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Oh, he was married, wasn't he?

It amused Rabastan how often Adrianna Bole reminded him of this fact; he tended to not listen and would shut her up easily with a strong kiss or grope that led into a rather raucous romp. It was easy enough, she was the youngest of many daughters, so to grab the attention of a Lestrange was more than enough to make her break any sort of morals she may have. Rabastan normally looked for a challenge in his conquests, but to be blunt, he just wanted a fuck.

He hadn't had sex in nearly three fucking months, and a few weeks ago decided that maintaining a proper exterior to those closely watching their 'relationship' was not worth the physical torture. The supposed emotional torture he would endure if things ever became public were nothing to him anymore. He'd offered to be nice (nice!) for his wife's birthday, and what had she done? She had behaved like a complete brat and made him feel foolish. Why should he respect her feelings if she was going to dismiss any sort of gesture he made toward her? No, when had he ever respected anyone's feelings? The reminder that he never had snapped him out of this stupidly loyal pureblooded son spiel his mother had him going on.

No, no. Rabastan Lestrange didn't do marriage. He was going to have his fun when he wanted it, and no woman was going to affect his opinion on the matter.

He pushed a finger into the corner of his eye for a second, trying to get the beginnings of sleep out of his eye as he opened the door to the flat. Rabastan yawned and dropped his cloak onto a chair by the door and started toward the bedroom (if you could call it that. It felt like a bloody freezer in there, and not because of the temperature). But, he spotted his wife's figure by the fireplace and sent a long, narrow glance in her direction.

"Yes?" he drawled, because he could feel her glare upon him. Lovely, couldn't one of her daily (hourly?) rants wait until morning?