Burning

by Gravity of Darkness

A/N: By popular demand, (if two people can count as popular haha) I wrote the companion drabble to On Madness and Ecstasy... Hope you like. I don't own HP unfortunately.

I feel like a depraved mad man as I watch the hauntingly beautiful fire of addiction blaze a path of temptation around me; its seductively alluring flames creeping closer to my heart. But I cannot stop it, the flames have already risen so high out of my control, consuming everything in its wake of passionate destruction and leaving the burnt and desolate husks of whatever stood in its way. In my moments of blunt honesty, I admit I do not want to stop it; I desire to be consumed by the beautiful fire, the one that burns green like your damned beautiful Avada Kedavra green eyes.

It's all your fault, really. I was fine, living my sham of a life, residing in the house that very well-near hemorrhages dark magic with even darker memories and with a wife who is nothing more than a pretty stranger, because it was expected of me to do so. I would have been content living my illusory life of materialism and shunted aristocracy, it was what I was raised with, and I would have been content - not happy - but content. But you just had to rip the illusion to shreds, didn't you, Potter? You're like a parasite that worms its way into the human body and just stays there, living off of the host until neither of you can function without the other any more; like a fucked up symbiosis. My mind and body have completely been altered, no longer able to experience anything but numbness in my current reality, instead I ache for your touch; your madness that is beyond this earthly realm of sobering misery. Perhaps I am just as mad as you, Harry.

And yet, I cannot find myself to be concerned about this revelation.

You are a virus; you infect every cell of my body and become my lifeline, dominating my every thought and function. I cannot breathe if you are not the air that fills my lungs, I cannot sleep if your warmth doesn't encase my skin like a living, breathing cocoon and I cannot feel if you do not inspire me to.

You're my personal cancer.

And I cannot imagine a life torn away from you, you who became the most basic and necessary essence of my pitiful existence.

I would die before I lose you.

I would welcome the macabre delirium of your darkness, if only to join you in it.

I would welcome insanity, if it meant my mind can deteriorate and corrode with yours.

I would tear myself asunder, if only to see your eyes flash with that manic, possessive glint that sets my heart ablaze.

I want you to consume me, Harry.

And I tell you so, as I arch my body back with my flesh exposed to the heavens , your mouth leaving blazing trails of longing down to my aching desire. I enjoy watching you claim my body in every way; your eyes tinged with a darkness that only makes them more enticing and seductive, bringing me closer, dangerously close, to the precipice of pleasure and delirium. I live for the exhilaration that only you can give me, and I gladly open my heart, lungs, and legs to the darkness that permeates your very existence. Nothing drives me to ecstasy more than the sight of you giving into the siren call of madness and plunging me into the abyss with you. So I cry for more, I cry for you to take me over and over again until my orgasm makes my toes curl and my brain overload; even though every time I scream your name, your eyes grow darker in your descent to madness.

Every time your fingertips ghost across my sensitive flesh, the barrage of heat and lust assaults me and becomes so unbearable that my insides melt in the pool of agonizing desire that yields to nothing but the fulfillment of the darkest wish of my soul and body; to become one with you, in every sense of the word. I burn for you to sate my soul's hunger; to thrust into my ready body, make me beg for more, and drag your nails and teeth across my heated skin and fill me with your pulsing essence so that the universe knows exactly who I belong to.

You always leave marks afterwards, little proofs of our love that Astoria never questions anymore; she's far too used to the beautiful, chaotic patterns of purple are perpetually present on my neck, the ones that so clearly define the depths of your integration into my soul. She knows , beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I am not hers, and that perhaps I never have been. She doesn't acknowledge the darkness either; the one that tinges my gray eyes nearly black, the final step of my life away from normalcy.

But it's okay, I don't want to be normal. I want to devour and be devoured by you, so that our very nuclei synergize in an unholy communion of debauchery and overindulgence that even the divine, lewd God Bacchus would seethe in envy with. We will be one entity, forever in the throes of bacchanalia and Dionysian frenzy, existing eternally between the gaps of infinity, in a cycle of madness, desire and agony as the universe stands timeless and still around us. I want nothing more than the darkness to infect us; encompass the very crux of our being in pleasure and agony until the end of everything, I want you to delve under the folds of me in deranged frenzy until we're the Gods of each other. I can never exist without you again, so will you devour me now, My Love?