A/N: This story was sent out into the world many years ago and has only recently made it back to me. I post it here so that it doesn't get lost again.
Warnings: This fic was written as drabble, so it is under 500 words. Also, it is AU, which is readily apparent, I think.
It would have been better to die. He was going to die anyway, but it would have been much better if he had died quickly, landing on the spike traditionally in the center of an oubliette.
Trust Lucius Malfoy to be the kind of prick ungracious enough to remove the spike entirely.
He had wanted heat. Nothing so simple as heat from a crackling fire or heat from the sun. No, Harry wanted the dry, smooth heat of another person, of skin against skin. His master never gave him such heat. No, Lucius was always so very distant, cold, clinical.
Harry could feel the heat radiating off Lucius and he arched towards it, needy with lust, but was never rewarded with the satisfaction of that flawless skin against his. Desperate, he went to the next source of human warmth.
His master's son.
It had been so sweet- the first time Draco's bare skin had touched Harry's. It had been feverishly hot and Draco's skin slid past Harry's effortlessly, his weight resting on Harry almost completely. Even his kisses burned and Harry mewled softly as his mouth was ravaged by the searing heat.
He couldn't recall how many times he sneaked into Draco's room, using feline grace to slip in unnoticed and nuzzle Draco awake, breathing in the heat and the clean scent of Draco. Grey eyes would flutter open. Harry would beg in a sweet whisper for Draco to take him. And Draco always gave into Harry. Not that he had much of a choice. He was addicted to the hungry green eyes, the sinfully compliant mouth and the soft sounds that escaped Harry's throat.
It was heaven until Lucius caught them.
That had been Harry's fault.
He couldn't help it.
Really.
Draco had looked unstained and in dire need of a ravishing, but then Draco always did look innocent in white. And he was so very pretty in the role of debauched innocent. How was Harry supposed to know that Lucius hadn't gone very far?
Lucius had been livid when he caught his two favorites- the prize he worked so hard to soil and the son he had succeeded in keeping relatively pure- writhing in ecstasy on his Persian rugs. More than livid, really. Murderous is a better term.
Harry had been cast down into the darkness. The ground was hard, but the fall was not serious enough to kill him. Screams drifted down to Harry's ears. Harry recognized the voice as Draco's. No doubt Lucius was busy carving out a new slave.
It was bitterly cold.
Harry shivered and then looked around. It would have been better to die quickly.
Even though this story is old, reviews are still appreciated!
Love,
J. Silver