Title: Flagrante
Author: Musyc
Characters/Pairings: Bellatrix Lestrange/Draco Malfoy
Rating: NC17
Kinks/Themes Chosen: Phygephilia
Other Warnings: Crossgen, incest, dubcon
Word Count: 1000
Summary/Description: He wants to feel normal again, and he knows that he never, ever will. He lifts his head and there is Bella, dancing and spinning, laughing wildly, her hair streaming around her in dark waves, and he knows why.
Author's Notes: Not quite arousal from flight/fleeing, but arousal during.



There's the stench of smoke and dirt on his skin. Bare patches in his palms from when he fell over a gnarled root and scraped his hands raw. Cuts on his cheeks and forehead, stinging as sweat drips into them, from the leaves slashing his face as he ran from the castle. He can barely hear the others over the thunder of his pulse, his heart slamming in his ears, rushing in his throat, until he shoves one hand over his mouth and nose, afraid his blood will surge so fast that it escapes him. Afraid it will pour out of his nostrils and over his lips until he's coated in it.

The others are laughing, cheering, clapping each other on the back in congratulations for a job well done. They spin and disappear in black, murky smoke, leaving to regroup and celebrate the battle, the death of an enemy and the breaking of spirits. Their signal, Morsmordre, the skull and snake, floats overhead marking their victory. Draco shudders and turns his eyes away from the clouds and the macabre, grinning face in the sky. He fights not to gag at what that symbol represents, at the knowledge of what he's done. His assignment is complete, the old man is dead, his parents are safe. He should be celebrating as well.

He can't. There's a fiery space inside him, like one of the novas they learned about in Astronomy classes, on that tower where Dumbledore died. It's burning everything from him, leaving his whole universe off-kilter and spinning out of control. He wishes it would burn him entirely, sear him down to nothingness, so that he could lose the sense that fills him now, the sense that everything has gone wrong, that something has been set in motion and has made his choices futile.

He wants to feel normal again, and he knows that he never, ever will. He lifts his head and there is Bella, dancing and spinning, laughing wildly, her hair streaming around her in dark waves, and he knows why. The destruction at the castle, the screams and wails of people injured or dying has her thrilled. A flush spreads across her pale cheeks, her eyes sparkle bright and feverish. Her joy at the attack, her glee at the carnage they left behind.... As twisted, a violent, as sickening as it is, this is normal for her. For all the Death Eaters. And he's one of them, he's as soulless and vile as they are, and this is normal for him, now.

Bella's panting hard from their flight, one hand against her throat and her breasts rising under her bodice. She's laughing and gasping and moaning all at once, her fingers outlining her body as she spins and capers. She's flushed and impassioned, ready for more, more, more, and Draco knows she doesn't care how she gets it. She wants, like fire wants fuel, and she takes what she wants. The only question that she ever has is who, and it isn't the first time he's seen her eyes turn towards him.

He shakes his head, but it's resignation, not denial. Protest only spurs her, refusal only excites her. She's heat and passion, rushing him like a fire, and it's too late for him to avoid the flames.

Bella grabs his face, her ragged nails biting into his cheeks, and she hauls him close. Draco responds as he knows he must, as he's been trained to answer. Each time, it's been easier, and by now, he knows how to make it quick.

He shoves his hands into her hair, jerks her head back, bends to bite at her throat. He can feel her pulse rushing beneath his lips, the heat of her skin under his mouth. She presses to him and her hands roam his body, running under his shirt and into his trousers, nails raking across his nipples, fingers wrapping around his cock.

He snaps his head up, ripping her throat with his teeth, the copper-iron taste of her blood on his tongue. Bella shrieks and tightens her grip, her fingers locking around his length. Draco bucks, moaning, and Bella shoves him to the ground. He falls hard, the breath knocked from him, lights sparking across his vision, and she's on him before he can recover. She tears at her skirts, claws at his trousers, exposes them both to the wind and sky.

Draco looks up at the clouds, and the green skull grins at him, eddying in the wind until it's laughing. Taunting him for his failures, mocking him for his weakness. He hates it. Hates himself. Hates the woman straddling him, her body hot and slick against him. Hates everything that has brought him to this, that has made this familiar, that had made this normal.

He digs his fingers into the dirt beneath him and closes his eyes. Bella rakes her nails across his stomach and over his hips, then grips his cock tight and guides him in. She rides him like a wildfire, fast and searing, with the burning roar of her cries echoing through his blood.

Draco clings to her, pulling her down, clutching her to him. He digs his heels into the ground and lifts his hips to thrust into her. Bella sways above him, her wild hair a tangled black flame. She squeezes around him, grinds onto him, rocks over him, taking herself to a peak.

Draco pulls her down and kisses her, bites at her mouth, scrapes at her lips until she bleeds. He can taste the flames that fill her, the heat driving her to madness. She is the nova, the explosion of fire and death, and he prays that soon he'll be consumed.

She dances over him, head thrown back as she shrieks, her body writhing and bucking as she comes. Draco shudders underneath her, his nerves singed and his blood heated. He follows her into the flames and burns himself to ash between her thighs.