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The only time anyone could slap Rodolphus in the face and live to tell the tale was when the assaulting individual was a woman and the weapon of choice was a pair of tits. Tiffany seemed to be taking some liberties however, and Rod was bound to suffocate under a fleshy sea of silicone if the aged witch didn’t let up soon. He slapped her firm, magically enhanced arse despite the business’ hands-off policy (which was only ever enforced in the main room). Accustomed to handsy men, Tiffany didn’t even flinch as Roddy’s large hand landed on her bare skin. The dancer just kept right on rubbing up on Rodolphus, giving him what he assumed was supposed to be a coy smirk but her attempts at anything reminiscent of modesty had failed spectacularly. She no longer resembled someone Rodolphus would have picked out for himself but the physical beauty she had lost over the years had not impeded her charms on Rod’s dick. Once he could breathe again, Rod was having a grand time.

He puffed on his cigar, admiring Tiffany’s flexibility as much as her arse as she bent over in front of him. She could have licked his boots from her position had he asked her to, and he knew she would have as well. Whores would do anything for money and anyone with an iota of self-preservation knew not to deny a Lestrange. The ladies here all thought of Rodolphus as a patron with more money than half the country combined, that was enough to get whatever he wanted of them. He was wealthy and therefore powerful, that was dangerous enough. Had they any inkling of how truly dangerous the man was, they would have licked his boots and then some, all without his asking. And they definitely would have brought his mate every item Quinn had listed off, served on a naked virgin. Well, perhaps they wouldn’t go quite that far. “Alright.” He blew a smoke ring at Tiffany’s barely covered arsehole then glanced at Quinn before speaking to the room at large, though not loud enough to actually be heard beyond their immediate area. “My mate here would rather fuck a steer than any of you birds. Unless you offer such a service, I suppose I best get him out of here. Fucking pervert.”

Tiffany. Rod had fond memories of the minxy little blonde. In his younger days she was his go-to dancer. There’d been plenty of private room rendezvous with Tiffany in the past, though it had been some time since he’d gotten a back-room dance from her. He chuckled at the mention of her name, knowing Quinn thought more of his affinity for the petite blonde than Rod ever did. Every bloke had a favorite stripper, some more naughty than others. He’d not kept up with the witch in recent years, not even thought of her in his many visits to Spellbound as of late, but he wasn’t about to reject her. “Fuck, it’s been ages.” He swallowed down his drink, adjusting himself in the few moments his lap was free and admiring the girl levitating around a pole on the center-stage.

Tiffany arrived and Rod realized it had been far too long since he’d requested a dance from Tiffany, and with good reason. Vanity charms could only do so much and the witch was clearly living a hard lifestyle. Her skin was tight, but a bit too tight around her face giving away her age in a way she clearly wasn’t going for. Her arse was plump and perky as it ever was, but her tits had been enlarged to the size of watermelons. She had a very Dolly Parton-eqsue look about her but without the American charm. “Hey Roddy,” her voice sounded as though she’d just smoked two packs of cigarettes in the back room but when she smiled her teeth were pearly white and perfectly straight. She’d had them done recently. “Long time, no see.” Without hesitation, she straddled Rodolphus and began flouncing her gigantic tits in his face. “The woman’s still got it,” he announced to Quinn with a laugh.

Rodolphus had seen Lilith’s arsehole firsthand, and had that not been his brother’s now wife, he would have insisted Quinn make an attempt to view it. It was magnificent. Lilith was a prude and a cocktease of the highest order, but he had had plenty of fun with her when she worked for Lestrange Industries, long before Rabastan had entered the picture. He did like to make comments here and there, little nonchalant remarks that his brother would brush off as Rodolphus ‘just being Rodolphus’ but Lilith would know was more fact than fantasy. Lilith was one of the few women he’d never shagged but had still managed to get her completely naked and spread eagle on the desk of his office. Biggest tease in all of England, and he suspected poor Rabby was back to wanking himself off in the en suite what with Lilith being so pregnant. Chap had had to endure a self-imposed celibacy during his engagement, something Rodolphus would never have agreed to, even if his fiancé wasn’t up for a shag, but the younger Lestrange held a strange sense of honor and considered it ‘unfaithful’ to fuck around outside of his relationship. The idiot.

A night out with his best mate, his brother, and their women was an intriguing idea. Even more intriguing was the idea of the women predictably not getting along. “I do not,” Rodolphus said between puffs on his cigar. “And I would so love to have front row seats to that battle royal.” If Lilith and Dorcas were a fun show, Merlin could only imagine what throwing an attention-seeking whore of an actress into the mix would do. “I’ll add it to the schedule,” he declared. Turning his attention more fully to the stripper shaking her arse in his face, he blew smoke up her arse, literally, and then pushed her away. “I’ve had enough of this one. Go find me a dancer who knows how to get a man hard,” he demanded of the blonde, pulling at the waistband of her g-string and letting it go with a snap.

His eyebrows raised in interest. “Did you? So-” A sharp inhale through gritted teeth as the liquid made contact with the open flesh, burning. He continued, an audible pain in his tone which he ignored. “So this little interrogation was only a formality then?” he teased her. “Making good use of your training, I see.” He paused, sipped his drink, winced at another jolt of pain as the dittany expedited the healing process, then continued. “I wouldn’t worry too much about your lot catching wind of me. I’d say the Dark Lord has things rather nicely wrapped up at the Ministry. You’re far from our only one there, love.” He reached for her free hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it delicately and then nipping at the inside of her wrist.

Rodolphus would normally have sneered or growled at the idea, even in teasing, that Dorcas was open to sucking any cock but his own. She taunted him with it, as he taunted her in other ways, but it wasn’t beyond Roddy to slaughter a man who looked twice at Dorcas. In fact, if one were to track down all of Dorcas’ previous affairs over the fifteen or so years that she and Rodolphus had been fucking, one would find a shocking number of those men to be resting comfortably about six feet under. If they were ever found. Not that Rodolphus murdered, or even roughed up or confronted every single man Dorcas had been with while they were ‘together’. Who had the time for that? But there were a few who rather prickled Rodolphus’ feathers. He and Dorcas had never spoken about it, but he was about 75% sure Dorcas was aware. Not that he was jealous sort. No, no, no. On the contrary, he was simply passionate. His passions weren’t limited to maiming Dorcas’ former lovers when he caught wind of them, either. In fact, when Dorcas had run off to another country for a few months presumably for work, though Roddy later discovered it was to abort his heretofore unknown bastard child, he was so overcome with passion that several women fitting Dorcas’ description had ended up discarded in back alleys and dumpsters, having given everything of themselves over to the handsome stranger and then – sadly – being deemed lacking their lives were cut short. That had been some time ago, in the winter of ’74, and they were far beyond that childishness.

Now, as Dorcas offered to blow the man who’d injured her husband, Rodolphus chuckled, though not because the thought of his wife on her knees in front of another man was humorous, but rather this particular man was no doubt still having his insides poked at by the coroner or at the very least laying in some human-sized ice box. Laughing caused the muscles in his stomach to contract and his wound bleed and seared with pain. The half-laugh turned into a sharp inhaling sneer. To cope, Roddy took another sip of his drink. “Just some fucking muggleborn trying to hide himself and some others from the Dark Lord. You can suck him off, if you’d like, but he’ll be stiff in a way I bloody well hope you’re not used to.”

Ader had poured his master’s scotch and delivered it to Rodolphus in the same span of time that it had taken Dorcas to fetch her medical supplies. She purposefully moving at a snails pace but Roddy expected nothing less. He wasn’t too badly injured and if he were, it was all too obvious from Dorcas’ attentive nature to him that she would have hurried just a teensy bit more. After all, he hadn’t asked for help in removing his shirt and he hadn’t asked for her to care for him. The suggestion of healer and patient was more role playing their foreplay and less about caring for his wound. If it bothered him too much, he could call Hanley to tend to him and there would be no need to resort to flirting with the old Healer in order to be bandaged up. In his line of work for the Dark Lord, Rodolphus had sustained far worse injuries than this. Hell, in fooling around with Dorcas he was certain he’d ended up in worse shape than this, although there was generally a different sort of exciting element to it than slaughtering a bunch of muggleborns as they attempted to evade the law.

Caramel colored eyes lifted from his glass as Dorcas returned, still fully clothed. “With pleasure.” He wriggled his eyebrows at her tauntingly and bared his teeth at her. The sting from the scratches covering his eye intensified. Rodolphus leaned forward enough to sip on his scotch, then reclined into the sofa, one arm resting on the back of the sofa, the other holding his scotch over the cushioned arm. He would tear her clothes off with his teeth, though the wound on his abdomen was still oozing and so perhaps he ought to have his wife tend to that first.

“You know it fuckin’ turns me on to hear you talk of murder.” He was teasing, but only just. Despite their relationship, the Dark Lord had not assigned Dorcas and Rodolphus too many missions together, though there had been a few here and there. He enjoyed watching Dorcas work and he was not above insisting she regale him with her solo missions as a bit of foreplay before he occupied her mouth by other means. When it came to Dorcas, there was really very little that didn’t turn Rodolphus on, and he knew from experience that she felt likewise. She was ridiculously in love with him and her way of showing her affection was by feigning she wanted him dead when in reality it had been he who’d accidentally killed her in a fit of lust and they had never even come close to the other way around.

Dorcas poked at his wound. Rod sucked in air through his teeth making an almost hissing noise at the pain until she was done. He snarled at her and muttered “crazy bitch” through his teeth. One of many pet names he had for her. He turned toward the lounge with a fresh trickle of blood running down his abdomen but called over his shoulder giving additional, vital instructions. “So long as you return naked, I don’t give a flying fuck what you bring back with you.” Hopefully Aurora wasn’t listening in but that would hardly be the worst thing she had overheard from her father. Rodolphus collapsed onto the sofa, not sitting far back at all, in attempt to keep his torso straight and to limit the movement around the cut. “Ader! Scotch!” He needed a drink. A drink and a nice screw would make him feel much better. It always did.