Not About Love

Teasing and taunts would only get her so far, Bellatrix knew. And this mood of hers, this natural high, prodded her onwards into what she otherwise might determine to be dangerous territory. Quickly, before her sensible side could emerge and warn her otherwise, she propped herself up on the edge of the table and kissed him.

As his lips found hers, she felt the pressure of his hands on her backside, lifting her up and onto the table. Reaching the fingers of her right hands upwards, she gave a tug on the fabric binding his hair perfectly along the back of his neck. As it fell towards his shoulders, she entwined her other hand into it, careful to avoid any sort of gentleness. Lowering her hands, she let her fingers brush against the back of his neck. Playfully, she pressed into the soft flesh there with her fingernails, letting the touch become firmer, and the edges of her fingernails dig into him. A quick gasp into her kiss assured her she had hit a nerve.

He pulled away from her, leaning back and watching as she perched on the edge of the mahogany table. Clutching the black satin ribbon in her fingertips, she teasingly undid the first few buttons of her robe and pressed the ribbon underneath the neckline of her dress. With a businesslike manner, as if he had expected nothing less all along, he began to slowly unbutton the front of his robes. She stared quizzically at him, not wanting to give him the gratification of a response.

"Would you like to help?" he asked, impatiently.

"Come here," she ordered. With a scowl, he did so, and she let her fingers slowly weave around the fabric at the front of his robe, playfully unclasping each individual button. The fabric was silken, surely something expensive, and she was careful to be especially rough with it.

Her hands glided up his chest, sliding the black robe off his shoulders. It fell to the ground, with a whistle and a soft thud, and she looked at the shirt he wore underneath more. More buttons, she thought with a smile. More of the finest fabric, so fine and sheer a shade of white that she could nearly see the curves of his chest. She clasped her hands onto each side of the shirt, and ripped it in two, the threads screaming as they were torn apart, and two of the buttons popping off and onto the table.

Lucius watched one of the mother-of-pearl buttons as it clattered and spun on the hardwood surface. When it was had nearly finished its whirling, he slammed his hand down upon the table. Managing his best menacing glare, he turned back to Bellatrix, and took his liberties with her outer robe. He left the buttons intact, but was sure to pull and tug as much as possible as he removed her outermost layer.

When he reached her underclothes, he exerted no more care pulling those from her body. He noticed that she shifted her weight in order to make his work easier, but chose to ignore it. Her clothing strewn in a pile on the floor, he looked at her.

She watched his eyes study her. Although she felt nervous, appraised, she bit her lip and avoided showing her nerves, concentrating on the sensation of her upper teeth on her lower lip, the feeling, and the blood, as she lowered her teeth just a bit too much, piercing the sensitive skin there.

Ignoring the pain, unwilling and unable to feel it, she reached out and pulled him back towards her. Kissing him again, she slid her tongue into his mouth, letting him share the metallic, salty taste.

She wasn't sure whether she pulled him forwards or he pushed her backwards, but she felt his weight on her, pushing her into the perfectly polished, professional table. She could barely breathe, from his weight on her chest and her own blood pressure rising within her, but she kept her mouth clamped on his. The kiss was possessive, and when his tongue ventured into her mouth, she brought her teeth threateningly onto its surface.

His mouth was gone, and he kneeled over her, his shirt cast aside, wearing only his elegant black trousers. Propping herself up on her elbows, she leaned forward, examining him. His cold gray eyes showed nothing, but the glistening of sweat upon his brow betrayed him. She pushed herself upwards, and towards him, letting her fingers fumble with the buttons of his fly.

Bellatrix let her fingers linger on each one, touching it, feeling it against her fingertips, before prying it away and out of its buttonhole. Letting each one take just a few seconds too long, she finally finished, and slid his pants down to his knees. Leaving then there, where they would likely wrinkle around his knees, she brought herself to him.

His brow was no longer the only part of him that betrayed his true state. She felt his aroused state with her tongue, and listened intently to his soft moans. At first she was gentle, listening, feeling, taking in the experience, and the man with whom she was sharing it. A few minutes of romance, however, was all she could take, and as she became more and more forceful, letting her incisors stray just a little too close for his comfort, he placed his hands on her bare shoulders and pushed her away.

Back on the table, she felt the cold surface on her back as she stared up at the ceiling, studying the crevices and paint-strokes as Lucius leaned back over her. She felt his lips upon her neck, followed by his tongue, flicking itself slowly on her skin. He moved around nimbly, exploring the region, and when she gave out a sudden moan, he bit down gently, leaving an imprint of himself upon her skin.

He moved lower, reaching her chest. Lingering there for awhile, he moved lower down on her body until she was reduced to a screaming, shuddering, helpless being. He enjoyed her powerlessness, but soon growing tired, he pulled away.

She looked up at him, still shaking with pleasure, her hair flowing down her back even wilder than before. Her eyes locked with his, giving a look of expectancy.

He leaned back onto her, giving her what she'd wanted. He held himself as long as possible, wanting to last as long as he could, until she grew tired and sore and screamed from pain and not pleasure. He clamped his hands onto her shoulders, pinning her to the table, bracing against her body, slamming her into the hardwood with each thrust. He would have to make sure the table was repolished before the next meeting.

When he felt her fingernails dig harder into his upper back, to the point where he was quite sure she'd drawn blood, he allowed himself to finish, dropping her back to the table. He let himself collapse on top of her, feeling nearly weightless.

"That was wonderful," he whispered into her ear, marking it with his teeth before he pulled his mouth away and rolled onto his back beside her.

"It was nice, Lucius," she responded brusquely.

They lay there in silence. It was not silence that bothered Bellatrix, she handled that well, it was the lack of action, of conversation. There was nothing to do, yet she felt like their shared silence was a game, a contest, and willed herself not to be the first to break it. Instead, she let her thoughts drift to the last time she had been in this room, on this table, listening to the grand words and serpentine voice of her Master as he regaled them with deceitful plans and terror-filled dreams. She let herself smile, but still did not let herself speak.

He turned to her, breaking the silence. "Was I your first, Bellatrix," he asked. His voice seemed expectant, honest.

She laughed.

His soft gaze turned hard and sharp again. "I should have known."

She dressed quickly, in front of him. As she put her dress back on, she felt the ribbon she'd shoved under the neckline earlier. Palming it, she continued with her robes, swiftly and businesslike with the fastening of the buttons down the front. She looked back up, and he stood before her, his black trousers completely free of wrinkles. He put his arm in hers and walked her towards the dungeon door.

He swung open the heavy door for her, and stood behind. "You know the way back," he said matter-of-factly.

"Yes," she answered. Feeling the satin of his hair ribbon on her left hand, she reached out, and returned it to him. "This is yours."

"Indeed it is," he replied. "I like when my things return to me," he added. She was surprised to find him lean in to kiss her. Letting her lips linger on his, she felt as he gently tugged on her lower lip with his teeth. The physical feeling alone made her shudder as she felt her earlier arousal course once again through her body. She quickly pulled away and led herself down the stairs.

She heard the thick door swing shut on its hinges, and disapparated.

--

Bellatrix was back in her own family's dungeons. Even the dungeons, where she had first learned her arts, and which had always been her favorite part of the house, seemed simple and trying to her now. She was done with this house, ready to move on in her life, and yet still unable. With all the power she had shown, the ability and the accomplishments, she would be somebody important, somebody powerful, somebody feared, someday soon. Yet she stilled lived in the house of her parents.

She snuck upstairs, carefully limiting the sound of her footfalls. Thankfully, the door at the top of the stairs was not nearly so heavy and unoiled as at Lucius's, and she was able to open it and let herself onto the ground floor silently. By the light of one candle which remained alight in the living room, she crept across the floor to the stairs.

As she stepped onto the second stair from the bottom, however, she realized she'd overlooked the old stair that had been broken as long as she could remember. As a child, she taught Andromeda and Narcissa to jump over it on the way up, but her thoughts still elsewhere, its presence slipped her mind. The loud creak it emitted brought about movement from the living room sofa. Torn between racing upstairs as quickly as possible and leaving the house before she was detected, Bellatrix froze.

Her father's form emerged from across the room, his shadow long and menacing against the back wall. He picked up the candle he'd left on the coffee table, and walked towards the stairs, the light flickering across the room. She watched as he let out a sigh of relief on recognizing her form. The sigh, however, was quickly followed by a look of anger. She backed up, onto the next step up.

"What are you doing out so late?"

"It's not that late," Bellatrix argued, with the most innocent voice she could muster.

"It's late if I say it's late. This is my house. When I ask what you're doing out at such an hour, you tell me."

"Yes, Father," she said obediently, backing up another step. Hopefully she would make it to the second floor before her father asked too many questions.

But his voice was firm and unwavering. It was the voice that had told her she was expected, flat out, expected, to be at the top of her class in school. The voice that had told her that under no circumstances was she to disappoint the family. "Where were you?"

She shuddered, thinking back to the ecstasies of earlier in the night. She had found herself, been her own person, felt alive in ways she'd never imagined. Yet she was still her father's daughter, a subject of her father's house. She took a deep breath, and knew she'd have to tell him the truth, at least some of it.

"I was visiting. With Lucius Malfoy."

Her father's stern, angry face suddenly broke out into a smile. "Lucius Malfoy," he repeated. Bellatrix nodded obediently. "What an excellent man he'd make. I mean, an excellent man for you. Get to bed, Bella. You need your beauty sleep."

She nodded again in assent, and turned around and fled up the stairs back to her room. Closing the door behind her, and putting on her nightclothes, she looked herself over in the mirror. Lucius Malfoy, she thought. She was her father's daughter, she knew, but perhaps she did not have to be his subject anymore.