Please kink up my Kristmas with:
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Rabastan Lestrange/whichever male
Kink(s): Drunk sex, dub-con
Anti-Kink(s) (AKA Squicks): Incest
Prompt: Rabastan gets horny when he drinks and always hits on (inserts character here). This time, his offer is taken up.

Lestrange is drunk again. Again – he’s been drinking more since his release from Azkaban than he ever had before, but his habits have remained the same. He’s a glassy-eyed whore after a few whiskeys and always has been; Lucius has been flirted with and propositioned at a string of dinner parties stretching back to before his marriage to Narcissa.

Back then, it had been amusing and irritating in equal amounts. Now, with his marriage to Narcissa crumbling, and all of the Dark Lord’s forces hidden behind the manor’s wards, and both Lestrange and himself working their way through the wine cellar at an alarming rate…it was bound to happen. At least, that’s what he tells himself. It was inevitable.

It’s not at all anything to do with Lestrange’s pretty face and his soft, pouting mouth, and a desire and curiosity that’s been brewing for years.

Lestrange is sprawled invitingly on the drawing room chaise. His robes are undone at the neck, revealing a pale vee of skin; his eyes are hooded, glassy, and he’s watching Lucius from under his lashes with a familiarly hungry stare. He licks his lips in invitation and shifts in his seat, legs parting. The hand that isn’t cradling his glass drags up the long line of his thigh. Lucius swallows.

He’s weak, these days. So very weak.

He crosses the room in long strides, dropping to his knees at Lestrange’s side. He steals his glass and drains it in one movement, whiskey burning its way to his belly as he leans in for a sloppy kiss. It’s wet and hot; a slick peat-tinged mess of a kiss, and it’s the best Lucius has experienced in years. Certainly, the most erotic. Lestrange is eager, moaning into Lucius’ mouth and curling his tongue to lap at his palate. Lucius shudders. He raises his hands to touch the younger man. He traces his fingers down the opening in his robes, caressing soft skin. He suspects that Narcissa knows of his desires – that she’ll know of his adultery – but it’s not enough to make him stop. Not now that he knows what Lestrange tastes like.

“Fuck me,” Lestrange slurs against his mouth, panting between kisses. “Want you. Want it hard.”

According to the things he’s whispered in Lucius’ ears over the years, the drunker his is, the rougher he wants it. Always. Lucius isn’t sure how much he’s had, but it’s clearly more than enough. Lestrange’s tone is pleading, whining. His body arches into Lucius’ touch, and he twists his fingers into Lucius’ hair to pull him closer. Lucius takes advantage.

He urges Lestrange up off the chaise and into his lap. Lestrange laughs softly at the shift in position and grinds down on Lucius’ lap. He’s already hard.

“Want me to ride you?” he asks.

Lucius does, but with Lestrange the way he is, he doubts it would last long. And while Lucius is not in the mood for slow, tender lovemaking, he would at least prefer his partner to not pass out on top of him. He shakes his head. He reaches up to card his fingers through Lestrange’s wild hair, and he tugs - hard - pulling Lestrange’s head. He licks slowly up the length of his throat to the shell of his ear.

“I’m going to help you up, and bend you over. Fuck you so hard you taste it, slut,” he says.

Lestrange groans. His hips roll. “Promises,” he says.

Lucius isn’t good at keeping promises. Not these days. But this one is easy. He shoves Lestrange off his lap and drags him to his feet. Lestrange sways and staggers and giggles right up until the moment Lucius shoves his face against the back of the chaise and uses magic to strip him of his robes and underclothes.

Azkaban leaves scars. So many scars. But despite the alcohol, Lestrange has put on enough weight since his escape that he no longer looks like a walking skeleton. His robes have been hiding a pert, plush arse – one that wiggles invitingly as he spreads his thighs wider and presents himself like a bitch in heat. He’s slurring encouragements into the cushions, begging Lucius to fuck him. To fuck him hard and fast like he’s always wanted, and please won’t Lucius just hurry the fuck up already.

Lucius snorts. He flicks his wand, preparing Lestrange with a muttered spell. He palms the man’s arse with one hand while opening his robes with the other – just enough to get his cock out. He can see Lestrange’s hole, furled and pink and wet with lubricant. He rubs the tip of his erection through the slick, coating himself thoroughly before pressing in. Lestrange moans loudly as his body gives way; his spine arches as he pushes back onto Lucius, driving him in deeper. His hands scrabble at the back of the chaise and Lucius smooths his hands over the expanse of his back, giving him a chance to adjust before he grasps his hips to hold him in place.

He keeps his word. He fucks Lestrange hard and fast; hard enough that his moans and pleas turn to sobs and screams. He stares down at where their bodies join – at the stretched rim of Lestrange’s hole as he takes Lucius’ cock, and at the bruises forming under his fingers. He can hear the wet noise of Lestrange’s erection slapping against his stomach with every thrust, and his belly tightens with lust. He wants this. He wants Lestrange under him, hot and pliant and willing. He wants to know all the ways he can take Lestrange apart and make him scream his name.

He frees one of his hands to twist it into Lestrange’s hair again, dragging the younger man back against his chest. The change in position makes his arse even tighter, and Lucius groans with it.

Lestrange’s face is flushed and tear-streaked, but there’s a smile tugging at the corners of his open mouth. He twists to kiss Lucius, wet with tears and saliva, and Lucius returns it, sliding his hand from Lestrange’s hair to his throat. He squeezes lightly, and Lestrange gasps. Trembles.

“Come for me,” Lucius hisses, squeezing harder. “Just like this. Untouched. Come for me, whore.”

Lestrange chokes. He scrabbles at Lucius’ fingers, gasping for air as his body tightens impossibly. His orgasms paints ribbons of white over the back of the chaise, and Lucius releases his throat to stroke down the length of his chest and belly, and he lets Lestrange flop back against him as he finds his own completion. Lestrange moans at the feel of it, looking up at Lucius with glazed eyes and a languid smile. He’s such a good little slut.

Lucius will have him again. Narcissa be damned, he’ll fuck Lestrange in every room in the damn manor. He needs to.

Wow! This is so hot, thank you! I don't think I've ever actually read breathplay before, but now I quite like it!
Rabastan was just a perfect little whore and pairing him with Lucius was brilliant! I liked the dynamic between with the teeny hints at the rest of the story.

Ah, that was delicious. Loved the premise of the correlation between drunkenness and how hard he wanted to be fucked. Both the hairpulling and breathplay were wonderful, too. Great job!

Oh, god. That was brilliant. I have nothing more than that. That was brilliant, and I love it, and I love your Rabastan. Just delicious.