A/N: I make no excuses for myself. I wish I could tell you why I wrote
this, but I can't. This contains a lot of dark stuff and is set in my own
bizarre little universe in which Tom Riddle is Lucius Malfoy's minion. This
is also slash, so if you're faint-hearted and very anti homo, this is not
your scene.
***
Lucius wasn't breathing. Tom had checked twice now. The spell had said that the caster would be 'rendered like unto death.' He didn't think that Lucius would actually die. Tom searched for a pulse. There was none. Lucius was definitely dead. A feeling of panic surged within him and his breathing turned rapid and increasingly shallow. Quite suddenly the feeling died, replaced by the vague sensation of worry. His fingers moved absently over Lucius's cold lips. What if Lucius didn't wake up? The question brought on a mixture of fear, dread, and hope? Tom tried to shake the thought away, but it only sunk its hooks further into his soft, besotted brain. What if this boy- this fiend with the face of an angel- didn't wake up? He could never hurt Tom again with harsh words and hard, icy glares in sharp contrast to hot kisses and- Tom pulled at his hair as if he could find the idea growing there and yank it out.
Tom's gaze fell upon Lucius's face and a breath caught in his throat. His hands went slack and fell to his sides. "That beautiful?" asked a cold voice in his head.
"Yesyesyes. Beautiful. Love him," was the response, fierce and immediate. The voice laughed.
"How can you possibly love a monster?" Tom flinched at the visceral wrongness of the question, but the voice continued. "Every time he takes you, he burns you. He submerges himself deep inside you and rips out your heart, leaving you to bleed to death with wondrous puppy eyes. How many times does he kill you in the space of one night?" Tom was torn between horror at this revelation and a strong wave of arousal at the memory of Lucius inside him. His hand swept along the curve of Lucius's jaw.
"Haven't you ever wondered what would be like to be the one buried inside him?" Tom snatched his hand back, clenching it into a white-knuckled fist.
"He'd never let me," replied the boy meekly.
"Not normally, but now…"
"I couldn't," Tom thought as his traitorous hand slipped inside Lucius's shirt, caressing the soft, unblemished, icy flesh.
"Who's to stop you?"
"I can't!" Tom shook his head vehemently even while he hardened at the thought. Lucius's voice came to him, luscious and taunting:
"When are you going to learn to eliminate the word 'can't' from your vocabulary?"
"No time like the present," said the voice in his head silkily. Tom leaned forward and kissed his dead lover's lips, silencing the voice immediately.
What surprised Tom the most was the lack of warmth. Lucius had cast the spell maybe an hour ago and he was already cold. However, Tom found it very appropriate since the only warmth Lucius ever showed him was the destructive fire that began with brutal caresses and ended with showers of bitter rain. His tongue traced the sharpness of Lucius's teeth and pressed against the immobile blonde's palette. There was no response, no movement of protest.
Fighting down the revulsion he could taste in the back of his throat, he unbuttoned Lucius's shirt. He suckled his lover's nipples feverishly, imagining to himself that Lucius was alive and caring and responsive in way he had never been in real life. Maintaining that delusion with admirable tenacity, he unbuckled Lucius's pants, his lips moving along the sharp, shocking curve of the blonde's hipbone.
Tom no longer noticed the cold. Indeed, it seemed that Lucius's skin was warmer, though the color was still gone from his face and he looked like a marble statue- the fond dream of a lonely artist. Talented certainly, but mad to carve such detail, to make someone fall in love with the shadows golden eyelashes cast on ivory cheeks or the fine lines in cupid's bow lips. "Mad. Mad. Mad. " Tom thought to himself, landing butterfly kisses upon Lucius's face. An offering to the deceased god. Laughter tinkling like shards of glass upon tile. Tom's laughter. Dark, helpless laughter. He straddled Lucius's body, burying his face in the juncture between Lucius's neck and shoulder. His hands wandered absently, mapping the planes and curves that defined Tom's world. His face grew heated, a combination of shame and desire.
Framing Lucius's face in his hands, Tom kissed Lucius again, freezing as he felt something hard and cruel on the back of his head. Tom was harshly yanked back by his hair. Tom's eyes widened in horror as they lit upon the face of his now-breathing beloved. The smile on Lucius's face was soft, maniacal. "Tom," he said, his voice a husky reprimand. "If you wanted a corpse, all you had to do was ask." He laughed at the confusion on the orphan's face and let his tongue swipe a broad path up Tom's exposed neck. Tom could only whimper as Lucius's grasp on his hair became unbearably tight and his lips collided against his, burning with their too familiar warmth. Tom cried silently as he was reminded once more of the mechanics of their relationship. Lucius's hands were skilled, pinching Tom and caressing him to make him moan in pleasure and cry out in pain. Lucius drank in every noise greedily, feeding upon Tom's emotions.
Suddenly Lucius was looking at Tom with arch amusement barely concealing his anger. It took Tom a moment to realize that it was he who had broken off the kiss, not Lucius.
"What?" Lucius asked.
"Don't do this," Tom whispered.
"Do what? This?" Lucius's fingers stroked the tender crevice where Tom's thigh met his hip.
"Do you even know how I feel?" Tom asked. He ran his hands through his hair. "Do you even care?" Lucius' laughter was unkind.
"What do you want me to know, pretty one?" Lucius laughed again at Tom's surprise. "Yes, you are beautiful, but you are beyond gorgeous when you cry. You bleed so exquisitely. Bleed for me, Tom." His tongue slid between Tom's lips Tom was lost. Lost in confusion and a small glow at being called beautiful and heat as Lucius's tongue entered his mouth gently. Lucius's hands held Tom's birdlike frame and he whispered something softly into Tom's seashell ear.
Tom couldn't move. It was like being in a full body bind, except his limbs were pliant, absolutely limp and unresisting as Lucius maneuvered him into a better position. His eyes were accusing as they gazed at Lucius. "I hate you," he whispered. And he nearly wept in relief to find that he still had control over his voice, if nothing else. Lucius grinned.
"You hate me? But I love you, Tom. So very much."
"You always hurt the one you love," Lucius sang, pressing Tom's hand to his lips. "Love you. Love to hurt you. Love to hear you beg for mercy…" Tom was frightened, frightened of the demon glint in Lucius's eyes. Lucius's fingers ghosted over Tom's skin. "What is it, love? Don't you like it when I touch you there?"
"No," Tom lied, his voice small and so alone.
"Liar. H'mm…Don't you think I can tell when you're lying? Your eyes give you away." Tom closed his eyes, knowing that everything gave him away: his eyes, his voice, his breathing. They all revealed his dependency on his tormentor, who turned day into something vile and night into the sweetest agony.
That's what it was, a delicious agony. His mind curled around the phrase, savoring the contradiction of terms that fit perfectly. Tom was losing his mind. He could feel it drifting further and further away. The veil of sanity that had kept everything blurred and muted fell. His senses came alive and his nerves were sensitive and raw as Lucius entered his unresisting body.
Fire. Fire in his heart, fire in his lover's eyes, fire running molten and golden across the back of his eyelids with each demanding thrust of Lucius's hips. Tom gasped for air, keeping his eyes shut, grateful for the hands the gripped his delicate hips too tightly, anchoring him to this place. A final thrust pierced Tom to the core and he was broken again as he screamed, coming so hard that his slight frame trembled. Lucius came as well, perfectly still. Then his body shook with silent laughter and he looked into Tom's eyes. They were starry and contained not the slightest reproach, only a tender plea for kindness. The look earned a shiver from Lucius, who got dressed and closed the door, leaving the bleeding boy with puppy dog eyes alone in the dark with a hole in his chest right where his heart should've been.
***
No excuses. I won't even ask for you to understand. I will however, ask for a review.
Dementedly yours,
J. Silver
***
Lucius wasn't breathing. Tom had checked twice now. The spell had said that the caster would be 'rendered like unto death.' He didn't think that Lucius would actually die. Tom searched for a pulse. There was none. Lucius was definitely dead. A feeling of panic surged within him and his breathing turned rapid and increasingly shallow. Quite suddenly the feeling died, replaced by the vague sensation of worry. His fingers moved absently over Lucius's cold lips. What if Lucius didn't wake up? The question brought on a mixture of fear, dread, and hope? Tom tried to shake the thought away, but it only sunk its hooks further into his soft, besotted brain. What if this boy- this fiend with the face of an angel- didn't wake up? He could never hurt Tom again with harsh words and hard, icy glares in sharp contrast to hot kisses and- Tom pulled at his hair as if he could find the idea growing there and yank it out.
Tom's gaze fell upon Lucius's face and a breath caught in his throat. His hands went slack and fell to his sides. "That beautiful?" asked a cold voice in his head.
"Yesyesyes. Beautiful. Love him," was the response, fierce and immediate. The voice laughed.
"How can you possibly love a monster?" Tom flinched at the visceral wrongness of the question, but the voice continued. "Every time he takes you, he burns you. He submerges himself deep inside you and rips out your heart, leaving you to bleed to death with wondrous puppy eyes. How many times does he kill you in the space of one night?" Tom was torn between horror at this revelation and a strong wave of arousal at the memory of Lucius inside him. His hand swept along the curve of Lucius's jaw.
"Haven't you ever wondered what would be like to be the one buried inside him?" Tom snatched his hand back, clenching it into a white-knuckled fist.
"He'd never let me," replied the boy meekly.
"Not normally, but now…"
"I couldn't," Tom thought as his traitorous hand slipped inside Lucius's shirt, caressing the soft, unblemished, icy flesh.
"Who's to stop you?"
"I can't!" Tom shook his head vehemently even while he hardened at the thought. Lucius's voice came to him, luscious and taunting:
"When are you going to learn to eliminate the word 'can't' from your vocabulary?"
"No time like the present," said the voice in his head silkily. Tom leaned forward and kissed his dead lover's lips, silencing the voice immediately.
What surprised Tom the most was the lack of warmth. Lucius had cast the spell maybe an hour ago and he was already cold. However, Tom found it very appropriate since the only warmth Lucius ever showed him was the destructive fire that began with brutal caresses and ended with showers of bitter rain. His tongue traced the sharpness of Lucius's teeth and pressed against the immobile blonde's palette. There was no response, no movement of protest.
Fighting down the revulsion he could taste in the back of his throat, he unbuttoned Lucius's shirt. He suckled his lover's nipples feverishly, imagining to himself that Lucius was alive and caring and responsive in way he had never been in real life. Maintaining that delusion with admirable tenacity, he unbuckled Lucius's pants, his lips moving along the sharp, shocking curve of the blonde's hipbone.
Tom no longer noticed the cold. Indeed, it seemed that Lucius's skin was warmer, though the color was still gone from his face and he looked like a marble statue- the fond dream of a lonely artist. Talented certainly, but mad to carve such detail, to make someone fall in love with the shadows golden eyelashes cast on ivory cheeks or the fine lines in cupid's bow lips. "Mad. Mad. Mad. " Tom thought to himself, landing butterfly kisses upon Lucius's face. An offering to the deceased god. Laughter tinkling like shards of glass upon tile. Tom's laughter. Dark, helpless laughter. He straddled Lucius's body, burying his face in the juncture between Lucius's neck and shoulder. His hands wandered absently, mapping the planes and curves that defined Tom's world. His face grew heated, a combination of shame and desire.
Framing Lucius's face in his hands, Tom kissed Lucius again, freezing as he felt something hard and cruel on the back of his head. Tom was harshly yanked back by his hair. Tom's eyes widened in horror as they lit upon the face of his now-breathing beloved. The smile on Lucius's face was soft, maniacal. "Tom," he said, his voice a husky reprimand. "If you wanted a corpse, all you had to do was ask." He laughed at the confusion on the orphan's face and let his tongue swipe a broad path up Tom's exposed neck. Tom could only whimper as Lucius's grasp on his hair became unbearably tight and his lips collided against his, burning with their too familiar warmth. Tom cried silently as he was reminded once more of the mechanics of their relationship. Lucius's hands were skilled, pinching Tom and caressing him to make him moan in pleasure and cry out in pain. Lucius drank in every noise greedily, feeding upon Tom's emotions.
Suddenly Lucius was looking at Tom with arch amusement barely concealing his anger. It took Tom a moment to realize that it was he who had broken off the kiss, not Lucius.
"What?" Lucius asked.
"Don't do this," Tom whispered.
"Do what? This?" Lucius's fingers stroked the tender crevice where Tom's thigh met his hip.
"Do you even know how I feel?" Tom asked. He ran his hands through his hair. "Do you even care?" Lucius' laughter was unkind.
"What do you want me to know, pretty one?" Lucius laughed again at Tom's surprise. "Yes, you are beautiful, but you are beyond gorgeous when you cry. You bleed so exquisitely. Bleed for me, Tom." His tongue slid between Tom's lips Tom was lost. Lost in confusion and a small glow at being called beautiful and heat as Lucius's tongue entered his mouth gently. Lucius's hands held Tom's birdlike frame and he whispered something softly into Tom's seashell ear.
Tom couldn't move. It was like being in a full body bind, except his limbs were pliant, absolutely limp and unresisting as Lucius maneuvered him into a better position. His eyes were accusing as they gazed at Lucius. "I hate you," he whispered. And he nearly wept in relief to find that he still had control over his voice, if nothing else. Lucius grinned.
"You hate me? But I love you, Tom. So very much."
"You always hurt the one you love," Lucius sang, pressing Tom's hand to his lips. "Love you. Love to hurt you. Love to hear you beg for mercy…" Tom was frightened, frightened of the demon glint in Lucius's eyes. Lucius's fingers ghosted over Tom's skin. "What is it, love? Don't you like it when I touch you there?"
"No," Tom lied, his voice small and so alone.
"Liar. H'mm…Don't you think I can tell when you're lying? Your eyes give you away." Tom closed his eyes, knowing that everything gave him away: his eyes, his voice, his breathing. They all revealed his dependency on his tormentor, who turned day into something vile and night into the sweetest agony.
That's what it was, a delicious agony. His mind curled around the phrase, savoring the contradiction of terms that fit perfectly. Tom was losing his mind. He could feel it drifting further and further away. The veil of sanity that had kept everything blurred and muted fell. His senses came alive and his nerves were sensitive and raw as Lucius entered his unresisting body.
Fire. Fire in his heart, fire in his lover's eyes, fire running molten and golden across the back of his eyelids with each demanding thrust of Lucius's hips. Tom gasped for air, keeping his eyes shut, grateful for the hands the gripped his delicate hips too tightly, anchoring him to this place. A final thrust pierced Tom to the core and he was broken again as he screamed, coming so hard that his slight frame trembled. Lucius came as well, perfectly still. Then his body shook with silent laughter and he looked into Tom's eyes. They were starry and contained not the slightest reproach, only a tender plea for kindness. The look earned a shiver from Lucius, who got dressed and closed the door, leaving the bleeding boy with puppy dog eyes alone in the dark with a hole in his chest right where his heart should've been.
***
No excuses. I won't even ask for you to understand. I will however, ask for a review.
Dementedly yours,
J. Silver