Orignally posted May 8, 2007

Title: Not Prepared
Author: regarde (hikaru @ LJ)
Characters: Voldemort/Regulus Black
Rating: R
Warnings: Voldemort in sexual situations, vaguely dub-con. Regulus is 17 or just 18.
Kinks chosen: Face-slapping
Word Count: ~2000
Summary: Regulus goes before the Dark Lord to pledge himself into service.
Author's notes: Way, way creepier than I thought it would be.


There were some aspects of Regulus' life that he had no say in. That's the way it had always been, ever since he had been born. Growing up as the second son in a rich and powerful family meant that he routinely got whatever his brother cast off; once Sirius was deposed as heir, leaving Regulus to assume that role, he found that his mother had mapped out his entire life for him.

Upon leaving Hogwarts, he found that one of his mother's plans included a bit of time with the Death Eaters. Fantastic. His mother assured him that it would only be a short while, as the Dark Lord was sure to quickly prove victorious over all of those Mudbloods and traitors. His family's status had to be restored somehow after Sirius' antics cast doubt on the whole Black clan.

Looking back, many months later, Regulus would realise that his first meeting with the Dark Lord would set the tone for his entire tenure as one of His Faithful.

***

Regulus kneeled before the Death Eaters, just as he was instructed. He kept his head down, eyes cast to the floor in front of him. His hands rested on his thighs, fingers twitching ever so slightly. He was a bundle of nerves and something had to move.

The elder Death Eaters stood in a circle around their newest initiate, a gap directly in front of Regulus, waiting for the Dark Lord to take His place. Regulus could identify a handful of his new co-conspirators just by the glimpse of shoe and robe he could see. Bellatrix was easiest; she was the only one in elaborate heeled boots which seemed to emulate her own peculiar brand of cruelty. Lucius was at the front of the circle, to the left of the gap for the Dark Lord. His dragonskin boots and trademark cane were unmistakeable, and Regulus wondered why Lucius didn't bother to hide his identity any better than he did in this secret circle. The identity of the person to the right of the open space was a bit surprising to Regulus; Snape stood there, still and ramrod straight. Regulus picked him out by the absurdly precise way that he stood; Snape took everything seriously, even standing, apparently. His boots and robes were immaculate, and he didn't move a muscle for as long as he stood. Regulus could see Lucius shifting impatiently from time to time, could see the other Death Eaters being less than mindful in standing at attention. The rest of the lot remained practically nameless in their presentations, from the knees down, at least. Hardly a surprise.

A slight hitch in the breathing of a Death Eater somewhere behind Regulus alerted him to the Dark Lord's approach. The trio of Death Eaters that Regulus could recognise by footwear alone stood stock-still, not even a waver or a twitch of a leg. He envied them, at that moment, because he could feel the tremble start somewhere deep down inside of him, spreading through his body until his teeth chattered and his shoulders shook.

Regulus never heard the Dark Lord approach, but whenever the group encircling him hastily dropped to the collective knee, heads bowed, he knew his new Master was close. Regulus tried desperately to curtail his shivering and leaned forward, forehead nearly touching the cold stone floor.

And then, a pair of boots was in front of him, and the hem of a green-trimmed robe rustled at his nose. He tried to remember what he was supposed to do. The Dark Lord was a man who loved his ceremony above all else.

"My Lord," he murmured, the script coming back to him as he raised his head just enough to snake brush his lips against the hem of the Dark Lord's robe. "Please allow me to serve You." He kept his hands on his thighs, did not raise his eyes above the level of the Dark Lord's ankles, did not touch or think or breathe or move until He said he could.

"Hm," the Dark Lord breathed out, stepping a pace back from Regulus, robes swishing. "Rise," he said, beckoning the young man with his fingers; long, bony things curling and uncurling until Regulus stood, head bowed, hands clasped behind his back, only a slight tremor visible in his clenched fingers.

Regulus didn't know if he was supposed to speak, if he was supposed to do anything. Bellatrix didn't mention anything about standing.

"Look at me," the Dark Lord commanded, fingers outstretched to press underneath Regulus' chin, tilting his head up. The young man did as told, though he didn't dare meet the Dark Lord's eyes. "Do you think," he said, nails pressing into Regulus' flesh, "that simply by throwing yourself before me, that you will automatically redeem your family's sullied name?"

Regulus didn't know if the question was rhetorical or not. He figured that even if he answered, he would probably be wrong either way, so he stayed silent.

The Dark Lord didn't like that.

In a flash, before Regulus even knew what was happening, the Dark Lord dropped his grip on the young man's chin and instead slapped him across the face. Hard.

The blow rocked the unsuspecting Regulus and sent him crashing to his knees. The young man cried out, forgetting the script, forgetting protocol. The hood of his heavy cloak slipped down, and he found himself staring up at the Dark Lord, hand pressed against his burning cheek.

The Death Eaters gasped, collectively.

And the Dark Lord just laughed. Laughed and laughed, a wicked chortle. Regulus was fairly sure that everyone around him had gone completely mad.

"You dare look at me?" the Dark Lord said once the laughter died down. "You bring yourself before me, thinking you can escape my wrath, and then you dare cast your unworthy eyes upon me?"

Regulus nodded glumly. He was so dead.

But then the Dark Lord did something entirely unexpected. He smiled, thin lips pulled back from his teeth in a maniacal grin. "Disperse, the rest of you," he said, waving at the rest of the Death Eaters gathered around. "I shall see to our newest initiate myself."

As Regulus sat huddled on the stone floor, watching the other Death Eaters file out, he started trying to figure out how much longer he had to live. He wondered if the Dark Lord would just kill him on the spot for being stupid and impertinent, or if he'd play with him for a while. Regulus figured it was the latter. He hadn't heard too many positive things about the Dark Lord's giving nature.

The Dark Lord's sharp footsteps echoed in the large room as he walked the perimeter, unnatural eyes boring into Regulus as he moved. He was completely silent for an eternity before the Dark Lord stopped before Regulus, staring down at him.

"Why are you here?" he asked coldly.

"To serve You," Regulus replied automatically.

The Dark Lord crouched before the young man and smacked him across the face again. Regulus tasted blood and bit back a groan. He didn't know what to do! He was giving the right answer. That was the reason you became a Death Eater, wasn't it? To serve Voldemort and his cause relentlessly.

"Try again," the Dark Lord murmured, turning the words into a low purr in Regulus' ear.

"To…" He worried his lower lip, eyes cast to the ground, as he pondered his answer. "To eradicate Muggle filth and blood traitors?" His voice trailed up, turning the statement into a question.

He wasn't prepared, again, for the blow that cracked him across the cheek, or for the hand that planted itself in his shirt, pulling him up off the ground.

He was suspended in midair, not by magic, but by the Dark Lord's grip. Regulus' feet dangled helplessly, toes straining to do more than brush the ground. They were eye to eye, and Regulus found himself drawn in by the smouldering, snake-like stare of his Master. "You," he said, "you were made for greater things than just repeating doctrine, pretty little thing." He shook Regulus, none too gently, as he spoke. "You were made to be doctrine."

Regulus blinked, not understanding what the Dark Lord meant. Par for the course, that; from Regulus' scattered conversations with already marked Death Eaters, it seemed that the Dark Lord generally didn't make a lot of sense these days.

Slowly, he lowered Regulus to the ground, then snaked his arm around the young man's waist before he could get away. The Dark Lord pulled Regulus to him, pressing their bodies together. To his chagrin, he felt his cock twitch and stir, responding to his body's closeness with the Dark Lord, responding to… to something else. Something Regulus didn't quite think he could put voice to. He felt a blush creep into his face, though it was lost behind the reddening in his cheeks from the Dark Lord's assault.

And, worst of all, the Dark Lord noticed. He smiled cruelly, dropping his grip on Regulus' waist to trail instead down the young man's torso. He parted Regulus' robes and cupped his growing erection through his trousers. The Dark Lord squeezed, and bared his teeth in an all-too predatory smile.

"Why are you here?" he whispered into Regulus' ear, fingertips of one hand dancing across his initiate's flaming cheek as the other hand worked at the opening of Regulus' trousers, deftly slipping down to free the young man's erection.

"I-- ah!" He groaned as the Dark Lord's hand gripped him. It was cold, so cold, but he couldn't help but buck up into the hand, his desire to be strong and stoic giving way to youthful exuberance.

"Why are you here?" he repeated, squeezing Regulus' cock as he worked at it. "Tell me why you deserve to be counted amongst my faithful?"

"Because," he ground out through gritted teeth, pressing up into the Dark Lord's hand, pressing their bodies together. "Because I must."

The Dark Lord rewarded him with a backhand to the cheek, and a particularly vicious stroke to the young man's cock. Regulus swayed on his feet, hands instinctively reaching out and clutching onto the Dark Lord's robes to steady himself. He whimpered as he pushed himself into the Dark Lord's touch, the latest blow not deterring him in the slightest. Through the haze of arousal and pain, he thought that he could see just what the Dark Lord was playing at.

Regulus arched his back, speeding up his thrusts into the Dark Lord's palm. Oh, so close. The only thing holding him upright, he swore, was the Dark Lord's grip on him, cock and face, bottom to top, and he thought that if this is what serving the Dark Lord entailed, well, maybe he'd be able to endure it a little better than he thought.

"Why do you wish to serve?" the Dark Lord growled again, stroking Regulus in a particularly vicious way. Regulus groaned and pressed into the older man's touch, the sting on his cheeks and the purr of the Dark Lord's voice low in his ear and the cold chill of the man's hand wrapped around his cock all assaulting him in a manner that was all too much. He thrust, two, three, four times, and came with a shout, falling forward, face pressed into his new Master's robes.

The Dark Lord was silent for a while, and even though Regulus couldn't see his face, he could imagine that the man (half-man? monster? did his humanity really matter now that he'd had your cock in his hand?) was staring at him with that uncomfortable scrutinizing look that he turned on everyone he found wanting.

Silently, he withdrew his hand from Regulus' trousers and took a step back. With one wave of the hand, the entire mess was cleaned up and everything was right again.

"What do you want, Regulus Black?" he asked quietly, hands resting on his hips.

Regulus closed his eyes, breathing in deeply, steadying himself. He knew the right answer, it was there somewhere. "To be who You want me to be," he responded, peering defiantly into the Dark Lord's eyes.

"Ah," the Dark Lord said, staring down at the young man. "I see."

As the Dark Lord raised his hand again, Regulus squared his feet. He was ready this time.