Bellatrix let this information sink in slowly, as if she was submerging herself in a hot bath. There was a sudden, familiar thrill of excitement that ran from the pit of her belly up to tug behind her breasts and she sucked her lower lip into her mouth to chew on it thoughtfully. She was seeing Rita Skeeter in a whole new light -- never had anyone come at her so directly. Usually boys wanted her to be coquettish and affect interest in them, all the while being mauled unpleasantly by their fumbling hands -- she'd never had anyone take the lead in so direct and underhanded a manner, and, if she was honest, it excited her.
She grinned.
"I think I like you better, Skeeter," she said, "than I ever thought possible. I hope you won't disappoint."
Bellatrix raised her eyebrows and glanced around. The Quidditch pitches were not remotely secluded, but the place was deserted at this time of night. Desperate for something forbidden, wanton and as close to Skeeter's boundaries (and her own) as she dared go, she clasped her hands behind her head one at a time and then tilted her chin up to look down her nose at the other girl. Her gaze flitted to the broom shed. It was kept locked, but it was easily opened with Alohomora. Bellatrix didn't make good decisions. She knew she needed those photos back, but the long-term threat of them was utterly eclipsed by her need for satisfaction now.
The question hung unspoken between them. Bellatrix wasn't going to make it out loud -- it was up to Rita, now, to call the shots; she had never considered being the one at the mercy of somebody else, but the dampness between her legs was a sure enough sign that it interested her. There were days when Bellatrix wouldn't even let little Blishwick touch her at all she so very much liked to be in control -- but Rita was a different sort altogether. Something about her cried out to be explored.