The Right Kind of Wrong
Notes: A long, long time ago, my friends and I were idly chatting about what the most fundamentally wrong type of fanfic would be. We came up with “twincest basilisk rape”, less on the basis of any actual scale and more on the grounds that, hey, the phrase was fun to say and the image made us want to bleach our brains.
Well, my friend schreibergasse has just made a donation in exchange for – you guessed it! – a twincest basilisk rape fic! (This was an offline request, if you're wondering.)
Here you go, Schreib. I feel dirty.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: NC-17 (at least)
Warnings: Um… twincest basilisk rape. I think that about covers it. Oh, and bondage.
Summary: I just… I don’t even… twincest basilisk rape, guys. Nothing I say is going to make this make any more sense!
Fred Weasley slipped off the last of his clothes and took a moment to glance down at the bound figure in front of him. “George?”
“Mmm?” Fred’s twin slung an arm around his waist from behind, pulling his brother flush against his bare chest, and ran his tongue cheekily over Fred’s ear.
“You’re sure this is – you know.”
“Oh yes.” George’s reply was offhand, but there was that grim edge to his tone, the one Fred ordinarily loved. It usually meant that whoever was about to get pranked richly and utterly deserved it. And that might, in fact, be the case here… but still, Fred found himself hesitating.
Oh, he knew all the arguments. That their victim had, after all, tried to kill their younger brother and sister, and that wasn’t a privilege Fred and George were about to extend to anyone besides themselves. That the bound figure was lucky the twins had found him in that chamber years ago and painstakingly magically revived him in the first place. That his life was, therefore, essentially theirs. And then there was the big one.
“This is how wizards can control them,” George had insisted. “It was in that book. It’s either Parseltongue, or it’s this. And we’re no Parselmouths. If we can do it, we break him, and he has to obey us. Just think of what it would mean for the shop – Merlin, think what it would mean for the war – if we had a source of basilisk venom on tap!”
George repeated none of those arguments now, but he draped himself over Fred’s shoulder and breathed, “So…?” against his neck in a way that suggested all of them.
Fred just nodded.
The basilisk thrashed as they drew nearer. He could smell them – that was important. He didn’t have much leeway to move: his body was encircled with heavy iron rings every few feet, and from each ring, two or three massive chains ran straight into the floor. Enchanted bindings blindfolded his eyes and clamped his mouth shut, but left just enough room for the basilisk to wriggle his tongue out to smell the air. After all, they had to make sure that he had some way of identifying, and later remembering, the wizards who were dominating him.
George knelt beside the panicked serpent, and began stroking his pale belly lightly with one hand. With the other, he pulled Fred down beside him, grabbing his brother’s hair with affectionate roughness and kissing him. Fred moaned, and let George guide his hands to the basilisk’s hide. Here, uncomfortably close to the great serpent’s lashing tail, the scales were far softer and more delicate than the twins would have imagined. The warm, smooth texture was like fresh parchment, and it felt...
“It actually feels good,” Fred breathed, stretching out next to the basilisk and looping one arm around him. The serpent bucked, trying to throw him off, and Fred gasped as the basilisk’s body curled and pressed against him.
George settled himself on the basilisk’s other side, and together, the twins kept up a steady rhythm of cradling and petting the creature. Gradually, the basilisk became sluggish, its attempts to tear free more and more halfhearted. Then, just as the twins were beginning to worry that they’d lulled it to sleep, it began to writhe again… but not in the same way. In fact, Fred could swear that the basilisk was arching up into their touches.
The basilisk licked the air frantically, and let out a muffled hiss; and under George’s hand, something gave and parted.
The twins watched in silence for a moment.
“Oh! They’ve got two?”
“I’d forgotten that! That was in the book, too. It’s whatchamacallit. Bifurcated.”
Their eyes met.
“Perfect!” they said in unison, and grinned.