evandar: (Voldemort)
Title: At the Altar
Author: Evandar
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Romance
Pairing: Lord Voldemort/Rodolphus Lestrange
Warnings: Infidelity
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I am making no profit from this story.
Summary: Rodolphus doesn't just serve his Lord; he worships him.
AN: This was written for the [livejournal.com profile] rarepair_shorts 2015 Ficathon.



His wife would have the world believe that she is their Lord’s favourite. She stands high above the others, in truth, honoured with the gift of one of their Lord’s greatest treasures, but even then she is one of a number and so he feels no envy towards her – nor even towards Lucius or pretty little Regulus. Bella may cradle that golden cup to her breast when she thinks that no one is watching, and may guard it with all of her strength, but there are others their Lord has trusted with his possessions; Rodolphus is the only one he trusts with his body.

And what a body to be entrusted with…

His Lord is long-limbed. His papery skin stretches bone-white over his skeletal frame. Others may find him fearsome, but Rodolphus sees only beauty in the tracery of blue veins and the sharp angles of his joints, and he has spent hours following them with fingers and tongue. Indeed, when they have hours instead of stolen moments – in the times when his Lord calls him to his private chambers – Rodolphus labours over every touch as if it were a benediction. He unwraps his Lord slowly from the shroud of his robes and kisses every inch of him.

Only he sees the Dark Lord like this: his red eyes heavy-lidded and glowing with lust. Only he gets to feel the Dark Lord’s fingers in his hair and the weight of his cock on his tongue; only he gets to taste him and to hear the soft, breathy hisses of his pleasure.

His Lord is not a considerate lover. He takes and takes and takes as is his due - all that Rodolphus can give him – and he never gives. But that, he supposes, is the price one must pay for touching greatness. One would not expect a god to turn from the sacrifice left in his honour and worship its servant in return; so Rodolphus never expects more than, perhaps, a gentle caress to his hair before he is sent from his Lord’s sight and made to return to his other duties.

Made is the wrong word. He serves his Lord with a quiet passion and devotion – he, unlike his wife, sees no purpose in proclaiming his eternal servitude when he can show it instead – and every task he is given he completes with confidence. He may not have the raw power of his wife, but he has wit and cunning, and a love of lore and ancient spells that he shares with his Lord. He knows the limitations of his magic well and so endeavours to expand upon his knowledge so that he might wield his mind in service to his Lord as well as his wand and body – and because of this, he is his Lord’s favoured one: his Lord trusts him to do his bidding in all things. He trusts him always to succeed, and for his Lord, there is nothing Rodolphus would not do.

But still. Still. His tasks, no matter how important, pale in comparison to the manner in which he truly worships his Lord. On bended knee, mouth open and eager to receive his sacrament.

To allow him this, the Dark Lord is truly benevolent.
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