Three days since it happened. They fed him twice a day, and so far, he hadn't seen James for six meals. So, three days since he'd officially lost his mind. This thing, this game, it could end no other way but badly.

He'd begged… Begged.

This want inside him, growing bigger and hotter with each day he spent as James Evan's captive, it could never be satisfied. He understood that now. Even if James walked into that room, and claimed him until kingdom come, Tom would never be satisfied. Rational thought didn't reside in this space where he craved his captor's touch.

How could he let that happen? When did he let it happen?

Sometimes when he looked into James' eyes the grief was as fresh as if Tom had committed the act mere days ago. He failed to understand what had brought James and Fenrir together but he knew that James had loved him and Greyback had probably loved him back tenfold. He hadn't thought about that back then. He'd just wanted James for himself. He was the Dark Lord, he always got what he wanted.

Now, he wasn't sure if it was penance, his way of begging forgiveness or mercy. But what he felt, it made no sense.

He was who James thought him to be, a monster, wrecker of lives. He wore the skin of that man with no remorse. He couldn't afford to be vulnerable to James again.

He paced the small room. They'd unchained him, allowing him free movement inside the room. Every day the healer… Ollie… visited, bringing food, flanked by three armed guards with assault rifles, wearing balaclavas to hide their faces.

James had changed things up for sure, and though Tom now had a comfortable bed and could use the bathroom without an escort, he was still a captive. He'd asked the good doctor once just how long he'd had been in James's company.

Two weeks.

The way he felt, it could have just as easily been a lifetime.

His death eaters must be frantic. Especially Bellatrix… She had been with him since the very first day… He could imagine her tearing through the earth and the skies in search for him.

A key jiggled in the lock and he stalled his pacing. Ollie had already brought him his food, maybe about an hour ago, so it wasn't meal-time yet. He waited for the doctor and his armed men to enter.

Instead James did.

Oh, sweet mercy…

Their eyes met the second James stepped over the threshold. Tom recognized his captor's smooth expression for the mask it was, hiding the furore underneath.

He wore black, which Tom also recognized as his armour. Black shirt, opened at the collar, tucked into black slacks, and black Italian shoes. His eyes, they pinned Tom so thoroughly that it took him a moment to shake the dizzying sensation off and find his tongue.

"Mr. Evans, how nice of you to show up."

He smirked.

James simply eyed him up and down, expressionless eyes taking in the generic white t-shirt, gray sweats and white socks that had become Tom's uniform. He stood at the door, hands going into his pockets as they stared at each other.

Three days. Tom still felt James' weight on top of him, pinning him to that bed. He smelled him, warm, confused lust. And he felt his touch. The hesitant slide of his tongue that quickly turned vicious with a little coaxing from Tom. Three days, and during James' absence, even now, he felt the caress of James' soft fingertips along his jaw as if it were happening now.

All over again.

James didn't seem to have that same problem. His eyes remained blank, mouth shaped into a flat line,

"Word is your people have given up looking for you."

His lips curved then, the tiniest bit, but Tom stared at it,

"They didn't look very long, did they?"

Tom shrugged,

"I didn't expect them to look at all, so…"

That wasn't a lie. His people knew better that to abandon their assignments to focus on him.

James walked toward him slowly, eyes locked on Tom's face. As if he couldn't look away. As if he didn't want to look away. Even though his breath turned choppy and his pulse kicked up, Tom held his ground and didn't blink when James stopped inches away from him.

"Tell me something…"

He crossed his arms, elbows barely brushing James's chest. The other man's nostrils flared at the faint contact,

"Did you spend as much time with the people who signed off on the raid, or am I the only special one?"

James' cruel smile, it chilled Tom. Goosebumps erupted along his forearms, and he ignored the urge to rub his hands over them.

"Everyone's been dealt with. You're the only one left."

His surprise must have showed, because James regarded him as if he were a naïve child,

"You seem to think there are lines I won't cross, Mr. Voldemort."

He leaned forward, breath teasing at Tom's cheek when he said,

"Let me assure you, so you can put any doubts aside, there is nothing I will not do. And there is no life I will spare."

He pulled back to lock eyes with Tom again,

"Not even yours."

"Do you think he would be proud of that fact?"

Tom asked him,

"Do you think your Fenrir would want all that blood spilled in his name?"

James backhanded him, a blow so hard and unexpected… he should have anticipated it, though… it knocked Tom backward and into the wall. But before his back connected with the hard surface, James was on him, hand around his throat.

"Never say his name."

Spit flew as he snarled in Tom's face,

"You don't deserve to say his name."

Tom pulled at the hand at his throat, struggling, but James's hold didn't budge.

"Why don't we ask him what she thinks?"

James roared,

"Why don't we ask him?"

He shook Tom, slamming his head back.

Damn… He saw stars.

"We can't ask him, because you took him from me… YOU TOOK HIM FROM ME!"

Under the rage, under the red-hot anger, was the grief. Tom heard it, and it called at him.

Instinctively, his body struggled at the pressure against his windpipe. But Tom forced himself to stop, to relax into it. Into the unknown rushing up at him. Heart racing, the fear exhilarating.

"You don't know what it's like to have happiness,"

James told him in that harsh, torn-up voice as his hold abruptly loosened,

"You're always so ready to destroy what others have, because you've never had it. Because you want it for yourself."

Tom's eyes shot open. Those words hit him in the chest, closer to the truth than he cared to admit. Finally, he asked,

"If you loved him so much, why am I not dead?"

Against him, James tensed.

"If you loved him so much, why do you touch me the way you do? Why do you kiss me the way you do?"

James's fist connected with his stomach, and Tom doubled over.

That hurt.

He hugged his middle and chuckled,

"If you loved him so much, how come I can send you to your knees?"

James grabbed him by the hair, fisted it, and hauled him upright, slamming him back against the wall.

He couldn't breathe. His legs were wet noodles, unable to hold him up. James' body pressed to his kept him on his feet. The other man's eyes blazed at him when their gazes met.

"You want to die tonight?"

James asked,

"Is that it?"

Tom licked at the blood on his bottom lip and the cut there stung,

"I want what you want…Kill me… Claim me…"

He shrugged in James's hold,

"It doesn't matter."

"Doesn't it?"

"No…"

He shook his head,

"It doesn't matter anymore…"