(no subject)
So, I'm not sure where this came from. But this is my Rabastan, back when he was a misogynist, anti-sex geek. He just happens to be slashed with Evan. This isn't necessarily Kimmie's Evan, and I'm only saying that because I'm fairly sure that if I did, this would be a really off characterization. Anyway, here it is.
Rabastan has never had any friends. He’s not certain what he’d do with them if he had them. It’s just the way he is.
Rodolphus says Rabastan reminds him of an ascetic - he takes pleasure in nothing except pain, if you can call what he experiences pleasure. He devotes his body, soul, and life to the Cause, mainly because he hasn’t any other use for it, and he can’t find a better one. It’s just the way he is.
He pointedly avoids what he likes to call “the licentious sins of the flesh.” (He uses too many words - it’s another reason people despise him. Formality, pretension; people think him a snob.) He has never been kissed and never plans to be, as women are a necessary evil and men are not to be considered in such a way.
He squirms at physical contact, as though his sense of touch is magnified and a mere hand on the shoulder sends waves of shock and revulsion through his body. It’s just the way he is.
Evan likes to see Rabastan squirm. He hates the bastard - he has money, he’s intelligent, and won’t shut up about his superiority. And the wall Rabastan has up is impenetrable. Evan doesn’t like walls. It’s just the way he is.
It starts one day, when Evan’s had enough and shoves Rabastan, who looks astonished and smooths his robes. Then Evan presses him to the wall and hurriedly presses his lips to Rabastan’s.
Rabastan’s eyes are still open, in shock - he pushes at Evan, in vain, as Evan seems to be prepared for such retaliation - Evan presses him to the wall - he moves against Evan in hopes that it’ll push him away.
Evan does not recoil. In fact, he enjoys it. He breaks away from the fierce kiss, if you could call it that, and takes a ragged breath. “Like that?”
“No,” Rabastan says honestly, quickly, not caring about facades so long as Evan is right there, so close, and his personal space is like the atmosphere after lightning, charged and tense and waiting for an explosion that will never come.
But Evan’s found something he likes, and it’s hard to dissuade Evan from something he likes. Rabastan, the ascetic, suffers it, but never responds to it. It happens over, and over, and over.
It’s just the way they are.
Edited to add: Steph demanded more, and who am I to disagree? Anyway, I owe her this, so. Bellatrix/Rabastan, soon after the breakout in OotP.
The Lestranges are more excitable now than they ever have been - their freedom is intoxicating and they're rediscovering the world, a blade of grass at a time. Even more is that they are free and so is their Lord, their Master, the man-god who made them something beyond human. They are his archangels, wielding the Unforgivables as their flaming swords, casting the traitors down as the sinners they are.
Rabastan finds Bellatrix sprawled happily in the grass. This has been her main joy. There is nothing organic in Azkaban, just stone, Dementors, and the disembodied cries of those you once knew and loved. The atmosphere of Azkaban is so tuned that nearly every inmate can feel a living being enter.
It requires a lot of self-control for the newly freed Death Eaters to control themselves. Touch, smell, colors, all these things are intense sensations after being deprived for so long. Bellatrix has been one of the worst.
"Bellatrix," he says calmly, sitting beside her as she strokes the grass as though running her fingers through the earth's hair.
"Rabastan," she says after a pause.
There's nothing to say after that. They can feel the buzz of human thought, of existence in the air, and they lift their heads as though attempting to tune into a direct line.
He strokes her hair, and she closes her eyes. For a moment she imagines that he can read her thoughts, that by touch they become one, but, no. Only their Lord has that power.
He strokes down through her tangled dark hair, down her back, watching the action as though fascinated, like his hand is an independent being. Her shirt - a man's shirt, one of those they found in the house that they've been hiding in - is untucked, and his hand touches her bare back. He jerks away, in surprise, in the memory of what human - female - flesh feels like.
She looks up at him, almost reproachfully, and rolls over, sitting up.
He wastes little time in kissing her, and together they delight in each little sensation as - it seems to Rabastan - they meld together and become some sort of strange amalgamation of them, one that doesn't care about vows or children or indecency.
They stare up at the night sky. Rabastan's last thought before he falls asleep, Bellatrix nestled against his chest, is that the stars look like the glitter of tears in the eyes of the angels, for a world corrupted.
Rabastan has never had any friends. He’s not certain what he’d do with them if he had them. It’s just the way he is.
Rodolphus says Rabastan reminds him of an ascetic - he takes pleasure in nothing except pain, if you can call what he experiences pleasure. He devotes his body, soul, and life to the Cause, mainly because he hasn’t any other use for it, and he can’t find a better one. It’s just the way he is.
He pointedly avoids what he likes to call “the licentious sins of the flesh.” (He uses too many words - it’s another reason people despise him. Formality, pretension; people think him a snob.) He has never been kissed and never plans to be, as women are a necessary evil and men are not to be considered in such a way.
He squirms at physical contact, as though his sense of touch is magnified and a mere hand on the shoulder sends waves of shock and revulsion through his body. It’s just the way he is.
Evan likes to see Rabastan squirm. He hates the bastard - he has money, he’s intelligent, and won’t shut up about his superiority. And the wall Rabastan has up is impenetrable. Evan doesn’t like walls. It’s just the way he is.
It starts one day, when Evan’s had enough and shoves Rabastan, who looks astonished and smooths his robes. Then Evan presses him to the wall and hurriedly presses his lips to Rabastan’s.
Rabastan’s eyes are still open, in shock - he pushes at Evan, in vain, as Evan seems to be prepared for such retaliation - Evan presses him to the wall - he moves against Evan in hopes that it’ll push him away.
Evan does not recoil. In fact, he enjoys it. He breaks away from the fierce kiss, if you could call it that, and takes a ragged breath. “Like that?”
“No,” Rabastan says honestly, quickly, not caring about facades so long as Evan is right there, so close, and his personal space is like the atmosphere after lightning, charged and tense and waiting for an explosion that will never come.
But Evan’s found something he likes, and it’s hard to dissuade Evan from something he likes. Rabastan, the ascetic, suffers it, but never responds to it. It happens over, and over, and over.
It’s just the way they are.
Edited to add: Steph demanded more, and who am I to disagree? Anyway, I owe her this, so. Bellatrix/Rabastan, soon after the breakout in OotP.
The Lestranges are more excitable now than they ever have been - their freedom is intoxicating and they're rediscovering the world, a blade of grass at a time. Even more is that they are free and so is their Lord, their Master, the man-god who made them something beyond human. They are his archangels, wielding the Unforgivables as their flaming swords, casting the traitors down as the sinners they are.
Rabastan finds Bellatrix sprawled happily in the grass. This has been her main joy. There is nothing organic in Azkaban, just stone, Dementors, and the disembodied cries of those you once knew and loved. The atmosphere of Azkaban is so tuned that nearly every inmate can feel a living being enter.
It requires a lot of self-control for the newly freed Death Eaters to control themselves. Touch, smell, colors, all these things are intense sensations after being deprived for so long. Bellatrix has been one of the worst.
"Bellatrix," he says calmly, sitting beside her as she strokes the grass as though running her fingers through the earth's hair.
"Rabastan," she says after a pause.
There's nothing to say after that. They can feel the buzz of human thought, of existence in the air, and they lift their heads as though attempting to tune into a direct line.
He strokes her hair, and she closes her eyes. For a moment she imagines that he can read her thoughts, that by touch they become one, but, no. Only their Lord has that power.
He strokes down through her tangled dark hair, down her back, watching the action as though fascinated, like his hand is an independent being. Her shirt - a man's shirt, one of those they found in the house that they've been hiding in - is untucked, and his hand touches her bare back. He jerks away, in surprise, in the memory of what human - female - flesh feels like.
She looks up at him, almost reproachfully, and rolls over, sitting up.
He wastes little time in kissing her, and together they delight in each little sensation as - it seems to Rabastan - they meld together and become some sort of strange amalgamation of them, one that doesn't care about vows or children or indecency.
They stare up at the night sky. Rabastan's last thought before he falls asleep, Bellatrix nestled against his chest, is that the stars look like the glitter of tears in the eyes of the angels, for a world corrupted.