Humid evenings led to nights slept in bare skin. Tossing and turning, sweat glistening on his brow, a sleep ever wished to be dreamless. Visions of torture, screams and pleads, swirling in his mind's eye.
Whimpers of indirect pain. The sounds fade with a sharp inhalation, another sound arising. Moans of sensual pleasure.
Visions of eyes, blood red and wanting, floating in his mind's eye. Caresses felt by phantom hands, arching into the invisible touch, a dream now wished to be reality. The cooling dawn led to drying fluids spilt on flushed skin.
He came to Harry in the autumn.
Curtains drawn, silky shields from outsider's eyes. Gasping as graceful fingers danced upon a supple stage of skin. Strong hands knead his flesh. Fingers tipped with claw-like nails circle a crowned head, scratching lightly. Twitch of the figure standing at attention. Eyes close in ecstasy.
The light dance was interrupted as a heavy weight smothers. Sweet suffocation. Eyes open, seeing nothing. Closed again, feeling everything. His hands skirt down a hard back, clutching ever closer.
The rhythm begins. Pulsing pressure. Shattering. Falling like the leaves of autumn, the wind blowing, carrying him away.
He came to Harry in the winter.
Heat emanated from the lithe body hovering above, pleading silently for closeness, to warn away frigid air. Sliding down slowly, the tip of hardness running down the length of his body, leaving a trail of wetness and gooseflesh in its wake. Settling between spread legs.
Cold pressure sliding along his jawline to meet slightly chapped lips. Biting lips like the biting night chill. Coaxing his mouth open, a serpent tongue laving—inviting, challenging. Tongues duel for dominance. Willing submission rewarded with penetration.
Claiming of mate—joining, shuddering, releasing. Tongue tracing a jagged scar.
Harry came to him in the spring.
The sea of black robes parted to reveal his phantom lover. Whole at last. Crimson eyes burning the soul. Heavenly hellfire. Ever mindful of past pleasure and pain, caress and scratch, lick and bite, love sprung from hate, given and returned. The blossoming of his darkness with the renewal of the spring.
Moving to the dais as the elegant figure glided down, he bowed to his Lord, his love. Feeling that graceful finger under his chin raise his head, drawing him up, and bringing him closer to those intoxicating lips until they met.