FIC: In the Shadow of the Duomo - Bellatrix/Sirius - NC17
Title: In the Shadow of the Duomo
Pairing: Bellatrix/Sirius
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: PWP, incest, hate!sex, violence, orgasm denial
Word Count: 2009
Notes: Written for sionnain's Too Hot To Plot Challenge. Why are they in Italy? I don't know, and I don't care! *loves on sionnain for freeing her from needing backstory*
Bellatrix's hand makes sharp contact with his cheek, but he catches her wrist on the follow-through, even with his cheek smarting, faintly red with the impression of her palm. "That," he growls, his voice a low rumble of thunder in the heavy summer air, "was a mistake."
Seizing her by both shoulders, Sirius hurls her across the room. Bellatrix is not a slight woman, with muscles toned and made solid by years of training, but Sirius is still larger and stronger, and she hits the wall like a rag doll, cracking her head before crashing to the pitted wooden floor. One hand flings up against the wall, an attempt to steady herself, and her bare feet scramble beneath her as she tries to regain control. Her head throbs, not just with the pain from hitting the wall, but with the crimson haze of fury.
While she struggles, Sirius watches, feeling revulsion at the strength of his own emotions. He shouldn't care; she shouldn't provoke such strong feeling in him. They ought to be dead to one another.
She doesn't dress like this in England. It's hardly ever warm enough for a slip of a sundress, the violet edge of it skimming over her hips, barely dusting her thighs. Her legs are bronzed -- too much so for a proper English pureblood -- and solid and inviting, stretching up as she brings herself to stand, relying too greatly on the wall. Sirius finds himself wondering if she's even wearing anything under that practically indecent dress.
She has always reminded him that he is alive.
He can see it, burning in her, that incendiary spark so easily ignited. It turns the black of her eyes to molten pools. Volcanic heat, he remembers, produces obsidian, the sharpest of blades, the keenest of edges.
'Well. That's Bellatrix.'
She isn't half as dizzied or fainting as she looks. The trick might've worked on a lesser adversary, or one not so often encountered, but when she pushes from the wall with explosive force, ready to slash and strike with bare hands since they are both bereft of wands, he is ready for her. He sidesteps, enough to let her just pass by him. With keen reflexes, she pivots to adjust quickly, but not before one of his hands sinks into the wealth of curls gathered at the back of her neck, the other arm curling around her body, fingers pressing against the narrow curve of her ribcage. Bellatrix isn't about to let him get away with that too easily; she struggles, stamping her foot, trying to sink her elbow into his stomach, but when his teeth close around her neck, she gives a little gasp, and her resolve falters.
Turning her in his arms, Sirius holds her fast by the hip, his other hand roughly caressing her face. Her hands press against his chest, but do not push away, and it doesn't take long for her fingers to slide underneath his unbuttoned shirt, tracing the lines of his sinewy muscles.
She meets his eyes, those pale grey reflections of a hazy sky, and feels a renewing surge of vitriol rising through her veins. That he would dare so much, that he can treat her in this fashion -- that he has this power over her, to deflect rage through passion of another sort -- it infuriates her to the core, and in a fury she rakes her fingernails down, hard, pricking lines of blood along his side from underarm to hipbone. His breath catches, and in retaliation his hand connects sharply with her mouth. When blood blossoms at the corner, her tongue darts out to lap at it as a cat would cream, defiance sparkling from between narrowed eyelashes.
Cupping the back of her head in both hands, Sirius crushes her mouth to his, tasting the coppery tang of her blood, swirled onto his tongue by her own. Bellatrix feels herself unwinding, the control she so barely keeps in check most of the time crumbling to pieces, her natural frenzy taking over. Still her head throbs, aching now with this most primitive need, the sexual urge as mingled with soul-blackening hatred as her blood is with his saliva. Overwhelmed by the force of her own instincts, Bellatrix shoves Sirius backwards, forcing him up against one of the dingy-papered walls. Her teeth pluck at his skin, and her hands work swiftly, stripping the midnight blue shirt off of his broad shoulders, down his lean arms, and throwing it to the ground. She goes up on her toes to trail her tongue over his ear, sucking the lobe between her teeth before refocusing her plunder to his neck.
Sirius throws his head back, hitting the wall hard but not caring, opening his throat to her ravaging. One hand roves over her curves, pressing and pulling at her; the other slides up her thigh, prying underneath the fabric of her dress. He almost laughs to discover his guess about undergarments was correct. One finger slips between her folds, as wet with the proof of her lust as her skin is by perspiration. When he brings his fingertip up to circle around her clitoris, he feels her shudder against him, and grins.
Consumed in the heady sensations, Bellatrix doesn't even fight when Sirius pushes her back enough to peel her dress off of her, dropping the damp garment to her ankles. He drops his own trousers quickly before dropping into one of the room's barely-cushioned chairs, pulling her down to straddle his lap. Her curled fingers guides his stiffened member into her as she sinks down, his hands guiding her hips.
Outside the hotel, the bells of the church helpfully toll the hour, but are drowned out by a rumble of thunder; the first hint of rain in two weeks, the first sign of any relief from the oppressive atmosphere. The dark clouds roll in over the fair city, and Sirius thinks she must have called them up, like a heathen goddess, able to summon lightning and cyclones for her attendants.
She rocks against him, moaning at the feel of his cock buried deep within her, dragging along tremor-inducing spots. Her feet brace against the lower rungs of the chair, allowing her to lift herself up a few inches, then plunge back down. Sirius pulls her close, one hand massaging her breast, his mouth latching to her throat and biting down. Groaning, Bellatrix tears her fingernails at his shoulders, raising red welts as she pulses herself rhythmically up and down on his lap. Each downward thrust teases, entices, but it isn't ever enough, the building fire yet insufficient.
Sirius can sense it, her frantic need, the drive towards the edge of danger, and his own pounding desire grows in response. Their eyes lock for a moment, and each remembers in a flash what this is, what they are. Bellatrix practically shrieks, grinding herself against him, determined to get what she wants, to purge this demon gnawing at her from the inside. Sirius feels blindest rage, all directed at this vixen-whore, this succubus who tempts him again and again, who forces his feelings for her. His hands drift up, closing about her slender neck; he could kill her, right then, just with his hands, and they both know it. From the look in her eyes, she's almost daring him to.
This particular game, they've played before, and she knows he doesn't have the courage. He could snap her throat in an instant, but he lacks the resolve. It doesn't stop him nearing that edge, though, and her vision blackens, growing dim as the sky outside even as she pounds herself against him. Yearning, burning with ache, she ruthlessly pursues her own pleasure, her breath coming in strangled gasps, faster and faster as the white-hot fringe of ecstasy begins to scald her from the inside out. Thumbs pressing at the flash of her throat, Sirius halts the flow of life to her lungs, and though she scratches at him frantically, she makes no real move to stop him. Having resigned herself long ago to serving as a handmaiden of Death, a deliverer without cause to fear the end, she glories in the rare chance to brush her own mortality.
A flash of blinding red, and merciful oblivion overtakes her. Total abandonment quakes every inch of her, the ebullient release so desperately craved. Sirius releases his death-grip on her throat to steady her atop him, holding at the narrow of her waist to keep her from collapsing entirely when the tidal force finally ebbs.
But he doesn't give her a chance to breathe before throwing her to the floor, anxious now to seek his own satisfaction. Arms and legs still shaking, Bella barely manages to catch herself, and before she can move, Sirius is above her, behind her, shoving her legs apart and driving himself hard into her spread cunt. As he begins fucking her from behind, his chest presses to her back, feeling the rivulets of sweat running over her smooth, dusky skin, and his arms snake around her torso, gripping at her shoulders and melding their bodies together, unified in flesh as they are in blood. His long, dark hair, as thick and sweat-damp as hers, dusts her cheek. Sirius pumps himself in and out of her slickened channel, his cock sliding in an forceful, thrumming rhythm. Each time he sheathes himself entirely, Bellatrix clenches her muscles tightly, spurring new sparks of pleasure in them both. Bellatrix delights to feel him so fully in her, and Sirius shudders, barely keeping his balance at the hot, tight grip around his member.
With her buttocks slapping back against his hips, Bellatrix leans down, bracing one arm against the floor and moving the other hand along the sinuous lines of her own body, fingers probing at her own folds, seeking the throbbing pearl hidden within. When Sirius realises what she's doing, he bites savagely at her shoulder, causing her to give a guttural cry and arch against him. He replaces her fingers with his own, dragging them over her swollen clitoris far more lazily than she would have liked. "Not yet, bitch," his voice rumbles in her ear, and though she can't see it, she can feel the impudent grin crawling over his features. "You've already had one. Shouldn't be greedy."
"Bastard," she hisses in response, but the sharpness is undercut by a throaty purr provoked by his deft fingers. He works at her clit skillfully, while pushing himself into her well-lathered flesh again and again. Bellatrix drops her head, fingernails scraping splinters from the floor, biting blood onto her lip to keep herself from crying out and begging him to ease the yawning ache inside her.
Sirius wants to torment her longer, but finds himself losing control, plunging into her harder and faster, animalistic urges eliminating any shred of restraint, replacing them with this single impetus: to fuck her, and keep fucking her, more and more ferociously, until the world doesn't matter. When the pressure becomes too great to stand, he groans, "Ahh, Bella..." and sinks his teeth deep into her neck, tasting her blood for the second time that afternoon. His finger and thumb twist around her clit, a vicious pinch at the same moment he buries himself to the hilt. Her scream, half-choked back, comes only half a second before his own barking shout of triumph, and together they tense, senseless with rapture.
Sirius withdraws and tumbles off of her, collapsing on his back on the wooden floor. A cool breeze tickles his wet and naked skin, and he closes his eyes, chest heaving with recovery. The blood pounds so loudly in his head that he barely hears Bellatrix moving beside him.
The catharsis complete, Bellatrix can't bear to hesitate any longer. Perfumed with the scents of sex, she pulls her dress on hastily and, finding the idea of having to look into Sirius's eyes again too excruciating, dashes from the room, down the stairs, and out into the rain.
Pairing: Bellatrix/Sirius
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: PWP, incest, hate!sex, violence, orgasm denial
Word Count: 2009
Notes: Written for sionnain's Too Hot To Plot Challenge. Why are they in Italy? I don't know, and I don't care! *loves on sionnain for freeing her from needing backstory*
Bellatrix's hand makes sharp contact with his cheek, but he catches her wrist on the follow-through, even with his cheek smarting, faintly red with the impression of her palm. "That," he growls, his voice a low rumble of thunder in the heavy summer air, "was a mistake."
Seizing her by both shoulders, Sirius hurls her across the room. Bellatrix is not a slight woman, with muscles toned and made solid by years of training, but Sirius is still larger and stronger, and she hits the wall like a rag doll, cracking her head before crashing to the pitted wooden floor. One hand flings up against the wall, an attempt to steady herself, and her bare feet scramble beneath her as she tries to regain control. Her head throbs, not just with the pain from hitting the wall, but with the crimson haze of fury.
While she struggles, Sirius watches, feeling revulsion at the strength of his own emotions. He shouldn't care; she shouldn't provoke such strong feeling in him. They ought to be dead to one another.
She doesn't dress like this in England. It's hardly ever warm enough for a slip of a sundress, the violet edge of it skimming over her hips, barely dusting her thighs. Her legs are bronzed -- too much so for a proper English pureblood -- and solid and inviting, stretching up as she brings herself to stand, relying too greatly on the wall. Sirius finds himself wondering if she's even wearing anything under that practically indecent dress.
She has always reminded him that he is alive.
He can see it, burning in her, that incendiary spark so easily ignited. It turns the black of her eyes to molten pools. Volcanic heat, he remembers, produces obsidian, the sharpest of blades, the keenest of edges.
'Well. That's Bellatrix.'
She isn't half as dizzied or fainting as she looks. The trick might've worked on a lesser adversary, or one not so often encountered, but when she pushes from the wall with explosive force, ready to slash and strike with bare hands since they are both bereft of wands, he is ready for her. He sidesteps, enough to let her just pass by him. With keen reflexes, she pivots to adjust quickly, but not before one of his hands sinks into the wealth of curls gathered at the back of her neck, the other arm curling around her body, fingers pressing against the narrow curve of her ribcage. Bellatrix isn't about to let him get away with that too easily; she struggles, stamping her foot, trying to sink her elbow into his stomach, but when his teeth close around her neck, she gives a little gasp, and her resolve falters.
Turning her in his arms, Sirius holds her fast by the hip, his other hand roughly caressing her face. Her hands press against his chest, but do not push away, and it doesn't take long for her fingers to slide underneath his unbuttoned shirt, tracing the lines of his sinewy muscles.
She meets his eyes, those pale grey reflections of a hazy sky, and feels a renewing surge of vitriol rising through her veins. That he would dare so much, that he can treat her in this fashion -- that he has this power over her, to deflect rage through passion of another sort -- it infuriates her to the core, and in a fury she rakes her fingernails down, hard, pricking lines of blood along his side from underarm to hipbone. His breath catches, and in retaliation his hand connects sharply with her mouth. When blood blossoms at the corner, her tongue darts out to lap at it as a cat would cream, defiance sparkling from between narrowed eyelashes.
Cupping the back of her head in both hands, Sirius crushes her mouth to his, tasting the coppery tang of her blood, swirled onto his tongue by her own. Bellatrix feels herself unwinding, the control she so barely keeps in check most of the time crumbling to pieces, her natural frenzy taking over. Still her head throbs, aching now with this most primitive need, the sexual urge as mingled with soul-blackening hatred as her blood is with his saliva. Overwhelmed by the force of her own instincts, Bellatrix shoves Sirius backwards, forcing him up against one of the dingy-papered walls. Her teeth pluck at his skin, and her hands work swiftly, stripping the midnight blue shirt off of his broad shoulders, down his lean arms, and throwing it to the ground. She goes up on her toes to trail her tongue over his ear, sucking the lobe between her teeth before refocusing her plunder to his neck.
Sirius throws his head back, hitting the wall hard but not caring, opening his throat to her ravaging. One hand roves over her curves, pressing and pulling at her; the other slides up her thigh, prying underneath the fabric of her dress. He almost laughs to discover his guess about undergarments was correct. One finger slips between her folds, as wet with the proof of her lust as her skin is by perspiration. When he brings his fingertip up to circle around her clitoris, he feels her shudder against him, and grins.
Consumed in the heady sensations, Bellatrix doesn't even fight when Sirius pushes her back enough to peel her dress off of her, dropping the damp garment to her ankles. He drops his own trousers quickly before dropping into one of the room's barely-cushioned chairs, pulling her down to straddle his lap. Her curled fingers guides his stiffened member into her as she sinks down, his hands guiding her hips.
Outside the hotel, the bells of the church helpfully toll the hour, but are drowned out by a rumble of thunder; the first hint of rain in two weeks, the first sign of any relief from the oppressive atmosphere. The dark clouds roll in over the fair city, and Sirius thinks she must have called them up, like a heathen goddess, able to summon lightning and cyclones for her attendants.
She rocks against him, moaning at the feel of his cock buried deep within her, dragging along tremor-inducing spots. Her feet brace against the lower rungs of the chair, allowing her to lift herself up a few inches, then plunge back down. Sirius pulls her close, one hand massaging her breast, his mouth latching to her throat and biting down. Groaning, Bellatrix tears her fingernails at his shoulders, raising red welts as she pulses herself rhythmically up and down on his lap. Each downward thrust teases, entices, but it isn't ever enough, the building fire yet insufficient.
Sirius can sense it, her frantic need, the drive towards the edge of danger, and his own pounding desire grows in response. Their eyes lock for a moment, and each remembers in a flash what this is, what they are. Bellatrix practically shrieks, grinding herself against him, determined to get what she wants, to purge this demon gnawing at her from the inside. Sirius feels blindest rage, all directed at this vixen-whore, this succubus who tempts him again and again, who forces his feelings for her. His hands drift up, closing about her slender neck; he could kill her, right then, just with his hands, and they both know it. From the look in her eyes, she's almost daring him to.
This particular game, they've played before, and she knows he doesn't have the courage. He could snap her throat in an instant, but he lacks the resolve. It doesn't stop him nearing that edge, though, and her vision blackens, growing dim as the sky outside even as she pounds herself against him. Yearning, burning with ache, she ruthlessly pursues her own pleasure, her breath coming in strangled gasps, faster and faster as the white-hot fringe of ecstasy begins to scald her from the inside out. Thumbs pressing at the flash of her throat, Sirius halts the flow of life to her lungs, and though she scratches at him frantically, she makes no real move to stop him. Having resigned herself long ago to serving as a handmaiden of Death, a deliverer without cause to fear the end, she glories in the rare chance to brush her own mortality.
A flash of blinding red, and merciful oblivion overtakes her. Total abandonment quakes every inch of her, the ebullient release so desperately craved. Sirius releases his death-grip on her throat to steady her atop him, holding at the narrow of her waist to keep her from collapsing entirely when the tidal force finally ebbs.
But he doesn't give her a chance to breathe before throwing her to the floor, anxious now to seek his own satisfaction. Arms and legs still shaking, Bella barely manages to catch herself, and before she can move, Sirius is above her, behind her, shoving her legs apart and driving himself hard into her spread cunt. As he begins fucking her from behind, his chest presses to her back, feeling the rivulets of sweat running over her smooth, dusky skin, and his arms snake around her torso, gripping at her shoulders and melding their bodies together, unified in flesh as they are in blood. His long, dark hair, as thick and sweat-damp as hers, dusts her cheek. Sirius pumps himself in and out of her slickened channel, his cock sliding in an forceful, thrumming rhythm. Each time he sheathes himself entirely, Bellatrix clenches her muscles tightly, spurring new sparks of pleasure in them both. Bellatrix delights to feel him so fully in her, and Sirius shudders, barely keeping his balance at the hot, tight grip around his member.
With her buttocks slapping back against his hips, Bellatrix leans down, bracing one arm against the floor and moving the other hand along the sinuous lines of her own body, fingers probing at her own folds, seeking the throbbing pearl hidden within. When Sirius realises what she's doing, he bites savagely at her shoulder, causing her to give a guttural cry and arch against him. He replaces her fingers with his own, dragging them over her swollen clitoris far more lazily than she would have liked. "Not yet, bitch," his voice rumbles in her ear, and though she can't see it, she can feel the impudent grin crawling over his features. "You've already had one. Shouldn't be greedy."
"Bastard," she hisses in response, but the sharpness is undercut by a throaty purr provoked by his deft fingers. He works at her clit skillfully, while pushing himself into her well-lathered flesh again and again. Bellatrix drops her head, fingernails scraping splinters from the floor, biting blood onto her lip to keep herself from crying out and begging him to ease the yawning ache inside her.
Sirius wants to torment her longer, but finds himself losing control, plunging into her harder and faster, animalistic urges eliminating any shred of restraint, replacing them with this single impetus: to fuck her, and keep fucking her, more and more ferociously, until the world doesn't matter. When the pressure becomes too great to stand, he groans, "Ahh, Bella..." and sinks his teeth deep into her neck, tasting her blood for the second time that afternoon. His finger and thumb twist around her clit, a vicious pinch at the same moment he buries himself to the hilt. Her scream, half-choked back, comes only half a second before his own barking shout of triumph, and together they tense, senseless with rapture.
Sirius withdraws and tumbles off of her, collapsing on his back on the wooden floor. A cool breeze tickles his wet and naked skin, and he closes his eyes, chest heaving with recovery. The blood pounds so loudly in his head that he barely hears Bellatrix moving beside him.
The catharsis complete, Bellatrix can't bear to hesitate any longer. Perfumed with the scents of sex, she pulls her dress on hastily and, finding the idea of having to look into Sirius's eyes again too excruciating, dashes from the room, down the stairs, and out into the rain.