Author's Notes: Written for Taragh McCarthy's Horrible Hook-Up Competition on the HPFC forum – the objective of which is to orchestrate a very awkward "hook-up" for our one true pairing.




"You did wonderfully, Bellatrix," the Dark Lord hissed in her ear, looking over the two dead bodies of three muggles, sprawled out almost artfully on the ground of the courtyard of Lestrange Manor – all three dead at Bellatrix's hand, for no reason except that the Dark Lord had ordered it.

Bellatrix beamed. "Do you really think so, my Lord?"

"I do, Bellatrix, I do…" His hands were on her waist, gently moving over it and pressing her body back against his. "An such fine work… deserves a reward."

Bellatrix's breath caught. His hand was sliding slowly down her stomach, towards–

"My Lord…" she breathed. "Surely… surely we should not… out here…"

"Why not, Bellatrix?" His hand was bunching up her skirt, dragging up the inside of her thigh.

"It's… it's cold," she told him, lamely but honestly. The night air was freezing, and she was desperate to get inside and warm up.

"We will produce more than enough heat," he told her, then turned her around and gave her a hard shove, causing her to fall onto the grass. As she fell onto the ground, her skirt – which he was still gripping, bunched up in one hand – tore away from the bodice, and Bellatrix gasped, clutching at it.

"Doesn't matter," Voldemort hissed. "It would have gotten torn anyhow…"

Bellatrix let out a little giggle, squirming in excitement as he bore down on her. From the scabbard at her hip, the Dark Lord drew her silver knife, laughing quietly as she looked at it and him with an expression that was half wary and half aroused.

The Dark Lord pulled down the neckline of her dress until her breast was bare and traced the knife gently over it, the cold metal causing her nipple to rise into a hard point. Her eyes fell shut and she moaned, arching up into it, then cried out in genuine pain as the point tore her flesh. She clutched her breast, tears coming to her eyes. "Ouch!"

He dropped the knife and bent down slightly, lapping up the blood as though the cut had been intentional. It did help to have his mouth fastened over her breast, and within a few moments, the unpleasant pain had faded right back into pleasurable, and Bellatrix was moaning again. He was on top of her now, his erection pressing her inner thigh. She reached down to touch it, and he grabbed her hand and wrenched it up over her head. "Do not touch me without my permission!"

"Yes- Master," Bellatrix gasped, writhing underneath the Dark Lord, spreading her legs as far apart as they would go to accommodate him. Her fingers dug into the grass as she scrabbled for something to grip onto.

"So eager, Bella…" he breathed, pressing against her. Bellatrix squeaked with delight. She could feel him through his robes, pulsing, and she wanted it so desperately…

"Please, Master, more..." she begged, hips bucking up against him. She feared she would pass out from sheer desire. Her breath was coming far to quickly to be healthy, and little spasms travelled through her body, from her lower belly and genitals outwards.

"Slut," he breathed, which only excited her more. She loved being called names - any sort - as long is it was her Lord calling her them.

"Yes, yes I am a slut... a horrid, dirty little slut," she panted. "Now, please, I'm begging you, fuck me like the dirty slut I am..."

"You may... touch me... now..." the Dark Lord hissed in her ear. It was hard to tell, but from the thickness in his voice, an unfamiliar, guttural quality, Bellatrix could not help but think he was as aroused as she.

Her hands sprang up from the grass and went to his shoulders, pulling the robes off of him and-


Bellatrix held up her hands and looked at them, colour flooding her cheeks. She had been aware - in a vague way - that she had been digging her hands into mud, but this was... Her fingers were filthy, coated in brown grime and bits of grass. She did not want to touch her Master with these hands... they were not worthy of him.

"Oh for the love of..."

Voldemort pulled back, dragging her back to her feet. "Here!" He dragged her out of the grass and shoved her up against the rail that guarded the edge of a small fish pond. "Legs apart," he instructed, and Bellatrix, clinging to the rail with one hand and her Lord with the other, did as she was told. Her skirt - or, what was left of it - was hitched up around her hips, and she held onto him while she wiped one hand off quickly, then slipped it inside his robes to grasp him.

His eyes fell closed and he snarled softly, grinding against her. "Oh... yes..." A rush went through Bellatrix - she was thrilled that she had been able to make the Dark Lord react this way. "Oh, Master..."

He yanked the fastenings of his robes open, revealing his cock, and Bellatrix moaned almost inaudibly. She grasped him still more tightly, unable to tear her eyes off it.

"Please," she hissed, wild with lust. "I want you... inside me..."

Voldemort smirked in a self-satisfied way. "Perfect..."

Bellatrix looped both arms around his neck, leaning back on the rail, spreading her legs wide apart once more, and she felt the hard head of his erection playing against her opening. Tilting her hips to give him easy access, moaning and panting, she gasped, "Please, Master, I want it- hard..."

He complied, thrusting into her with such force that she lost her grip around his neck and tumbled back, off the rail and into the water. Soaked, mortified, and the breath knocked out other, she looked up at the Dark Lord, face burning.

He sighed, leaning down to help her out of the water.

"Perhaps," he said, "We ought to go inside and find a bed."