Title: (Flesh and Blood) Sacrifice
Author: ldymusyc
Characters/Pairings: Bellatrix Lestrange/Draco Malfoy
Rating: NC17
Kinks/Themes Chosen: Dark wizards/witches
Other Warnings: Incest, crossgen, bloodplay, self-injury (cutting), necrophilia
Word Count: 1350
Summary/Description: His Dark goddess is gone, but not forgotten. And not forever.
Author's Notes: Necrophilia. There's a warning I never ever thought I'd use for a fic. Many apologies to Poison for stealing their song title for my fic title, but that's what they get for being one of my favorite bands and on repeat while I was writing.



He scurries through the chilled, unlit corridors to the Manor's abandoned cellars. Already his skin is prickling, his breath hot in his lungs. His cock rubs against the thick wool of his robes with every hurried step, the material scratching, abrading, touching him until he's close to crying with the ache for more.

Not yet. Not yet. He can't waste what she needs, the offering he brings her. Tonight, he-- they might succeed and she will need it all.

He forces his fingers away from his groin, folds his arms and curls his hands into fists. There is the last door and there is the narrow, chilly room, and there, there is the slender beam of moonlight cutting across her face. Draco's breath escapes him in silver-white puffs, the same shade as her gaze, forever locked on the ceiling, dark beams rimed with frost.

"Bella," Draco whispers, and he drops to his knees beside the stone ledge that holds her. He kisses her forehead, her cheek, her mouth, warms her cold skin with his lips. He straightens her robes, smooths the fabric over her shoulders, adjusts the rings on her hands. She died in torn rags, stinking with blood and smoke, but he has taken care of her. Washed her with scented soaps and dressed her in jewels and satin.

"Bella," he whispers again, lifting his head to the portrait hanging between two candles charmed to burn without end. The portrait had been consigned to the fires meant to cleanse the Manor of the Dark Lord's stench, but he'd rescued it from the flames. Rescued her and repaired her, his knuckles bruised and fingers bleeding from his efforts to re-carve her frame. The edges of the canvas are singed, blackened with soot and ash, but her wild dark hair and her molten grey eyes are still there.

Still his. Still waiting.

She smiles at him, parts her lips and flicks her tongue across the blood-red skin. Draco's heart pounds and he stretches his hands to her, rising up on his knees in supplication. "Nephew," she says with a nod and Draco keens in relief as she acknowledges him.

"Please," he says, panting, the chill from the stones under him soaking through his robes and into his blood. "Please, Bella."

She purses her lips and looks at him, her hands clasped demurely at her waist. "What will you give me?" she asks.

He knows what she wants, what she craves. What she needs. He scrabbles in a niche beside the low ledge where her body lays in waiting silence. The hilt of the knife burns his palm with cold and the stained blade is a shadow in the moonlight. Bella's eyes shimmer and her scarlet mouth curls with pleasure. Draco pushes up his sleeve and the black skull grins at him beneath a cross-hatching of pale, silver scars.

He poises the blade, his chest heaving and his cock a solid weight against his thigh. He watches her, waits for her. Waits until he's ready to scream and beg for her permission, but the blade never wavers against his skin.

The moonlight shifts, falling across the white, unmoving lips beside his knee, and Bella nods.

Draco cuts.

He drags the knife across his arm, across the Dark brand burned into his flesh. The honed edge parts his skin like water and his blood flows down the serpent's coils and fangs. He holds his arm over Bella's mouth and the red drops patter to splash her lips with crimson. It hurts, it hurts as his body recognizes the injury the sharp blade has done, but above him, Bella gives a drawn-out sigh of pleasure. Draco shivers and bends to kiss her mouth, smearing his blood around her lips with his tongue.

He puts the knife in her cold hand, her fingers locked forever around the empty space that once held her wand. In the portrait, Bella stirs and her fingers close around the hilt of a matching knife. Draco gazes at her, his mouth open, as she licks the edge of the blade and her tongue stains the knife with more blood.

"Please," he says, his arm in his lap, his blood soaking into his robes and sticking the fabric to his aching cock. "Please, Bella, please."

She taps the point of the knife against her lips, then leans on the side of the frame and arches her back. Her breasts move, strain against the neckline of her robes. She pushes the blade into her cleavage and holds her breasts tight around it. "Granted," she says with a low, shadowed laugh.

Draco tears his robes open and pumps his fist around his cock, runs his palm across the tip to mix his blood into the thin, sticky fluid that's beading on his skin. He scrambles onto the stone ledge and straddles her torso, his entire body shaking, his head full of gleaming silver and red. Despite his need, despite the throbbing ache in him, he is careful with her. He unfastens her robes with a gentle touch, pushes the satin aside with trembling reverence. Her skin is cold and slick as marble, but he groans as he slides his cock between her breasts. He cradles them, holds them pressed around his shaft, runs his thumbs around her pale nipples.

"Yes, nephew," Bella hisses. He looks up and meets her gleaming eyes. She licks her lips and bows her head to kiss the pommel of the knife. Her tongue flicks over it, around it, until blood and saliva glisten on the metal. Draco whimpers and thrusts, pushes into the tight channel between her cold breasts. His hips rock and her skin caresses his length, blood running down his arm to trickle over the white mound beneath his hand, to stain it a flushed and heated pink. His head spins; his heart pounds. His blood, his gift, his offering warms her.

"Now, Draco," she says, and he jumps forward, shoves his cock between her lips. Head thrown back and eyes locked on hers, he cries out. His body jerks and throbs, and he spills into her mouth. He feeds come and blood and life into her as Bella watches with a hungry tightness in her eyes.

Draco pulls free of her mouth and slumps onto his heels. His heart races, the pain in his bleeding arm forgotten. He watches blood and come dry on Bella's mouth, watches it fade into her skin. For one moment, just one aching heartbeat and silver-white breath, he sees her lips move. He sees her tongue lick up his blood and her throat moving in a swallow. Draco stares, praying, believing that he truly has seen that flare of life, that it was more than a trick of clouds twisting the beam of moonlight.

He touches her cheek, presses his blood-stained hand over her heart. She is cold again, still and quiet. He looks up to the portrait and cowers under the look of disappointment she gives him. "More," he says, almost weeping. "Bella, forgive me. I'll bring you more, I'll give you more next time, I swear."

"More," she echoes, toying with the hilt of the knife cradled between her breasts. She wraps her fingers around it and her hand moves up and down in a slow and deliberate rhythm. Draco wets his lips and stares at her long, slender fingers. She draws the knife from her cleavage and grips the blade, squeezes it until blood drips between her fingers while she moans. "More blood, dear nephew. Dear Draco. Remember my promise. You give your body for me, and I will give my body to you."

She purses her lips, blows him a kiss, and smiles. "Next time, nephew. Blood, seed, and flesh. For me."

Draco bends and kisses her cold lips, licks his dried fluids from her mouth. Already he can feel the cold bite of the blade in his arm, can feel the pain of the cut. The power of his sacrifice. He will wake her. He will succeed. And she will reward his devotion. "For us."