Bellatrix sat at her boudoir in London and carefully applied Stay-All-Day lipstick from Madam Primpernelle's in the shade Rosewood, a dark neutral that seemed appropriate for an afternoon meeting. She shaded her eyes with a medium brown and darkened her lashes. She didn't want to look clownish. She pulled her curls back into a low, loose chignon at the nape of her neck and tied them with a length of black velvet ribbon, allowing a few ringlets to linger around her face. She opened up her jewellery box and fingered her collection of inherited pieces, finally settling on a large pearl on a silver chain. The pearl had come from the Black Sea hundreds of years earlier and had passed through generations of Rosier witches. Once the necklace was clasped, Bellatrix chose a bottle of fragrance that felt appropriate - one with notes of pink pepper, rose, and moss. She studied herself in the mirror then, adjusting the elegant off-the-shoulder neckline of her black brocade bodice. She only hoped then that she looked decent, that her lord and master would find her pretty.

She'd tried hard today to please him. She always tried, of course, to please him, but today she had tried from the top of her head to the sole of her shoe. Apparently, the sight of her made him a bit feral, whether she was in the midst of torturing his enemies on a rain-soaked battlefield or simply sitting at a table, and certainly when she'd been dancing with him. In any case, she wished today to make his veins rush hot again, because he'd told her that he wanted to kiss her, and the thought of that made Bellatrix's heart scamper in her chest, made her breath hitch in her lungs.

"Where are you going?"

Bellatrix flicked her eyes in her boudoir mirror to see the reflection of Rodolphus standing behind her. He had a half-eaten red apple in his hand, and he was wearing a casual linen tunic half-tucked into black wool breeches. For his part, it seemed he meant to spend the cold day at home. It was two days before Christmas, and Bellatrix could hardly blame him for wanting to simply relax until this evening, when the two of them were meant to host his father and Rabastan for a little dinner to exchange their Christmas gifts. Rodolphus scowled in a bit of confusion at Bellatrix in the mirror, and as he took a bite of his apple, Bellatrix turned slowly on her rotating stool to face her husband. She shrugged a little and said lightly,

"The Dark Lord asked me to meet with him today. Last night, at the party, he asked me to come today to his office."

Rodolphus' jaw stilled with apple in his mouth. He swallowed his bite and his brows furrowed. Rodolphus was a bit of a physical foil to Bellatrix; where she was small and pale with thin limbs and wild black curls, Rodolphus was tall with broad shoulders and strawberry blond waves, his eyes shimmering blue. Right now, though, darkness took over his countenance, and distinct suspicion, as he walked over to the side table against Bellatrix's bedroom wall and set down his apple. He sighed and told her carefully,

"He kept you alone after the meeting a few weeks ago. I saw you dancing with him last night, then speaking alone with him in a dark corner. Now you look very nice for a private meeting with him…"

"Be careful what you say next, Rodolphus." Bellatrix pulled herself from the stool, her tea-length wool skirt flurrying about her as she did. Her flat leather boots padded gently on the wooden floors as she approached her husband, as she sniffed a little. "I obey him. Every last order he gives me. And so do you. Isn't that so?"

Rodolphus squared his jaw and nodded. His icy blue eyes flashed, and he tipped his head. Finally, in a soft, conciliatory tone, he said, "Of course. We are his devoted servants, the both of us. I'm certain he has his reasons for keeping you close, and of course, I know better than interfere. But it's very cold outside; do wear your warmest cloak, will you?"

Bellatrix stiffened her spine and bobbed her head in approval. She curled her lips up and adjusted her hold on her strange, bent wand, and she said quietly to Rodolphus,

"I can't imagine I'd be gone all day. Just in case, be certain that Noosa gets everything ready for your family; I want holly and garland everywhere. We've planned the menu."

Rodolphus chewed his lip. "Two roast ducks with cherry sauce, potatoes and parsnips with rosemary, fresh bread loaves, the dessert puddings… yes, it's all finalised. Just go, Bellatrix. Don't keep him waiting, lest he grow cross with either of us."

Bellatrix swallowed hard and gave him a very crisp nod, and she left the bedroom without another word. At least Rodolphus recognised his place, she thought, in his marriage to Bellatrix and as a Death Eater. At least it was very clear to Rodolphus that he was simply not free to criticise or protest the obvious attentions his wife received from their Master. As Bellatrix descended the stout oak staircase that led to her home's foyer and pulled her thick velvet cloak from the hook near the door, she tingled a bit. For some reason, it was a bit of an exotic stimulus - the way she'd just interacted with Rodolphus about how he needed to simply cope with her interactions with Lord Voldemort. She didn't like to cuckold her husband, did she? No, she told herself, buckling up her cloak and pulling up her hood. No, it wasn't as though she distinctly enjoyed humiliating Rodolphus. It was simply that she was so loyal to Lord Voldemort, and she craved her time with him. She was looking forward to being near him again, to the kiss he'd told her he was going to take from her. She had to admit to herself that his rather bizarre prediliction for spilling himself at the sight and feel of her was stimulating and made her stomach twine with excitement. That was all. It wasn't anything personal toward Rodolphus.

Bellatrix Disapparated from her own foyer and spent a brief moment in the frigid, black void between worlds, coming to on the frosty black earth outside the ominous gates surrounding Malfoy Manor. The weather was gloomier here than it had looked out the windows of the Lestrange home in London, somehow. As Bellatrix cast her wand through the air and murmured the counter-spells to take down the wards protecting the gate, she shivered in the Wiltshire gelidity and then moved as quickly as her short legs would allow up the path toward the house. She climbed the front steps and used the giant metal knocker to hammer one of the front doors. She waited a few moments, and then the heavy door creaked open and the Malfoys' terrified-looking, filthy little House-Elf Dobby stood in the threshold, staring up at her. The giant globes of his eyes widened further at the sight of her, and she knew why. She was terrifying to humans and House-Elves alike, and even the Goblins at Gringotts seemed more than a little uneasy around her. Now Bellatrix cocked up an eyebrow and barked sharply at Dobby,

"Invite me inside, you wretched creature!"

"Of course, Madam Lestrange! Apologies, Madam Lestrange! Do come inside, Madam -"

"Oh, get out of my way." Bellatrix shoved her way into Malfoy Manor, using her boot to push at Dobby, who yelped helplessly. He scrambled to his feet and waved his bony fingers to shut the heavy door with his Magic, and then he asked helplessly,

"How may Dobby help you today, Madam?"

"I am expected," Bellatrix said primly, tipping her chin up quite proudly, "In the Dark Lord's office."

"Oh! Yes, of course. Dobby had thought perhaps you had come for Mistress Flavia's Christmas tea party, Madam."

Bellatrix hesitated. Abraxas Malfoy's wife Flavia was hosting a little get-together for her middle-aged friends. So there would be a good many people in the Manor today. Hmm. She shifted on her feet and shook her head, keeping her face impassive, and she said dismissively,

"I am not here for tea, and you're not to speak of me to Mrs Malfoy. I am here on the orders of the Dark Lord. I'm going straight to his office. Now you leave me be."

Dobby nodded frantically. "Y-Yes, M-Madam Lestrange."

Bellatrix huffed and stalked off, and her boots pattered as she trotted quickly up the fine marble stairs that led from the grand entryway of Malfoy Manor to the main right corridor. The third door on the right led to the office that Lord Voldemort had used for the last five years, since returning from the Continent. It had always been an office in this manor, from Bellatrix's understanding, filled with several thousand books, priceless heirloom decorations, and bespoke furniture. There was an enormous custom fireplace of Sienna and Jasper marbles, Turkish rugs, an antique wooden bar cart, and an abundance of tapestries on the walls. Bellatrix had been in the office several times, though rarely on her own, to discuss plans for upcoming missions outside the setting of large-scale Death Eater meetings or to debrief what exactly had happened during skirmishes.

Never, though, had Bellatrix been summoned for a private meeting where the apparent purpose was a kiss.

Now she stood outside Lord Voldemort's office and steeled herself, clearing her throat a little and taking a steadying breath. Down the corridor, in one of the Malfoys' formal drawing rooms, she could hear some tittering and laughter. Flavia Malfoy's Christmas tea party, Bellatrix thought. Unwilling to be seen by any of the little party's attendees, she raised her fist to knock several times on Voldemort's office door, hoping he would quickly admit her. Sure enough, it took only around thirty seconds before the office door opened, and then he was standing before her, and she felt her lips part, because it seemed he'd put in just as much effort on his appearance as she had done.

He was dressed quite formally, though as far as Bellatrix knew, this meeting was only for the two of them. He was wearing a high-collared robe made of raw silk in midnight blue, clasped down the front with angry-looking heavy silver hooks. His sleeves were cuffed with black velvet, which likewise trimmed the robe where it fell around his knees. He had on neat black breeches and shiny dragonhide boots. She could smell a very fine fragrance on him - cinnamon, wood, leather, citrus - and she inhaled deeply as she looked him up and down. Finally, she gathered her senses and dipped into a reverent obeisance, murmuring an acknowledgement, a mumbled My Lord as she rose and brought her eyes to his.

He just stared at her across the threshold, and she could see it in his eyes then. Hunger. Pure hunger. Bellatrix's heart accelerated at the sight of his fingertips tightening around the office door he held open, at the sight of his gaze flaring, at the very obvious way his chest started to heave beneath his elegant robe. He finally coughed a bit into his fist and said quietly,

"Come on inside, Bella."

She followed him into his office, glancing around at the magnificent globes, the taxidermied Beasts, the marble busts of storied witches and wizards. She took in the tapestries of myths and fables, the elaborately framed mirror that hung above some Eternally Charmed roses, and the windows that looked out onto the Malfoys' gardens, which were ensconced in luxe draperies. She looked for a moment to the impressive Sienna and Jasper marble fireplace, in which a large fire roared, its flames licking the bricks within in a dance and warming the space.

"It seems cold today. I've not been outside," Voldemort said, shutting the door behind Bellatrix. She turned to watch him use his fingers to manually lock up the door, then use his wand to cast some Nonverbal wards. She flinched at that, at how tightly he was binding up the space. She just nodded and confirmed,

"It is indeed frozen to the core out there, My Lord. I don't mind. I like the winter; I despise summer."

"Of course." Voldemort laughed a little at that. He came around in front of Bellatrix, standing before her where she'd stopped part of the way into his office. He just looked her up and down for a moment, and then he tipped his head and reached up to peel down the hood of her heavy velvet cloak. He took a long breath that audibly quivered as his fingers moved to the ties at Bellatrix's neck. She gave him a reassuring little smile as he tugged at the strings there, and she moved just enough to help him shuck the cloak from her as he pushed it away. It fell to the ground and pooled, heavy and forgotten, and then Voldemort let out a little sound that seemed to come from the bottom of his chest.

Bellatrix watched his throat bob as he started to drag his knuckles from her jaw down the side of her neck, across her collarbone, around her bare shoulder, and over the front of her exposed chest. She could scarcely breathe; his touch was like creeping wildfire, igniting her flesh as he caressed her, and she was a complete victim of it. She tipped her head back just a little bit and heard herself moan ever so softly, very much against her will, as Voldemort continued to dust his fingertips around the skin she'd left bare for him. He liked to see this part of her. She knew that. He'd told her so. And now he was touching her here. He must be hard from this, Bellatrix thought, and the idea of that sent a hot, heavy flush between her legs.

"Bella," Voldemort whispered, and all she could do was silently nod in desperation, her hands hanging limp and useless at her sides. Her ears were ringing badly, but she heard Voldemort note, "You dressed just how I like, and you even pulled your hair back so I could better see and touch you. Hm. What a good little girl you are."

"Oh." Bellatrix broke just a little at that, at hearing praise from him, and she actually collapsed forward against him. She took a lurching step, feeling weak and unsteady, and she reached out to desperately clutch at his raw silk robe, and she found herself tipping her forehead against his sternum, panting and dizzy.

But before she could catch her breath, she felt herself being backed up a bit forcefully. His arms were grasping at her bare shoulders to steady her, and as she staggered backwards, he kept her from falling. But then her back slammed against a tapestry on the wall, and Bellatrix yelped in surprise as she found herself staring up at her Master, who was looming over her with an arm pinned on either side of her. He looked feral, like a wild animal about to kill its prey. But then, suddenly, his features softened just a bit, and he mumbled,

"I don't want you frightened right now."

Bellatrix realised she must have been looking at him with wide-eyed shock, so she shook her head a bit and reassured him,

"I'm not… I'm not afraid, My Lord; I'm… oh, please , will you kiss me?"

He answered by dropping his pale yew wand onto the ground, sending it clattering rather ungracefully, and snatching Bellatrix's face very roughly in his large, calloused hands. She gasped at the way he seized her, and then she grappled at his arms for purchase, her fingers sinking into his muscled biceps as he pushed her hard against the wall until the tapestry nearly ripped from its hangings behind her. Suddenly his dark eyes flashed pitch black, like he was overtaken with an almost animalistic and inhuman sense of need, and he growled a little as he bent and then crushed Bellatrix's mouth with his.

It ought to have hurt, perhaps, the way he was kissing her. To be certain, this was not what she'd been expecting when, at the Christmas party the night before, he'd informed her he wanted to kiss her and had told her to come to his office privately. She wasn't exactly certain what she'd been expecting - a few pecks on the lips with some touching? Perhaps some manhandling of her figure and a slip of his tongue into her mouth? Not this. She had not been expecting this.

This consisted of his right hand cupping her breast through her brocade bodice and massaging it whilst his left hand stroked at her face and the skin she'd revealed for him as per his wishes, his fingers flying around like he was searching in desperation. Meanwhile, his mouth worked hers aggressively and soothingly at the same time. He twined his tongue with hers, suckling it now and then. He nibbled her lip and released it with a pop, and when she dared to pull his own lip into her mouth in return, he snarled and drove her head so hard against the wall it hurt. Their teeth clacked once or twice in inelegant earnest, as if they were both inexperienced Slytherins snogging in a school corridor and not grown combat veterans. Finally, they found and stayed settled in a delicious rhythm of exploring one another's mouths with tongues, of teasing lips, of taking turns moaning with want and appreciation. Voldemort's hands coursed all over Bellatrix's form, but hers stayed clutching at his sleeves, for she felt like if she dared release him, she'd drown and die.

After what simultaneously felt like a thousand years and thirty seconds but was certainly somewhere between, Bellatrix had to tear her face to the side and fill her lungs. She hadn't gotten a proper breath in ages, it felt like. She heaved in air, resting her head back against the wall and knowing her chignon had fallen loose; she could feel her curls down around her back. Her lips felt bruised and almost numb; they tingled a bit and her tongue almost hurt from how much kissing she'd done. Her fingers ached from gripping Voldemort so tightly for so long, so finally she peeled her hands from him and slowly lowered her arms, and when she managed to catch her breath at long last, she turned her eyes back towards her Master to see him standing upright, gazing down at her, seeming oddly calm and collected.

And then she knew.

He'd found his satisfaction again, kissing her, and he'd taken care of the mess. His cheeks were still stained scarlet, and she could see he was in the act of slowing his breath, but it was very obvious he was no longer in the throes of unfulfilled arousal. No. His needs had been met. Bellatrix smirked just a little to herself at the thought of that, and as she reached up to touch her swollen lips, she dared to ask him,

"Have I pleased you, My Lord?"

He nodded silently and sniffed. For a long moment, he said nothing at all, but then he reached out to touch Bellatrix's long curls, and he observed,

"I ruined your hairstyle, but I admit I prefer your curls loose most of the time, anyway. Leave it down."

"As you wish, My Lord." Bellatrix bowed her head. She was a little frustrated then, because whilst he had very evidently reached a climax of his own and attended to it, Bellatrix had not. Her veins still pumped hot blood pulsing with animated lust through her entire body. She was soaked between her legs, so much so that it was almost uncomfortable. She shifted where she stood and let out an irritated little sound. Voldemort flicked his eyes up and down her form, pursing his lips, and then he cleared his throat and said a bit awkwardly,

"Well. I would like a drink after that. Firewhisky for me, I should think. What will you have?"

Bellatrix watched him stalk very quickly across the enormous office, past the raging fire until he reached the gorgeous inlaid wood bar cart with its spindly wheels. He began to pour himself some Blishen's, and he gave her an expectant look. Bellatrix finally tore herself away from the wall and started to slowly walk towards him, and she shrugged helplessly.

"Erm. I suppose I shall have some Blishen's, as well, if you don't mind, My Lord. Thank you."

He smirked as he poured out a second tumbler of the amber liquid, and he said quietly, "I quite like a witch who enjoys liquor that burns on the way down. Torturous stuff, firewhisky. I find it to be a marker of one's character, you know… whether one not only tolerates it, but enjoys it."

Bellatrix laughed a little and shrugged. "Wine gives me headaches. It's too sickly sweet. I'm sure My Lord can surmise that I have not got much taste for sweet things."

"No. I do not suppose you much like sweet things, Bella." He walked toward her with the glasses of Blishen's, and when he handed her tumbler to her, he raised his own and murmured, "To things that burn."

Bellatrix grinned and nodded. "Cheers, My Lord."

She drank from her glass and did indeed feel the rip and sear of the harsh liquor as it punished her oesophagus. She gave Voldemort a flirtatious little wink and smile as she swallowed, and once she'd finished her sip, she confirmed confidently,

"Delicious."

He licked his bottom lip and quirked up half his mouth, nodding at her snark. He moved then to go sit in one of his formal maroon leather armchairs, gesturing for Bellatrix to sit on the upholstered divan opposite him. She did, and as she arranged herself, Voldemort surprised her by saying in a quiet but serious tone,

"It is important to me, for some reason, that you understand that this peculiar phenomenon that has arisen within me is only activated by you, Bellatrix. I don't, erm… it isn't as though I go and sit in the White Wyvern and… well. To be fair, I've not been in a public place like the White Wyvern in years. A better example, then. I could, let us say, go down the corridor to Flavia Malfoy's Christmas tea party. It's a room full of witches. Some of them are quite pretty. I could do… you know, I could let this phenomenon take place at that party. Only, I'm not actually certain I could. As far as I know, it is a sort of bodily function triggered uniquely by you. So."

Bellatrix felt utter shock go through her at that. She blinked rapidly a few times and stared at Voldemort, who sipped his firewhisky and then just stared into the flames within the marble fireplace. He shrugged and continued,

"I'm hardly virginal; I am nearly forty-five years of age, and I was very handsome in my youth. I know witches quite well, if you catch my drift. For some reason, at the present time, my body seems to crave one witch alone, and my body seems to crave that one witch to such an extreme extent as to… react in rather dramatic fashion when she is near, and…"

He sipped his firewhisky again and finally turned his gaze back to Bellatrix. His expression was very odd then, and he finally whispered, in a timbre she had never, ever heard from him,

"Say something, you silly girl."

Bellatrix nodded hurriedly. She reached with a quivering hand and set her own glass down on the low lacquered table between them, and she folded her hands on her lap as she informed Voldemort,

"My Lord. As I told you last night, I have had a rather embarrassing crush on you since I was a Hogwarts student. The intensity of that crush has not lessened with time. If anything, my servitude and my work as your Death Eater has only caused me to become more attracted to you. I confess that I can scarcely stand the feel of my husband's hands upon me these days; he is not a bad wizard, but he is not… he is not you. And for a good long while now, I have had dreams, and fantasies. You know… wishes. Outlandish things, childish daydreams and hopeless imaginations. But now I think… now that you've kissed me, I… I hope you know I would do anything. I am yours . You could have all of me, every day, whenever you wanted me, all the time, no matter the circumstance, and -"

"Bella." Voldemort shut his eyes, and she watched his cheeks darken into a deep hue of scarlet. His voice came out as a low hiss then. "Do not tempt me. You do not realise what you might agree to."

Bellatrix's heart felt like it would beat its way out from her ribcage and flop onto the Turkish rug. Her eyes seared as she tightened her fingers around each other and said,

"My Lord, I am your most devoted servant. There is nothing you could possibly want of me that I would not give you. You must know that."

He opened his eyes and gave her a look as hard and sharp as a steel knife. He sighed deeply, tipped his chin up, and seemed to steady himself before he informed her crisply,

"When it happened at the meeting at Malfoy Manor, Bellatrix, it was because I was sitting there imagining myself doing absolutely unspeakable things to you. So do not tempt me. "

Bellatrix shivered where she sat. Unspeakable things. Torture? Killing her? She reached up and scratched at her curls, shaking her head in confusion. What could he have imagined doing to her that would have driven him to fill his breeches with his seed, but that he now thought would fill Bellatrix with terror? She blinked rapidly and again tried to insist, in a helpless whisper,

"I am your slave, My Lord. I would give you anything. Anything to make you happy."

Voldemort growled in frustration and suddenly knocked back the rest of his firewhisky in two enormous gulps, slamming his empty glass on the lacquered table. Then he leaned onto his knees and narrowed his eyes at Bellatrix.

"I imagined bending you over onto that meeting room table," he said, his voice low and almost threatening, "in front of everyone. In front of every last Death Eater - including your husband. I imagined fucking you as you screamed, as you came for me. I imagined watching my mess run down your leg, right there in the room where everyone else could see me taking you for my own. And because I was imagining that, Bellatrix, I lost myself in that meeting that day."

Bellatrix just stared at him for a long moment. Her cheeks flushed hot with surprise, and her mouth fell open, for she'd gone speechless. Her breath shook between her lips, and her throat felt dry. Finally, it registered as a distant but distinct thought in her mind that she found his fantasy bizarrely alluring. She shouldn't, she knew. The idea of letting the Death Eaters see her body, even parts of it, was shameful. The idea of letting herself be plundered on a table in a public setting like that, even by Lord Voldemort, was shameful. But for some reason she couldn't explain, the picture he'd painted was so supremely erotic that the more Bellatrix thought about it, the more alive she felt. A fresh flush of damp heat rushed between her legs, and her head spun a little as she contemplated the idea of helplessly having her own climax at the mercy of her Master whilst absolutely everyone was forced to observe. She'd never considered herself any sort of scopophiliac, nor anyone seeking their own attention whilst engaging in intimacy. But this fantasy in particular was setting her ablaze.

"You could make it a punishment," she heard herself say suddenly, and then it was Voldemort whose eyebrows flew up in shock and whose lips quivered as he seemed to struggle to formulate a response. But Bellatrix just nodded and continued earnestly, "It would debase you, of course, My Lord, to simply engage in recreational sex on a table during a meeting. That would not be strategic; quite the opposite, I should think. But if you framed this entire endeavour as a severe form of punishment - public humiliation - for something I'd done wrong, then not only would it make you look terrifying and powerful, but it would make an example of me, and of course secretly both you and I would derive pleasure from it."

She tipped her head and smirked, and still Voldemort said nothing. He furrowed his brows, seeming baffled by what she'd said. Finally, he licked his lips to wet them, and he asked cautiously,

"That last bit you just said. Both you and I would derive pleasure from it. What did you mean by that?"

Bellatrix hesitated and grimaced. Then she admitted, "Well, it's only that I think I should find it to be very enjoyable, too, My Lord, and that I would be looking forward to it."

His eyes flashed again, like they'd done before he kissed her, and his throat bobbed visibly beneath his midnight blue robe. "You enjoy the concept of making Rodolphus a cuckold?"

Bellatrix shrugged. "In secret, perhaps. He wouldn't have to know that was what was happening. It would be punishment, My Lord."

He narrowed his eyes. "A staged rape. You're suggesting I rape you in a meeting as punishment."

Bellatrix tried not to roll her eyes. She huffed and gave a conciliatory nod. "I suppose it would look a bit like that. But I am the only witch in those meetings at present - something to ameliorate, if I might suggest - so honestly I doubt it would be much questioned. And if I quickly transitioned into desperate moans of pleasure and experienced a helpless climax, for which, perhaps, you taunted and teased me because I liked my punishment a bit too well… then…"

She shrugged and smirked again. Voldemort looked thoughtful. He stared at the fire for a long moment. Then he scratched at his jaw, and finally, he murmured,

"It's not a bad plan. What would you like to be punished for, Bella? You so rarely do anything wrong."

She smiled to herself at that and shook her head a little. "Perhaps I botch a secret mission over the Christmas holidays and make you very cross, My Lord."

Voldemort scowled and gave her a sceptical look. "That's absurd. You do not botch missions. You are the very last Death Eater of mine who would ever botch a mission."

Bellatrix raised her eyebrows. "That sounds exactly like what I might be told in a meeting just before receiving a severe punishment, My Lord. How disappointed you are in me, owing to my usual competence."

He shook his head. "No. I am unwilling to damage your combat reputation."

Bellatrix giggled a little. "It's fine if they all see me naked, but we mustn't allow them to think any less of my battle prowess."

Voldemort glared, and Bellatrix steadied her face.

"Forgive me, My Lord."

"You will not be naked," he said very stoutly, shifting a bit uncomfortably where he sat, "because that is… that's not exactly what I'm aiming for in all of this. This is about them witnessing the concept of the act, not about them beholding your body. I do promise to be as discreet with your form as possible."

Bellatrix pinched her lips and nodded. "All right. Thank you, Master."

"You will be punished for forgetting about a private meeting I'd arranged," Voldemort said. Bellatrix raised her eyebrows, but Voldemort shrugged. "Rodolphus will believe it. He knows these meetings are becoming a regular occurrence. The notion that I'd arranged one and you forgot about it is simple enough. If I demanded you come to my office and you simply forgot, I could be expected to react with indignant rage, could I not?"

"Quite so, My Lord," Bellatrix affirmed, recalling how one time during a meeting, Voldemort had cast a Cruciatus Curse on Travers for two minutes just because Travers had asked an insolent question.

Voldemort seemed to be hesitating then, drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair, until finally, he asked her carefully,

"What is your contraceptive situation?"

Bellatrix's cheeks went hot, but she reassured him, "I've taken a sterilisation potion, My Lord, that shall last until I take the antidote. I've no intention of bearing any children until the war is over… or possibly ever. In any case, all's well for now. No bleeding to worry about with it, either."

"Good." Voldemort cleared his throat. "The next meeting is on the thirtieth of December. So, I suppose I ought to wish you a Happy Christmas and bid you make merry with your husband and your family… and I shall see you on the thirtieth for what promises to be something of a grand misadventure."

He heaved himself out of his armchair, and as he rose, Bellatrix hurried off the divan to join him. She hurried over to where her heavy velvet cloak had fallen and crumpled when he'd pushed it off of her, and as she dragged it back onto her body, she said to him,

"I wish you a most Happy Christmas, as well, My Lord. And, erm… thank you. For all of it."

For the kiss against the wall, she meant, and for planting filthy ideas in her mind that were going to etch themselves into filthy realities Bellatrix had never thought herself capable of. As she pulled up her hood, Voldemort surprised her by approaching her and gliding his fingers along her jaw. He sighed and bent down, and this kiss was much more gentle than the one before had been. Languid, slow, lazy. His lips pressed against hers softly, then again until she granted him entry, and his tongue dragged around the roof of her mouth. He pulled once along her lip and then planted another kiss there, and then he kissed her forehead and whispered onto her skin,

"Go; I am liable to become a wretched casualty of you again if you stay."

Bellatrix was breathless at that. She stared up at him in wide-eyed wonder, realising just how much she adored absolutely everything about him, and she just whispered with a nod,

"My Lord."

She dipped again in reverence, and then she turned to go.