Title: A Game of Win or Loss
Author: elfflame
Characters: Kingsley/Rabastan
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Dub-con
Kinks chosen: Dungeons and Sex in the workplace (sort of)
Word Count: 1921
Summary: The more risk in the game, the more Rabastan likes to play.
Author's notes: A bit of a follow-up to a drabble I wrote here. For Ceria and Wolfish_cat, who are responsible. And thanks to both of them for help in writing it. :)



Rabastan views everything in his life as a win or a loss. It’s easier that way. He lost his brother to that Black bitch, though he frequently wins him back again for a night or two. It’s even more fun when he can grin in her face the next morning. He knows his brother hates it, but it doesn’t stop him.

Kingsley Shacklebolt has been another loss. Oh, he’d tried to get the other boy under his spell in school a few times, and even once or twice since, but he’d had no luck. There was just something about him Rab couldn’t break through.

So having him here now, bound hand and foot to a wall of a small Muggle warehouse, makes the moment all the more sweet.

“It really is too bad, you know,” Rab says with a wide smirk.

Shacklebolt doesn’t answer. He hasn’t spoken a single word since Rab took his wand and bound him to the wall. Rab can’t let himself hand the man over to his fellows until he gets an answer—he has to break him first; to show that he is the stronger of the two. Until then, he won’t call his backup.

“Such a brave Auror. And an member of the Order. It will be a shame to see you die. I imagine they’ll give you to Macnair, so that our Lord will get every snippet of information you know. Likely even the location of the Potter brat, and whatever he is up to. Do you truly think a teenage boy can win against the Dark Lord?”

The look Shacklebolt gave him clearly said, ‘What makes you so sure he won’t?’

This would not do. It was infuriating. “You think I won’t turn you over to him?” Rab asked with a glare.

That actually got a snort.

Rab backhanded him, then grabbed his face, making those deep brown eyes meet his own. “I will break you, then hand you to him on a silver platter, ‘Royal,’” he sneered.

The narrowed eyes were a victory to Rab.

“Did you truly think we didn’t know who any of you were, just because you used pseudonyms? We’ll take great delight in taking all of you apart one by one to learn just what you know. And then we’ll kill you all slowly in front of the boy so that he has to watch—so that he can learn just how great his folly was.”

“We’re not scared to die. Or we wouldn’t fight you in the first place, Lestrange.” Shacklebolt’s voice was rusty. Obviously one of Rab’s hexes while they had battled had found its mark.

“No? Even if it means you have failed him? Because I assure you, you have. You will die, and he will die after you, and we will be victorious.”

“Perhaps if you say it enough, you will believe it?” Shacklebolt said mildly, his rough voice catching at a few of the words in a way that Rab was sure meant he was trying not to cough.

“I am a true believer. One of his most important supporters. I will be like a prince when this war is done.”

“A prince is not a king,” Shacklebolt said. Rab heard the smirk more than saw it.

“It is power enough,” Rab purred. Time to change tactics. If he wanted to get a rise out of Shacklebolt, perhaps he should do just that. He knew how to make men pant for him, after all. Shacklebolt was surely no different… His hand loosened on the man’s chin, then stroked down his neck. “If you asked me nicely enough, I might even keep you for a pet.”

There was a flicker of something in Shacklebolt’s eyes, but it was gone too fast for Rab to interpret. “I’m no one’s pet. And I don’t beg.”

“Oh, you will,” Rab said with a grin. “Because I want you to. And I will get what I want…” His hand stroked down over the man’s chest, watching his face to see if there was any reaction.

Shacklebolt went silent again, but Rab didn’t mind so much. There had been a flash of discomfort that time, he was sure of it.

“You’ve wanted this, haven’t you? Since you interviewed me about the Longbottoms before throwing me in that hellhole when we were younger? You were panting for it.”

“I don’t…pant,” Kingsley said, his voice breaking as Rab’s fingers stroked over the distinct bulge in his trousers.

“No? What is this, then?”

“Natural hormonal reaction.” The words were a growl.

“Really? So if I were, say…that Umbridge troll…you would react the same?” Rab asked, squeezing him not-so-gently.

Shacklebolt managed to restrain the gasp, but Rab could see it was a near thing. “Possibly.”

“Hardly,” Rab purred. “You’d be flatter than a pancake, and softer than a deflated balloon. I think you like this,” he said, smirking once more. “I think you want more.” He squeezed the man’s cock through his trousers again, and heard the intake of breath. “Should I open your trousers? Is that what you want?”

Shacklebolt went silent again, but Rab knew he would win this battle. It would only be a matter of time.

“Come now. You know you do. And I know you do. Why pretend otherwise?”

“Because it annoys you?” And how in the hell did he suddenly sound so calm? There was a spark of amusement in his eyes that made Rab’s anger flare.

“Say it,” he growled.

“I would never agree to anything a Death Eater might say.”

The words were odd, to say the least. Not defiant. But almost as though they were a hand reaching out. But Rab could never agree to those terms. Not while that bitch had her hand around his brother’s neck. Not while they were winning the war. “Then I shall have to find another way, won’t I?”

“Is that really all you know? How to force others?” Shacklebolt still sounded far too calm.

Fury sped through Rab, and he squeezed Shacklebolt once more. “No one has ever been forced to my bed.”

“So this doesn’t count, then?”

“No. Because I can feel how much you want this,” he said, his hand curling tighter around the much firmer bulge. “Want me.” Shacklebolt had gone determinedly silent. He didn’t appear to be biting into his lip, but Rab imagined it was a close thing.

Shacklebolt’s head went back against the wall, and his eyes closed. Rab wasn’t going to allow him the luxury of imagining someone else. He grabbed the man’s neck, pulling his face forward, and squeezed. “Fuck,” Shacklebolt growled, his eyes popping open.

Rab smirked. “Is that a request?”

“Why? Are you offering your arse?” Shacklebolt’s words were dark with an emotion that Rab wanted to believe was lust.

“I don’t bottom.” Not to most people, anyway. There was one. He’d never allowed the privilege to anyone else.

“I don’t either,” Shacklebolt smirked. “Too bad. Guess that’s an impasse…”

“You don’t think I could make you want it?”

“No.” And suddenly, Shacklebolt looked completely unruffled, as though he were merely waiting for a bus. Damn the man, anyway.

The only thing Rab could think of to change things in his favour was to lean in and catch the man’s lips in a kiss. What he hadn’t expected was to be caught himself; the electric touch of their lips pinning him where he stood, his body pressing against Shacklebolt’s even as the man took control of the kiss, despite his restraints.

Without conscious thought, Rab began to unbutton Shacklebolt’s trousers, pushing them out of the way, and glorying in the groan from him as he wrapped his fingers around his gratifyingly long and thick cock. He tried to push back the greedy thought of what it might feel like to have that cock inside him, Shacklebolt over him as he fucked him in harsh, deep thrusts.

Even now, he could feel that leashed power in Shacklebolt’s thrusts into his hand, and he couldn’t resist taking a bit of that pleasure for himself. He quickly unbuttoned his own trousers, pulling out his cock, then wound his hand around them both, delighting in the growl that pulled from Shacklebolt, and his sudden struggle to get free.

“Want something?” he whispered with a smirk.

Shacklebolt snarled at him, his hips thrusting forward against Rab and into his hand. “You know,” he panted.

“Tell me.” Rab felt elated. He’d won. “Tell me what you want.”

“Let me free, and I will show you.”

Shacklebolt’s eyes met Rab’s. He’d never shown such an outpouring of emotion before in Rab’s memory. The Auror had always maintained a cool, unruffled exterior, even at Hogwarts. It had driven Rab mad. Now, seeing him like this…it set him on fire.

And when Shacklebolt spoke, his words added fuel to the flames. “I want to fuck you against this wall. Pin you there and fuck you hard until you’re bloody and screaming and unable to ever feel anything but my cock inside you again,” he snarled. “Until all you can think of is having me again. My cock. My hands. My lips. Even your brother will be a poor substitute after me.”

The words were enough to push Rab over the edge, and his forehead dropped to Shacklebolt’s shoulder as the tremors of his climax ripped through him. He dug his teeth into the mass of muscle under his lips to hold back his cry as he came, and delighted as he felt Shacklebolt pulse against him as well, adding the fluid of his own sticky climax to Rab’s.

It was only after he recovered himself that Rab fully understood Shacklebolt’s words. He did his best not to let his confusion and worry show as he debated with himself what the best solution would be.

To distract himself, he cleaned them both up with a wave of his wand, then rebuttoned their trousers before turning away, still lost in thought.

If Shacklebolt knew about he and his brother, and it sounded as though he did, there was no way he could allow the man anywhere near Bellatrix. If the two were to talk… It would be disastrous. If he told her, it would confirm the suspicions he was sure she had. She would never let him be alone with his brother again. And if she learned that he had done this with Shacklebolt… What if she told Rodolphus?

No, he couldn’t allow it. Which meant that he had two options. To kill Shacklebolt, or to let him go.

Even as he turned back to the man, he wondered at this odd streak of mercy he had not known he possessed. He raised his wand, incanting the spell, and watched as the man’s bonds disappeared.

It was almost worth it, seeing Shacklebolt’s shock.

“Get out of here. Before I change my mind.” It was confusing. This had started to feel like a win. But now, knowing that Shacklebolt would leave, it felt far more like a loss than if the man had never spoken at all.

Whatever he’d expected, it wasn’t to have Shacklebolt step close and pull him into a bone-melting kiss. When he recovered from his shock, the other man was gone.

Taking a moment to straighten his clothes, Rab did his best to pull himself together. Time to go back and do his best to lie. His last thought as he Apparated to Malfoy Manor was that his Lord would not be in attendance tonight.