Rabastan awaited Friday with mounting anticipation. He didn't know what he expected from his impending meeting with the Dark Lord, only that he had been struck by his charm and poise, and that Rabastan didn't believe that anyone had ever said that they had heard about him before. Maria and Joseph – probably rightly – preferred to focus attention upon Rodolphus, and Cygnus Black…
What could Cygnus Black possibly have had to say about him?
Rabastan scarcely knew Cygnus. Oh, of course he knew him, but he didn't have any real relationship with him. He didn't talk to him when he could avoid it.
On Friday night, Rabastan – clutching the Dark Lord's address in his hand and shaking with anticipation – made his way down the stairs and poked his head into the parlour. Maria was sitting by the fire, one hand upon her stomach, reading a book, and Joseph was sitting in another chair and staring intently into the fire.
"I'm going out for the evening," Rabastan said quietly. It felt very strange to say it – he had never gone out anywhere before. He was too delicate for it. And where would he have gone?
Maria made a small noise of acquiescence, but Joseph turned and fixed Rabastan with a piercing stare.
"Are you?" he asked, quite sharply. "Where are you going?"
"The Dark Lord has invited me to his home," Rabastan told him. He straightened up and tried to look as important as the knowledge that the Dark Lord wanted to see him made him feel.
Joseph held his eyes for a long moment, and Rabastan's chest tightened. Was he going to say that Rabastan was not to go? He couldn't!
"Be back before midnight," Joseph said, turning away again, and Rabastan sighed with relief.
"I will." That gave him six hours – surely more than enough for the Dark Lord to say all he had to say to him. Rabastan bowed out of the parlour and glanced in the looking glass one more time. He had spent the entire day studying his reflection, trying to determine what the Dark Lord would see when he looked at him. Would he see a boy who had simply tried to make himself look presentable, or would he see a man, a real man, who was respectable and perhaps even a touch handsome?
No, certainly not that. Rabastan wasn't handsome, not like his brother, no matter how he tried to look like Rodolphus. He practiced the small, polite smile that Rodolphus wore so well, but he could not make it look anything but dreadfully forced. Rabastan's shirt and trousers hung from his thin frame so terribly that he looked like he was wearing clothes half a dozen sizes too big for him.
He looked like a child.
The Dark Lord would think him a child.
Rabastan hesitated in front of the looking glass. Perhaps it would be better not to go. He could spare himself the humiliation that would surely ensue. The Dark Lord would not take him seriously – no one did, no one but Rodolphus…
But he couldn't just not go. Turning down an invitation from the Dark Lord was simply unacceptable.
So he breathed deeply and glanced down at the address one more time, then Disapparated.
The address that the Dark Lord had given Rabastan was a flat in London – in a neighbourhood that Rabastan knew was far from the sort of opulence that he would have expected from the Dark Lord – and he had spent a long time mulling over it and wondering why the Dark Lord would choose to live there. Was it, perhaps, a flat that he only used to accept visitors? Perhaps only visitors that did not deserve real respect…
Stop thinking like that!
The door of the apartment building was open – hanging off its rusty hinges, in fact, and Rabastan was glad, for he did not want to touch it. It looked dirty. Dirtier than anything he had ever seen.
He glanced down at the slip of parchment again, then started up the stairs, trying to avoid putting his hand on the railing or the wall.
Thank God that the room only on the second floor, Rabastan thought. His heart was already beating uncomfortably quickly, and he didn't think that he would be able to stand more than one flight of stairs.
He raised his hand to knock, but his knuckles hadn't even made contact with the door before it creaked open.
"Ah, Rabastan. So lovely to have you."
The Dark Lord looked, if possible, even more exquisitely beautiful to Rabastan than he had when he had been at the wedding. The early evening sunlight lit the room behind him and surrounded him like a halo. Rabastan could see the same glint in his eyes that had been there earlier, and he felt a little shiver run through him.
He inclined his heat. "Thank you for having me, my Lord."
"Do come in." He held the door open wider. "And have a drink – I have some wine. Do you drink, Rabastan?"
No. No, he did not. Wine turned his stomach and gave him terrible headaches. But what would the Dark Lord think of him if he said that?
"A little," he said, inclining his head. "Wine would be excellent, my Lord."
"Sit." He indicated a thin sofa against the wall of the flat. "I'll pour the drinks…"
Rabastan perched nervously on the edge of the sofa and glanced around. The flat was very small – he should have expected that from the neighbourhood, but it was still far more modest than Rabastan could have ever imagined anyone living in. Evening sunlight filtered through a pair of plain grey curtains that looked as though they had been mended several times by hand – very neatly, but still mended. Maria would never have tolerated even a single round of mending in anything that the Lestranges owned. It was new curtains or nothing with her.
"Here you are…" The Dark Lord sat beside him and handed him a wine glass. Rabastan lifted it to his lips quickly, taking a sip. He didn't know anything about wine, but it didn't taste entirely unpleasant to him.
"What did you want to see me about, my Lord?" he asked, lowering his glass and chancing a glance at him.
"Oh…" The Dark Lord took a sip from his own glass of wine. "You intrigued me… the things that Cygnus Black said about you intrigued me." He lowered his glass, catching Rabastan's eye and holding it. "And I believed that you might be of… help. To me and my cause."
"To- to the Death Eaters, my Lord?" Rabastan's throat was dry and he sipped his wine hastily, hoping that it would make him feel better. "W- why did you think that? If you'll pardon me asking, my Lord…" He ducked his head, cheeks flaming. How could he be so stupid? "I cannot imagine Cygnus Black saying anything in my favour…"
"Oh, he didn't." The Dark Lord shook his head, swirling his wine lightly in his glass. "He said that you were immature… weak… unintelligent, and not worthy of his daughter's hand."
Rabastan could have died of humiliation. How dare Cygnus say such things about him – and to the Dark Lord! The mortification was unbearable. Rabastan felt tears stinging his eyes and hastily gulped at his drink.
"Why did you want to see me then, my Lord?" he asked. His voice cracked – damn it! And now the Dark Lord would know how upset he was, and how dreadfully childish… he would know that Cygnus was right about him. He downed the rest of his glass.
"Because I don't believe him."
Rabastan choked on his wine. He coughed and the Dark Lord set his own glass aside and put one hand on Rabastan's back, rubbing it slowly. The intimacy of the gesture came as a fresh shock to Rabastan. He swallowed, then said, barely managing a voice above a whisper, "D- don't you, my Lord?"
"I don't." He leaned close to him, his hand slipping away from his back and his eyes fixed so intently on Rabastan's that it felt as if he could see straight into his soul. "I don't believe you are weak. I believe that you are very… very strong… and simply haven't had a chance to learn to express it yet."
"I… I don't know what you mean, my Lord–" Rabastan shied away automatically, but the Dark Lord's hand shot out and his fingers wrapped around his wrist.
"Look at me."
He lifted his eyes again, near shaking with nerves.
"I could teach you to be strong, Rabastan," he breathed. "I could train you."
"I- I don't understand…"
"I want you to be a Death Eater, Rabastan." He ran his thumb across his wrist. "I want you to work for me… with me."
"I… I couldn't…" Rabastan was beginning to breathe heavily. The muscles in his legs had begun to twitch. He curled his toes in his shoes and bit the inside of his lip. "My Lord, I would be- I would be a terrible Death Eater… you should have my brother instead…" It hurt him deeply to have to say it, but he knew that Rodolphus would be a superior Death Eater. Rodolphus would always be superior.
"I don't want your brother, Rabastan." He was leaning closer, ever closer, and Rabastan could feel his breath on his neck. "I want you. I believe that you could achieve great things, far greater than him…"
"Do you really?" He felt so stupid asking it, but he couldn't believe that a man as great as the Dark Lord would ever take an interest in him.
"I do… I do…"
"I… could never… be better than my brother…"
"I don't believe that's true," he murmured. "And if you'll only let me prove it to you…" He released his wrist and Rabastan opened his mouth to respond, but before the words could come to him, the Dark Lord's hand was on his thigh and his words turned to a sharp gasp.
"My Lord!"
"You've never had a man before, have you?" The Dark Lord's eyes flicked back and forth across Rabastan's face, reading it like a book. "You've been with women and they make you feel weak…"
Rabastan bit his lips and tongue, silencing himself. This was no suspicion, this wasn't somebody thinking they knew how he felt. The Dark Lord did know. How he knew, Rabastan couldn't have said, but that was it. He knew Rabastan's most intimate desire, the desire that inspired so much fear in him…
"Do you want to have a man?" the Dark Lord breathed, then shook his head slowly. "No, you don't need to answer; I know that you do. Now, my question is…" His fingers skimmed Rabastan's thigh, stroking it with feather-light touches. "If I give you what you want, will you give me what I want? Will you join me, Rabastan?"
Yes, oh yes!
"Yes," Rabastan whispered meekly. "I- I would like nothing better than to s- serve you, my Lord."
His eyes gleamed with what could only have been satisfaction, and then Rabastan let out a quiet gasp as the Dark Lord's lips pressed firmly against his.
"I was so hoping that you would agree…" he murmured, voice low and gentle. His hand pressed against Rabastan's crotch and Rabastan thrust his hips forward automatically, catching his breath. The Dark Lord's hand felt so much better than Andromeda's ever could have…
The Dark Lord's hand moved away and Rabastan jumped, afraid that he had done something wrong, but a fresh sigh escaped his lips when he saw the Dark Lord's hands move to the fastenings of his robes. He could feel himself hardening, his trousers too tight now, and his breath came in gasps.
The Dark Lord was as thin as he was.
No, not quite that thin, he thought, as he watched the other man shed his robes. But very, very thin, almost skeletal, and yet he made his frame look so terribly handsome…
"Undress, Rabastan – I'm not going to do it for you." Rabastan thought he heard a touch of contempt in the Dark Lord's voice – oh, please, let that be his imagination – and he hurried to take off his clothes. He could slip his shirt off over his head – rumpling his hair, but surely that wouldn't matter – but his fingers fumbled over the buttons on his trousers. Fresh humiliation choked him while he tried in vain to undo them.
"Oh, here…"
The Dark Lord's hand moved to the buttons and Rabastan could not help but let out the tiniest of moans. His body tensed when he felt the Dark Lord's fingers wrap around him.
"It's good, isn't it?" he breathed in Rabastan's ear. "A man knows what another man wants better than any woman could…" He stroked him slowly, firmly, and Rabastan's back arched.
"Harder, my Lord," he whispered – begged – and then whimpered in frustration when the Dark Lord's hand moved away. "W- what are you doing–"
"My God…" The Dark Lord's lip curled and Rabastan's stomach twisted. What had he done now? "Don't you how men…"
"Yes, I know how men have- how men- yes, I know how!" Rabastan sputtered indignantly.
"Good," he hissed. "Then get your trousers off. I can't have you with them still on."
"I- I thought…"
Thought that you would.
Rabastan's voice trailed off and he ducked his head. It would be better not to say anything that might annoy the Dark Lord. He didn't want to risk ruining things…
He struggled out of his trousers and his breath caught when the Dark Lord placed one hand on his chest and pushed him flat onto his back on the sofa. A tiny moan escaped Rabastan's lips and every muscle in his body tensed.
"It will hurt…" the Dark Lord murmured. Rabastan felt his fingers prodding at him, gently, skilfully. "If only for a moment…"
"T- that's all right…" he whispered, but he interrupted himself with a sharp gasp when one finger slid inside him. "Ouch!"
The Dark Lord laughed softly, an almost dangerous, predatory sound. "You act as though you've never been touched here before – oh, haven't you?" he added when Rabastan averted his eyes. "Haven't you ever… touched yourself here before?" He was working another finger in, and it did hurt. Tears were coming to Rabastan's eyes. He must have been tearing him open…
"If you can't take this, we aren't going to get anywhere tonight…" the Dark Lord whispered. "Is that what you want? Do you want to stop?"
"No!" Rabastan shook his head wildly. "No, I don't – please, my Lord… I can…" He spread his legs a little and breathed deeply, trying to relax his muscles. "I can take it."
"Good…" He pulled his fingers out slowly and Rabastan winced, but didn't say anything. His eyes moved over the Dark Lord's body and his chest heaved with anticipation.
"P- please hurry, my Lord," he whispered breathlessly. "Please…"
"Be patient…" There was a touch of mockery in the Dark Lord's voice, but he leaned over him and pressed his lips firmly to his. His hands pressed Rabastan's thighs apart, his fingers tightening on his legs. "And breathe deeply."
"I- I am…"
Then the Dark Lord thrust into Rabastan and all thoughts of relaxation – of breathing deeply, of being patient, of being aware that it would hurt – disappeared.
"Oh!"
Rabastan felt like he was being torn in half and his body jolted up against the Dark Lord's. He clenched automatically, but didn't have time to relax or adjust to the feeling of having a man inside him before the Dark Lord thrust again. Rabastan's eyes blurred over with tears.
"It hurts!"
"Don't be so weak." The Dark Lord's voice was husky and breathless and he didn't slow down at all. Rabastan dug his nails into the sofa cushions and struggled to take deep breaths, struggled to relax every muscle that had tensed when the Dark Lord took him. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes to hide the tears of pain.
"Oh… it really is hurting you, isn't it?" The Dark Lord's voice turned softer, gentler, and Rabastan felt his lips brush against his throat. "Now, now, it's all right… you feel good, Rabastan." Rabastan's eyes flicked open as the Dark Lord's hand slid up his chest and along his throat. "So good…" he repeated in a tense whisper, and then he brushed against something inside Rabastan and all the pain went away.
A cry tore itself from Rabastan's throat and he arched into the Dark Lord's thrusts. "M- more…"
"Oh, that's the spot, isn't it?" His voice caught. "You may put your hands on me, if you like…"
Rabastan didn't need telling twice. He clutched him desperately and dug his nails into his back and let waves of pleasure wash over him. The Dark Lord felt incredible – so strong and forceful, so much like how Rabastan imagined Rodolphus feeling…
Rodolphus.
The thought of his brother sent a fresh, sharp stab of arousal shooting through Rabastan's lower body and the next thing he knew, he was covered in something warm and sticky and the Dark Lord was half-collapsed on top of him, breathing heavily and trembling.
"Oh… my Lord…" was all that Rabastan could say, and the Dark Lord silenced him with a finger on his lips.
"You," he whispered, "are going to serve me so well, Rabastan."
"I- I will try, my Lord…" His voice was shaky, but he didn't feel weak. He didn't feel near-emasculated the way he had after he had been with Andromeda. He felt wonderful.
The Dark Lord slid off Rabastan, but kept his arms around him. Rabastan hesitated briefly, but when the Dark Lord did not pull away, he dared to curl a little closer to him, nestle in his arms the way he might nestle in his brother's.
His body ached with exhaustion, and with the force of what the Dark Lord had done to him, and he stifled a yawn. The Dark Lord's touch was warm and comforting, safe in a way that no touch except Rodolphus's had ever been, and Rabastan felt his eyelids drooping.
Be back before midnight, he remembered his father saying, but the memory had barely crossed his mind, and certainly not had time to register, before he was asleep.