Red Masterpieces
Rating: R
Pairing: HP/Malfoy
Spoilers: All Books
Summery: Harry spends one last night with the man he loves before one of them is killed.
A/N: just a little bit of drivel that sprang to mind one day, the pairing is a surprise, but I get the feeling I just gave it away! I love reviews! I'm thinking bout a sequel but I'm not sure!
Beta: Misty Waters! Biggggg Thank You!
Blood. The softly flowing rivers that punctuated Harry's life. He shivered slightly at the familiar sensation of ice metal piercing his skin. He lived for the feeling, the wave of torturous pleasure, something he was finally worthy of because he had to suffer for it.
Silk blond strands of hair tickled his skin as pale hands guided the knife to draw serpents on Harry's exposed chest. A tiny little M. at the bottom of his masterpiece. Harry arched his back, pleading softly for the knife to go deeper, for the little trickles of red to paint the sheets, to soak the silver blond hair of his lover till everything he saw was his own crimson red, till there was no black and white. No right and wrong. Just red.
Harry could feel a rough tongue work its way across the cuts, lapping up the blood like a cat, softly purring in delight as Harry squirmed. The red was going, but it would be back. Harry closed his eyes, in his head black could be white and white could be black, and if he wanted everything could be red. Then it was all so much simpler. No one would love him; no one would hate him.
He had no illusions; he knew that Malfoy didn't love him and that one day they would be fighting on the battlefield, and one would die at the other's wand, but he didn't care. His meetings with the blond were the only thing keeping him safe from himself.
He could run from the pain of the mentor's 'lessons,' if they could be called that; night after night of torturous pain so that when it came down to him and Voldemort he would be able to take it. He could forget the passive faces of his teachers, his godfathers, his friends, as he screamed for release from the fifth Crucio of the night. He was free from his follower's and admirer's fake concern. He knew where he stood. There was no undying love, no side switching for the other, just lust, release, and the chance for both of them to pretend that they weren't major roles in a war that would decide the fate of the magical world. They depended on each other.
They met whenever they could. In the dead of night, where no one could find them, it was their secret, one that could get them killed at a moment's notice, but nether of them cared. It wasn't love, it was dependence; both would die without the out the other, the Hell of their lives taking over and drowning them without the other to keep them afloat.
Harry smoothed his hands along his well defined torso as his lover lapped at the blood. He started to nibble at the exposed collar bone, biting down as his lover entered him, muffling a pained scream.
The intoxicating mix of pleasure and pain drove him over the edge; he climaxed screaming his lover's name. Contented he kissed the blonde softly, enjoying the rare tender moment. Tomorrow one of them would die, tomorrow was the show down, light verses dark the long awaited 'Last battle'. One of them would fall and one of them would live with the guilt for the rest of his life, or finally drown.
Harry felt his partner relax and drifted softly into a tortured sleep. He twisted round and ran his hands through the luxurious blond hair. "I love you Lucius." He murmured before joining him in the land of sleep oblivious... Hands tightened round his torso.
"And I you."