Bells in the Chapel, Narcissa/Bellatrix, R
Title: Bells in the Chapel
Pairing: Bellatrix/Narcissa, Bellatrix/Rodolphus
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Rowling owns 'em
Warnings: Femmeslash, D/s, knifeplay, incest.
Summary: Narcissa is the maid of honour in Bellatrix's wedding, and reflects on her relationship with the bride.
Author's Notes: Heaps of gratitude go to sionnain. Not only did she beta this story, she also helped inspire it with her own stories, in which she fleshed out Bellatrix and Narcissa; they've become darn near canonical for me.
The story's title is from the song "Do You Love Me" by Nick Cave, and the italicized portions are excerpts from the Anglican marriage rite.
Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this Man and this Woman in holy Matrimony; which is an honourable estate, instituted of God in the time of man's innocency…
Were you ever innocent, Bella?
I remember you slipping into my room late at night. Your hand clutching a thick handful of my hair, yanking back my head to cast my wondering face up to yours. A rough kiss; your other hand ripping at my nightgown, and then your teeth upon my lip, my throat, my breast.
Maid of honour. A maid, yes, by the rules of men. Mother always told me that to give myself away was to cheapen myself on the market. You never listened to that little lesson, did you? But I did, and I took it to heart, and thus far it has served me well.
Look! There’s Lucius Malfoy, old Abraxas’ son, remember him from school? I think he was in your class. He wants me. His father has been talking with my father, you know.
Wants me? I don’t know. Does he want me, the real me? Or does he want the Black name lovingly calligraphed in the family spellbook alongside his own, the Black Galleons clinking into the vault atop the Malfoy fortune? Me, or impeccable breeding and flawless beauty and, above all, irreproachable virtue?
“Look at that youngest Black girl,” they say. “Such a good little girl. She doesn’t run around with boys like so many other girls of her age.”
and therefore is not by any to be enterprised, nor taken in hand, unadvisedly, lightly, or wantonly, to satisfy men's carnal lusts and appetites, like brute beasts that have no understanding…
Rodolphus is unshaven, his clothes in just a hint of disarray, as though he debauched you in the closet just before the ceremony, and for all I know, he did. The look in his eyes is predatory, proprietary. He will have you, own you, bring you to ground.
I always knew you would be married, of course, and me likewise. But we of the old families know that marriage need not stand in the way of one’s chosen pleasures. This smile on my face could be a real smile if I could believe you did not love him, if I could believe you would still climb into my darkened window in the dead of night as your husband innocently snored in your bed.
But I see the look in your eyes as you nervously glance back at him. You look at him as though the sight of him almost burns. You tremble-don’t think I can’t see it, Bella, when a thousand times I tried to bring you to this absolute loss of control. If he is the predator, you have willingly given yourself to be prey. Your breath is shallow, fluttering, like the beating of a bird’s heart in his strong rough hand.
I, Bellatrix Black. take thee Rodolphus Lestrange. to my wedded Husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth.
He shoves the ring roughly onto your long delicate finger. I hear the catch in your breath.
You always made me feel that way, halfway between a sigh and a sob. Do you remember the time you brought the knife, its silver glinting by the light of a single candle, the Black crest carved in an onyx set in the pommel? Cold steel pressed to my neck; a pinprick point against my heart. The blade tracing a slender line down my back, almost but not quite cutting, ruining only the fine white silk gown I wore.
Then I was laid bare again, but then I was always laid bare to you. They call me cold and aloof, but I know you can still read me like an open book. Years of aching desire written in the red ink of my blush; one moment of loss in the fainter ink of tears.
And they think I’m crying because I’m happy for you.
Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder.
Should not the communion wine boil when it touches your tongue, Bella?
It is time for Rodolphus to kiss his bride; it is no chaste polite kiss. He tangles his hand brutally in your hair, as you once did to me, and knocks your veil askew. He bends you backward, growls under his breath so quietly only you and I can hear it. There is a soft wave of sound from the assembled guests; they almost disapprove of his lack of decorum, but how can they, when you have made such a suitable marriage?
Rabastan, the best man, is smirking at me. What kind of girl does he think I am? What does he think he can read in my face? I compose myself, close my eyes, lift my nose. He is below my notice, pure blood or no.
The minister pronounces the two of you husband and wife. You are Mrs. Lestrange now, I suppose, and I am again merely your little sister. He takes your arm, roughly, half-drags you down the aisle.
If only I’d known you wanted to be the prey, not the predator. Could it not have been my hand that tamed you? Imagine, Bella: my nails raking down your back, my teeth bruising your soft flesh, my voice whispering in your ear, “mine, mine…” I would have done it, could have done it, if you’d only asked.
Ah, but if I had ruled you at your own command, would that not have missed the point entirely?
No, I was never what you wanted.
The bells ring in honor of your nuptial bliss; it would be fancy to imagine that they ring the death knell of my love and my youth. Rabastan is ready to escort me down the aisle. The guests await.
xposted: hp_literotica, hp_spotlighting, blackcest, kels_fics
Pairing: Bellatrix/Narcissa, Bellatrix/Rodolphus
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Rowling owns 'em
Warnings: Femmeslash, D/s, knifeplay, incest.
Summary: Narcissa is the maid of honour in Bellatrix's wedding, and reflects on her relationship with the bride.
Author's Notes: Heaps of gratitude go to sionnain. Not only did she beta this story, she also helped inspire it with her own stories, in which she fleshed out Bellatrix and Narcissa; they've become darn near canonical for me.
The story's title is from the song "Do You Love Me" by Nick Cave, and the italicized portions are excerpts from the Anglican marriage rite.
Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this Man and this Woman in holy Matrimony; which is an honourable estate, instituted of God in the time of man's innocency…
Were you ever innocent, Bella?
I remember you slipping into my room late at night. Your hand clutching a thick handful of my hair, yanking back my head to cast my wondering face up to yours. A rough kiss; your other hand ripping at my nightgown, and then your teeth upon my lip, my throat, my breast.
Maid of honour. A maid, yes, by the rules of men. Mother always told me that to give myself away was to cheapen myself on the market. You never listened to that little lesson, did you? But I did, and I took it to heart, and thus far it has served me well.
Look! There’s Lucius Malfoy, old Abraxas’ son, remember him from school? I think he was in your class. He wants me. His father has been talking with my father, you know.
Wants me? I don’t know. Does he want me, the real me? Or does he want the Black name lovingly calligraphed in the family spellbook alongside his own, the Black Galleons clinking into the vault atop the Malfoy fortune? Me, or impeccable breeding and flawless beauty and, above all, irreproachable virtue?
“Look at that youngest Black girl,” they say. “Such a good little girl. She doesn’t run around with boys like so many other girls of her age.”
and therefore is not by any to be enterprised, nor taken in hand, unadvisedly, lightly, or wantonly, to satisfy men's carnal lusts and appetites, like brute beasts that have no understanding…
Rodolphus is unshaven, his clothes in just a hint of disarray, as though he debauched you in the closet just before the ceremony, and for all I know, he did. The look in his eyes is predatory, proprietary. He will have you, own you, bring you to ground.
I always knew you would be married, of course, and me likewise. But we of the old families know that marriage need not stand in the way of one’s chosen pleasures. This smile on my face could be a real smile if I could believe you did not love him, if I could believe you would still climb into my darkened window in the dead of night as your husband innocently snored in your bed.
But I see the look in your eyes as you nervously glance back at him. You look at him as though the sight of him almost burns. You tremble-don’t think I can’t see it, Bella, when a thousand times I tried to bring you to this absolute loss of control. If he is the predator, you have willingly given yourself to be prey. Your breath is shallow, fluttering, like the beating of a bird’s heart in his strong rough hand.
I, Bellatrix Black. take thee Rodolphus Lestrange. to my wedded Husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth.
He shoves the ring roughly onto your long delicate finger. I hear the catch in your breath.
You always made me feel that way, halfway between a sigh and a sob. Do you remember the time you brought the knife, its silver glinting by the light of a single candle, the Black crest carved in an onyx set in the pommel? Cold steel pressed to my neck; a pinprick point against my heart. The blade tracing a slender line down my back, almost but not quite cutting, ruining only the fine white silk gown I wore.
Then I was laid bare again, but then I was always laid bare to you. They call me cold and aloof, but I know you can still read me like an open book. Years of aching desire written in the red ink of my blush; one moment of loss in the fainter ink of tears.
And they think I’m crying because I’m happy for you.
Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder.
Should not the communion wine boil when it touches your tongue, Bella?
It is time for Rodolphus to kiss his bride; it is no chaste polite kiss. He tangles his hand brutally in your hair, as you once did to me, and knocks your veil askew. He bends you backward, growls under his breath so quietly only you and I can hear it. There is a soft wave of sound from the assembled guests; they almost disapprove of his lack of decorum, but how can they, when you have made such a suitable marriage?
Rabastan, the best man, is smirking at me. What kind of girl does he think I am? What does he think he can read in my face? I compose myself, close my eyes, lift my nose. He is below my notice, pure blood or no.
The minister pronounces the two of you husband and wife. You are Mrs. Lestrange now, I suppose, and I am again merely your little sister. He takes your arm, roughly, half-drags you down the aisle.
If only I’d known you wanted to be the prey, not the predator. Could it not have been my hand that tamed you? Imagine, Bella: my nails raking down your back, my teeth bruising your soft flesh, my voice whispering in your ear, “mine, mine…” I would have done it, could have done it, if you’d only asked.
Ah, but if I had ruled you at your own command, would that not have missed the point entirely?
No, I was never what you wanted.
The bells ring in honor of your nuptial bliss; it would be fancy to imagine that they ring the death knell of my love and my youth. Rabastan is ready to escort me down the aisle. The guests await.
xposted: hp_literotica, hp_spotlighting, blackcest, kels_fics