Fire

Chapter 4: “Dreaming blood-wet dreams, only madmen have…”—Nick Cave, Babe, I Got You Bad.


Bellatrix stood watching Rodolphus writhe under her curse, a slight smile on her face. That will show him I’m serious, she thought. His screams were a perverse kind of music to her ears. His dark hair fell in his face, a fine sheen of sweat appearing as he struggled beneath the power of the Cruciatus. He was a tall man, and the twisting, sinuous motions he made as he was battered about by the curse enthralled her. He looks like a serpent, she thought, licking her top lip as if he were a snack she was eager to devour. It was a jubilant feeling, both because he had thought her unable to performing the curse and because she was causing pain. Bellatrix let the curse go after a few moments; in addition to being incredibly physically taxing, she hardly wanted anyone to come investigating the sound of screaming and find her torturing a housemate on the floor of the potions classroom.

He lay panting at the floor at her feet, and she noticed with a bit of a shock her body was flushed with anger and something else — an intense arousal that suffused her entire being with the strongest lust she had ever felt. Even those torturous nightmares of her youth had failed to produce such a strong physical reaction in her — all the furious and secretive imaginings she had indulged in had never produced anything like the feelings coursing through her body now. She found she was panting along with him as he recovered from the after effects of her curse. Her eyes were trained on him, and she was horribly aware of each and every nerve ending in her body.

Rodolphus moved shakily to his feet, and she was achingly aware of the silence of the room broken only by the sound of his gasps as he struggled to bring air into his lungs and the slight, erratic pace of her own breathing as she stood there aching for something she could not name. He had a hand on the counter of the sink, and he raised his head slowly to meet her gaze. His dark eyes burned with hatred and pain, and the deliciousness of the amalgamation of those two emotions nearly sent her to her knees as a wild euphoria raced through her.

“I told you,” she said in a dark voice pulsing with pride. “I told you I could do it.” Bellatrix heard the triumph implicit in her statement and wondered idly what he would do for revenge. Her arousal did not dim in the slightest at the thought.

Rodolphus was glaring at her with more hatred than any human being had ever directed at her in her short life, and that was saying something as she was well aware she was often a horribly unlikable individual. His voice — usually so silky and urbane — hissed the curse in a tone of absolute loathing, and his voice was steady even though the hand holding the wand pointed at her was not. “Crucio.” She was able to register surprise and a strange elation before the curse hit her. It threw her to the floor as waves of excruciating pain washed over her entire body.

Bellatrix screamed as she lay there under the curse, bursts of white and yellow lights flashing behind her closed eyes. Her hands scratched anywhere they could reach — her skin, her clothing, the floor — as her back arched off of the cold stones of the dungeon. Her mind was completely given over to the pain of it, but it felt as welcome as a summer’s rain after a drought. The heat that rose so easily to the surface in her rages seemed to rise up and clash with Rodolpus’ Cruciatus curse, and it was as if a slumbering beast awoke and found something for which it had been searching for years. Her screams had ceased to be merely anguished, and she sobbed in a mixture of pain and the most exquisite pleasure she had ever felt. As incomprehensible as it would seem, Bellatrix found herself in the midst of the most powerful orgasm of her life even as the pain threatened to undo her. And then suddenly, it was gone, and she almost wept for the loss of it even as her body shuddered in relief that it was over.

She lay on the floor, panting and shaking all over. Her hair was plastered to her face, and her muscles felt aching and sore, as if she had run a great distance. A thin sheen of sweat covered her body, and she knew she must have looked as disheveled as Rodolphus had when she’d pulled her curse. However, there was one slight difference because she was having a difficult time keeping the smile off of her face. I have been waiting for that for a long, long time. Bellatrix laughed; the sound was manic and harsh in the quiet of the room.

She opened her eyes lazily and fixed them on the figure of her tormenter, staring at her incredulously. To her surprise, he reached a hand down to help her up, a chivalrous gesture she would not have thought him capable of. He hauled her unceremoniously to her feet, and she braced herself against the counter and looked at him. At his expression, she arched one dark brow. She was so exhausted, even that gesture seemed to sap her energy. For once, Bellatrix Black felt a strange sense of calm and a peace she had never known existed, and it was all thanks to a healthy dose of an Unforgivable Curse, cast upon her by a man who despised her. She grinned.

“You are one sick and twisted bitch, Bellatrix Black,” Rodolphus breathed, moving close to her. Before she knew quite what he was about, he’d put his hands on her shoulders and was pushing back against the counter. His breathing was erratic, and there was an odd glint in his eyes, his face still flushed from his experience with the curse and the effort casting it took from him. “I think you actually liked that.”

The air faintly crackled between them, alive with anger and lust. She smiled dangerously, feeling her body sing under his scrutiny. “It hurt,” she purred, and he pressed closer to her. She felt his erection against her and ground her hips against him, reveling in his sharp hiss. He liked it. He liked hurting me and making me scream in pain. His hands went round her waist, and he sat her up on the counter. His hands drifted to her neck. One went around her throat. The other went into the rich darkness of her hair, and pulled sharply.

She moaned.

“I don’t believe this,” he breathed. “You actually got off under the Cruciatus Curse,” he said, incredulous. He was still grinding his erection against her, and she was bucking her hips against him. She was wet and had been when he’d pulled the curse from her. No doubt he could feel it through the layers of clothing separating them – layers that were suddenly constrictive and unwelcome.

“I’m surprised you knew what a woman having an orgasm even looked like enough to recognize it,” she taunted him, and when his hand tightened around her throat, she caught her lip between her teeth and moaned again. The pain, so fresh on the heels of her earlier torture, pricked her senses, and she felt raw and alive.

“Oh, I know, Black, never you fear,” he said smugly. He dropped the hand grasping her hair to push her robes up over her knees. He palmed her sex, and when he discovered her wetness, his eyes narrowed, and he hardened further. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him tighter against her, loving the feel him and the very fact his wrath made him want her so badly he was hard and full with it.

“So can you get a girl off without having to curse her?” she asked, her hands scratching his arms roughly. Her nails were sharp and caused a thin red welt where she scratched him. She stared at the sight, transfixed. The hand that was grasping her throat pressed inward slightly, and she struggled to breath. At the last second, he released his hold to tear his school robes off, leaving him in a shirt and trousers. She watched him but did not move from her perch on the counter, her heart racing. She had no particular desire to help him off with his clothing, though she was impatient enough for him to accomplish the task.

“I think I’ll shut that impertinent mouth of yours up once and for all, Black,” he growled, his hands pulling at his trousers. He freed his hard length and stepped up to her, hands pulling first at her robes and then pushing her skirt up and yanking down her knickers in three rough motions. Her skin tingled where he touched her.

“I’d like to see you try it, Lestrange,” she said, her voice full with the excitement she was feeling as he positioned himself at her entrance. He looked up at her, and their eyes caught. There was no expression of tenderness, and hatred had supplanted desire, but the wetness between her thighs spoke of her readiness. She was not certain if that disappointed or excited him, but then he shoved roughly into her, and she ceased caring. Bellatrix arched her back and bit his shoulder as the delicious pain washed over her as he breached her maidenhead. I’ve been waiting for so long for this, too…

She felt the fine tremor running through his limbs that were entwined with hers and heard his rough laugh. “I can’t believe it — you were a virgin? What, no one ever figured out the secret to getting under your skirt was to hurt you first?” He pulled out and roughly shoved back into her, his hands grasping her full breasts in a bruising grip. Searching for that same engulfing pleasure that had gripped her earlier, she moved against him. He was hitting some spot inside her, dragging himself over it again and again, and it was making her crazed.

“I suppose not,” she said, and he reached down and twisted her clit in his long, nimble fingers. “I daresay I was waiting for someone who really wanted to hurt me,” she gasped out, her body spasming around his, the pleasure intense. He caught his breath as her muscles tightened around his cock, and he pounded into her furiously.

“I still fucking hate you,” he bit out, his hands pulling roughly at her hair and her breasts and leaving bruises on her fair skin. He stared at the bruises instead of her eyes so he missed her wicked smile at his words.

“I know,” she said, twining her fingers into his hair and rocking against him. “And I’m so glad you do.” Her body convulsed against him again — this time the tremors of her release pushed him over the edge as well, and he spilled into her with a loud moan.

They rested against each other for a few moments until they both became aware of where they were. His head was on her shoulder as he tried to control his breathing; their post-coital embrace was far more intimate than the sexual encounter they had just shared. Nothing about that had been remotely affectionate. He pulled away a few moments later, turning from her to re-adjust his clothing. He did not bother to pick up her robe or her knickers, which lay discarded on the floor, and he didn’t offer to help her down from the counter.

Wincing at the soreness of her thighs, Bellatrix slid down to the ground. She could feel something wet and sticky between her legs, and looking down, she saw a faint smear of blood on her thighs. She stared at it and found herself saying, “Oh,” in a slightly breathless moan. Rodolphus turned at the sound and followed her gaze, his eyes touching on the mixture of his seed and her blood that marked her porcelain-white skin. His face flushed, and he scowled.

“You’ll want to clean that up,” he growled at her, and she hid a smile with the fall of her hair as she stepped into her knickers and grabbed her robe, shrugging into it.

“Maybe I will, and maybe I won’t,” she said in an annoying sing-song voice. She grinned as she straightened and saw him staring at her with an expression looking like he wanted to either curse her or ravage her again.

Bellatrix tossed her head, her raven hair spilling over her robes, and walked past where he stood. Reaching up, she patted his face in a gesture far more akin to a slap than a friendly pat. He winced slightly, and her blood sang at his reaction. “If you tell anyone about his, I’ll make sure you are sorry, Lestrange.”

He laughed; the sound was mocking. She was not sure if he was mad at her, himself or both of them. Most likely it was the latter. “What will you do, Black? Curse me again? We see how that well that worked out.” He glanced pointedly down at where the robe clung to her thighs, sticking to her skin and the wetness beneath.

She scratched him lightly — not hard enough to leave marks, but she would have if it were anywhere other than his face. “Maybe. Or maybe I won’t curse you again.” She smirked at him, eyes dark and dangerous. “Or maybe,” she whispered, leaning up suddenly to wrap her arms around his neck and going up on tiptoes to press her lips next to his, “maybe I’ll say you fuck like a third-year Hufflepuff.” She nipped his bottom lip, and before he could react, she was went laughing into the hallway.

Bellatrix went quickly to her room before she collapsed; the combination of the curse and the sex had all but exhausted her, and she fell on her bed fully dressed. She pulled the curtains around her and yanked half-heartedly at her robe and her clothing until she lay wearing nothing but her panties. She touched herself between her legs, and feeling the wetness there, she closed her eyes with a contented sigh. Her dreams were awash in the sounds of their screams, and the beautiful, exquisite pleasure of the pain she had suffered. She fell asleep with a smile on her face, peaceful.