FIC: Famille (Draco/Death Eaters)

Title: Famille
Author: Becky M_____
Pairing: Draco/Voldemort, Draco/Various Death Eaters
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 611
Warnings: dubious consent, some het, incest, xenophilia, rimming
Summary: Draco strikes a bargain for his father’s sake.
A/N: Inspired by one of Switch’s sample fantasies from the Pornish Fantasy Fest poll: Death Eaters/Draco; a drugged and perpetually aroused Draco is used in a gang bang.



“I can help you,” she said, her dark eyes made smoky with kohl. There was a subtle smile at the edge of her red lips as she pressed the tray of cakes toward him, a smile that sent shivers down his spine. This woman, he thought, was more serpent than his Ravenclaw mother could even imagine, with fangs that pierced deeper than even his lost father’s. He could get lost within her gaze, as alien as the Dark Lord’s was said to be.

“I can help you, nephew,” she repeated, a blood red nail drawn slowly along his cheek bone. “But not if you don’t finish your tea.”

Mother really should have warned him about Auntie Bella.

~*~*~

Eyes. Red eyes. His world began and ended with a pair of red slit-pupil eyes and the caress of scales against his cheek, a forked tongue parting his lips and claws: red hot pain down his spine as they parted the flesh of his back. Someone’s tongue lapped against the open wounds. He didn’t know whose. He didn’t know whose mouth caressed his cock, tongue and lips setting him to shudder and jerk, mewling helplessly into that lipless slit of a mouth as he spent himself down an unknown throat.

He was hard again within moments and the eyes were filled with knife-edged laughter. A flick of that black tongue against his ear and a hissed series of words that reverberated through his very bones: IamLordVoldemort. The tinkling, shrieking laughter of his aunt filled the air and he looked down: uncles, cousins coupling on the floor beneath his raised body; his aunt’s red fingers flat upon his belly.

“Will you take us—” she began and her words were cut off as Macnair mounted him; he’d recognize the feel of those calloused hands anywhere: they’d carried him enough as a child. He cried out then, tears filling the corners of his eyes at the unfamiliar sensation: none of his careless games with Pansy—nor even his hot, dark, unwilling dreams of Potter—could have prepared him for this. Another mouth was swallowing him: Mulciber’s perhaps, if the Bishop’s dark skin were any indication. He threw his head back and howled.

Another took him after Macnair: it was hard for him to keep track of the faces, familiar and unfamiliar. His uncle took him once, Rodolphus, while Rastaban sucked him down and a freckled young man who looked like he ought to be a Weasley muffled his cries with his tongue. “I want him back too,” the not-Weasley whispered into his ear and that sent a ray of hope coursing through Draco’s body: perhaps he wasn’t doing this for naught.

He was on the floor finally, sucking down any cock that presented itself, the not-Weasley stroking his hair proprietarily, when his aunt pushed him down on his back, impaling herself on his rigid member. “Will you take us,” she murmured against his lips, her pendulous breasts pressed against his chest, “for your own? Take us for your family, be one of us?”

“Yes,” he hissed, his hands rising to take hold of her shoulders. “Yes” as he pushed her onto her back, as not-Weasley parted the cheeks of his arse and thrust his tongue in, at the same time as his cock: “Yes.”

The Dark Lord claimed his mouth again then and all went red when the fangs sunk into his wrist.

~*~*~

“Was it worth it?” his aunt asked afterward, as he traced the black skull on his arms with wondering fingers. “For your father’s sake, was it worth it?”

“Yes,” he replied, looking up into her unblinking eyes. “It was worth it.”