Alecto falls backwards and atop of Bellatrix’s body, the woman underneath of her only shifting slightly as she pants into the air. Alecto forces her breathing to steady, as much as she can, as the feeling of heat and fire licks up between her thighs once more. It is a burn beneath her skin, an itch she cannot scratch. She cannot find respite despite earlier completion, and she rubs at herself with eager fingers that pull back all sopping wet. Bellatrix is below her in an instant with sharp nails all too eager to find their way to Alecto’s core.