Disclaimer: This story has nothing to do with the Harry Potter series, I completely placed these character situations very much out of character. I just write.
;warning: the situations are odd, draco and harry are out of character, drug use and the usual, I was odd when I wrote this;blame hormone situations. You might find this offending.
Your Stitches
The sheets tangled around his feet. A stupid smile fixed itself to his lips as he remembered that he was not alone in his bed-ridden state. He turned to look at tonight's companion, silver hair and frozen lashes. And if it were possible, his mouth upturned into a beam.
He turned back his eyes and stared at the wall. How do you do lovely wall? He asked mentally, smiling a bruise at the cracked state of it. He was so happy. Not that sweet quick happiness that made you sigh. Not the sugar-coated empathy you shared with someone new. Just the kind that came with a cruel slap of satisfaction and self-sacrifice. And it made him happy to be bruised, to be used and broken, to be something that he should have never been, at least he was with him. Oh well, that's what you get for falling in love. But even if the pain was starting to climb higher up his body, he kept that smile.
The bed groaned sharply. His night chum was waking up. His smile grew smaller and more complete and he turned to look next to him. Silver lashes withered open, revealing common gray eyes staring at the ceiling before closing again. Arms rose and stretched quickly so that the snaps echoed around the room, sickeningly sweet. Gray eyes opened and started at the ceiling again, contemplating the next words and how to make them hurtful. Gray eyes turned to meet widespread green and a sated smile.
His sneer was twitching into place before he even thought of it. Those small fingers rose to trace his pale cheek-bone, but he swatted them away. The hand froze for a minute, as did green eyes flash a little, before the smile grew more in understanding and the hand fell onto the dirtied covers. Another sneer and he lifted his body away from the bed hurriedly, he was already late for the Death Eater meeting. He didn't care for modesty, his body didn't need to be covered in front of knowing green eyes shinning with lust and growing pain. He smirked and reached his splattered black robes, searching through his pocket. The clink of coins ricocheted about the room; he took out two solid gallions just for the fun of it and threw them on the bed.
He knew that his escort had been worth more, his body would certainly agree, but he also knew how much it would hurt the boy. And who ever said that he had to be nice to paid help? He continued ignoring the silent creature lying on the bed as he dressed. The Dark Lord wouldn't be too happy, but why should he care, he was his right-hand man after all and got all the good treats such as fucking the prisoners and manic-depressive dinner parties. The boy on the bed moved a little, his legs feeling too heavy for his small frame, moving his feet onto the ground with hopeless care. His dark hair falling over his eyes, no longer wearing stupid glasses but they themselves seemed like glass. His small puckered lips twitched, but he smiled still, those pained nerves wanting more.
The golden coins sneered at him so from their placid place on the sheets. He looked up slowly and watched his costumer get dressed promptly, every move indicating his aristocratic hypocrisy. He smiled a little more, always smiling, never frowning. He reached under the bed and found the cardboard box; slowly pulling it out and setting its small mass on the bed. Inside, his small nimble fingers shuffled through what seemed like normal rubbish, looking for the obvious needle or thread of life.
"Satisfactory lay, Potter. Definitely not the best, but hardly near gratifying. See you tomorrow, I've got enough time for a quick shag before I leave." And then the door shut and there was silence. The boy on the bed hardly noticed it at all, too busy searching for something in that box of oddities. He was smiling broadly when he pulled out a tightly packed parcel and flopped it open from the twinge string. The contents sprawled lovingly over the covers. Chalked razors and pretty syringes were his best friends in this world. They loved him and he loved them as much as he loved Draco, but the only difference between Draco and his lovelies was that Draco didn't give a shit about him, he was just a face and quick fuck, but to them…they loved him and smiled at him and held him closed in a warm cocoon of addiction and warmed him with their poison. If happiness would never come to me the natural way, he mused cheerfully as he prepared the right amount needed for injection, might as well insert happiness in me since I'll never have it real.
Hey, life was what you make of it. Not the other way around.