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"Imperio.“
He felt the impact of the word rather than he heard it, his body becoming limp, his mind blank. Severus felt his legs slow, go limp, and then stop entirely. He stopped on his way towards the living room door and stood still, a black statue outlined against the light of the fire in her hearth. His eyes were unfocused and a sudden panic rose inside him – he could not move. His wand was in his pocket, unraised, his arms unlifted, his eyes could only stare emptily into a middle-distance which contained nothing but shadow and now, a shape, gently moving closer until it melted into sharp contrast – red against almost white skin against faded black silk.
“Aren’t you going to fight, Severus?” the red mouth in front of him grinned with a sudden pleasure, and Bellatrix’ wiry hair shook as she laughed without sound. Severus could not raise his eyes any higher, his head was bowed. Whatever command he gave his legs or arms, they did not respond, he stayed frozen, as though he wanted to stay right here. Everything was alright, something suggested, I should stay here. His eyes were transfixed, staring at the tiny silken creases in the lower lip right in front of him as it moved, baring and concealing teeth that had once been white, and once not been cracked as she spoke.
“I see you do not. The Dark Lord thinks you should be rewarded, and I think so, too.”
He tried summoning all his strength not to raise his arm when she jerked her wand clumsily, to no avail. Bellatrix had a mind like a vice, and in it he squirreled and moved awkwardly, like a mouse in a trap. Not quite dead, but not able to move away, either, and also strangely unwilling, aware of the dull pain that throbbed and waited right outside this bubble of motionlessness.
Suddenly, jerkily, his arm raised and his palm turned to grab one of her breasts, clad in expensive, yet stained silks. He knew that this had once been her mother’s bodice, and concentrated on the thought rather than the feeling of the hardened nipple poking through the lush fabric under his awkward, spell-induced grope.
“I grant you permission,” she said, her voice suddenly a pitch deeper than he was used to. “I know you’ve been wanting to do this for quite some time, I saw you looking at me like this. And now, you may.”
Her voice was grand, and to underline the effect of her words, she jerked her wand to raise his other arm, placing his palm squarely on her other breast. Shame flooded him as he realized that there were emotions coursing through him that he had not anticipated. This was Bellatrix, he reminded himself. He hated her, he hated everything she stood for, but now, he was inside a cocoon of scents – slightly unwashed hair, the strangely dusty smell of her garments which had once belonged to her mother, a sharp scent that he had come to associate with her and which may have been anything from too much of a musky perfume to her unwashed body, which now pressed against his willing palm.
He felt the heat well up and winced. Desperately, Severus fought. He tried desperately to close his mind against the sudden onslaught of feeling welling up inside him as he felt how the small nipples moved against the fabric under it as she guided his hand to circlingly massage her breasts, a crude motion, too direct, too rough, almost painful in its intensity. He tried to close his ears against her breath, which had started to get choppy. Severus imagined himself away. In his mind, he was docking points from Gryffindor. He was riding a broomstick and about to be sick as the ground tilted away. He was squashing a big, slimy, brown bullfrog with his bare hand which writhed under his grips before the organs exploded out of its mouth. He managed to grip the breasts in his hands slightly harder and almost managed to pinch the nipples under the flowery, dark grey silk.
“Stop,” she snapped and stepped back, her wand slicing through the air. The sharp pain on both his hands would have made him wince if it had not been Bellatrix to control his actions – he remained limp, watching as she moved closer, again, her mouth opened slightly and put one of her icy cold fingers against his topmost button, right under his throat.
He panicked as he felt his air supply constricted by the pressure of her finger against his throat.
“So eager,” she murmured, her voice again in the sudden low cadence, trying to look into his eyes. He could not focus on them, they were too close. “I need to slow you down.”
His throat had started aching, he could not move a limb, and all he could see was the unfocused red mouth on front of his eyes, a nervous twitch in the left corner. His heartbeat fought against her grip and he could feel his throat aching as less and less air arrived in his lungs.
His lungs, unfazed by the spell that had grasped his mind, were fighting desperately for air, his breathing becoming choppy and more rapid. Her finger pressed onward, into his airpipe, causing a dull ache to well up at the back of his throat.
Inside, Severus panicked. He flung himself against the soft, cotton-candy silence inside his mind and tried to wrestle his willpower from her grip. He failed, her control would too tightly around his. The attack seemed to have deprived Bellatrix of a desire to strangle him further and she opened to top button of his robes. The sudden space around him made him almost feel dizzy with relief, and now she bowed down slightly, so that he could look into her slightly widened, hazel coloured eyes, which were smudged with eye-liner. Her breath was slightly rancid against his cheek when she spoke.
“There, there, don’t fear, we’re going to get there eventually. See, you have an awfully large amount of buttons, Snape.”
She meaningfully looked down, then he was again forced to look into her eyes, as she raised both hands and swiftly unbuttoned his robes up to his chest. The cool air against his bare, white flesh made him feel all the more exposed, and the feeling of her single, white finger against his pale skin repulsed him almost as though she was flinging frog entrails against his chest.
“Pale, you are,” she stated the obvious and then lowered her head, leaving him with a view of her crow’s nest hairstyle as she started kissing his chest with a mouth that was unanticipatedly warm. Again, he concentrated on thoughts elsewhere -bullfrog entrails, the feeling of spells hitting his chest, his students, fearfully anticipating his wrath, but as a rough tongue flicked gently against his nipple, he felt his control slipping.
Instantly, she raised her head again and took a deep look into his eyes, her hands slowly continuing their trail down his chest, button by button.
He hated her. Unable to move, she fixed his black, empty eyes with a look of triumph as her hands were working.
“See? I told you you would like this, Severus,” she crooned. “It’s not as though there is only one girl in this world, and she is dead, you see. It’s not as though you can bring her back, thinking of her when you stroke yourself.”
He threw all his willpower against the cotton candy-soft feeling as he felt his anger boil over. How dare she say these things? How dare she? In an instant of distractedness he managed to raise his hand, ready to slap her, but then it was too late, and the iron grasp of her mind was again around his tired will.
“Now, what was that going to be? You don’t like me mentioning her? Well, whether you like it or not, she is dead, and your mooning over her is not going to bring you back, however much you want to kiss her ruby lips or stroke her fiery red hair and what not. She is dead, so you might as well find others to think about, it would help you concentrate.”
She finished unbuttoning and he stood in front of her, exposed, only his underpants between her and his complete exposure. On cue, she stood back, looking him up and down, the grip of her mind keeping him from making any move – even his breathing became slightly harder.
Her eyes wandered from his head over his exposed, goosefleshy chest downwards and lingered on the bulge in his trousers, which, to his eternal shame, had become slightly larger than it should be in this situation. This was Bellatrix.
He desperately tried to close his eyes, but her grip denied him even this small mercy as she moved forward, head tilted into his view so that he had to meet her eyes, which were bright and girlish.
“Oh, you look uncomfortable, Severus. My, my, not as though you’re one to easily let go at all.”
Her icy hand plunged downwards, passed his midriff, gently tugged at one of the stray hairs that extended towards his belly and then slid into his underpants. He tried to hold his breath, but he could not. He had to just stand there and let her do what she wanted. Her fingers briefly cradled his genitals - he could not even bring to think himself about what it was she was touching now - cupping parts, then closing around them.
He felt her whisper a spell and heat surged through him, flooding his veins with burning. She had started gently, teasingly cupping the tip of his… genitals, causing painful heat to sear through his abdomen every time she brushed against it. All the while, he watched her face, her eyes lowered, watching her hands, a small crease appearing on her forehead and disappearing again. He wanted to close his eyes, not see hers on him.
In his mind, he was running away. He cast spells on her that dismembered her beyond recognition, apparated, tore down the familiar corridors inside Hogwarts, closed the doors of his room behind him and collapsed inside his bathroom, where he threw up, heaving and sobbing, away from her. Her hands had become more insistent, cradling and stroking, her movements more practiced, more efficient, driving heat into his body and a desire he told himself he did not feel.
In his mind, he was curled up in his bed, hiding under covers, he was at home, hiding under his bed, where it was safe and always slightly damp because of the crack in the wall next to it. He was in staff-meetings and on walks with Minerva. His mother was there, he was alone, reading.
In reality, he was standing, almost naked, in Bellatrix Lestrange’s study, and she was doing unspeakable things to parts of himself he did not even have names for. Not names he used or acknowledged, in any case. Parts which were now eagerly anticipating her every move.
He was flying over the lake, he was cradling the house cup, the Dark Lord was praising him, Bellatrix was dead and maimed and her blood was all over the floor and her hand was crawling over his skin, leaving fire in its trail, his whole body longing for her touch. His heartbeat had become fast, he was warm in spite of the cool air brushing over his naked flesh. Severus was also shamefully aware of his naked arousal being so visible.
Again, Bellatrix stepped back, looking him over, laughing quietly to herself.
“Enough,” she said, and his heart leapt with sudden hope. Instead of releasing him, however, he felt his knees buckle as she navigated his unresponsive body to the ground, crashing his knees into the floor, then knocking his upper body backwards, hitting his head on the cold, marble floor.
He welcomed the dull pain that throbbed through his skull and made him sick as well as the cold digging into his skin with icy claws. The faint nausea the pain caused eased the heat in his genitals, and he tried to cling to it with a desperate force. As long as he was going to be sick, he would not be letting his body enjoy this.
And then, she was upon him, surprisingly heavy, her silken dress brushing against his bare legs. She bent over so that her face was again in his field of vision, and she kissed him, her warm tongue violently forcing his mouth open, exploring roughly, causing a strange plunging sensation in his stomach, like pins and needles, but softer, warmer. Then, her mouth was gone again and he took a deep breath. The sharp taste of peppers and coffee lingering long after she had released him.
She threw off the robes that had fallen over his legs when she had knocked him back and hoisted up her skirts, placing herself above his erection, then grasping it.
“You will enjoy this Severus, trust me,” she crooned, as she lowered herself and he tried with all his might to shake off her control, to no avail, tried to throw up, tried to flee. His body stayed immobile, under her, unmoving, as she came closer.
Suddenly, he felt the sensitive tip of his penis engulfed in heat, something warm and soft closing all around him. He felt himself shaking and tried to think of the squashed frog, of students, of long conferences, but nothing helped. The feeling of heat all around him as she slid down, enclosing him fully was almost too much.
He desperately tried to close his eyes, but she would not let him, and so he saw her tangled hair, out of focus, moving as she leaned forward to kiss him again, the motion causing him to slide back out of her. He felt air leave his lungs with the shock of cold air around it and a desire for her to return.
She gave a short chuckle and moved back, enclosing him again, heat gripping his penis with force. He pretended this was someone else’s body and forced himself to merely observe the building lust and desire. How quickly it went! The subject definitely seemed to be responsive to even this forceful treatment. A knot of hatred and pain constricted his stomach even as lust welled through him. Gently, Bellatrix started back and forth, and he felt all desire to fight leaving him however desperately he tried to stop himself. He knew what was going to happen as waves of heat started slowly welling up and desperately tried to concentrate on something else.
She paid no heed and continued the gentle rocking motion, as though she was a child, stupidly panting, giving small moans now and then.
The knot of pain and disgust in his stomach had grown tighter and tighter and had become unbearable now that an unmistakable mixture of lust and desire was coursing through him, causing his body to want to match her movements.
Bellatrix moved her face back into his field of vision and he could see it gleaming with a film of sweat, lust shining in her eyes, one strand of black curls obscuring her left eye. She was smiling, open-mouthed. Like a dog, he reflected, as he saw her body rock back and forward, waves of lust building up inside him with every move. Again, he threw himself at her control, but slid off, ineffectively, her grip still as strong even though she had now closed her eyes and gave little pants as her soft, warm folds enclosed and released his genitals with every move.
“See? You enjoy this, don’t you?” she crooned, rocking forward more slowly now. On the edge of his attention, he became aware of his body moving on its own accord, meeting her, trying to match her pace.
“I think I should release you, don’t you?”
Panic filled him as he became aware of his body’s motions. He was not responsible for them, nor was the spell. What was happening to him? And suddenly, he felt control for his limbs rush back to him, could feel her pressing against his legs, could feel himself under her, again able to move his arms, able to push her off, able to stand up and run.
Severus felt her move against him and, with panic, realized that he did not do any of this. Stupidly transfixed his body rocked towards her as she now slid back on top of him, with him moving inside her, against her warm body, enclosed by her, and he felt a sudden wave of heat crashing through him, felt his legs starting to twitch and his mind go blank.
A low noise escaped his lips and with horror he felt himself cling to her as his penis twitched and the waves of lust peaked and ebbed away, her face close to his, smiling with satisfaction. She stayed on top of him for a few seconds afterwards, as he got his breath back, then got up.
The feeling of him sliding wetly out of her turned his stomach and he turned to his side, retching, the heat of the vomit and the burning in his throat a welcome change. He was aware that she was getting up as he heaved, vomit running spotting the side of his robe, spasms constricting his stomach. The feeling of the cold air on his naked skin felt like a file.
When the heaving had stopped he dressed himself with a clumsy flick of his wand and hurriedly got up, pointing his wand at Bellatrix, his face contorted with rage. She merely looked at him, unmoving. He wanted to torture her into insanity, until the stupid grin vanished and her limbs stopped moving, until those eyes were empty of all sane thought. Trembling, he only stared, though, desperately forcing himself to focus.
“See? You liked it, didn’t you? And she would have never let you do that.”
He felt his stomach rolling as he heard her voice and was bent over, heaving, before he knew it. His wand stayed gripped in his hands, white with the effort, but he could not face her. Nausea gripped him as his empty stomach tried to throw up the very memory of the last half-hour, ineffectively.
Far away, it seemed, in another world, a door clicked, and he knew he was alone.