For storyteller: Death Eater: Third Circle Initiation (Draco/Viktor)

Title: Death Eater: Third Circle Initiation
Prompt: For storyteller, who wanted Draco/Viktor – ice.
Pairing: Draco/Viktor
Warnings: Necro blow job? Cannibalism? I think this is the nastiest thing I’ve ever written. I feel dirty.
Rating: NC-17
Notes: I swear I was going to do something clean, originally; involving ice-skating on the Hogwarts Lake. But no, I’m in far too pissy a mood to do anything sweet.

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Death Eater: Third Circle Initiation
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Draco dips his head, placing both chilled, bone-thin hands on either gelid thigh, and only wonders for a moment if this is at all sanitary.

Viktor’s cold, but that’s to be expected. The surprise comes in the fact that the naked cadaver – dispossessed of identity save for the hooked nose, furrowed eyebrows, and cataract-covered eyes – is surprisingly firm beneath his touch.

He licks his lips and contemplates if wearing gloves would warm the chill seeping from Viktor’s thighs to his hands. Really, he just wants to wear the damned things to prevent the leaping, exuberant micro-organisms from flinging themselves from the corpse to his robes.

Merlin, if death were contagious!

He hesitates again, fighting a rising gorge while inspecting the blue-grey tinge of Viktor’s flesh. The dark thatch of pubic hair nestling an ironically firm, frozen cock does nothing to quell his revulsion at his task.

At least at these temperatures there’s no stench.

Behind him, shaded by a copse of arching pines, Zabini ‘tuh’s’ impatiently.

It’s just the frost covering the hair, he assures himself. No mould or fungus – white-capped and festering. Just frost.

He leans in and flicks his tongue reluctantly against the purpled glans and draws back quickly.

Salt and cold. Draco grimaces in distaste, but returns a little more confidently for a second swipe with his mouth. He expected something much more foul-tasting than the frozen, oddly-flavoured popsicle presented to him.

Gingerly, he slides the organ further into his mouth, and waits for it to warm just enough so that he can sink his teeth in.

He gnaws a bit at first, softening the edges with his incisors. Copper mixes with the taste – a dulled, muted metallic flavour that doesn’t fill his mouth as he expected. Instead, boldly, his lips numb with the effort, he bites down and the appendage tears from its owner roughly.

“It’s about goddamned time, too,” Zabini huffs from behind him. “Let’s get on with it, its bloody freezing out here.” He sniffs and turns on his heel, boots crunching rapidly through the snow as he pulls his furs around him against the cold.

They’ll be waiting for him back at the manor house.

Dully, Draco spits the member back out onto the snow.

It needs ketchup, he thinks without humour, and stands on shaking feet to return for the last and final part of his initiation...

Dinner.