Night Souls

AN: This is really short. And a one-shot. My muse deviated from the usual Pitch Black fics. I figured I would get this out. It's what happens when you have too much sinus medicine, booze, good music and not enough fics to sate that hunger for HP/DM fics. Anyways. This is my first. So please be nice. Thanks.

Disclaimers: I don't own it. So don't bother to sue me because its not worth paying lawyers for dryer lint and empty vodka cooler bottles.


Night Souls

There it was, like a cold shadow lurking in the corner of the room; a shadow that represented the guilt that festered in Harry’s mind. He sat up slowly in his bed and reached out to turn on the light, icy cold fingers caught his wrist. He gasped and tried to pull from the grip but only managed to pull the intruder into the reedy light of the moon cast high in the window above his bed.

“Potter…” The voice hissed.

The figure in front of him had the face of light. Of innocence and all that one would figure was good. The face of an angel. The image that haunted his nights time and time again. Just as his face was the symbol of beauty, purity and goodness, his soul was warped. Deep and dark, fraught with pain, anger and a hate that had consumed all that was good in him so long ago.

Harry didn’t bother reaching for his wand. Didn’t bother trying to think of some hex to utter because no matter how many times he did this, it would never hurt him. He would come back, angrier and even fuller with hate. Uttering his name in the dark, his identity unmasked was enough to enrage his stalker.

With a hiss, the slight and leather sheathed body launched itself across the room and landed on top of the other man, pinning him to the mattress. Harry could feel the deathly cold emanating from his skin through the leather that sheathed his skin.

That lithe frame bent, the sound of creaking leather and the delicate scent of dried Peonies* and leather wafting from his skin, filled the air. His fingers snaked their way through his thick black hair until they cupped the back of his skull. Harry winced, knowing what was to come.

But it didn’t.

The abuse and the vulgarity of their lovemaking never arrived in that much anticipated freight train of emotional turmoil. “Goddammit Potter…what have you done?” What had he done? Destroyed his entire family? Taken away his livelihood and the reason why any human being should choose to live? Yes.

He mutely stared at the man’s haunting face, his eyes dark with his inner angst. He reached up and pulled the silvery hair from his face. “You can’t live like this for long, Draco.”

Draco snarled at the mentioning of his name and his lips crushed the words from Harry’s mouth. His teeth gnawed on his lip, brutally prying them open and his tongue dominated his mouth. The explosive taste of whisky filled his mouth, making him gasp. It might have been the alcohol that he found intoxicating, or the leather shrouded man that writhed above him like something out of a naughty dream. Or a nightmare.

Tilting his head back, he gasped as Draco’s slim his pushed into his, their erections grazing. The sensations seem to hit him ten-fold. His mind whirled in a myriad of unfelt emotions, things that he didn’t want to delve into lest he begin to feel that thing that inevitably came after such trysts with Draco Malfoy; pain. A pain so potent that it rendered him useless, curled into a fetal position.

So he did the next best thing, he gave Draco everything he figured that he could. He gasped again as the material was torn from his body, exposing his skin to the cool night air. Draco’s mouth seemed to be everywhere at once, biting deep into his skin. His lips were cool along the smooth planes of his body, calm and reserved as if he were memorizing everything.

Harry let his hands delve into the leather, skimming across the silks that he wore beneath. It came then, as he knew it would when he was least expecting it. There was no warning for what Draco did.

He screamed in the sheer pain and discomfort of it all as Draco pushed himself deep into the other man’s unsuspecting body. His fingernails dug deep into Draco’s cold skin as the pain ricocheted down his spine. There was no tender pausing for him to be adjusted to this, like there had never been any time before. With that insatiable desire to consume his soul, Draco pulled himself out slightly to drive back in, feeling muscles tense around him.

It never took long for Draco to fulfill himself. A few strokes and he was done, thrust over the edge to spin maddeningly through his short-lived high.

He pulled himself off of Harry’s supine form and adjusted the clothes on his body. He sat on the edge of the bed, feeling the aftereffects of cheap booze, sleep deprivation and a hate for himself that ran so deep that he felt almost deathly tired. He ran his hand through his lank hair, forgetting that he still wore his gloves. The smell of sex was so pungent it made Draco seem nauseous. Why was he still here? He wondered, turning to stare at Harry’s still form.

Through the dim light, he could see the small shakes of sobs wrack his body. “What is wrong with you?” Draco sneered, a look of sheer professional distaste written on his handsome face.

“Go, Draco.”

He couldn’t feel it. He knew that he had to have a heart in order to feel guilt for using Harry so. But he didn’t feel it as much as his soul screamed for that release. So, he did the next best thing. He stood, jerking his coat straight on his body and stepped out the door. “Goodbye Potter.” He muttered, his voice catching in the wind.

~Fin

* Peonies represent Shame.