FIC: Fourteenth, Resurrected (Bellatrix/Neville, NC-17, no spoilers)
Title: Fourteenth, Resurrected
Pairing: Neville/Bellatrix
Warnings: experimental, noncon (um, sort of?), references to torture, AU
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~1,100
Compliant to: HBP, no spoilers
Summary: A twisted version of an ancient Egyptian myth.
Notes: This one's strange, even for me; Neville is Osiris and Bellatrix is a merging of both Isis and Set. It's based on a prompt that I started for a pinch hit that turned out to be not necessary and is a piece I've wanted to finish for a long time. Unfortunately, I have since lost the prompt and don't remember the details, except that the person wanted something experimental. If part of this idea looks familiar, please claim it so I can thank you!
Originally posted to daily_deviant here.
Fourteenth, Resurrected
Floating on the Nile, Bellatrix dreamt of setting its power loose on her enemies, of restoring violence and life to the barrenness of the new world. Their small wooden boat rose and fell with the rhythmic breath of the river, and if Neville's eyes were not quite empty when he stared at the sky above them, that was just another deep mystery in a place where such things were common enough to be vulgar.
Bella welcomed the peace and thanked the water, bountiful and merciless as her Lord had been, for providing her a direction.
The ache of missing her dead Lord's light began to build, a void burning hot in her soul. She could no longer bear being left alone with her own madness (but for Neville's silence), so she reached into her secret place and found Neville's cock. Leaning over the side of their narrow boat, she immersed it briefly in the cool water, pulling it back out again, giggling like a schoolgirl from the thrill and the beauty of seeing the water glisten, shine all over its surface.
She unlaced her blouse (having left her English wizarding robes safely hidden in her trunk) watching the fabric pulling apart, watching it come undone.
Everything comes undone.
Neville had come apart into fourteen perfect pieces, taken in the same careful order she'd broken his parents. That was Before. Now, blessed with seemingly infinite time and solitude, she managed to put him back, every piece (except the one she'd kept).
He was her finest work. She'd never imagined such a complete restoration, free of the cracks, the fine lines that wouldn't be hidden in all of the others. He alone had accepted each piece of himself back into the whole, seamless. It should have been a warning.
With the stiffness and artifice of movement of a construct, he turned to watch her as she lay back on the rough planks of their boat. The smell of the sun and hot sand lingered in the wood, even though the temperature was dropping rapidly and her exposed flesh was goosepimpling.
She held his cock up between them, almost within his arm's reach. He did not move to reclaim it.
The first of the rains began to fall. Not violent yet, not enough for Bellatrix's tastes, anyway, and so she slid her skirt from her bony hips and spread her knees, making sure Neville could see everything.
She brought his cock up to her mouth and licked it, and it jumped a little in her mouth.
Neville closed his eyes as though against phantom sensation.
She sucked it in, tilting her head back the easier to slide it to the back of her throat, while her other hand crept down between her thighs, skating over skin that sometimes horrified her, too loose on her bones and deathly pale. She ran her finger lightly along her slit, nearly-but-not scratching, gasping and nearly biting down on the cock in her mouth when she reached her clit. She was already dripping wet, soaking, from the pain and heat of the day that had entered her blood.
She pulled his cock from her mouth. The storm was building in the air; she could smell the ozone, and she trailed the dry tip down her rain-slapped body, ready to pleasure herself on it.
It slid inside her easily. She shuddered, the movement mirrored by Neville in a despairing mockery of her pleasure. She bit back a moan of disappointment in that, in him. Obviously, he did not deserve such a fine cock. He did not deserve her.
Soon, however, it no longer mattered because his cock was thick and hard and (oh, wait) hers. A whispered spell left her hands free to stroke and pinch her clit while her cock pumped detached in and out of her body, twisting and turning just so as no man could have done, obedient to her thoughts.
The boat rocked dangerously. Twice, a thin sheet of water poured in over the side to mingle with the rainwater that had begun to puddle in the centre of the craft, icy cold on her back. Twice, she came, her spasms around her cock weak, barely felt, and then she was finished (unsated).
A bodiless cock could not come at all. Habit and good manners told her that she should still reciprocate, so after she pulled it out, she crawled forward awkwardly. She reached Neville and knelt, bringing both the cock and her lips to within inches of Neville's face. Sweetly, she kissed the eye of its head, still glistening and honey-sour from her cunt (although the rain was sweeping all traces of her away).
Apparently the gesture was not welcome, for Neville finally stood up against the pouring rain, and he finally turned to her, and his eyes were black like the sky. He grasped her wrist in one hand and her throat in the other and squeezed.
He forced her hand with his cock down and she could see his skull grinning at her from beneath the tight-stretched skin of his face. Her vision was nearly faded for lack of sweet air, but she managed to get it lined up in the right place. With a barely-managed push of will (her will!) she made it stick, put him back together again whole, his cock hanging limply and uselessly from his body.
The next thing she knew was blackness and the next after that was the smell of the wood at the bottom of the boat. This time, the scent of the planks was rich and dank, water instead of sunlight and mold instead of sand, and over it all rose her favorite scent of all - the brilliant tang of blood. Her blood, she figured, where she'd been crushed, cruelly ground between Neville's anger and his revenge.
My new Lord, she thought in ecstasy. Now we will truly be together.
"I am not your Lord," Neville said, although she hadn't spoken out loud. "I will not have you, and I am not going to kill you."
Inside her head, her madness whispered loss in a language she'd forgotten until its voice broke and it wept the shrill sobs of the damned.
He cast her out of the river to wander the desert forever, to be scoured by wind and sand and grief until there was nothing left but the shimmering echo of her delirium and ceaseless whisper of her laughter.
Fourteenth, Resurrected
Pairing: Neville/Bellatrix
Warnings: experimental, noncon (um, sort of?), references to torture, AU
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~1,100
Compliant to: HBP, no spoilers
Summary: A twisted version of an ancient Egyptian myth.
Notes: This one's strange, even for me; Neville is Osiris and Bellatrix is a merging of both Isis and Set. It's based on a prompt that I started for a pinch hit that turned out to be not necessary and is a piece I've wanted to finish for a long time. Unfortunately, I have since lost the prompt and don't remember the details, except that the person wanted something experimental. If part of this idea looks familiar, please claim it so I can thank you!
Originally posted to daily_deviant here.
Fourteenth, Resurrected
Floating on the Nile, Bellatrix dreamt of setting its power loose on her enemies, of restoring violence and life to the barrenness of the new world. Their small wooden boat rose and fell with the rhythmic breath of the river, and if Neville's eyes were not quite empty when he stared at the sky above them, that was just another deep mystery in a place where such things were common enough to be vulgar.
Bella welcomed the peace and thanked the water, bountiful and merciless as her Lord had been, for providing her a direction.
The ache of missing her dead Lord's light began to build, a void burning hot in her soul. She could no longer bear being left alone with her own madness (but for Neville's silence), so she reached into her secret place and found Neville's cock. Leaning over the side of their narrow boat, she immersed it briefly in the cool water, pulling it back out again, giggling like a schoolgirl from the thrill and the beauty of seeing the water glisten, shine all over its surface.
She unlaced her blouse (having left her English wizarding robes safely hidden in her trunk) watching the fabric pulling apart, watching it come undone.
Everything comes undone.
Neville had come apart into fourteen perfect pieces, taken in the same careful order she'd broken his parents. That was Before. Now, blessed with seemingly infinite time and solitude, she managed to put him back, every piece (except the one she'd kept).
He was her finest work. She'd never imagined such a complete restoration, free of the cracks, the fine lines that wouldn't be hidden in all of the others. He alone had accepted each piece of himself back into the whole, seamless. It should have been a warning.
With the stiffness and artifice of movement of a construct, he turned to watch her as she lay back on the rough planks of their boat. The smell of the sun and hot sand lingered in the wood, even though the temperature was dropping rapidly and her exposed flesh was goosepimpling.
She held his cock up between them, almost within his arm's reach. He did not move to reclaim it.
The first of the rains began to fall. Not violent yet, not enough for Bellatrix's tastes, anyway, and so she slid her skirt from her bony hips and spread her knees, making sure Neville could see everything.
She brought his cock up to her mouth and licked it, and it jumped a little in her mouth.
Neville closed his eyes as though against phantom sensation.
She sucked it in, tilting her head back the easier to slide it to the back of her throat, while her other hand crept down between her thighs, skating over skin that sometimes horrified her, too loose on her bones and deathly pale. She ran her finger lightly along her slit, nearly-but-not scratching, gasping and nearly biting down on the cock in her mouth when she reached her clit. She was already dripping wet, soaking, from the pain and heat of the day that had entered her blood.
She pulled his cock from her mouth. The storm was building in the air; she could smell the ozone, and she trailed the dry tip down her rain-slapped body, ready to pleasure herself on it.
It slid inside her easily. She shuddered, the movement mirrored by Neville in a despairing mockery of her pleasure. She bit back a moan of disappointment in that, in him. Obviously, he did not deserve such a fine cock. He did not deserve her.
Soon, however, it no longer mattered because his cock was thick and hard and (oh, wait) hers. A whispered spell left her hands free to stroke and pinch her clit while her cock pumped detached in and out of her body, twisting and turning just so as no man could have done, obedient to her thoughts.
The boat rocked dangerously. Twice, a thin sheet of water poured in over the side to mingle with the rainwater that had begun to puddle in the centre of the craft, icy cold on her back. Twice, she came, her spasms around her cock weak, barely felt, and then she was finished (unsated).
A bodiless cock could not come at all. Habit and good manners told her that she should still reciprocate, so after she pulled it out, she crawled forward awkwardly. She reached Neville and knelt, bringing both the cock and her lips to within inches of Neville's face. Sweetly, she kissed the eye of its head, still glistening and honey-sour from her cunt (although the rain was sweeping all traces of her away).
Apparently the gesture was not welcome, for Neville finally stood up against the pouring rain, and he finally turned to her, and his eyes were black like the sky. He grasped her wrist in one hand and her throat in the other and squeezed.
He forced her hand with his cock down and she could see his skull grinning at her from beneath the tight-stretched skin of his face. Her vision was nearly faded for lack of sweet air, but she managed to get it lined up in the right place. With a barely-managed push of will (her will!) she made it stick, put him back together again whole, his cock hanging limply and uselessly from his body.
The next thing she knew was blackness and the next after that was the smell of the wood at the bottom of the boat. This time, the scent of the planks was rich and dank, water instead of sunlight and mold instead of sand, and over it all rose her favorite scent of all - the brilliant tang of blood. Her blood, she figured, where she'd been crushed, cruelly ground between Neville's anger and his revenge.
My new Lord, she thought in ecstasy. Now we will truly be together.
"I am not your Lord," Neville said, although she hadn't spoken out loud. "I will not have you, and I am not going to kill you."
Inside her head, her madness whispered loss in a language she'd forgotten until its voice broke and it wept the shrill sobs of the damned.
He cast her out of the river to wander the desert forever, to be scoured by wind and sand and grief until there was nothing left but the shimmering echo of her delirium and ceaseless whisper of her laughter.
Fourteenth, Resurrected