Ecstasy

\"It is not love. It is the most delicious hate in the world.\" Inell, Craving

Bellatrix stands in the shadows, watching him work, idly running her fingers over the silver blade of the knife in her hands.

He is so adept with the Cruciatus, she thinks, noting the spark in his midnight eyes as he expertly performs the curse, the tip of his wand pointed at the man on the ground. She cocks her head and notices how he bites his lip in concentration.

The screams of his victim heighten the mood in the dingy room, with nothing but a small window high up on the wall and a pair of chains hanging opposite the wooden door. A spill of moonlight falls into the room from outside, it is the one mark of purity in the room. Blood looks pretty in the moonlight. There is plenty of it on the floor to glitter in the moonlight.

Rodolphus is strengthening his curse. You have to really want to cause pain, for the curse to be that good. The thought arouses her and she slides a hand down her body and finds her nipples are hard under her dress. The dress ties in the front—sometimes she likes to wear these gowns, to provoke him—and she pulls at it, shifting restlessly as he circles the man on the ground. The man is screaming some inane drabble about mercy and forgiveness.

Mercy? Forgiveness? The words sound foreign in the Dark Lord’s torture chamber. The man on the ground has betrayed them, would have seen them in Azkaban if his bid for redemption had been successful. It was a great honor for Rodolphus to have been given the task of breaking him and disposing of the would-be traitor. There is no mercy for the weak. Rodolphus doesn’t deign to answer his pleas, although Bellatrix laughs wildly and knows the man can hear her. She does not want to help Rodolphus with his curses tonight; it is not necessary. Her laughter can cut their victim like scissors, it enhances the pain, and that satisfies what she craves.

Her hands move inside her dress and she fingers her nipples, pulling them sharply. Her breath catches in a moan. Rodolphus catches sight of her and for a moment his curse wavers as his attention wanes. Her smile is as sharp as the curve of the knife she runs over her body, between her breasts, her eyes heavy-lidded with desire.

The man writhing beneath his curse hitches his breath, and laughs in a dry hacking way at his unexpected reprieve. “She’s a fucking psycho, you know.”

Bellatrix laughs. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Ripley,” she coos, and leans against the wall. “Hurt him for me, Rodolphus.”

“My pleasure,” her lover snarls, narrowing dark eyes and drawing it out in a hiss, the cold word Crucio falling from his lips like poisoned honey. Ripley screams and it echoes off the stone room, and she sighs in her pleasure. Her hands slip between her thighs, she is wet. She rubs the knife between her thighs, and when it nicks her slightly she moves into the moonlight to see the blood glittering on her thighs. The sight is as erotic as Ripley’s screams in the dark.

“Does that feel good, Bella?” Rodolphus asks her, his eyes on the man he is torturing. “As good as when it is me between your thighs?”

“Almost,” she purrs, “but not quite.” She turns the knife handle around and slides it inside. “It will do for now,” she says, and her head falls back against the wall as she pleasures herself.

“I daresay I’ll have to kill him soon, Bella. I suggest you hurry,” there is a slight breathlessness in Rodolphus’ voice. It suggests he is impatient to be finished with his assignment, so that he can take her against the rough wall of the dungeon. She is impatient for his rough possession, but she is enjoying the show he is giving her.

“Mmmm..” she cannot speak, because the hilt of the knife moves in and out of her body and she is weak-kneed with desire now.

“You’ll be wet for me when I’m done, won’t you?” he purrs, and she laughs as the knife cuts her hand.

“I was wet when you started,” she says, and he is returns her laugh.

Ripley is still screaming—soon, there will be little of him left to break, and then their fun will be over. You should have known better than to betray the Dark Lord.

“Come for me, Bella, and then I’ll kill him,” he says, circling like a shark with his prey.

She gasps his name out as the knife blade runs over her clit, and she drops it in her release. She throws her head back and slides down the wall, ripping what is left of her dress in ecstasy.

She hears him, barely, in throes of her release cast the Killing Curse, and the screaming of their victim stops with the last vestiges of her tremors.

He walks over and hauls her to her feet, pinning her against the wall. She wraps her legs around him, and she is wet from her release and there is blood on her thighs and on her hand from her use of the knife.

She puts her hand to his mouth and he licks the blood that runs down her arm, tracing down to the Dark Mark that is etched into her skin. She likes the way the blood looks on the Mark; she likes the way he looks as he licks it off of her, smearing it over the serpent and the sinister grinning skull.

We he finishes, he wraps an arm around her to steady her. They are covered in sweat and blood and other things. The man he has tortured and kills lies forgotten in the moonlight.

Their eyes meet in the darkness and they smile as they walk out of the chamber, his arm around her waist. The knife she drops into the pool of moonlight, pausing a moment to watch the blood glimmer on the silver of the blade.

Rodolphus looks down at the knife and says to her in a gentle voice, “Don’t worry, Bellatrix. I’ll buy you another.”

She does not like to use them twice.