A fire danced in his lower belly, sending sparks shooting up and down his spine every time he set foot inside the cage. Restless, he waited, slick anticipation for his prey curling his fingers. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, making it that much harder to sit still.

Alive, for the first time in months. He felt alive.

Seated in a corner of the cage, cloaked by shadows, Harry watched his captive writhe in his sleep, hoarse cries tearing from his throat. In his sleep, in his dreams, Tom was a treasure trove of information. Watching him had been the only entertainment Harry got these days.

Depravity was Tom's thing. His trysts with men and women had been eye-opening. Tom had glutted on pleasure these past few months while he'd spent all his time with Fenrir's last words to him echoing in his ears until he felt sure they bled.

While Harry sank under with the weight of the guilt and blame on his shoulders, Lord Voldemort lived a life of decadent indulgence. That wasn't allowed to continue.

Now, he was Harry's entertainment. Breathing only at Harry's discretion.

A plaintive moan rumbled from the body on the floor. Tom shifted, and Harry heard his harsh intake of breath.

"Damn"

Tom swore, voice ragged and heavy with pain. Harry watched him, lips quirking as Tom struggled to sit, chains rattling. If his stiff posture was any indication, he hurt all over.

The light in the cage remained off, casting the place in darkness. Still Harry knew the sight of Tom's body by now. Caked from head to toe in streaked blood and grime, hair matted to his head. Swollen eyes and nose, the cut that had already scabbed over on his cheek, black and blue bruises decorated his taut midsection, unable to hide under all the dried blood.

He'd long lost the polished gentleman look about him but he never lost the fire in his eyes though. Never, and more often than not Harry found himself facing that blaze head-on. He always barely escaped without getting singed.

"Watching me sleep, Evans?"

Tom's back remained facing Harry, but his head was tilted to the right. The tension in his shoulders matched the same quality in his voice.

Harry shrugged even though Tom wasn't looking at him,

"I like to keep an eye on my captives."

He stood and went to the opening of the cage, switching on the overhead light before retaking his seat in the corner,

"Besides, you sounded like you needed company."

Tom scoffed,

"Is that what you think I am, your captive?"

He positioned himself, movements abbreviated, until they were facing each other,

"Hardly."

"What do you think you are?"

Harry asked him evenly,

"Share."

"I think I'm your mirror image."

He held Harry's gaze,

"Like knows like, yes?"

Tom licked his chapped lips,

"The monster in you recognizes the monster in me,"

He whispered,

"And it wants to play."

Harry just watched him, giving nothing away. Listening to words that somehow burned more than Tom's gaze,

"Do you know why nothing you do to me here matters?"

Tom asked in the same quiet tone,

"Why, no matter how many times you bleed me, I won't break? Why, no matter how long it takes you to feed me, I won't beg?"

Harry put his elbows on his knees, body leaning forward, eyes taking in every inch of Tom's battered body as his ears remained tuned to every sound, every cadence of his voice,

"Tell me."

"That night, when I was holding your Fenrir captive…"

Just like every other time somebody uttered his name, Harry's stomach lurched and his breath turned choppy. Uneven. He kept his face stoic and fisted his hands.

"I had just finished torturing him and he'd passed out… When he was unconscious he kept calling out a name…"

Tom paused and then spoke,

"I was surprised it wasn't yours."

He moved then, dragging along the floor, body angled toward Harry, voice hushed as though he was sharing a secret,

"He didn't love you as much as you thought he did… He never loved you…"

His eyes gleamed in the low light and for a single moment the tables were turned, upended. Harry found himself the vulnerable one. The captive. The one in chains.

"Do you know who he was calling?"

Tom asked him. His mouth curved,

"Harry… I guess he loved him more than he ever loved you."

They were words meant to shock him. Meant to probably set him off. He gave Tom a tight smile,

"Harry?"

Tom nodded and Harry couldn't help but chuckle softly,

"Is that supposed to faze me?"

Tom snorted,

"No, you should be on notice. Because this? Me as your captive? It is only foreplay for the inevitable main course, where I plan on feasting on you until I'm well sated."

A slow smile spread across Harry's face as he went to Tom, getting down low on the filthy floor. Ignoring everything as he grabbed Tom's chin, and stared him in the eye,

"I like this side of you,"

Harry murmured,

"Defiant."

Their verbal spars somehow had his spine sparking more than watching Tom bleed. He hadn't thought anything could be as vibrant as spilling his captive's blood,

"All that insolence, despite the danger."

The hair on Tom' face pricked Harry's palm, an awareness that registered loudly, drawing Harry's attention. As did the coolness of Tom's skin.

So cool

Tom' gaze never strayed from his. His stare was as gripping as everything else about him. Filled with rebellion and a bluster Harry knew Tom could back up,

"Haven't you heard?"

His focus dipped once, from Harry's eyes down to his mouth then back. A quick flicker. Almost imperceptible. Then Tom licked his lips,

"I live for danger."

That Harry knew to be true,

"Then you've come to the right place, Mr. Voldemort."

The pulse just under Tom' chin throbbed against his fingertips, reminding him that he still held the other man in his clasp. He tightened his grip.

That pulse sped up.

The warmth spread, and Harry's body sucked it up. A dry sponge soaking up water.

With his free hand, Harry pulled his blade from his boot. Because he hadn't done it in a while. Because he dreamt about Tom skewered on his blade.

And because he wanted to remove that glint in Tom's eyes.

He'd seen it before.

While Tom eyed him, Harry stroked his blade down his chest,

"Tell me about Bellatrix…"

Tom's expression didn't change, but his tone went from strong and cocky, to dry and bold when he asked,

"How did it feel when I killed her and sent you her parts?"

Harry twisted his wrist just the smallest degree and the sharp side of the blade sliced across Tom's chest, directly under his right pec. Not deep, but not superficial either.

Tom tensed. Harry felt him under his knuckles, under his fingertips. Tense, but that pulse…

Hypnotic.

For a crazy moment, he wanted to just hold himself still and count those pulsing beats.

The thinnest trail of blood appeared.

"She's been with you since the very start, hasn't she? She was there when Dumbledore used to abuse you."

He whispered,

"She's the one person you truly care about…You cared so much about her that you brought her back…"

He'd watched Tom turn into somebody vulnerable with Bellatrix, and he'd seen the woman's loyalty towards Tom…

"You're putting me to sleep, you know that?"

Tom asked,

"That voice of yours. So soothing."

He winked, and Harry flicked his wrist again. Another slash, this one on the opposite pec. Directly on top of a dark purple bruise. The red came through beautifully, tiny droplets already forming. Again Tom tensed, and this time when he exhaled, it rushed across Harry's neck.

Prickling his skin before settling in his toes that curled in on themselves.

He slashed Tom again, a punishment for being so cold. Punishing him for every throb of his pulse against Harry's fingertips. Punishing him for forcing Harry to be aware of all of it. He'd thought he wanted a weak and vulnerable captive. But right now, Harry preferred this one.

He preferred the fight and the word play.

Much more rewarding once you added the knife play. He kept cutting, blood dripping in thin lines down Tom' torso. With every drag of the weapon across his flesh, Tom tensed, but he didn't flinch. He exhaled, but he didn't look away. Silent, mocking gaze urging Harry to do his worst.

He wouldn't, not yet. But this was a good warm up exercise.

"Did Dumbledore abuse her as much as he abused you?"

The flicker in Tom's eyes told him he'd hit a nerve.

"I enjoyed every second I tortured your Fenrir… I enjoyed every second of his suffering…"

Harry's movements halted as a red haze crept over his vision. He breathed deeply, hoping his expression remained impassive.

"You don't look so good."

Tom's teeth flashed, shark-like,

"Something I said?"

It made no sense that Tom was the captive when Harry felt suddenly constrained by the weight of grief that abruptly landed on his shoulders. Fenrir would always be his weak spot, and a man like Tom would know that.

"After he'd talked to you on call…He seemed to have accepted his fate…"

Tom mused aloud,

"He was deserving of more than you ever gave him, Evans."

Harry growled,

"Keep talking"

Harry kept slicing until his grip turned slack on the hilt of the knife, and Tom' front was swathed in wet, sticky red.

Beautiful, hypnotic red.

As Harry sat back and regarded his handiwork, Tom's stomach contracted.

"You really do like to watch, don't you?"

Tom's chuckle sounded as if the man was intoxicated. His lashes were low, brushing his pale cheekbones as they hid his thoughts from him,

"You're a treasure, Evans."

Harry fisted Tom' hair, yanking his head back. Then he brought the knife up, tracing an invisible line across Tom' throat.

Ear to ear.

His captive held himself still then.

Lips clamped shut then.

But his eyes were wide open. Gaze heavy.

Accepting as he waited.

But he knew, he had to know…

"Not today,"

Harry told him,

"I like this."

He brought the bloodied knife up, pressing the flat of the blade against Tom's lips, the sharp tip pointed up past his nose.

Tom' tongue flicked out and he licked the blade. Against him, Harry felt the other man's shudder. As close as they were, he saw Tom' pupils dilate.

"Foreplay…"

Tom whispered. He held Harry's gaze as he slid his tongue over the knife again,

"You are exceptional at it."

Words and thought took a backseat as Harry watched Tom use his tongue to wipe the knife clean. Caught in that unexpectedly intoxicating web, he couldn't look away. Shock turned his belly warm, tightened it, and he froze.

Holding his breath.

Gripping the knife.

He flashed hot, instantly sweating. Something else filtered in, pushing past the anger inside. Past the rage, and the thirst for blood. Settling in low in his gut.

An ache. Familiar, yet not. An intense urge to join in gripped him. A need to put his mouth right there on that sharp, polished steel and lick until there wasn't any red left.

His entire being spasmed at that realization.

What it meant.

He rejected it outright. But when Tom opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out, Harry slid the knife down for him. So that he could get at the rest of the blood. Lick it off and shudder again.

Completely insane and obscene.

Harry's mouth watered. He liked obscene. In fact, he didn't know any other way but obscene.

Judging by the way his lips curved, Tom knew.

Like knows like.

The knife fell from his finger, clattering to the floor as Tom's wet tongue curled around Harry's blood-soaked fingers. He snatched it away, schooled his features, and stood.

"That heat in your belly,"

Tom spoke, head tilted back, lashes lowered as he gazed up at Harry as if he wasn't the one shackled to the cold floor,

"That's for me."

His teeth caught his bottom lip then released it,

"And it's because of me."

"So sure of yourself, Mr. Voldemort?"

His voice was more wrecked than usual, and Harry fisted his hands at that show of weakness.

"No. I'm sure of you."

If he did what he wanted in that moment, he'd have the knife buried to the hilt in Tom's heart. But that would be an emotional blow. It couldn't be about emotion, because emotion would end all this before it'd truly begun. Therefore, he turned around and exited the cage.

That action felt very much like a retreat. A surrender. It occurred to Harry that he'd done too much of that since the day Tom had first opened his eyes in his cage.

"Thank you for the knee,"

Tom called after him,

"I always appreciate a man who kneels."