Title: Inject
Author: MalfoySlave
Rating: Hard R
Pairing: H/D
Summary: Dark angst. Talks of rape (minor detail), etc. Harry likes to take out his pain on Draco. Short and very drabble-esque.
Disclaimer & Author's Notes: Characters belong to JK Rowling. Those who dislike the mention and minor description of rape, S&M, slash, Dark!Harry, or anything of the like-do NOT read.
Read, enjoy, review.
Let me get inside your head
Let me show you I'm prepared
Let me stick my needles in
And let me hurt you again
-Seether, "Needles"-
It had started with rape.
It had started with his fingers curling around the pale flesh, his fingernails drawing vivid half-moons of blood. It had started with the numbness that had invaded him as he whispered soothing words into the blonde's ear while he forced himself into the other body, smiling the whole time. It had started with the struggling, the fighting, the screaming, and finally; it had started with the resignation. When the struggling had stopped and he'd lied limp in his arms.
And it'd started more than once. It happened repeatedly, nearly every night, beginning when he'd creep out of the common room beneath his cloak. He'd steal silently through the halls, and down damp, stone staircases until he reached the depth of the castle. A place few people ventured in fear of getting lost. But he knew it well. He knew every little crevice and doorway. He knew where there were cracks in the stairs and where to avoid stepping. But most of all, he knew every inch, every crease, every soft and sensitive bit of the one who'd wait for him out of habit.
Wait for him because, somehow, he knew better than to not to.
The process was very simple. Bitter words were sparred, thrown at each other carelessly until he smiled his wicked, cold smile, saying how much he hated games, and knocked the other boy to the floor. His hands would wrap around the wrists, bruising the tender flesh and effectively preventing most struggle. Although, he could still feel the spastic jerking and it made his mind reel, how something could keep trying to fight when there was obviously no hope. When it had happened so many times before.
There was rarely ever begging. And when there was, it often had a cold, underlying submission hidden in the distraught words.
It was the resignation again. The helplessness of giving in.
How he hated the begging. If he needed to, he'd tear shredded strips of cloth from his clothing and gag him. He couldn't understand it, but begging took away from the glamour. It wasn't as satisfactory or rewarding. So, he refused to let him.
Luckily, it didn't happen often.
He disliked the bleeding as well, though, he thrived on the nauseating, metallic taste of it in his mouth and the way it clashed with the pale skin that he claimed as his own. What he disliked was the way it seeped out at the end, staining the stone and his own skin, creating a painful reminder of what he did each night.
He enjoyed what he did. Lived through it. But every morning there was always the guilt left over. The guilt from the thought that he couldn't get a hold on himself, that he was weak enough to lower himself to rape.
But it didn't matter. He did it anyway.
Because when he was down in the depth of the dungeons, the blonde straddled beneath him, he had control. He never had that kind of control during the day; he was instead the Martyr of the People, manipulated and unsubstantial.
Without that control, he was dead. Empty. It was something that was just necessary.
It had ended with bitter tears and his ritual backfiring on him.
It had ended with him being careless and allowing the other boy an opening.
It had ended with his wrists being twisted above his head; him being flipped heavily onto his back with knees digging into his sides.
It had ended with him finally giving up on trying to ease his own pain.
It had ended with him lying silently beneath his object of torment, tears of remorse staining his face.
It had ended with him slowly standing, watching helplessly as he was left alone.
It had ended with Draco Malfoy stopping and turning to Harry Potter and pressing a hard, punishing kiss to his mouth, leaving both their lips swollen and red.
And, it had ended with Draco Malfoy whispering a soft, "thank you," into Harry Potter's ear before walking away for good.
-Fin-
Author's Notes:
I do not expect anyone to understand that. At all. It was just some dark thing that wouldn't stop pestering my mind. Why would Draco thank Harry for…raping him? Leave it up to your imagination- that's what the dark is all about.
Author: MalfoySlave
Rating: Hard R
Pairing: H/D
Summary: Dark angst. Talks of rape (minor detail), etc. Harry likes to take out his pain on Draco. Short and very drabble-esque.
Disclaimer & Author's Notes: Characters belong to JK Rowling. Those who dislike the mention and minor description of rape, S&M, slash, Dark!Harry, or anything of the like-do NOT read.
Read, enjoy, review.
Let me show you I'm prepared
Let me stick my needles in
And let me hurt you again
-Seether, "Needles"-
It had started with rape.
It had started with his fingers curling around the pale flesh, his fingernails drawing vivid half-moons of blood. It had started with the numbness that had invaded him as he whispered soothing words into the blonde's ear while he forced himself into the other body, smiling the whole time. It had started with the struggling, the fighting, the screaming, and finally; it had started with the resignation. When the struggling had stopped and he'd lied limp in his arms.
And it'd started more than once. It happened repeatedly, nearly every night, beginning when he'd creep out of the common room beneath his cloak. He'd steal silently through the halls, and down damp, stone staircases until he reached the depth of the castle. A place few people ventured in fear of getting lost. But he knew it well. He knew every little crevice and doorway. He knew where there were cracks in the stairs and where to avoid stepping. But most of all, he knew every inch, every crease, every soft and sensitive bit of the one who'd wait for him out of habit.
Wait for him because, somehow, he knew better than to not to.
The process was very simple. Bitter words were sparred, thrown at each other carelessly until he smiled his wicked, cold smile, saying how much he hated games, and knocked the other boy to the floor. His hands would wrap around the wrists, bruising the tender flesh and effectively preventing most struggle. Although, he could still feel the spastic jerking and it made his mind reel, how something could keep trying to fight when there was obviously no hope. When it had happened so many times before.
There was rarely ever begging. And when there was, it often had a cold, underlying submission hidden in the distraught words.
It was the resignation again. The helplessness of giving in.
How he hated the begging. If he needed to, he'd tear shredded strips of cloth from his clothing and gag him. He couldn't understand it, but begging took away from the glamour. It wasn't as satisfactory or rewarding. So, he refused to let him.
Luckily, it didn't happen often.
He disliked the bleeding as well, though, he thrived on the nauseating, metallic taste of it in his mouth and the way it clashed with the pale skin that he claimed as his own. What he disliked was the way it seeped out at the end, staining the stone and his own skin, creating a painful reminder of what he did each night.
He enjoyed what he did. Lived through it. But every morning there was always the guilt left over. The guilt from the thought that he couldn't get a hold on himself, that he was weak enough to lower himself to rape.
But it didn't matter. He did it anyway.
Because when he was down in the depth of the dungeons, the blonde straddled beneath him, he had control. He never had that kind of control during the day; he was instead the Martyr of the People, manipulated and unsubstantial.
Without that control, he was dead. Empty. It was something that was just necessary.
It had ended with bitter tears and his ritual backfiring on him.
It had ended with him being careless and allowing the other boy an opening.
It had ended with his wrists being twisted above his head; him being flipped heavily onto his back with knees digging into his sides.
It had ended with him finally giving up on trying to ease his own pain.
It had ended with him lying silently beneath his object of torment, tears of remorse staining his face.
It had ended with him slowly standing, watching helplessly as he was left alone.
It had ended with Draco Malfoy stopping and turning to Harry Potter and pressing a hard, punishing kiss to his mouth, leaving both their lips swollen and red.
And, it had ended with Draco Malfoy whispering a soft, "thank you," into Harry Potter's ear before walking away for good.
-Fin-
Author's Notes:
I do not expect anyone to understand that. At all. It was just some dark thing that wouldn't stop pestering my mind. Why would Draco thank Harry for…raping him? Leave it up to your imagination- that's what the dark is all about.