look at him again, he shot her a serious sort of glare and chided her,
"My hand is getting sore, so I suggest you hurry up, Bella."
"Mmph." She leaned forward a little, her hands tightening on his chest. Then he felt her snap; he felt her go slack as her face tipped back. He felt the walls of her womanhood clenching around his fingers, and he pulled his hand from her knickers as he instructed her,
"Take my cock out and play with it. I want to come on your stomach. Make it good."
She was still panting, still coming down from her high as she nodded desperately. She moved quickly to unbutton his trousers between them and to pull his throbbing length out. She nestled it against the front of her knickers, and suddenly Voldemort felt compelled to ask,
"What is your contraception situation? For future reference."
"An annual dose of Nongravidare Potion, My Lord," Bellatrix assured him. "Due again next January."
"Good." This wouldn't be any fun if she wound up with a bastard in her belly. He watched as she pumped her hand up and over his length. He groaned a little, quite against his will, for it felt good and he wanted more than that. He wanted to shove her knickers aside and plunge into her virgin body. He wanted to finish on her face. He wanted to kiss her.
No, he scolded himself at that last bit. Kissing her would be useless; he would derive no extra pleasure from kissing her. Still, as he stared at her shaking, rose-coloured lips, he wanted to taste them.
"Mmmph." He bucked his hips up hard, shoving his length up into her hand. He'd become entirely too stimulated by the sight of her undressing, by the taste of her breast, by the way she'd touched his chest, by the feel of her finishing atop him. He felt his pleasure go white-hot and throb between his ears as his seed leaped up and landed in ropes and trails along Bellatrix's flat stomach. She seemed at once shocked and amazed by the sight of it, and as it dribbled down onto the waistband of her knickers, Voldemort smirked and dragged it away with his thumb. He took a long moment to stare at the mess he'd made on her body, and then the image from her mind flooded his. Her wrists tied up, him plunging into her from behind.
And right now, right this minute, he wanted so very badly to kiss her. But that was too intimate, too personal, so he just pulled out his wand and cleaned her up and said very sternly,
"Get dressed and leave. Do not tell anyone where I am."
"Yes, Master." Bellatrix scrambled off his lap, and he tucked his softened cock away as she pulled on her dress and belt. She must have forgotten about her black hair ribbon, for she left it sitting in Voldemort's lap. He crumpled it into his fist and dragged his thumb over it as she slid her shoes back on. She flashed him one last smile, and it took every bit of self-control for Voldemort not to fling himself to his feet, seize her face, and kiss her.
"Thank you for coming, Miss Black," he said in a bland voice instead. He nodded once and added crisply, "Your services are appreciated when boredom takes over. Good day."
"Good day, My Lord." Bellatrix Disapparated from where she stood, and Voldemort found himself wrenching his eyes shut once she'd gone. He should have kissed her, he thought. Then he was very glad he hadn't done such a silly thing. But he slid her hair ribbon through his fingers and was tempted to smell it, knowing it would smell like black pepper and vanilla just the way her hair did. Instead he set it on the little table beside him, rising from the chair and thinking that the Muggle Monty Python might be nice and distracting just now.