"Lesson" (Lestranges/Regulus, Rated NC-17)
Title: "Lesson"
Author: skellywag
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Rodolphus/Rabastan/Regulus
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Bondage, bloodplay, incest. Also, I take a few liberties with some stories from the Bible, so if you are easily offended, you might want to avoid.
A/N: Written for melusinahp for hpvalensmut. Thanks to _tehriah for looking it over for me. Pls to be enjoying the mindfuckery.
Mid-August in London, and it was raining. The air was so thick with humidity that it was difficult to breathe. It was certainly not a day to be out shopping, and most of Diagon Alley reflected that sentiment, though all of the shops were still optimistically open.
They were not to be completely disappointed, as there were a few souls braving the weather, but there was certainly not the bustle that was typically heralded by the impending school year. Among these patrons were three young men, two sharing an umbrella, and the third carrying one that was easily large enough for all of them.
Regulus Black did not like to share, even though the two he accompanied were friends he'd known for more than a decade. Of course, if the other two had wanted him to share, they certainly could have forced him to: Regulus, though sixteen, had yet to have much of a growth spurt, and was dwarfed by the younger of the two brothers beside him by nearly three inches. His slight, willowy frame was perfect for the quick, agile flying required of a Seeker, however, so the only one who ever gave him any guff about it was his older brother, and quite frankly, Sirius Black's opinion wasn't worth very much these days.
Despite the weather, there was the slightest spring in Regulus's step. He was glad that his mother had allowed him to come shopping for his school things with the Lestranges, rather than bringing him herself. It was not that he disliked spending time with his mother, per se, but simply that he was at That Age, and furthermore shopping with the Lestranges involved a great deal more scrutiny of Quidditch gear than shopping with his mother did.
Rabastan Lestrange was Regulus's age and, unlike him, actually looked it. He had an average height and an average build, though narrow in the shoulders and hips. He'd never taken much interest in Quidditch except to watch, and it showed. Especially in the hands.
Regulus's fingernails were short, often blackened, the pads of his fingers roughened with calluses from broomhandling. They were his most indelicate feature. Rabastan, however, had a noble's hands. Pale pink fingernails, not the shadow of any roughness. They could have belonged to a woman.
Appearance belied temperament, however, because Rabastan was as uncouth a pureblood as they came. He had a foul mouth, and even worse behaviour. This was partly due to extremely lax parents, but also, his older brother Rodolphus, who he idolized, was extremely indulgent.
Rodolphus was two years out of Hogwarts, and looked like a more filled-out version of his younger brother. He had grown his hair long, in a dark-brown ponytail that fell midway down his back, as well as a respectable mustache and goatee, in a successful attempt to look more mature, and thus seemed well-advanced of his twenty years.
They had just finished their shopping, and despite the weather all three were reluctant to return to the oppressive presence of Mrs. Black. Therefore, when the three left Diagon Alley, they began a winding and convoluted track back to Regulus's house.
It was only early evening, yet it was darker than it should have been, for the rain. Street lamps were beginning to glow faintly though it was barely eight o'clock and still none of the three was interested in turning back. However, the rain began coming down harder, and Rodolphus turned his two charges, whispering an Alohomora when he was certain no one was around, and guiding them into a darkened, presumably empty church.
Rabastan and Rodolphus quickly set to drying themselves off, the latter also locking the door behind them, but Regulus had never seen anything like this place before and stood staring at the elaborate architecture as he dripped all over the crimson velvet carpeting. Rabastan chuckled ungraciously at his friend's wide-eyed behaviour, causing Regulus to blush faintly, while Rodolphus hastily murmured another drying charm in the boy's direction.
"What is this place?" Regulus asked, drawing himself up haughtily and forcing himself to ignore the awe he still felt, standing in the midst of so much splendour. He lifted his chin, daring Rabastan to laugh at him again.
The brothers shared a vaguely incredulous look, which was wholly missed by Regulus, who was still not-so-subtly staring at their surroundings. A slow smile spread on Rodolphus's lips, and Rabastan skirted around to the other side of Regulus as his brother began formulating his response.
Rodolphus's voice was low and intense when he spoke, and the sound of it instantly drew Regulus's attention from the architecture. "This is what Muggles call a 'house of worship.' Do you know what that means?" He barely waited for the boy to shake his head before continuing. "Muggles truly are heathens. Lower intellect, and no magical abilities. 'S why Mudbloods are such abominations. But anyway."
The young man grinned at his audience, the rapt attention of an attractive and impressionable boy, and his brother, who knew all this already, and was smirking back at him with arms folded. "Muggles, with their low intelligence, cannot wrap their minds around the concept of magic, their so-called unexplainable phenomena. Therefore, they have thought up an imaginary being, to explain away anything they consider remotely extraordinary. They call it 'God.' This is one of the many places they worship it.
"Not only that, but Muggles are so completely unsophisticated that they cannot even agree on how their 'god' thing is to be worshipped, or even upon a single concept of 'god.' Some Muggles even believe in multiple 'supreme power's, showing just how disjointed their logic is. As if the idea of one omnipotent being wasn't ridiculous enough." Rodolphus paused to snort derisively, also taking stock of how his audience was responding to his message.
Regulus was still attempting to process all of this new information. It was extremely difficult to negotiate. Of course he had a natural disdain for Muggles, but it had simply been an unconditional aspect of his education by his parents. Certainly no justification had ever been given or required; Mr. and Mrs. Black found the topic of Muggles distasteful, and apparently for good reason.
The boy looked around again, and what had originally seemed so beautiful and lavish began to look gaudy, tasteless. The polished hardwood of the pews was excessive waste, and the tall stained-glass windows were garish caricatures, depictions of willful delusions. "How do they worship?" he asked, voice rife with borrowed disgust.
There was a pause during which the brothers shared a Look. Rabastan's eyes were imploring, eager, and bright, and there could be no mistaking Rodolphus's indulgent 'if you must' smile in response. And so the younger brother stepped forward, slipping up close to Regulus. "It's actually pretty fascinating, for barbaric behaviour," he murmured. "But hard to explain without demonstration."
Regulus's eyes went slightly wide with realization: Was Rabastan really suggesting what he thought he was? The boy didn't even know what Muggle 'worship' entailed, but he knew his mother wouldn't approve. The idea of it was exciting and taboo and he found himself nodding before he'd fully made up his mind, even.
Rabastan took the other boy by the hands and turned him to face the altar, trying not to grin too widely as he spoke. "The entire focus of this 'religion' of theirs is sacrifice," he murmured softly. On a whim, he leaned in and brushed his lips against Regulus's. "Do you trust me? We need a lamb…"
In the span of barely three seconds, Regulus's thoughts were a blur. He didn't realize until much, much later that the kiss had likely been calculated to set him off balance, and he blinked up at the other boy fairly stupidly until he realized what Rabastan intended by what he'd said.
Regulus was being led up towards the altar. It was fairly unassuming, considering what his friends had said. His heart was racing, and yet the boy knew he did trust his friends. A soft voice in the back of his mind was asking him if that really was the best idea, however…
Rabastan was clearing the altar of candles and decorations, leaving only a deep velvet cloth that covered the elegant hardwood. "Marble would have been a better choice," Rodolphus muttered under his breath as he lifted Regulus and seated him on the altar. Then the man smirked and withdrew his wand, tapping it lightly against the altar, transfiguring it to slate grey, rough-cut marble. "Much better," he chuckled to himself, much to Regulus's curiosity, and then he knelt to remove the boy's socks and shoes.
Regulus watched, transfixed, until Rabastan swam back into his vision, carrying a bowl of something fragrant. The other boy set the bowl at Regulus's hip, and then nudged his knees apart, standing between his thighs, and lifting hands to begin unbuttoning his shirt. Rodolphus had shifted behind him to tug off the article once the buttons were all unfastened, and Regulus could not but be impressed with the concert with which the brothers moved, completely overwhelmed.
Now it was Rodolphus before him as Rabastan shifted behind him, guiding him to lie down on the altar on his back. The older brother's fingers were delicate, brushing so teasingly against his belly that Regulus was unsure if it was deliberate, even as he squirmed under the onslaught of ticklish sensation. And then those fingers were working the button of his trousers, the zipper, urging his hips to arch so the article could be removed, and that sensation was definitely not a tickle, and Regulus's cheeks flushed hot with shame as his body responded before his mind could.
"Wait a minute…" he protested weakly, clutching at the waistband of his pants as they slid to mid-thigh.
Rabastan's hand cupped his cheek reassuringly, and that boy's face appeared before him, smiling. "You wanted a demonstration, didn't you?" Regulus could remember asking for no such thing-he'd asked only a question-but he didn't get the chance to point that out before Rabastan continued. "We begin with an anointing with oil; we can't very well ruin your clothes… Your mother would flay us." But Regulus's stubborn grip on the last of his clothing and dignity had already been waning in the wake of his friend's touch, and when Rabastan pressed him back down onto the altar, he didn't fight it.
The brothers Lestrange stood opposite one another on either side of the altar, gazing down at their offering to a god they didn't believe in. The elder's eyes lit up as they focused upon a few pale scars, running neatly parallel to one another. He traced one with a finger to draw his brother's attention there. Perhaps they could give the boy a full demonstration, then… Regulus remained unaware of this silent exchange, simply drinking in the sensation as he fought to ignore his own nudity.
"The oil," Rodolphus instructed his younger brother finally and Rabastan was quick to obey. He dipped his fingertips into the bowl and began gently massaging the oil into Regulus's skin, starting with the boy's feet and slowly working his way up.
Even having been told what was going to happen, Regulus started at the first touch of wet, lifting himself up on his elbows to watch what the other boy was doing. His feet were slightly ticklish, and he laughed nervously, trying to keep from squirming. It felt strange to have someone else touching his feet and ankles when he did not even spend much time on them, and they were his. And Rabastan's fingers were thorough, making sure not to miss even the tiniest patch of skin with the oil. They were inching up his calves, now, and Regulus bit his lip, inhaling sharply, holding his breath. Those touches felt good, and he tensed beneath the onslaught of sensation, trying not to be obvious, trying to focus upon the 'demonstration,' though he didn't really think that was what this was.
Fingers crept up his thighs, and Regulus's cheeks flamed anew as his body, youthful in its exuberance, responded. He heard the other two boys chuckle softly, but though the sound was hardly malicious by any stretch, Regulus closed his eyes in mortification. But this only intensified the situation, because without being able to see those fingers, where they would go next, the anticipation was maddening. Especially knowing, if they followed their current path, just what they were in line to hit.
However, there was no need for concern there as slick fingers skated up, skirting around both hips teasingly, and then brushed warmly along his abdomen and higher. Though the touches were scintillating, feather-light against his navel, nipples, collarbone, the sense of loss was profound, his hips arching subconsciously to regain some of the sensation they had lost.
"All in due time," Rodolphus teased, his rough callused fingers gently rubbing the oil across Regulus's forehead, down the bridge of his nose, along each cheek, startling the boy's eyes open. And, true to his word, once the rest of Regulus was anointed, Rodolphus spread a generous portion of the oil on one hand and wrapped it firmly around the boy's length, eliciting a groan from both of them.
It was nothing like touching himself, though the callused hand did feel similar to his own. Regulus bucked blindly into the young man's grip, no longer feeling any shame of his behaviour in the face of pure lust. Rodolphus was stroking him far more slowly than he would have himself, and there was the constant worry that hand might stop altogether or even pull away, keeping Regulus right on the edge. Oh, he knew he could have opened his eyes, know exactly what the elder Lestrange was doing (and the younger, for that matter, but he'd forgotten about Rabastan for the moment). But where would the pleasure be in that? He was enduring an exquisite form of torture, and just when Regulus was growing closer, tensing up beneath Rodolphus's ministrations, the hand was gone
The boy groaned, eyes shooting open to stare needfully at the brothers hovering over him. His hips bucked a little, trying to regain that lost friction. Regulus dropped one of his hands down to finish the job himself, and then choked on a sucked-in breath as first one wrist, then the other, was locked into thick shackles above his head he knew hadn't been there before.
Regulus began to squirm and kick, but his demands to be released died in his throat as Rabastan leaned down to speak softly into his ear, so quietly he had to strain to hear.
"Where did those marks on your arms come from? Don't you think we can tell?" There was a chuckle in the other boy's voice. "Just be still, Pet. You'll like this…" Rabastan nuzzled his throat briefly, nibbled at his earlobe, and then pulled away, leaving Regulus more confused than ever.
What about his cutting? What was Rabastan implying? He was locked down, fairly immobilized, and it was giving him ideas he was sure he shouldn't be entertaining. Regulus squirmed a little more, just to be difficult, but now he was trying to twist his head, angle his vision so that he could see what the brothers Lestrange were doing. They were sufficiently out of his line of vision, however, and he could only hear soft rustling and Rodolphus's deep, bedroom chuckle.
When they finally swam back into view, both brothers were fully nude. Regulus flushed deep crimson, but not simply because of that. The two were melded together, kissing as if they didn't have an audience. Rodolphus's fingers were teasing the cleft of Rabastan's ass, and the younger boy was trembling, clutching his older brother feverishly in a show of vulnerability and need that he would have found it difficult to believe his friend was even capable of.
Regulus's cock twitched. He simultaneously wanted to see more, wanted to see less, wanted to run away, wanted to participate. Because of the display, it was a long time (or so it seemed with Rodolphus nearly bowing Rabastan backwards over him while they kissed) before the boy noticed his friend had a small dagger in his hand. He held it with the blade carefully flat against Rodolphus's shoulder as they kissed.
It was another few minutes before the brothers pulled apart, breathless and flushed as their attention zeroed in on Regulus. "You liked that, did you?" Rabastan asked with a grin, reaching out to trace Regulus's florid cock with his finger, eliciting a moan from the boy. "I'll bet you wish your brother would do that to you…" he breathed in a stage whisper, and grinned when the boy turned as red as his erection. "Probably the reason for all the cuts," he mused, glancing at his own brother, who gave a short nod.
Regulus gasped when cool metal touched his skin, Rabastan deftly manipulating the dagger against his chest. Feather-light, a teasing touch, and nothing more, so far. It distracted the boy from the embarrassment of having his behaviour scrutinized by these two brothers, who were obviously not at all repressed. He squirmed a little against his bindings, careful not to move so much that Rabastan's hand might slip. Watching the progression of the blade along his body. He cut because it put him in control, when there was so little in his life that he could control. But, he had to admit, it was rather liberating also, to know that, no matter what, there was nothing really that he could do to change what was going to happen, if it did. If Rabastan chose to.
"The Muggles had a martyr," Rodolphus murmured, and Regulus tilted his head back so that he could gaze up at the young man, wide-eyed, as he continued. "They believe that their god had a human son, that he sent to them to absolve them of their sins."
Rabastan leaned in, spoke into Regulus's ear. "He wasn't any son of a god, but the first dark wizard, trying to manipulate the Muggles, the sheep, and in the process deify himself."
Rodolphus chuckled at the almost comical look of shock that stole across his face. The boy's attention was all for him, now, his story. The dagger still flitting along his chest clearly forgotten for the moment. "The Muggles have a book, part of which is devoted to chronicling their 'martyr''s life. It happened quite a bit differently than they wrote it." The young man's smirk was sharp, sardonic. This was the part he really liked.
"Their 'martyr,' our dark wizard, had many followers, and he traveled the land, performing 'miracles,' and gathering strength as more Muggles believed his claims of god-hood. There were twelve in his inner circle, sheep who had proven themselves loyal again and again. They were blind to his true nature, and this was because he performed an archaic form of blood ritual with them, to guarantee that none of them would ever betray him."
And then the young man paused, inclining his head slightly to his younger brother. The boy grinned and gave a single nod. Regulus had missed this entire exchange, but he could not miss its result. Rabastan had turned his wrist, bringing his hand up, balancing the point of the dagger just below the hollow at the base of Regulus's throat.
The boy gasped softly, every last atom in his body focused back on his friend, and on the pinprick of blood that was all that had issued thus far. Regulus had gone very, very still, not wanting to make the dagger slip. His breath grew shallower with anticipation, not sure exactly what the other boy would do, but able to come up with several alternatives. And he still wasn't fully prepared for it when the other boy drew a thin crimson ribbon straight down the center of his chest, down his abdomen, stopping just above his navel.
It had taken all of Regulus's self-control not to buck against his bonds; there were a lot of vital parts of him just beneath that point. The dagger had been so sharp, he hadn't felt the shallow slice, but now that Rabastan had stopped, stepped back to admire his handiwork, Regulus hissed softly as the light, burning sting began.
Though it was undoubtedly pain, it was by no means unpleasant, and once the blade was clear, Regulus stretched, arching slightly off the altar. "Be still," Rabastan told him in a purr, and once he obeyed, the other boy carefully drew a second line of blood, perpendicular to the first, just below his collarbone.
This one was deeper, and Regulus moaned softly when he felt it. Warm blood slipped along his flesh, welling in the dips and curves of lithe young muscles, clinging to the excess oil on his skin but not really mingling with it.
"Our dark wizard, he didn't do it like this," Rodolphus explained in a low, hushed, inherently excited voice. "He sacrificed his own blood, whereas we are doing it for you." The young man licked his lips pensively. "He offered his blood to his inner circle in a goblet, told them it was his blood, and each of them drank of it in turn, believing it had been wine. He did this many times, in an attempt to ensure their loyalty, though the Muggle book mentions it only once." Rodolphus grinned and dipped his head, leaning in to lap up some of the blood and fragrant oil from Regulus's shoulder, eliciting a gasp from the boy that melted into a moan.
"Some Muggles even perform the rite weekly," Rabastan cut in with a low chuckle. "They actually do drink wine now, but the point is that these barbaric fools replicate something they don't even fully understand." Here, the boy ducked his head too, his tongue dipping into Regulus's navel to lap up some blood that had managed to pool there.
It made Regulus's hips buck, to have a warm, wet mouth so close, yet not touching. He felt, more than heard, the other boy chuckle, and then groaned as that meddlesome tongue flicked playfully along the slice in his abdomen, before lapping up excess blood in slow, broad strokes.
He couldn't believe what the brothers were doing (for Rodolphus had dipped his head again and redoubled his efforts along Regulus's collarbone). It was all so very wrong; they were basically feeding on him, and he couldn't deny that part of him was enjoying it immensely. The part of him that was bucking and arching his hips, wishing Rabastan would pay him some attention a little lower.
And then the other boy did that very thing, but it wasn't what Regulus had been expecting. He gasped hoarsely as the oil-slick finger slid into him without warning, his muscles straining and tensing instinctively as his body bucked so violently he would have cracked his head against Rodolphus's if he hadn't been restrained. That young man chuckled, reaching up to drag his finger pointedly through the wound crossing Regulus's collarbone to distract the boy from the discomfort of penetration. It worked, and he was gratified by the sound of a choked whimper as he sought out his brother's eyes.
Rabastan's gaze looked blank, but the elder Lestrange had seen that expression on his brother's face before. "Feels that good, does he?" the man murmured in a low purr.
The boy started just slightly, becoming more aware of his surroundings, though his face lost none of its dreamy lust. "Let me take him?" Rabastan asked in a soft, growling pant. He paired a second finger with the first, and the sounds of Regulus's choked groans quickly swallowed up the harshness of his own breathing.
Rodolphus made a show of thinking about this, leaning down to delicately lap more blood from Regulus's chest, his eyes locked on his brother. He could sense a growing desperation in the boy; his own silence fed it. It was this drawn-out mockery of hesitation that repeatedly prevented Rabastan from realizing that his older brother could deny him nothing.
The boy's agitation, however, was more readily reflected in the body he was preparing. Regulus had only a limited understanding of his own internal anatomy, but Rabastan clearly knew what he was doing, because he was massaging, stroking teasing something within him that had pooled him to jelly to such a degree that he could barely tell how he was bucking, squirming, arching beneath the ministrations. The worst part (or perhaps the best) was the fact that with Rodolphus lapping at his chest, he could not see what the other boy was doing, and that only intensified his responses, his arousal.
The young man finally responded to the question, his lips quirked with mirth. "Certainly you may," he hummed pensively, his voice a little rough. "I still have to complete the story." His dark eyes danced as he watched his brother climb onto the altar, nudging Regulus's thighs apart. "However," he added in a tone that gave Rabastan pause, so that he was still despite the wriggling hips he'd pulled into his lap. "You're going to suck me afterwards, Pet," he purred slowly, and watched the faint apprehension melt from his brother's body only to be replaced by a feral lust seconds later.
Regulus couldn't remember hearing a question, and so had been confused for all of about three seconds until Rabastan removed his fingers and crawled up and between his thighs. Oh… But then the other boy had stilled, and Regulus snarled his frustration, Rabastan's cock brushing enticingly against his inner thigh. He hadn't heard the words that had been the cause for the other boy's stillness; didn't care. These two brothers had driven him mad with lust; he was harder than he could ever remember being, and finally, he felt Lestrange the younger driving shakingly into his body, and his shackles creaked as he strained and arched blindly against them. It was long, white-hot seconds before Regulus relearned how to breathe, and he exhaled the breath he'd been holding in a low, arduous moan. Penetration was good. It hurt, but in the way the wounds across his chest hurt: sharp at first, a dull ache afterwards, but he knew with the proper attention that pain could be built into a pleasure so intense the cause was irrelevant.
Rabastan was breathing quite shallowly himself. He'd never topped before, and the pressure was exquisite. He held himself very still, until he was certain that the least amount of friction wouldn't make him spontaneously come, and then he leaned forward, groaning softly at the subtle shift the movement caused him, and he bent his head to suck hard at the corner of the lateral slice at Regulus's shoulder, eliciting from the other boy a cry that was equal parts pleasure and pain.
"Now, now," Rodolphus couched to his brother teasingly. His eyes drank in their bodies, the way his brother's sweat-damp hair had begun to curl at the ends, the dazed expression on Regulus's face. "Go slowly. I don't want to have to shout over you."
The younger brother nodded, albeit shakily, and obediently began rocking his hips slowly, only working himself in more deeply to start. He gasped softly at the sensation, but made no other noise than that. Regulus, of course, had heard none of the exchange, and let out a moan as the other boy thrust into him more deeply.
Rodolphus idly lifted the dagger from where it had lain, forgotten at Regulus's side, and pressed the flat of the blade to the boy's slightly parted mouth. "Shhh…" he cooed, the sound unthreatening though the gesture obviously was. The young man smirked when Regulus's vision cleared slightly and he had the boy's full attention. "You're not going to interrupt the end of the story, are you?" The boy exhaled an explosion of a gasp as Rabastan shifted within him, but choked off a groan. Slowly, he nodded. And then shuddered, violently, as a wave of pleasure crashed through his body, but he remained obediently quiet, breathing heavily through his nose.
"There's a good lad," Rodolphus teased, and then rolled his eyes up to the high, arched ceiling in thought. "Now, where was I…" He gestured distractedly to his brother, who easily interpreted this for what it was and increased his pace marginally, gasping at the immediate gratification.
"Ah, yes," Rodolphus hummed reflectively, as if every atom of his focus was not upon the two boys. He reached down and began slowly stroking himself, perhaps not even noticing his own actions. "Our dark wizard. Well, it was only a matter of course before other witches and wizards noticed what he was doing. There has been a great deal of conjecture on this, and still no one knows for sure how they did it, but our dark wizard's hold over one of his inner circle was broken. This Muggle, with the aid of countless wizards and witches, brought down the first dark wizard."
The young man's tone had grown rougher, though it was hardly due to his self-teasing. His monologue was peppered with soft gasps, and the slick, wet sound of his brother's thrusts. Through it all, and though the boy's vision was slightly blurred, Regulus's attention remained focused upon him. It made the young man shudder a little, to be watched like that.
Regulus, on the other hand, could hardly think. He was focused upon Rodolphus, of course, and heard the man's words, but distantly. They would be stored away until later, when the boy could truly think about them. Until then, his attention was also divided between the pleasure assaulting his body, and the need not to respond to it, not the way he wanted to respond, at any rate, in a full-throated moan.
He was temporarily lost when Rodolphus continued speaking, blinking suddenly and forcing himself to focus on yet something else, though Rabastan had begun thrusting faster, his abdomen beginning to clench as the other boy lightly stroked him in time with their movements. "In their book, Muggles consider this man a villain, a traitor. His name invites scorn, and our dark wizard, he is their saviour." Rodolphus laughed-a low, rough sound. He was beginning to stroke a bit faster. "Idiots. But, they did, in the end, condemn him to death. Oh, he still had his followers, but many of them had opened their eyes. As much as that lot can.
"The Muggle book is fairly accurate about one thing. He was crucified; the Romans liked doing that. And his body was gone from its final resting place three days later-taken by wizards to be properly disposed of. However, this is what truly feeds into their mythos: They think he rose again. So I suppose it partially our fault that Muggles are so deluded."
Rabastan would have given anything to make his brother stop talking about this; at this point, it was the only thing keeping him from coming. He was nearly pounding into the body beneath him, every twitch and quiver from Regulus eliciting a hiss or whimper from his throat. He wanted to growl and moan, but Rodolphus had already made it clear that wasn't permitted while the elder Lestrange was speaking.
As soon as Rodolphus fell silent, however, his younger brother let out a ferocious groan and somehow found the strength to thrust harder, faster, angling his body to bring Regulus out of silence as well.
Rodolphus didn't stop him, though the boy technically had not been permitted. Rabastan's fierceness was intoxicating; he'd never seen his brother so uncontrolled. He had to still the hand on his cock; he didn't want to finish himself, and he could not imagine getting any harder.
With each hard thrust, pressing, stroking his prostate, Regulus emitted a wordless groan, staring blindly up at the high ceilings. His breathing was ragged, his entire body tense. He was so close he could taste it. And then there was heat, surging into him, and Rabastan's teeth, and the reverberation of a groan into his collarbone, and Regulus's climax was torn from him, raw and writhing. He had nothing to muffle his mouth against, and his hoarse scream echoed, reverberated. Regulus, in his dazed state, thought it seemed as if the air around them shimmered with the sound.
Rabastan had collapsed atop him, but neither boy seemed to notice the smearing of blood across their chests. There was the slightest sting of perspiration in his cuts, but Regulus was awash in pleasure and barely noticed. His muscles slowly began to unwind, and he knew he would ache tomorrow. There was the slightest wince of real pain as he shifted his wrists in the shackles; they were sticky with blood from his prior mindlessness.
The boy started as he was carefully shifted to the side, to make room for Rodolphus to perch on the altar at chest level. The young man gazed down at his brother and Regulus affectionately, his eyes dancing with a mix of amusement and lust. "Aren't Muggles just barbaric creatures?" he teased.
Regulus wasn't thinking completely straight yet and thus missed the irony in the young man's voice. He simply nodded his agreement and let his eyes drift closed as he slowly came down, shivering slightly as his sweat-soaked skin began to cool. The boy's eyes shot open again with a faint gasp when Rabastan unexpectedly moved atop him, shifting to curl up across his brother's thighs, but not yet willing to completely withdraw from the body beneath him. It must have been awkward and at least a little uncomfortable, but Regulus saw no evidence for this in his friend's languid expression.
Rabastan stared up at his brother with sleepy bedroom eyes, lips curled into a contented smirk as he casually wrapped a hand around the young man's cock and began to stroke. He matched the pace Rodolphus had used earlier, showing that he had in fact been paying attention in spite of the fact that he should have been utterly distracted.
The elder Lestrange had been smirking at his brother's kittenish behaviour, but in response to friction and pressure, that expression faltered, quavered away around a low groan as Rodolphus's head fell back in pleasure. Despite its similarity to what he'd been doing to himself earlier, this was far more satisfying, to have Rabastan touching him. And yet… "Your mouth, Pet," he breathed thickly. "I told you earlier you'd use your mouth."
Rabastan could (and would) be defiant where anyone was concerned except his brother. He immediately twisted himself a little further, eliciting a whispery moan from the boy he was still buried within and leaned down to swallow Rodolphus's cock in one fluid motion. There was a brief pause in which he controlled his responses as the man reflexively bucked his hips and choked on a moan, and then Rabastan was bobbing his head on his brother's length, replicating the previous pace of his hand without reservation.
Rodolphus groaned again, slipping one hand into the boy's hair and guiding his brother's movements, urging him faster. "Good boy," he panted thickly, the words nearly mindless. "Very good boy…" He had been fairly together until now, in spite of his arousal at what the boys had been doing. There was absolutely no desire to hold back now.
He didn't warn the boy, and indeed no warning was necessary, when after not very long at all, Rodolphus tensed, quavered on the edge, and then spilled over it as he climaxed with an unintelligible low grunt. It was followed by a low moan as Rabastan reflexively swallowed around him, and then the church fell silent around them, save for the harsh whisper of ragged breathing.
Then, inexplicably, Rodolphus laughed, leaning back to drape himself across Regulus's chest. He turned his face to regard that boy, looking fairly exhausted and yet somehow animated at the same time. "Stick with us, Reggikins, and we will teach you all about Muggles," he told the boy lasciviously.
Regulus, for his part, could not think of a single thing wrong with that idea.
~Fin.
Author: skellywag
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Rodolphus/Rabastan/Regulus
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Bondage, bloodplay, incest. Also, I take a few liberties with some stories from the Bible, so if you are easily offended, you might want to avoid.
A/N: Written for melusinahp for hpvalensmut. Thanks to _tehriah for looking it over for me. Pls to be enjoying the mindfuckery.
Mid-August in London, and it was raining. The air was so thick with humidity that it was difficult to breathe. It was certainly not a day to be out shopping, and most of Diagon Alley reflected that sentiment, though all of the shops were still optimistically open.
They were not to be completely disappointed, as there were a few souls braving the weather, but there was certainly not the bustle that was typically heralded by the impending school year. Among these patrons were three young men, two sharing an umbrella, and the third carrying one that was easily large enough for all of them.
Regulus Black did not like to share, even though the two he accompanied were friends he'd known for more than a decade. Of course, if the other two had wanted him to share, they certainly could have forced him to: Regulus, though sixteen, had yet to have much of a growth spurt, and was dwarfed by the younger of the two brothers beside him by nearly three inches. His slight, willowy frame was perfect for the quick, agile flying required of a Seeker, however, so the only one who ever gave him any guff about it was his older brother, and quite frankly, Sirius Black's opinion wasn't worth very much these days.
Despite the weather, there was the slightest spring in Regulus's step. He was glad that his mother had allowed him to come shopping for his school things with the Lestranges, rather than bringing him herself. It was not that he disliked spending time with his mother, per se, but simply that he was at That Age, and furthermore shopping with the Lestranges involved a great deal more scrutiny of Quidditch gear than shopping with his mother did.
Rabastan Lestrange was Regulus's age and, unlike him, actually looked it. He had an average height and an average build, though narrow in the shoulders and hips. He'd never taken much interest in Quidditch except to watch, and it showed. Especially in the hands.
Regulus's fingernails were short, often blackened, the pads of his fingers roughened with calluses from broomhandling. They were his most indelicate feature. Rabastan, however, had a noble's hands. Pale pink fingernails, not the shadow of any roughness. They could have belonged to a woman.
Appearance belied temperament, however, because Rabastan was as uncouth a pureblood as they came. He had a foul mouth, and even worse behaviour. This was partly due to extremely lax parents, but also, his older brother Rodolphus, who he idolized, was extremely indulgent.
Rodolphus was two years out of Hogwarts, and looked like a more filled-out version of his younger brother. He had grown his hair long, in a dark-brown ponytail that fell midway down his back, as well as a respectable mustache and goatee, in a successful attempt to look more mature, and thus seemed well-advanced of his twenty years.
They had just finished their shopping, and despite the weather all three were reluctant to return to the oppressive presence of Mrs. Black. Therefore, when the three left Diagon Alley, they began a winding and convoluted track back to Regulus's house.
It was only early evening, yet it was darker than it should have been, for the rain. Street lamps were beginning to glow faintly though it was barely eight o'clock and still none of the three was interested in turning back. However, the rain began coming down harder, and Rodolphus turned his two charges, whispering an Alohomora when he was certain no one was around, and guiding them into a darkened, presumably empty church.
Rabastan and Rodolphus quickly set to drying themselves off, the latter also locking the door behind them, but Regulus had never seen anything like this place before and stood staring at the elaborate architecture as he dripped all over the crimson velvet carpeting. Rabastan chuckled ungraciously at his friend's wide-eyed behaviour, causing Regulus to blush faintly, while Rodolphus hastily murmured another drying charm in the boy's direction.
"What is this place?" Regulus asked, drawing himself up haughtily and forcing himself to ignore the awe he still felt, standing in the midst of so much splendour. He lifted his chin, daring Rabastan to laugh at him again.
The brothers shared a vaguely incredulous look, which was wholly missed by Regulus, who was still not-so-subtly staring at their surroundings. A slow smile spread on Rodolphus's lips, and Rabastan skirted around to the other side of Regulus as his brother began formulating his response.
Rodolphus's voice was low and intense when he spoke, and the sound of it instantly drew Regulus's attention from the architecture. "This is what Muggles call a 'house of worship.' Do you know what that means?" He barely waited for the boy to shake his head before continuing. "Muggles truly are heathens. Lower intellect, and no magical abilities. 'S why Mudbloods are such abominations. But anyway."
The young man grinned at his audience, the rapt attention of an attractive and impressionable boy, and his brother, who knew all this already, and was smirking back at him with arms folded. "Muggles, with their low intelligence, cannot wrap their minds around the concept of magic, their so-called unexplainable phenomena. Therefore, they have thought up an imaginary being, to explain away anything they consider remotely extraordinary. They call it 'God.' This is one of the many places they worship it.
"Not only that, but Muggles are so completely unsophisticated that they cannot even agree on how their 'god' thing is to be worshipped, or even upon a single concept of 'god.' Some Muggles even believe in multiple 'supreme power's, showing just how disjointed their logic is. As if the idea of one omnipotent being wasn't ridiculous enough." Rodolphus paused to snort derisively, also taking stock of how his audience was responding to his message.
Regulus was still attempting to process all of this new information. It was extremely difficult to negotiate. Of course he had a natural disdain for Muggles, but it had simply been an unconditional aspect of his education by his parents. Certainly no justification had ever been given or required; Mr. and Mrs. Black found the topic of Muggles distasteful, and apparently for good reason.
The boy looked around again, and what had originally seemed so beautiful and lavish began to look gaudy, tasteless. The polished hardwood of the pews was excessive waste, and the tall stained-glass windows were garish caricatures, depictions of willful delusions. "How do they worship?" he asked, voice rife with borrowed disgust.
There was a pause during which the brothers shared a Look. Rabastan's eyes were imploring, eager, and bright, and there could be no mistaking Rodolphus's indulgent 'if you must' smile in response. And so the younger brother stepped forward, slipping up close to Regulus. "It's actually pretty fascinating, for barbaric behaviour," he murmured. "But hard to explain without demonstration."
Regulus's eyes went slightly wide with realization: Was Rabastan really suggesting what he thought he was? The boy didn't even know what Muggle 'worship' entailed, but he knew his mother wouldn't approve. The idea of it was exciting and taboo and he found himself nodding before he'd fully made up his mind, even.
Rabastan took the other boy by the hands and turned him to face the altar, trying not to grin too widely as he spoke. "The entire focus of this 'religion' of theirs is sacrifice," he murmured softly. On a whim, he leaned in and brushed his lips against Regulus's. "Do you trust me? We need a lamb…"
In the span of barely three seconds, Regulus's thoughts were a blur. He didn't realize until much, much later that the kiss had likely been calculated to set him off balance, and he blinked up at the other boy fairly stupidly until he realized what Rabastan intended by what he'd said.
Regulus was being led up towards the altar. It was fairly unassuming, considering what his friends had said. His heart was racing, and yet the boy knew he did trust his friends. A soft voice in the back of his mind was asking him if that really was the best idea, however…
Rabastan was clearing the altar of candles and decorations, leaving only a deep velvet cloth that covered the elegant hardwood. "Marble would have been a better choice," Rodolphus muttered under his breath as he lifted Regulus and seated him on the altar. Then the man smirked and withdrew his wand, tapping it lightly against the altar, transfiguring it to slate grey, rough-cut marble. "Much better," he chuckled to himself, much to Regulus's curiosity, and then he knelt to remove the boy's socks and shoes.
Regulus watched, transfixed, until Rabastan swam back into his vision, carrying a bowl of something fragrant. The other boy set the bowl at Regulus's hip, and then nudged his knees apart, standing between his thighs, and lifting hands to begin unbuttoning his shirt. Rodolphus had shifted behind him to tug off the article once the buttons were all unfastened, and Regulus could not but be impressed with the concert with which the brothers moved, completely overwhelmed.
Now it was Rodolphus before him as Rabastan shifted behind him, guiding him to lie down on the altar on his back. The older brother's fingers were delicate, brushing so teasingly against his belly that Regulus was unsure if it was deliberate, even as he squirmed under the onslaught of ticklish sensation. And then those fingers were working the button of his trousers, the zipper, urging his hips to arch so the article could be removed, and that sensation was definitely not a tickle, and Regulus's cheeks flushed hot with shame as his body responded before his mind could.
"Wait a minute…" he protested weakly, clutching at the waistband of his pants as they slid to mid-thigh.
Rabastan's hand cupped his cheek reassuringly, and that boy's face appeared before him, smiling. "You wanted a demonstration, didn't you?" Regulus could remember asking for no such thing-he'd asked only a question-but he didn't get the chance to point that out before Rabastan continued. "We begin with an anointing with oil; we can't very well ruin your clothes… Your mother would flay us." But Regulus's stubborn grip on the last of his clothing and dignity had already been waning in the wake of his friend's touch, and when Rabastan pressed him back down onto the altar, he didn't fight it.
The brothers Lestrange stood opposite one another on either side of the altar, gazing down at their offering to a god they didn't believe in. The elder's eyes lit up as they focused upon a few pale scars, running neatly parallel to one another. He traced one with a finger to draw his brother's attention there. Perhaps they could give the boy a full demonstration, then… Regulus remained unaware of this silent exchange, simply drinking in the sensation as he fought to ignore his own nudity.
"The oil," Rodolphus instructed his younger brother finally and Rabastan was quick to obey. He dipped his fingertips into the bowl and began gently massaging the oil into Regulus's skin, starting with the boy's feet and slowly working his way up.
Even having been told what was going to happen, Regulus started at the first touch of wet, lifting himself up on his elbows to watch what the other boy was doing. His feet were slightly ticklish, and he laughed nervously, trying to keep from squirming. It felt strange to have someone else touching his feet and ankles when he did not even spend much time on them, and they were his. And Rabastan's fingers were thorough, making sure not to miss even the tiniest patch of skin with the oil. They were inching up his calves, now, and Regulus bit his lip, inhaling sharply, holding his breath. Those touches felt good, and he tensed beneath the onslaught of sensation, trying not to be obvious, trying to focus upon the 'demonstration,' though he didn't really think that was what this was.
Fingers crept up his thighs, and Regulus's cheeks flamed anew as his body, youthful in its exuberance, responded. He heard the other two boys chuckle softly, but though the sound was hardly malicious by any stretch, Regulus closed his eyes in mortification. But this only intensified the situation, because without being able to see those fingers, where they would go next, the anticipation was maddening. Especially knowing, if they followed their current path, just what they were in line to hit.
However, there was no need for concern there as slick fingers skated up, skirting around both hips teasingly, and then brushed warmly along his abdomen and higher. Though the touches were scintillating, feather-light against his navel, nipples, collarbone, the sense of loss was profound, his hips arching subconsciously to regain some of the sensation they had lost.
"All in due time," Rodolphus teased, his rough callused fingers gently rubbing the oil across Regulus's forehead, down the bridge of his nose, along each cheek, startling the boy's eyes open. And, true to his word, once the rest of Regulus was anointed, Rodolphus spread a generous portion of the oil on one hand and wrapped it firmly around the boy's length, eliciting a groan from both of them.
It was nothing like touching himself, though the callused hand did feel similar to his own. Regulus bucked blindly into the young man's grip, no longer feeling any shame of his behaviour in the face of pure lust. Rodolphus was stroking him far more slowly than he would have himself, and there was the constant worry that hand might stop altogether or even pull away, keeping Regulus right on the edge. Oh, he knew he could have opened his eyes, know exactly what the elder Lestrange was doing (and the younger, for that matter, but he'd forgotten about Rabastan for the moment). But where would the pleasure be in that? He was enduring an exquisite form of torture, and just when Regulus was growing closer, tensing up beneath Rodolphus's ministrations, the hand was gone
The boy groaned, eyes shooting open to stare needfully at the brothers hovering over him. His hips bucked a little, trying to regain that lost friction. Regulus dropped one of his hands down to finish the job himself, and then choked on a sucked-in breath as first one wrist, then the other, was locked into thick shackles above his head he knew hadn't been there before.
Regulus began to squirm and kick, but his demands to be released died in his throat as Rabastan leaned down to speak softly into his ear, so quietly he had to strain to hear.
"Where did those marks on your arms come from? Don't you think we can tell?" There was a chuckle in the other boy's voice. "Just be still, Pet. You'll like this…" Rabastan nuzzled his throat briefly, nibbled at his earlobe, and then pulled away, leaving Regulus more confused than ever.
What about his cutting? What was Rabastan implying? He was locked down, fairly immobilized, and it was giving him ideas he was sure he shouldn't be entertaining. Regulus squirmed a little more, just to be difficult, but now he was trying to twist his head, angle his vision so that he could see what the brothers Lestrange were doing. They were sufficiently out of his line of vision, however, and he could only hear soft rustling and Rodolphus's deep, bedroom chuckle.
When they finally swam back into view, both brothers were fully nude. Regulus flushed deep crimson, but not simply because of that. The two were melded together, kissing as if they didn't have an audience. Rodolphus's fingers were teasing the cleft of Rabastan's ass, and the younger boy was trembling, clutching his older brother feverishly in a show of vulnerability and need that he would have found it difficult to believe his friend was even capable of.
Regulus's cock twitched. He simultaneously wanted to see more, wanted to see less, wanted to run away, wanted to participate. Because of the display, it was a long time (or so it seemed with Rodolphus nearly bowing Rabastan backwards over him while they kissed) before the boy noticed his friend had a small dagger in his hand. He held it with the blade carefully flat against Rodolphus's shoulder as they kissed.
It was another few minutes before the brothers pulled apart, breathless and flushed as their attention zeroed in on Regulus. "You liked that, did you?" Rabastan asked with a grin, reaching out to trace Regulus's florid cock with his finger, eliciting a moan from the boy. "I'll bet you wish your brother would do that to you…" he breathed in a stage whisper, and grinned when the boy turned as red as his erection. "Probably the reason for all the cuts," he mused, glancing at his own brother, who gave a short nod.
Regulus gasped when cool metal touched his skin, Rabastan deftly manipulating the dagger against his chest. Feather-light, a teasing touch, and nothing more, so far. It distracted the boy from the embarrassment of having his behaviour scrutinized by these two brothers, who were obviously not at all repressed. He squirmed a little against his bindings, careful not to move so much that Rabastan's hand might slip. Watching the progression of the blade along his body. He cut because it put him in control, when there was so little in his life that he could control. But, he had to admit, it was rather liberating also, to know that, no matter what, there was nothing really that he could do to change what was going to happen, if it did. If Rabastan chose to.
"The Muggles had a martyr," Rodolphus murmured, and Regulus tilted his head back so that he could gaze up at the young man, wide-eyed, as he continued. "They believe that their god had a human son, that he sent to them to absolve them of their sins."
Rabastan leaned in, spoke into Regulus's ear. "He wasn't any son of a god, but the first dark wizard, trying to manipulate the Muggles, the sheep, and in the process deify himself."
Rodolphus chuckled at the almost comical look of shock that stole across his face. The boy's attention was all for him, now, his story. The dagger still flitting along his chest clearly forgotten for the moment. "The Muggles have a book, part of which is devoted to chronicling their 'martyr''s life. It happened quite a bit differently than they wrote it." The young man's smirk was sharp, sardonic. This was the part he really liked.
"Their 'martyr,' our dark wizard, had many followers, and he traveled the land, performing 'miracles,' and gathering strength as more Muggles believed his claims of god-hood. There were twelve in his inner circle, sheep who had proven themselves loyal again and again. They were blind to his true nature, and this was because he performed an archaic form of blood ritual with them, to guarantee that none of them would ever betray him."
And then the young man paused, inclining his head slightly to his younger brother. The boy grinned and gave a single nod. Regulus had missed this entire exchange, but he could not miss its result. Rabastan had turned his wrist, bringing his hand up, balancing the point of the dagger just below the hollow at the base of Regulus's throat.
The boy gasped softly, every last atom in his body focused back on his friend, and on the pinprick of blood that was all that had issued thus far. Regulus had gone very, very still, not wanting to make the dagger slip. His breath grew shallower with anticipation, not sure exactly what the other boy would do, but able to come up with several alternatives. And he still wasn't fully prepared for it when the other boy drew a thin crimson ribbon straight down the center of his chest, down his abdomen, stopping just above his navel.
It had taken all of Regulus's self-control not to buck against his bonds; there were a lot of vital parts of him just beneath that point. The dagger had been so sharp, he hadn't felt the shallow slice, but now that Rabastan had stopped, stepped back to admire his handiwork, Regulus hissed softly as the light, burning sting began.
Though it was undoubtedly pain, it was by no means unpleasant, and once the blade was clear, Regulus stretched, arching slightly off the altar. "Be still," Rabastan told him in a purr, and once he obeyed, the other boy carefully drew a second line of blood, perpendicular to the first, just below his collarbone.
This one was deeper, and Regulus moaned softly when he felt it. Warm blood slipped along his flesh, welling in the dips and curves of lithe young muscles, clinging to the excess oil on his skin but not really mingling with it.
"Our dark wizard, he didn't do it like this," Rodolphus explained in a low, hushed, inherently excited voice. "He sacrificed his own blood, whereas we are doing it for you." The young man licked his lips pensively. "He offered his blood to his inner circle in a goblet, told them it was his blood, and each of them drank of it in turn, believing it had been wine. He did this many times, in an attempt to ensure their loyalty, though the Muggle book mentions it only once." Rodolphus grinned and dipped his head, leaning in to lap up some of the blood and fragrant oil from Regulus's shoulder, eliciting a gasp from the boy that melted into a moan.
"Some Muggles even perform the rite weekly," Rabastan cut in with a low chuckle. "They actually do drink wine now, but the point is that these barbaric fools replicate something they don't even fully understand." Here, the boy ducked his head too, his tongue dipping into Regulus's navel to lap up some blood that had managed to pool there.
It made Regulus's hips buck, to have a warm, wet mouth so close, yet not touching. He felt, more than heard, the other boy chuckle, and then groaned as that meddlesome tongue flicked playfully along the slice in his abdomen, before lapping up excess blood in slow, broad strokes.
He couldn't believe what the brothers were doing (for Rodolphus had dipped his head again and redoubled his efforts along Regulus's collarbone). It was all so very wrong; they were basically feeding on him, and he couldn't deny that part of him was enjoying it immensely. The part of him that was bucking and arching his hips, wishing Rabastan would pay him some attention a little lower.
And then the other boy did that very thing, but it wasn't what Regulus had been expecting. He gasped hoarsely as the oil-slick finger slid into him without warning, his muscles straining and tensing instinctively as his body bucked so violently he would have cracked his head against Rodolphus's if he hadn't been restrained. That young man chuckled, reaching up to drag his finger pointedly through the wound crossing Regulus's collarbone to distract the boy from the discomfort of penetration. It worked, and he was gratified by the sound of a choked whimper as he sought out his brother's eyes.
Rabastan's gaze looked blank, but the elder Lestrange had seen that expression on his brother's face before. "Feels that good, does he?" the man murmured in a low purr.
The boy started just slightly, becoming more aware of his surroundings, though his face lost none of its dreamy lust. "Let me take him?" Rabastan asked in a soft, growling pant. He paired a second finger with the first, and the sounds of Regulus's choked groans quickly swallowed up the harshness of his own breathing.
Rodolphus made a show of thinking about this, leaning down to delicately lap more blood from Regulus's chest, his eyes locked on his brother. He could sense a growing desperation in the boy; his own silence fed it. It was this drawn-out mockery of hesitation that repeatedly prevented Rabastan from realizing that his older brother could deny him nothing.
The boy's agitation, however, was more readily reflected in the body he was preparing. Regulus had only a limited understanding of his own internal anatomy, but Rabastan clearly knew what he was doing, because he was massaging, stroking teasing something within him that had pooled him to jelly to such a degree that he could barely tell how he was bucking, squirming, arching beneath the ministrations. The worst part (or perhaps the best) was the fact that with Rodolphus lapping at his chest, he could not see what the other boy was doing, and that only intensified his responses, his arousal.
The young man finally responded to the question, his lips quirked with mirth. "Certainly you may," he hummed pensively, his voice a little rough. "I still have to complete the story." His dark eyes danced as he watched his brother climb onto the altar, nudging Regulus's thighs apart. "However," he added in a tone that gave Rabastan pause, so that he was still despite the wriggling hips he'd pulled into his lap. "You're going to suck me afterwards, Pet," he purred slowly, and watched the faint apprehension melt from his brother's body only to be replaced by a feral lust seconds later.
Regulus couldn't remember hearing a question, and so had been confused for all of about three seconds until Rabastan removed his fingers and crawled up and between his thighs. Oh… But then the other boy had stilled, and Regulus snarled his frustration, Rabastan's cock brushing enticingly against his inner thigh. He hadn't heard the words that had been the cause for the other boy's stillness; didn't care. These two brothers had driven him mad with lust; he was harder than he could ever remember being, and finally, he felt Lestrange the younger driving shakingly into his body, and his shackles creaked as he strained and arched blindly against them. It was long, white-hot seconds before Regulus relearned how to breathe, and he exhaled the breath he'd been holding in a low, arduous moan. Penetration was good. It hurt, but in the way the wounds across his chest hurt: sharp at first, a dull ache afterwards, but he knew with the proper attention that pain could be built into a pleasure so intense the cause was irrelevant.
Rabastan was breathing quite shallowly himself. He'd never topped before, and the pressure was exquisite. He held himself very still, until he was certain that the least amount of friction wouldn't make him spontaneously come, and then he leaned forward, groaning softly at the subtle shift the movement caused him, and he bent his head to suck hard at the corner of the lateral slice at Regulus's shoulder, eliciting from the other boy a cry that was equal parts pleasure and pain.
"Now, now," Rodolphus couched to his brother teasingly. His eyes drank in their bodies, the way his brother's sweat-damp hair had begun to curl at the ends, the dazed expression on Regulus's face. "Go slowly. I don't want to have to shout over you."
The younger brother nodded, albeit shakily, and obediently began rocking his hips slowly, only working himself in more deeply to start. He gasped softly at the sensation, but made no other noise than that. Regulus, of course, had heard none of the exchange, and let out a moan as the other boy thrust into him more deeply.
Rodolphus idly lifted the dagger from where it had lain, forgotten at Regulus's side, and pressed the flat of the blade to the boy's slightly parted mouth. "Shhh…" he cooed, the sound unthreatening though the gesture obviously was. The young man smirked when Regulus's vision cleared slightly and he had the boy's full attention. "You're not going to interrupt the end of the story, are you?" The boy exhaled an explosion of a gasp as Rabastan shifted within him, but choked off a groan. Slowly, he nodded. And then shuddered, violently, as a wave of pleasure crashed through his body, but he remained obediently quiet, breathing heavily through his nose.
"There's a good lad," Rodolphus teased, and then rolled his eyes up to the high, arched ceiling in thought. "Now, where was I…" He gestured distractedly to his brother, who easily interpreted this for what it was and increased his pace marginally, gasping at the immediate gratification.
"Ah, yes," Rodolphus hummed reflectively, as if every atom of his focus was not upon the two boys. He reached down and began slowly stroking himself, perhaps not even noticing his own actions. "Our dark wizard. Well, it was only a matter of course before other witches and wizards noticed what he was doing. There has been a great deal of conjecture on this, and still no one knows for sure how they did it, but our dark wizard's hold over one of his inner circle was broken. This Muggle, with the aid of countless wizards and witches, brought down the first dark wizard."
The young man's tone had grown rougher, though it was hardly due to his self-teasing. His monologue was peppered with soft gasps, and the slick, wet sound of his brother's thrusts. Through it all, and though the boy's vision was slightly blurred, Regulus's attention remained focused upon him. It made the young man shudder a little, to be watched like that.
Regulus, on the other hand, could hardly think. He was focused upon Rodolphus, of course, and heard the man's words, but distantly. They would be stored away until later, when the boy could truly think about them. Until then, his attention was also divided between the pleasure assaulting his body, and the need not to respond to it, not the way he wanted to respond, at any rate, in a full-throated moan.
He was temporarily lost when Rodolphus continued speaking, blinking suddenly and forcing himself to focus on yet something else, though Rabastan had begun thrusting faster, his abdomen beginning to clench as the other boy lightly stroked him in time with their movements. "In their book, Muggles consider this man a villain, a traitor. His name invites scorn, and our dark wizard, he is their saviour." Rodolphus laughed-a low, rough sound. He was beginning to stroke a bit faster. "Idiots. But, they did, in the end, condemn him to death. Oh, he still had his followers, but many of them had opened their eyes. As much as that lot can.
"The Muggle book is fairly accurate about one thing. He was crucified; the Romans liked doing that. And his body was gone from its final resting place three days later-taken by wizards to be properly disposed of. However, this is what truly feeds into their mythos: They think he rose again. So I suppose it partially our fault that Muggles are so deluded."
Rabastan would have given anything to make his brother stop talking about this; at this point, it was the only thing keeping him from coming. He was nearly pounding into the body beneath him, every twitch and quiver from Regulus eliciting a hiss or whimper from his throat. He wanted to growl and moan, but Rodolphus had already made it clear that wasn't permitted while the elder Lestrange was speaking.
As soon as Rodolphus fell silent, however, his younger brother let out a ferocious groan and somehow found the strength to thrust harder, faster, angling his body to bring Regulus out of silence as well.
Rodolphus didn't stop him, though the boy technically had not been permitted. Rabastan's fierceness was intoxicating; he'd never seen his brother so uncontrolled. He had to still the hand on his cock; he didn't want to finish himself, and he could not imagine getting any harder.
With each hard thrust, pressing, stroking his prostate, Regulus emitted a wordless groan, staring blindly up at the high ceilings. His breathing was ragged, his entire body tense. He was so close he could taste it. And then there was heat, surging into him, and Rabastan's teeth, and the reverberation of a groan into his collarbone, and Regulus's climax was torn from him, raw and writhing. He had nothing to muffle his mouth against, and his hoarse scream echoed, reverberated. Regulus, in his dazed state, thought it seemed as if the air around them shimmered with the sound.
Rabastan had collapsed atop him, but neither boy seemed to notice the smearing of blood across their chests. There was the slightest sting of perspiration in his cuts, but Regulus was awash in pleasure and barely noticed. His muscles slowly began to unwind, and he knew he would ache tomorrow. There was the slightest wince of real pain as he shifted his wrists in the shackles; they were sticky with blood from his prior mindlessness.
The boy started as he was carefully shifted to the side, to make room for Rodolphus to perch on the altar at chest level. The young man gazed down at his brother and Regulus affectionately, his eyes dancing with a mix of amusement and lust. "Aren't Muggles just barbaric creatures?" he teased.
Regulus wasn't thinking completely straight yet and thus missed the irony in the young man's voice. He simply nodded his agreement and let his eyes drift closed as he slowly came down, shivering slightly as his sweat-soaked skin began to cool. The boy's eyes shot open again with a faint gasp when Rabastan unexpectedly moved atop him, shifting to curl up across his brother's thighs, but not yet willing to completely withdraw from the body beneath him. It must have been awkward and at least a little uncomfortable, but Regulus saw no evidence for this in his friend's languid expression.
Rabastan stared up at his brother with sleepy bedroom eyes, lips curled into a contented smirk as he casually wrapped a hand around the young man's cock and began to stroke. He matched the pace Rodolphus had used earlier, showing that he had in fact been paying attention in spite of the fact that he should have been utterly distracted.
The elder Lestrange had been smirking at his brother's kittenish behaviour, but in response to friction and pressure, that expression faltered, quavered away around a low groan as Rodolphus's head fell back in pleasure. Despite its similarity to what he'd been doing to himself earlier, this was far more satisfying, to have Rabastan touching him. And yet… "Your mouth, Pet," he breathed thickly. "I told you earlier you'd use your mouth."
Rabastan could (and would) be defiant where anyone was concerned except his brother. He immediately twisted himself a little further, eliciting a whispery moan from the boy he was still buried within and leaned down to swallow Rodolphus's cock in one fluid motion. There was a brief pause in which he controlled his responses as the man reflexively bucked his hips and choked on a moan, and then Rabastan was bobbing his head on his brother's length, replicating the previous pace of his hand without reservation.
Rodolphus groaned again, slipping one hand into the boy's hair and guiding his brother's movements, urging him faster. "Good boy," he panted thickly, the words nearly mindless. "Very good boy…" He had been fairly together until now, in spite of his arousal at what the boys had been doing. There was absolutely no desire to hold back now.
He didn't warn the boy, and indeed no warning was necessary, when after not very long at all, Rodolphus tensed, quavered on the edge, and then spilled over it as he climaxed with an unintelligible low grunt. It was followed by a low moan as Rabastan reflexively swallowed around him, and then the church fell silent around them, save for the harsh whisper of ragged breathing.
Then, inexplicably, Rodolphus laughed, leaning back to drape himself across Regulus's chest. He turned his face to regard that boy, looking fairly exhausted and yet somehow animated at the same time. "Stick with us, Reggikins, and we will teach you all about Muggles," he told the boy lasciviously.
Regulus, for his part, could not think of a single thing wrong with that idea.
~Fin.