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hp fic: For Whom the Bell Tolls
Title: For Whom the Bell Tolls
Pairing: Sirius/Bellatrix
Rating: NC17
Words: ~1,000
Summary: In which Sirius hates her, but cannot stay away.
Notes: For![[personal profile]](https://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=88)
dementedsiren.
For Whom the Bell Tolls
Sirius doesn't realize she is there until she is standing right in front of him, all dark hair and pale features and false smiles, doesn't see her until it is too late for him to escape unnoticed. He could almost think she is the one with the Invisibility Cloak instead of James, the way she ghosts through the halls like a dirty little secret.
His blood runs hot, racing through his veins like liquid fire, heat coiling painfully tight in his belly. He tells himself he doesn't want her, tells himself she's his cousin, and he hates her with everything he has, tells himself it is not going to happen, he's not going get tangled in her web again.
But Bellatrix is beautiful; beautiful like the quarter-moon hidden by the clouds, beautiful like graveyards and crumbling churches and the quiet stillness caused by the Killing Curse.
She stretches out a hand and slides it up his arm, slow like honey, her long, slim fingers reaching like tentacles, her touch hot through the fabric of his shirt, burning his skin like poison. His breath catches, desire thrumming desperate and dangerous through his body, his heart hammering in his chest, his cock so hard it hurts.
He wrenches her hand away, fingers curling around her slim wrist, digging hard enough to bruise, but she only smiles, a coy twist of her lips that doesn't reach her eyes. She leans close, her lips hovering just shy of his neck, and breaths him in.
"You smell of Hufflepuffs," she remarks, pulling back slightly, her perfect mouth forming into a moue of displeasure. "Wicked cousin Sirius."
He closes his eyes and tightens his grip on her wrist, squeezing until he can feel the tiny, fragile bones grinding together.
"Who was the lucky lady?" she asks, arching a teasing eyebrow. "Or was it a lad?"
Sirius' eyes snap open and he growls, pushing her away, shoving her against the wall behind her. She hits the hard, gray stone with a crack that echoes through the empty, shadowed corridor, and she laughs, high and delicate, a tinkling sound that reminds Sirius of the wind chimes in his mother's garden.
She pulls him close by the tails of his shirt, twisting the fabric between her fingers, and moves her lips along his throat, soft and wet with the barest hint of teeth. He tells himself to say no, tells himself it's not going to happen again, but when he opens his mouth the words don't come out, they stick in his throat and die on his tongue, the way they always do, just like the very first time, in the attic of Grimmauld Place.
Her hands slide around to cup his arse, pulling him impossibly closer, her body moving against his, slow and sinuous like a snake, heat flaring over his skin as his cock rubs against her hip. She kisses him, her mouth soft and full and sweet like rotten fruit, and he feels like he's melting, like he’s dying, as if he is being burned alive, because she's evil, a demon; inky, black hair and smooth, pale skin and eyes as cold as her heart.
He screams at himself, telling himself to push her away, but his hands disobey him, mapping out the curve of her waist, moving to her shirt, ripping it open because he cannot be bothered with buttons. They wander her breasts, trailing over the soft, full curves, fingers flicking over her nipples, teasing and toying until she arches against him and gasps into his mouth.
Bellatrix murmurs a spell and is flies are open, and she slides her hand inside, her fingers thin and skeletal as they curl around his cock. He bucks into her hand, all thoughts of walking away disappearing in a rush, and he rucks her skirt up over her hips, nearly exploding in her small, cold hand when he finds she's not wearing knickers.
She gasps as he slides two fingers inside her, pushing against his hand, her hand tightening around his cock when his thumb circles her clit. Her other hand pulls at him, clutching and grasping, and she hisses filthy things in his ear, telling him how hard he is, how good he feels in her hand, how much she wants to feel him moving inside her.
He grabs her by the waist, fingers scraping over the rough wool of her skirt, lifting her, and she obliges, wrapping her legs around him, her heels digging sharply into the small of his back. She purrs against his neck when he pushes his cock inside her, her body hot and wet and tight around him, velvet-rough and gripping him like a vice.
Sirius thrusts into her hard, again and again, slamming her into the wall, broken, fractured moans ripped from his throat each time her body tightens around him. She urges him on, fingers digging into his skin, her sharp, manicured fingernails marking his back and shoulders in long, red stripes. She whispers more entreaties, more dirty, pretty things, asking for harder and faster and deeper, begging Sirius to break her apart.
He works a hand between them, finger slipping down to feel where his cock is disappearing into her body, wet and slick as it moves in and out of her. He slams her into the wall hard, so hard she should shatter into a thousand pieces, her bones fracturing like fine china breaking into tiny shards.
He brushes his thumb over her clit and she comes, shuddering against him, her body tightening and rippling around him. She nips at his lip, sharp teeth biting until he tastes blood, sour and coppery on his tongue, and with one last thrust he comes, his body betraying him just as the clock in the tower strikes midnight.
The bells toll once, and twice, and again and again, and by the time they fall silent, Bellatrix is gone.
Pairing: Sirius/Bellatrix
Rating: NC17
Words: ~1,000
Summary: In which Sirius hates her, but cannot stay away.
Notes: For
dementedsiren.Sirius doesn't realize she is there until she is standing right in front of him, all dark hair and pale features and false smiles, doesn't see her until it is too late for him to escape unnoticed. He could almost think she is the one with the Invisibility Cloak instead of James, the way she ghosts through the halls like a dirty little secret.
His blood runs hot, racing through his veins like liquid fire, heat coiling painfully tight in his belly. He tells himself he doesn't want her, tells himself she's his cousin, and he hates her with everything he has, tells himself it is not going to happen, he's not going get tangled in her web again.
But Bellatrix is beautiful; beautiful like the quarter-moon hidden by the clouds, beautiful like graveyards and crumbling churches and the quiet stillness caused by the Killing Curse.
She stretches out a hand and slides it up his arm, slow like honey, her long, slim fingers reaching like tentacles, her touch hot through the fabric of his shirt, burning his skin like poison. His breath catches, desire thrumming desperate and dangerous through his body, his heart hammering in his chest, his cock so hard it hurts.
He wrenches her hand away, fingers curling around her slim wrist, digging hard enough to bruise, but she only smiles, a coy twist of her lips that doesn't reach her eyes. She leans close, her lips hovering just shy of his neck, and breaths him in.
"You smell of Hufflepuffs," she remarks, pulling back slightly, her perfect mouth forming into a moue of displeasure. "Wicked cousin Sirius."
He closes his eyes and tightens his grip on her wrist, squeezing until he can feel the tiny, fragile bones grinding together.
"Who was the lucky lady?" she asks, arching a teasing eyebrow. "Or was it a lad?"
Sirius' eyes snap open and he growls, pushing her away, shoving her against the wall behind her. She hits the hard, gray stone with a crack that echoes through the empty, shadowed corridor, and she laughs, high and delicate, a tinkling sound that reminds Sirius of the wind chimes in his mother's garden.
She pulls him close by the tails of his shirt, twisting the fabric between her fingers, and moves her lips along his throat, soft and wet with the barest hint of teeth. He tells himself to say no, tells himself it's not going to happen again, but when he opens his mouth the words don't come out, they stick in his throat and die on his tongue, the way they always do, just like the very first time, in the attic of Grimmauld Place.
Her hands slide around to cup his arse, pulling him impossibly closer, her body moving against his, slow and sinuous like a snake, heat flaring over his skin as his cock rubs against her hip. She kisses him, her mouth soft and full and sweet like rotten fruit, and he feels like he's melting, like he’s dying, as if he is being burned alive, because she's evil, a demon; inky, black hair and smooth, pale skin and eyes as cold as her heart.
He screams at himself, telling himself to push her away, but his hands disobey him, mapping out the curve of her waist, moving to her shirt, ripping it open because he cannot be bothered with buttons. They wander her breasts, trailing over the soft, full curves, fingers flicking over her nipples, teasing and toying until she arches against him and gasps into his mouth.
Bellatrix murmurs a spell and is flies are open, and she slides her hand inside, her fingers thin and skeletal as they curl around his cock. He bucks into her hand, all thoughts of walking away disappearing in a rush, and he rucks her skirt up over her hips, nearly exploding in her small, cold hand when he finds she's not wearing knickers.
She gasps as he slides two fingers inside her, pushing against his hand, her hand tightening around his cock when his thumb circles her clit. Her other hand pulls at him, clutching and grasping, and she hisses filthy things in his ear, telling him how hard he is, how good he feels in her hand, how much she wants to feel him moving inside her.
He grabs her by the waist, fingers scraping over the rough wool of her skirt, lifting her, and she obliges, wrapping her legs around him, her heels digging sharply into the small of his back. She purrs against his neck when he pushes his cock inside her, her body hot and wet and tight around him, velvet-rough and gripping him like a vice.
Sirius thrusts into her hard, again and again, slamming her into the wall, broken, fractured moans ripped from his throat each time her body tightens around him. She urges him on, fingers digging into his skin, her sharp, manicured fingernails marking his back and shoulders in long, red stripes. She whispers more entreaties, more dirty, pretty things, asking for harder and faster and deeper, begging Sirius to break her apart.
He works a hand between them, finger slipping down to feel where his cock is disappearing into her body, wet and slick as it moves in and out of her. He slams her into the wall hard, so hard she should shatter into a thousand pieces, her bones fracturing like fine china breaking into tiny shards.
He brushes his thumb over her clit and she comes, shuddering against him, her body tightening and rippling around him. She nips at his lip, sharp teeth biting until he tastes blood, sour and coppery on his tongue, and with one last thrust he comes, his body betraying him just as the clock in the tower strikes midnight.
The bells toll once, and twice, and again and again, and by the time they fall silent, Bellatrix is gone.