"Would you care… erm… for a shower?"
Voldemort gestured to his black tiled bathroom, and Bellatrix seemed for a moment as though perhaps she were a little offended. Did he think she was dirty? Voldemort cleared his throat and specified far more forcefully,
"I thought a shower would be nice."
"Oh. Yes, of course, Master." Bellatrix followed him into the bathroom, and he nodded crisply as he ordered her,
"Strip."
It was hardly a romantic way to demand such a thing, but he was not a romantic man. Bellatrix was smooth and slow in removing her clothes, though; she pulled off her dress in a seductive way that made Voldemort's throat go tight. He eyed her black lace bra and knickers as she tossed her dress aside, and he put a hand on her waist and snapped,
"Hold on."
Bellatrix stared up at him with wide eyes, and Voldemort dragged a knuckle over the top of her breast, admiring the small, round swell. He grabbed at the back of the bra and ripped as hard as he could, and Bellatrix gasped in shock and pain as the fabric gave way. The clasps broke, and he tore the bra off the front of her body and threw it to the side with her dress as he gripped her breast more tightly. He lowered his mouth to hers, crushing her lips with his for a moment, and Bellatrix squealed a little.
"Bella." Voldemort shoved her knickers down, and as she kicked them away, he stepped back and began methodically stripping off his own clothes. He was utterly unashamed now to be nude before her. Despite being twenty-five years her senior and marred by Dark Magic, he was not embarrassed by the scars from his years on the Continent, the sinewy - almost skinny - build he had. He unhooked his robes and peeled them back, letting them fall and pool on the ground behind him. He stripped off his tunic and then unbuttoned his trousers, his burgeoning erection starting to poke at the material.
"Get in the shower. Turn the taps to hot," Voldemort ordered Bellatrix. She obeyed him, and Voldemort finished getting naked. He kicked off his shoes and socks and walked into the shower after a moment, letting the water soak him. Bellatrix was dripping wet, the hot water running in streams down her milky flesh and dribbling off of her peaked nipples.
He needed to choke her, he thought. He put his hands to her neck and held fast to the sides, and Bellatrix gasped in alarm. Water dripped into her eyes as they fluttered shut. Voldemort breathed quickly through his nose as the water rushed between them, soaking his hardened cock. He squeezed harder at her neck. Harder. Harder. Her face went beet red. Her lips went blue. He let go.
She fell to her knees, collapsing as she clutched at her neck and coughed. Voldemort was so hard now that it ached. It throbbed. He gulped and whispered,
"Suck my cock."
"Master." Bellatrix scrambled up onto her knees and clutched at his hips, clearly still not recovered from having been choked so viciously. She immediately put her lips around his tip, and the instant that she dove her mouth down onto him, Voldemort cried out, thinking he was about to come. Why did this feel so good?
"Bella!" He snared his fingers into her soaked curls and pulled her face back, and he wrenched his eyes shut for a moment. When he opened them, things got worse. She looked so pretty. So, so, pretty, staring up at him with her full wet lips and her wide brown eyes. He was going to come.
"Stare at my cock while I come on your face," Voldemort snarled, and Bellatrix breathlessly nodded. Her neck looked bruised, sore. Her lips were parted and she licked one of them hungrily as Voldemort started stroking at his own cock. He stood beneath the fall of the water, letting the hot shower caress his shoulders and back. He finally grunted and leaned forward a little, meeting Bellatrix's eyes as his balls tightened up against his body. Everything was going tight. Hot. His hand slid over his tip a few times. Her lips were full. Wet. Her eyes were wide. Young.
He came so hard that his knees almost gave out, and he watched his come fly in creamy white spurts all over her shower-sprinkled cheeks. It drizzled down her nose, down her lips, down her cheekbones. He painted her. He groaned loudly and then wrenched at her, yanking her up and grabbing at a bar of soap. He stared at her come-splattered face and said in a voice feigning disgust,
"You're filthy. Wash up."
He watched her wash then. He watched her scrub his come away, watched her bow her head and contritely clean off her face. Her neck was red with finger marks from where he'd choked her. Voldemort's cock was going limp now, but he didn't care if she saw it like that. He wanted to sleep naked with her.
He wanted to sleep with her.
He wanted… her.
"Bella." He took the soap from her and scrubbed at his own body, silently, averting his eyes most of the time, before shutting off the taps and ordering her, "Towel off and go lie in the bed. No clothes."
Why was she so damned beautiful?
She was asleep beside him. She'd seemed weary enough after being choked, after being painted by him in the shower. But then he'd bruised her up with angry kisses on her neck and had fingered her roughly until she came three times, his hand relentless. Again and again she finished for him, and then she drifted off to sleep, lying quiet and still beside him.
She'd been halfway through her second climax when he'd realised he felt things toward her that he had absolutely never felt toward another human being before, things that frightened him. Things that made his chest pull strangely.
"Bella." He whispered her name as he stared at her doll-like face. No. Not a doll. Not a doll at all. He reached to tuck her hair behind her ear, and he watched her eyes flutter open in the dark bedroom. It seemed to take her a moment to register that she was in bed with him, with her lord and master, and then her lips curled up and she whispered gently,
"Hello."
"You're not mine. Not yet," he said in a low growl, and Bellatrix's thick brows immediately knitted. She shook her head and insisted,
"You said it yourself, My Lord; we belong to you in every conceivable way. I am entirely -"
"How can you be fully mine when you are still his?" Voldemort snarled through clenched teeth, and Bellatrix's eyes went completely round in the darkness. Voldemort pushed himself up onto an elbow and said angrily, "That child still puts his little cock into you. You still lie under him like a doll and he still fucks you. How can you be mine when that happens?"
"I'm sorry! He's my husband!" Bellatrix sat up slowly and shook her head. "I'll do anything you demand of me, Master; I'll -"
"You will cease all relations with that boy at once," Voldemort hissed, and the air crackled with his unspent, pent-up magic for a moment. Bellatrix felt it, the ripple of his power in the air, and she shivered visibly. She nodded and insisted,
"I'll tell him he's not to sleep with me."
"I'll tell him that myself, seeing as they are my orders," Voldemort clipped. "He can get himself some pretty little mistress. He's not to lay a finger upon what's mine. And you are mine."
He could sense doubt from her then, a confusing sort of doubt, and he pushed into her mind instantly with nonverbal Legilimency.
How many? He sensed the question ricocheting around Bellatrix's head. Are there many witches that he keeps, like a harem?
"It is only you." Voldemort ripped himself out of her mind and felt a little uncomfortable as he specified, "It is not as though I have some maudlin sensibility toward monogamy, and don't go getting ideas about how I feel toward you. It is only that you are the first witch - the only witch - in a very great long while… well, ever, really… who has presented herself to me in a way that satisfies the various manner of my needs."
He spoke in a quick, low clip, and he wondered if Bellatrix would understand what he meant. She was the first witch who had ever made his heart race with sexual anticipation, who had truly satisfied him. She was beautiful. She was intelligent. She was wicked and Dark and…
"I care for you," he found himself mumbling, staring down at the sheet between them, and when he flicked his eyes up, Bellatrix seemed shocked. He shook his head roughly, angry with himself for blurting that out, and he amended quickly, "I mean to say that I… erm… I am satisfied in many ways by you. So."
"I am so very happy to please you. Master." Bellatrix reached for his hand and squeezed it, and they just stared at one another for a long while until she assured him quietly, "I am entirely yours. In every way. Shall we go to sleep now?"
"Yes." He slithered back down onto the blankets, and when she lay facing him, he reached to tuck her hair again, and he worked past the thick knot in his throat to whisper, "Goodnight."
Author's Note: Oh, my. Even this hardened, much more steely Voldemort than you usually see in my writing is starting to crack just the teeeeeeensiest bit for his Bellatrix. How will Rodolphus react to being told he can't touch his own wife? Hmm… for those wondering, this story definitely will be able to be considered canon-compliant/headcanon.