Separated after their escape, when they find each other they are in their old home once more. Her smile is wicked, her eyes are alive with mischief. He welcomes it. The madness that has grown within them intensifies the energy he feels around her. They circle each other like vultures. Haggard though they are they remain alert, their eyes resting solely on what they want. Each other. Fifteen years separated by cold stone, how could they want anything else. Dirt and grime layer their skin, matted hair plays host to Merlin knows what. They reach for each other. Hands become firmer as they become more certain it is no spectre before them.
‘Rodolphus,’ his name is drawn out on her tongue, her voice raspy yet hungering.
It is enough to spur him into action. He drives forward, pushing her up against the wall. Four hands tear at the rotting rags between them. Cloth, that should have been replaced in their second year, falling apart with ease. Her body is bruised and scarred, much like his own. Malnourished and pale like he has never seen before. Their bones mirror the rocks that dug into them no matter how they lay, jutting against the skin as though desperate to burst free. She is so thin. So far from the woman he married, at least in looks. Yet there was always more to her than that. Their lips fight one another, teeth breaking dry skin, tongues warring for a dominance that will never be claimed. They are too alike for either to let the other win. There has never been a victor and now is not the time for them to start the trend. It is only when his lips move to her neck, a favoured place for him to lather his affections, does he find a more permanent reminder.
Appearances could be altered. They would eat. They would clean. They would dress as they once did. Yet the ink that had been forced onto her formerly untainted skin would remain. His hand rises, his fingers brushing over the numbers. Her prison identification. He has one too and he can feel her fingering it. He looks to her, meets her eyes. She doesn’t stare at his the same way he is distracted by hers. Instead her eyes seem to challenge him. That madness glistens as a predatory smile pulls at her lips.
‘How dare they?’ she voices his thoughts and if not for her lips moving he would swear she hadn’t spoken at all. ‘They have laid claim to me, my love. And to you. Who gave them the right?’
‘Who indeed?’ he counters, his voice just as rough as hers. He feels her buck her hips against his when he speaks. Her tongue wets her lips, nails digging into his shoulders as she uses him for leverage to get her legs up around his waist.
‘I thought we belonged only to each other,’ she muses, almost dreamily as she works herself against his hardness. ‘To each other and our Lord. Is that not the case, Dolphus? Has something changed?’ she pouts. Her tone changes as easily as a summer breeze. Dangerous to dainty. Chilling to child-like. It is an effortless to and fro, not a progression. There is no in between.
He growls, achingly hard for her. It has been too long since they last had each other. What to many was a duty was an inherent need in them. Forever bubbling under the surface. A blatant desire for one another. A desire that had gone unfulfilled for too long. ‘Nothing has changed, ma Belle,’ he growls. His hand tightens on her neck and her smile grows as his thumb presses just that little bit more firmly. Testing. It slides down, enough to keep the horrid marking uncovered. It is their topic after all.
‘Tonight we take back what is ours,’ she urges him on, her breath growing heavy. Her hips rock almost violently, her thighs tightening around him. ‘Claim what is yours, Master Lestrange. Show them who this bitch belongs to.’
Her words taunt and provoke something primal in him. A rage builds in him as his teeth replace his hand. He tears at the skin like never before, feeling her blood on his tongue. The room is filled with her screams. Manic and lustful all at once. The heat of her cunt beckons him, her cum already staining his cock as she rides out a long awaited orgasm. Something sharp bites into his neck and it takes a moment for him to realise her finger nails are gouging out the same cursed mark he attempts to rid her of. His hand drops between them, spreading her juices along his length before pushing into her with force.
The cry that escapes her lips becomes laughter. A hysterical laugh that celebrates their freedom. And it is freedom they feel as they fuck one another, reclaiming what is rightfully theirs. In their dust-ridden house, with their prison uniforms laying in scraps at their feet, they feel more alive than they have in years. They claw and bite, they rut and scream. The aggression and desperation builds and interlocks until they are both sent reeling.
They fall apart. Collapsing on the floor, both breathing heavily and unable to think straight. Blood mingles with sweat, their bodies not quite ready for such exertion. Still, it feels good and they are too eager to share each other to give a damn what they are or aren’t capable off. He turns his head against the wall, looking at her curled up against it. The tip of her tongue presses against her top lip as she stares straight back at him. He knows that look all too well. Some semblance of sanity in the back of his mind hopes to Merlin that they still have a House Elf somewhere on the estate because he has no hope of reaching the kitchens any time soon. He knows better than to stop his wife when she gets an idea in her head.
And an idea she does have as she forces herself closer to him. It takes considerable effort but she straddles him all the same. Her hand moves against her neck, gathering blood and sweat and mixing it with the mess already surrounding his mouth. Her smile is playful, if not a little tired, as her fingers move against his lips. ‘Thank you, Sir,’ she mewls at him, her free hand finding his cock. It does not take her long to have him ready for her once more. ‘May I have another?’ she purrs as she sinks down onto him.