"Our Sins Are Stubborn," for moriath
Our Sins Are Stubborn
Bellatrix/Narcissa for moriath
Author: empy
Rating: R
Warnings: incest, bondage
Our sins are stubborn, our repentance faint,
We take a handsome price for our confession,
Happy once more to wallow in transgression.
-Charles Baudelaire-
Her heels clicked against the stone floor as she crossed the dormitory. Bellatrix could move like shadows if she wished, be swallowed up into the compact darkness that lingered in the corners of the room. She twined her arms around the dark-wooden bedpost of Narcissa's bed as she watched her sister sleep. In her waking state Narcissa was sharp-edged and composed, but as she slept, her pale head drooped like a lily that had felt the first frost.
Bellatrix pulled her wand out of her hair, releasing a silent cascade of black hair along her back, and gently tapped the bedposts, making them grow tendrils that bound Narcissa's wrists. She didn't need to, but she wished for it, and when Narcissa's pale eyes opened slowly, Bellatrix dropped the wand onto the bedcovers.
Narcissa gave a slight smile, the smallest token of agreement. There had never really been any need for words between them.
Bellatrix drew the sheets away, slowly, letting the sliding silk be a caress in itself, then stretched out full length along Narcissa's side. She could feel bone under her hands as she touched Narcissa, but then came flesh, ripe and soft and vital. Narcissa was lily-cold, seeming passionless, but she warmed soon enough, the blood finally rising to glow just beneath the skin, bringing a blush to her face. Flower-pale Narcissa. Her spine arched, bent, forcing the line of her body into a high arc, and her legs fell open like petals as Bellatrix laid her hands on the white knees.
Giving thanks to Hecate, Bellatrix bent her head, resting her cheek briefly against the soft skin of Narcissa's thighs. She was hexed by her sister, but she hexed in return, spelled out a crafty incantation with her tongue, a spell that struck Narcissa like a full body bind. The headboard rattled, Narcissa's pale fists striking it at first, then her hands splayed out, palms outward. Sliding, slithering, Bellatrix hauled herself upward and pressed a kiss into each palm. Stealing a kiss, she bit Narcissa's tongue, nipped at the warm-slick flesh only briefly, until she tasted the pin-prickle of blood.
"You're mine," she whispered into Narcissa's ear, letting the tips of her fingers rest on Narcissa's lips. "All mine," she mouthed to the dark room before closing her eyes.
She woke with a start, unaware of having fallen asleep, as she felt something slither over her throat. As she blinked sleep-blurred eyes, she could make out Narcissa's pale face against the dark bed-curtains. The black robe Narcissa wore swallowed up her entire body, showing only face and hands, and it took several seconds before Bellatrix saw the long silken ribbons that Narcissa held.
Giving a slow smile, she obediently stretched her hands up over her head, allowing Narcissa to tie her wrists with the ribbons.
"Sister dear" she said, finding she could not hear the words. Clever Narcissa, casting a silencing spell that masked every sound, from the creak of the floor to the soft rustle her robe made when it slithered to the floor.
Narcissa was outlined by moonlight where she sat on the bed, and her hair floated out over her shoulders and along her arms like a veil. Her hands were very cold as she slid them between Bellatrix's thighs, but there was no ice in the curve of her mouth. There were coals and cinders and lips that were glow-hot against every knot of nerves. Bellatrix opened her mouth around a soundless scream, twisting so restlessly her hair came up to envelop her in a slow flood of dark curls.
Bellatrix knew the silk wrapped around her wrists would not tear even if she twisted her wrists bloody. Narcissa let her fingers wander, picking and pinching, clawing and caressing. Her long hair washed out over Bellatrix's stomach as she bent down, the tip of her tongue tracing the whorls and curls of dark hair. Bellatrix's breathing was fast and erratic, and she bent her head back, frustrated that she couldn't voice her cries.
There had to be some other magic in the silencing spell that Narcissa had cast, something to make their surroundings move sluggishly. As Bellatrix tossed her head from side to side, she saw the serpent woven into the drapes of the bed come alive, and it coiled and twisted in time with her movements. There was too little light for her to see the expression on Narcissa's face, but she knew her brows were knitted in concentration. Her heels slid on the rumpled sheets, and Narcissa closed a sweat-slick hand around her calf to keep her in place. The further down she slid, the harder the restraints pulled on her arms, twisting her shoulders in their sockets until every fibre of muscle in her arms burned.
The orgasm was like a slow wash of fire, setting her skin alight. She could feel the bruises forming on her wrists, and she licked her dry lips as she tried to relax the knotted muscles of her arms. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Narcissa brush her fingertips over the silken ribbons, making them uncoil and slide down along Bellatrix's arms.
Nestling close, Narcissa whispered something against the skin of Bellatrix's throat, and Bellatrix didn't need to hear them to understand them.
You're mine. All mine.
The next night Bellatrix crept up on Narcissa preening in front of the large mirror in their room, tread whisper-silent to lay her cold hand against Narcissa's bare back. The carved faces of the mirror had long since ceased to acknowledge her approach, and she knew from which angle to approach all but unseen. She startled Narcissa by snatching the silver-backed hairbrush out of her hand.
"Sister dear, will you keep me company tonight?" she whispered into the soft fall of Narcissa's hair. She drew the brush through Narcissa's hair once, then grabbed a thick handful, letting the brush fall negligently to the floor. Narcissa said nothing, did not move, only sat in her place in front of the mirror like a statue. Bellatrix gave a grin, licking her teeth before bending her head to bite at Narcissa's earlobe. "Of course you will."
"No," said Narcissa suddenly. "I won't."
"You're seeing him tonight, aren't you?" said Bellatrix, looking up, into the mirror and catching Narcissa's gaze. "Lucius Malfoy. And you'll come back in the middle of the night, smelling of his cologne and drunk on stolen pumpkin wine. Do you think he loves you? He loves your lineage more."
"Stop saying that, Bellatrix" said Narcissa coldly, stretching her hand out to pick up a pair of diamond earrings. "That is spite talking, not sense."
"You're not the only one he sleeps with, you know," she whispered into Narcissa's ear. "He has a list of Pureblood families that he is working through." She let her hands settle on Narcissa's shoulder, nudging the silk down off a pale shoulder. Narcissa shifted, her lips parting as though she intended to say something, but her mouth opened into a gasp as Bellatrix cupped her breasts through the dress.
"He's waiting for me," said Narcissa. "Please, Bellatrix. Not now."
"Right now," whispers Bellatrix, her grip tightening minutely. In this light, the bruises on her wrists still showed faintly, and she knew that if she tightened her hold, she would bruise Narcissa's skin. "Keep him waiting. Who do you love more, him or me?"
Narcissa made no effort to resist as Bellatrix pulled her to her feet. "Just this time, Bellatrix," she sighed softly, "you spoiled brat."
The bed-curtains fluttered closed at an impatient wave of Bellatrix's hand. "You always say that, Narcissa," smiled Bellatrix, pushing Narcissa down to sit on the bed. She kneeled down, slipping her hands under the hem of Narcissa's dress, letting her nails drag up slowly the inside of Narcissa's legs. Narcissa gave a little gasp that widened into a smile, and she leaned back on the bed, spreading her legs as Bellatrix rose. "And you never mean it," Bellatrix went on, kneeling on the bed and taking Narcissa's face into her hands. She drew the kiss out, stole Narcissa's breath from her, and gave a little laugh low in her throat as Narcissa took hold of her wrist.
She knew where to touch to undo Narcissa, and she watched Narcissa twist slowly, as though anything more rapid was inelegant, and her neck arched back like that of a swan. Her lips were pressed tightly together, holding in a wail, and her nails pressed into the back of Bellatrix's hand.
It was all too slow, too controlled, Bellatrix decided. She twisted her fingers experimentally, pressed down with her thumb, dividing swollen flesh. Instant gratification by that, she noted, as Narcissa finally gave voice to a little cry, pushing down on Bellatrix's hand.
Yes. Like that. Without grace.
Narcissa's hands were fever-warm as they plucked at Bellatrix's skirt, sliding under the hem and into the folds of fabric, and Bellatrix gave a choked-back moan at the rough but welcome sensation of Narcissa's fingers spidering over her slick flesh. She clenched her thighs, trapped Narcissa's hand cleverly to make them mirror images tangled on the bed. Narcissa was half-sprawled back against the eiderdown pillows, her dress twisted and bunched around her waist, her pale legs spread just so, the tawny curls half-hidden by Bellatrix's hand. She looked from underneath half-closed lids, nailed Bellatrix to her place with that irresistible gaze, and reached up with her free hand to undo the clasp that held her dress closed. The thin material slid down her neck, down to bare collarbone and breast, and finally the entire garment was a flow of honey-coloured silk gathered around her waist. She did not relinquish her hold on Bellatrix, but instead she managed to shift, crawl closer, until Bellatrix could hear her soft breathing. She whispered vague incantations against Narcissa's skin, let her saliva-slick lips brush nipples that blushed with dull heat.
It was a stubborn sin and one she delighted in. She would not quit, but neither would Narcissa. She kneeled up, spread her legs in a slow sinuous movement, and as Narcissa lifted her hand, she grabbed the wrist. Letting her tongue trace up along the wrist, over the palm, she sucked Narcissa's long fingers into her mouth, tasting her own salt. She moved her fingers in time with the patterns her tongue traced on Narcissa's palm, and was gratified to see Narcissa's grey eyes drift shut as she rocked slowly back and forth.
"You're mine," Bellatrix said softly, the words no more than a kiss of air against Narcissa's skin.
Narcissa gave a little cry, her thighs clenching tight around Bellatrix's hand. She whispered something, the words a breathless blur of syllables that Bellatrix could make no sense of.
"He can never give you this," whispered Bellatrix.
Only I can.
[END]
Bellatrix/Narcissa for moriath
Author: empy
Rating: R
Warnings: incest, bondage
Our sins are stubborn, our repentance faint,
We take a handsome price for our confession,
Happy once more to wallow in transgression.
-Charles Baudelaire-
Her heels clicked against the stone floor as she crossed the dormitory. Bellatrix could move like shadows if she wished, be swallowed up into the compact darkness that lingered in the corners of the room. She twined her arms around the dark-wooden bedpost of Narcissa's bed as she watched her sister sleep. In her waking state Narcissa was sharp-edged and composed, but as she slept, her pale head drooped like a lily that had felt the first frost.
Bellatrix pulled her wand out of her hair, releasing a silent cascade of black hair along her back, and gently tapped the bedposts, making them grow tendrils that bound Narcissa's wrists. She didn't need to, but she wished for it, and when Narcissa's pale eyes opened slowly, Bellatrix dropped the wand onto the bedcovers.
Narcissa gave a slight smile, the smallest token of agreement. There had never really been any need for words between them.
Bellatrix drew the sheets away, slowly, letting the sliding silk be a caress in itself, then stretched out full length along Narcissa's side. She could feel bone under her hands as she touched Narcissa, but then came flesh, ripe and soft and vital. Narcissa was lily-cold, seeming passionless, but she warmed soon enough, the blood finally rising to glow just beneath the skin, bringing a blush to her face. Flower-pale Narcissa. Her spine arched, bent, forcing the line of her body into a high arc, and her legs fell open like petals as Bellatrix laid her hands on the white knees.
Giving thanks to Hecate, Bellatrix bent her head, resting her cheek briefly against the soft skin of Narcissa's thighs. She was hexed by her sister, but she hexed in return, spelled out a crafty incantation with her tongue, a spell that struck Narcissa like a full body bind. The headboard rattled, Narcissa's pale fists striking it at first, then her hands splayed out, palms outward. Sliding, slithering, Bellatrix hauled herself upward and pressed a kiss into each palm. Stealing a kiss, she bit Narcissa's tongue, nipped at the warm-slick flesh only briefly, until she tasted the pin-prickle of blood.
"You're mine," she whispered into Narcissa's ear, letting the tips of her fingers rest on Narcissa's lips. "All mine," she mouthed to the dark room before closing her eyes.
She woke with a start, unaware of having fallen asleep, as she felt something slither over her throat. As she blinked sleep-blurred eyes, she could make out Narcissa's pale face against the dark bed-curtains. The black robe Narcissa wore swallowed up her entire body, showing only face and hands, and it took several seconds before Bellatrix saw the long silken ribbons that Narcissa held.
Giving a slow smile, she obediently stretched her hands up over her head, allowing Narcissa to tie her wrists with the ribbons.
"Sister dear" she said, finding she could not hear the words. Clever Narcissa, casting a silencing spell that masked every sound, from the creak of the floor to the soft rustle her robe made when it slithered to the floor.
Narcissa was outlined by moonlight where she sat on the bed, and her hair floated out over her shoulders and along her arms like a veil. Her hands were very cold as she slid them between Bellatrix's thighs, but there was no ice in the curve of her mouth. There were coals and cinders and lips that were glow-hot against every knot of nerves. Bellatrix opened her mouth around a soundless scream, twisting so restlessly her hair came up to envelop her in a slow flood of dark curls.
Bellatrix knew the silk wrapped around her wrists would not tear even if she twisted her wrists bloody. Narcissa let her fingers wander, picking and pinching, clawing and caressing. Her long hair washed out over Bellatrix's stomach as she bent down, the tip of her tongue tracing the whorls and curls of dark hair. Bellatrix's breathing was fast and erratic, and she bent her head back, frustrated that she couldn't voice her cries.
There had to be some other magic in the silencing spell that Narcissa had cast, something to make their surroundings move sluggishly. As Bellatrix tossed her head from side to side, she saw the serpent woven into the drapes of the bed come alive, and it coiled and twisted in time with her movements. There was too little light for her to see the expression on Narcissa's face, but she knew her brows were knitted in concentration. Her heels slid on the rumpled sheets, and Narcissa closed a sweat-slick hand around her calf to keep her in place. The further down she slid, the harder the restraints pulled on her arms, twisting her shoulders in their sockets until every fibre of muscle in her arms burned.
The orgasm was like a slow wash of fire, setting her skin alight. She could feel the bruises forming on her wrists, and she licked her dry lips as she tried to relax the knotted muscles of her arms. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Narcissa brush her fingertips over the silken ribbons, making them uncoil and slide down along Bellatrix's arms.
Nestling close, Narcissa whispered something against the skin of Bellatrix's throat, and Bellatrix didn't need to hear them to understand them.
You're mine. All mine.
The next night Bellatrix crept up on Narcissa preening in front of the large mirror in their room, tread whisper-silent to lay her cold hand against Narcissa's bare back. The carved faces of the mirror had long since ceased to acknowledge her approach, and she knew from which angle to approach all but unseen. She startled Narcissa by snatching the silver-backed hairbrush out of her hand.
"Sister dear, will you keep me company tonight?" she whispered into the soft fall of Narcissa's hair. She drew the brush through Narcissa's hair once, then grabbed a thick handful, letting the brush fall negligently to the floor. Narcissa said nothing, did not move, only sat in her place in front of the mirror like a statue. Bellatrix gave a grin, licking her teeth before bending her head to bite at Narcissa's earlobe. "Of course you will."
"No," said Narcissa suddenly. "I won't."
"You're seeing him tonight, aren't you?" said Bellatrix, looking up, into the mirror and catching Narcissa's gaze. "Lucius Malfoy. And you'll come back in the middle of the night, smelling of his cologne and drunk on stolen pumpkin wine. Do you think he loves you? He loves your lineage more."
"Stop saying that, Bellatrix" said Narcissa coldly, stretching her hand out to pick up a pair of diamond earrings. "That is spite talking, not sense."
"You're not the only one he sleeps with, you know," she whispered into Narcissa's ear. "He has a list of Pureblood families that he is working through." She let her hands settle on Narcissa's shoulder, nudging the silk down off a pale shoulder. Narcissa shifted, her lips parting as though she intended to say something, but her mouth opened into a gasp as Bellatrix cupped her breasts through the dress.
"He's waiting for me," said Narcissa. "Please, Bellatrix. Not now."
"Right now," whispers Bellatrix, her grip tightening minutely. In this light, the bruises on her wrists still showed faintly, and she knew that if she tightened her hold, she would bruise Narcissa's skin. "Keep him waiting. Who do you love more, him or me?"
Narcissa made no effort to resist as Bellatrix pulled her to her feet. "Just this time, Bellatrix," she sighed softly, "you spoiled brat."
The bed-curtains fluttered closed at an impatient wave of Bellatrix's hand. "You always say that, Narcissa," smiled Bellatrix, pushing Narcissa down to sit on the bed. She kneeled down, slipping her hands under the hem of Narcissa's dress, letting her nails drag up slowly the inside of Narcissa's legs. Narcissa gave a little gasp that widened into a smile, and she leaned back on the bed, spreading her legs as Bellatrix rose. "And you never mean it," Bellatrix went on, kneeling on the bed and taking Narcissa's face into her hands. She drew the kiss out, stole Narcissa's breath from her, and gave a little laugh low in her throat as Narcissa took hold of her wrist.
She knew where to touch to undo Narcissa, and she watched Narcissa twist slowly, as though anything more rapid was inelegant, and her neck arched back like that of a swan. Her lips were pressed tightly together, holding in a wail, and her nails pressed into the back of Bellatrix's hand.
It was all too slow, too controlled, Bellatrix decided. She twisted her fingers experimentally, pressed down with her thumb, dividing swollen flesh. Instant gratification by that, she noted, as Narcissa finally gave voice to a little cry, pushing down on Bellatrix's hand.
Yes. Like that. Without grace.
Narcissa's hands were fever-warm as they plucked at Bellatrix's skirt, sliding under the hem and into the folds of fabric, and Bellatrix gave a choked-back moan at the rough but welcome sensation of Narcissa's fingers spidering over her slick flesh. She clenched her thighs, trapped Narcissa's hand cleverly to make them mirror images tangled on the bed. Narcissa was half-sprawled back against the eiderdown pillows, her dress twisted and bunched around her waist, her pale legs spread just so, the tawny curls half-hidden by Bellatrix's hand. She looked from underneath half-closed lids, nailed Bellatrix to her place with that irresistible gaze, and reached up with her free hand to undo the clasp that held her dress closed. The thin material slid down her neck, down to bare collarbone and breast, and finally the entire garment was a flow of honey-coloured silk gathered around her waist. She did not relinquish her hold on Bellatrix, but instead she managed to shift, crawl closer, until Bellatrix could hear her soft breathing. She whispered vague incantations against Narcissa's skin, let her saliva-slick lips brush nipples that blushed with dull heat.
It was a stubborn sin and one she delighted in. She would not quit, but neither would Narcissa. She kneeled up, spread her legs in a slow sinuous movement, and as Narcissa lifted her hand, she grabbed the wrist. Letting her tongue trace up along the wrist, over the palm, she sucked Narcissa's long fingers into her mouth, tasting her own salt. She moved her fingers in time with the patterns her tongue traced on Narcissa's palm, and was gratified to see Narcissa's grey eyes drift shut as she rocked slowly back and forth.
"You're mine," Bellatrix said softly, the words no more than a kiss of air against Narcissa's skin.
Narcissa gave a little cry, her thighs clenching tight around Bellatrix's hand. She whispered something, the words a breathless blur of syllables that Bellatrix could make no sense of.
"He can never give you this," whispered Bellatrix.
Only I can.
[END]