Title: Prison and Power
Pairing: Bellatrix/Rodolphus
Prompt: Livejournal hp_humpdrabbles prompts – "blood play" and Bellatrix Black Lestrange
Rating: R/NC-17
Word Count: 345
Warnings: Bloodplay(ish), BDSM(ish)


Bellatrix's back arched as Rodolphus dragged the tip of one sharp nail over her stomach. The walls of Azkaban prison did not take the marks of their fingernails, so Rodolphus was resigned to cutting the tally of days passed into his wife's flesh.

"How many has it been now?" Bellatrix asked, eyes fixed on her husband, voice trembling a little – though whether from pain or excitement, Rodolphus could not tell.

"Five. I'm done." He lowered his hand, then ran the flat of his tongue over the cuts. Bellatrix moaned, tangling her hands in her husband's hair, trying to push his head down lower.

"Mm-mm…" Rodolphus pushed her hands off gently and lifted his head to press his lips against hers. Bellatrix pushed him away with a sneer.

"I don't want you to kiss me!"

Rodolphus started to protest, but Bellatrix didn't give him time. She rolled him onto his back, straddling him, and wrenching away the tattered prison robes he was wearing.

His flesh was caked in grime, even more than hers, and his skin pulled taught over bone and deteriorating muscle.

Bellatrix did not care.

She wrapped her hand around his cock, watching with a satisfied smirk as his face contorted with want.

"Bella, please…"

Pulling her hand back and forth, feeling the flesh harden beneath her fingers, Bellatrix hissed in her husband's ear, "You liked scratching me. You say it's just to keep track of the days, but you love making me hurt… it makes you feel powerful…"

Rodolphus groaned, unable to find words. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he gasped for air as Bellatrix touched him.

"You're not powerful, Rodolphus! You think just because I let you cut me it means I'm submitting to you? I'm not, I won't, you're nothing, I only touch you because you're the only one I have here!" she snarled, and he shuddered under her hands.

"N- No– I don't think that–"

"Good. Because I won't submit to you. Never," she hissed, and sneered at her husband's weakness as his seed spilled over her hand.