Warnings: slash (though mostly in later chapters), rather dark, au, and a large probability of errors since I don't have a beta
Disclaimer: I don't own them and am not making any money of their use.
Author's note: I was on vacation last week and had a little free time to reread what I had written for this...there are some minor changes in the previous chapters though it's really just fixing errors. Hope you enjoy -)
The cool marble walls of a room never christened bore silent witness to a meeting between father and son. Gone was the fondness of youth and ignorance; in its place stood two men tied irrevocably- by first their birth and then their own actions, to an age-old name. They were irredeemable. Too much cooling mortal blood had embraced their pale palms- staining what could once have been pure flesh the color of sin. They lived by principles of their own making- following the mad whims of a dying power in an attempt to deliver humanity into the grasping coils of hell.
Sitting stiffly behind an imposing mahogany desk the older man- his flawless skin and shining hair giving him the illusion of eternal youth only disproved by slate eyes no warmer than ice, gazed intently upon the blood of his blood- as if searching keenly for a minute flaw only he could see. Time had stolen their love for one another and in its place left an animal-like lust for power- their single-minded greed driving them to great things…terrible but great.
A gust of winter wind fought for dominance with heavy velvet curtains- its transient fingers reaching towards the younger occupant of the room- calling in the soft whisper of its kind for his attention. The gentle tendrils had not forgotten the feel of his soft locks as he basked in their glory- the glory of an open sky. They had heard the clear ring of his laughter as he allowed himself to drown in childish pleasure, and it was their embrace he had sought as silent tears made their mark on fallible skin. The redemption of flesh was impossible, but his soul refused to acknowledge its own wrongdoing; its anguished cry echoed across the edges of the realms of man… and it was the wind that answered its call.
Even so the temperate element was no match for the restricting fabric and it retreated- for the moment, as the father found the failing he so attentively sought.
"Crucio."
Remembered pain brought consciousness quickly to the injured male. Fighting down a strong bought of nausea he attempted to hoist himself into a sitting position only to have his left arm buckle; wave after wave of sharp pain traveled like fire- igniting knitting muscle and bone into a blaze whose black smoke pressed closely against the back of his gray orbs. Pain and darkness warred with pride…pride won.
Sighing quietly he closed his eyes and waited for the throbbing to recede. The room was bright when he reopened his eyes- the sun having cast its golden rays away from itself- spreading their beauty throughout the world as a gift to mankind. A slight draft slid silently between French doors dancing gaily across wood and under wool; twining itself about linen moist with perspiration and every-so-often reaching uncertainly towards poisoned flesh slowly healing. The air's tentative touch was a comforting presence- much welcomed, as the blond man became aware of the room's other silent occupant.
"I thought you might be awake."
The other man looked sleep-ruffled- his raven locks haphazardly framing a handsome face and vibrant emerald eyes no longer hidden by thick glass lenses, and he smelled lightly of pine forests after autumn showers and… sex. Then again, maybe it was just the wind. The prone figure fought momentarily against flashes of stone walls, moving shadows blacker than night that brought with them the stench of rotting human flesh and the sounds of human madness, and the press of soft heated lips stroking his own.
"You smell like sex." The unintended statement was met with the bloom of genuine laughter and a cockily raised eyebrow. While in the past a pinkish tint would have quickly spread across the canvas of tanned skin and high cheekbones of a boy who had seen too much, and yet was still embarrassed by the simple aspects of adult life- the tell-tale sign of discomfort was conspicuously absent from the visage of the man. In fact suddenly the back-haired male leaned forward- the brush of hot breath across sensitive skin as he whispered into Draco's ear almost making the smaller of the two jump clear of the bed- pain be damned.
"I like to feel good." Then the warmth of flesh and the reassurance of laughter was gone- like a lovely memory you can never quite be sure is real. Back was the brusque exterior of someone who had told the rest of the world to go to hell- already positive his own place there had been reserved long ago. Telling Draco to try and sit up- he quickly exited the bedroom- promising food over his shoulder on the way.
