FIC: Semper Fi (Always Faithful) (Voldemort/Bellatrix) for slytherati Title: Semper Fi (Always Faithful) Recipient:slytherati Pairing: Voldemort/Bellatrix, Bellatrix/Rodolphus (hope you don't mind that part, I just... couldn't bring myself to write Bella/Sirius :|) Rating: NC-17 Word count: ~1520 Summary:His disappearance had been the ultimate test of his followers' loyalty, and many had fallen short. Not she, though. Bellatrix would always be faithful to him. Warnings: powerplay, mentions of torture, forced submission (without bloodplay or bondage, as requested), Unforgivables, hate sex Author's note: Thanks very much to my beta: any remaining mistakes are mine alone. I hope you like it, slytherati!
"Bellatrix."
The voice was soft, almost gentle, but it sounded far too loud to Bellatrix's ears. Her every nerve felt overly sensitive, veins on fire.
Cool fingertips touched her chin, forcing her head to tilt up. It wasn't until she felt his breath flutter on her eyelashes that she realised her eyes were closed. As if he had commanded her to, she opened them.
"Good morning," he said, the hint of a smirk twitching at the corners of his mouth. "How are you feeling?"
The simple question made her more aware of every single ache in her body -- the pounding of her heart against her temple, the stiffness of her muscles, and an ache near her ribs, not to mention the fried tingling of the skin on her fingertips. She took stock of it all, noticing too the cool chair beneath her and the hard stone of the floor beneath her feet. And most of all, his presence. He exuded power like body heat, and the adrenaline of it seeped into her veins.
She smiled.
.:.
;
Pain, Bellatrix soon discovered, was not something to be avoided. Only the weak cast spells on others that they would not endure themselves, and she would never be weak.
She knew the fire of the Cruciatius in her veins; her nerves had very nearly grown accustomed to it. She had withstood the pain of losing her father and her youngest sister, and she bore the frustration of having a husband that was below her without showing it.
It wasn't Rodolphus' fault, after all. Not his fault that she would humble herself before no one but her Lord.
Of course, when she returned home shaking with elation -- and possibly partially because of what she had endured -- she would get irritated with him, because he did not understand. He knew how to inflict pain (one of his saving graces, in Bellatrix's opinion) but he only underwent it when he had no other choice; he did not appreciate her training. He could not comprehend the adrenaline rush of feeling everything, the way torture could make one feel alive if one surrendered just enough. He never understood, because he had not undergone such training himself.
But Rodolphus never complained when she shoved him against the nearest flat surface, horizontal or vertical, and fucked him mercilessly until the ache between her legs went away. And he never knew that it wasn't the sight of him that whet her appetite so, but the look in her Lord's eyes when he looked at her -- and especially when he raised his wand against her.
.:.
He liked to play her against her husband. Bellatrix knew it was a test of her faith, and also of her skill with deception; she walked a fine line between her loyalty to her husband and her utter devotion to her Lord. He knew, he had to know the effect he had on her: it was in the way she looked at him, a way she never looked at her husband. Except for when she imagined that he was her Lord, instead.
"Bellatrix," said Voldemort. She looked at him with dark eyes, waiting patiently to hear what he required of her this time. "Are you ready to serve me?"
Bellatrix felt her breath catch for a moment, dangerously; she was unable to help reading more into the simple words than he had intended. "I am, My Lord."
Voldemort smiled, and then his gaze slid to the right to look at Rodolphus and his brother. "And your husband?"
"He is also ready," Bellatrix said, eager to offer him for her Lord's services. But she glanced at Rodolphus, including him with a small smile. "Though he might wish to speak for himself."
"I'm ready," Rodolphus agreed, slinging one arm around her waist. Bellatrix's expression tightened for a moment, but she made sure her husband didn't see it.
.:.
The Longbottoms' eyes had rolled back in their heads, and it was difficult to tell if they were even breathing any longer. Bellatrix, on the other hand, had not felt so alive since her Lord had disappeared, yet she was still frustrated -- their search had yielded nothing. There was a gleam in Rodolphus's eyes, but he was looking at Bellatrix instead of at their victims.
"Look so good when you're angry," he growled, grabbing hold of her shoulders. Bellatrix had a split second to be annoyed before the crack of Apparition, and she was being pressed roughly against the wall of their parlour.
She lashed out when his mouth latched on to her neck, fingernails leaving red streaks on his throat and shoulders. To her great annoyance, he only took this as encouragement, and ripped eagerly at her clothes until they were gone.
Bellatrix had always understood the correlation between pain, torture, and sex -- she thrived on it -- but anger as a turn-on took her by surprise. She used anger to fuel her curses, she didn't fuck people she hated. But though she could not have been more angry with her husband at that moment, her mouth betrayed her: angry sounds came out breathless and hoarse, like cries of pleasure.
He was inside her, then, and she didn't even have her fantasies to cling to, because the man she truly loved was gone. That thought brought tears of frustration to her eyes, and she submitted with a harsh sound, letting the pleasure of it take her over for a moment.
As she came, she screamed, "My Lord!"
.:.
It was just as well that she had been sentenced to Azkaban, Bellatrix reflected. She barely talked to Rodolphus anymore, and she had failed in finding a way to resurrect her Lord. It was not the reason why the Wizengamot was punishing her this way, but it was fitting.
She took to staring at the prison wall, not really seeing the bare grey stone. It was just a wall, a physical barrier between her and the things she had to do to bring him back.
The thought of him kept her safe from the Dementors; mostly, though she was more than a little bit insane to begin with. She didn't care about the cold, nor about her happy thoughts, only determination. After his training, even a soul-sucking creature that turned endless people into drooling, mindless lunatics could not bring her down.
Eventually the creatures even gave up on her after a while. She was too angry, her thoughts too violent -- it was not their prime choice of food. She sometimes got the feeling that they knew her, too -- even recognised her as another of the Dark Lord's servants. It was difficult to tell whether it was her imagination or not, but she got the impression that they knew she was his most faithful and devoted, and as such chose to leave her be.
So she was left alone with her thoughts, dwelling in her memories. On her good days, she'd run at the wall until her skin ached, scratch her skin until she could very nearly imagine it was his doing, and every once in a while -- on the really good days -- her hand would slip between her legs, too.
In Azkaban, she drove herself mad.
.:.
There was new respect for her in his eyes when he saw her again. Bellatrix knew why: many of his supposedly faithful Death Eaters had attempted (successfully, in some cases) to avoid jail. His disappearance had been the ultimate test of his followers' loyalty, and many had fallen short--Not she. Bellatrix would always be faithful to him.
He promised her anything she desired in reward; he must have known exactly what she would say. There had only ever been one thing she wanted.
"To serve you, My Lord," she said breathlessly, undone by the curve of his pale fingers around his wand and the redness of his eyes. "I would be by your side through it all, and serve you proudly long after victory is ours."
He smiled then -- a different smile from before, on a new face, but it was still his smile. Bellatrix basked in it.
"Only the most faithful or the best liar would ask me for such a thing," he said, considering her. "You, Bellatrix..." He paused, drawing out the name, until Bellatrix was very nearly on the verge of squirming. "You have always been the most faithful."
"And I always will be, My Lord," she answered, heart beating furiously against her ribcage in anticipation. "Always."
"Then you shall have what you want," he said. The tip of his wand touched her chin, tilting her head up. She met his red eyes with her dark ones, barely able to breathe. "Since it is what I desire most for you, as well."
When the curse hit, Bellatrix shuddered, but she didn't scream. The pain was a caress, and she lost herself in it, what she'd been craving all these years.