tarie
in
sunandsmut
Fic for Furiosity!
TO: furiosity
FROM: fleshdress
TITLE: Green-Eyed Monster
PAIRING: Harry/Blaise, Draco/Others, implied Draco/Blaise and Harry/Draco
RATING: NC-17
SUMMARY: Harry's seeing things he really thinks he shouldn't, and Blaise turns out to be less than helpful.
WARNINGS: none in particular
DISCLAIMER: JK Rowling owns these characters and I'm making no money from playing with them.
AUTHOR NOTES: I hope I got most of your kinks. I think I got voyeurism, frottage, mindfuck, dirty talk, exhibitionism and jealousy! Thanks to J for the beta.
The man's face is vaguely familiar. Harry looks at its brutish lines and remembers the front-page headline from the Daily Prophet a few weeks ago: Azkaban's Last Death Eaters Escape!
But it's not the man's face that matters - not even his staring, dark eyes or the determined set to his mouth that curls his upper lip back to reveal sharp, yellow teeth.
It's the thick cock he's working wetly between Draco's swollen lips that matters.
Harry moves to get a better view of Draco's face - rapturous, his long lashes lowered in bliss - as the man fucks his mouth ruthlessly. He's got his big hands knotted in twists of Draco's white-blond hair, but Draco manages to glance in Harry's direction.
His robe's slipping off the sharp angle of his shoulder and his body hangs limp and exhausted from the cock in his mouth and the hands in his hair.
But he keeps his eyes fixed on Harry as the man comes. He rocks back onto his heels when the man has finished using him. There's come dribbling from his lips, and he looks at Harry and smiles.
"Look, Harry, I know you'd rather be out fighting," said Hermione, frowning at him, "but preparation is key."
Harry rubbed his scar, which currently felt like a zigzag trail of acid on his forehead. The library of 12, Grimmauld Place floated back into place around him like snow in a child's snowglobe. Hermione's anxious face was looking at him from across the table of scattered building schematics.
He wetted his lips and tried to make his brain feel like his own again. It felt wrong in his head, wrenched about and out of place. Every time Voldemort had done this - eleventh time since it began a month and a half ago - he pulled Harry's mind just a little more out of shape, until it was beginning to feel like hammering a round peg into a square hole with grey matter squidged against the sides of his skull.
"Dreaming again?" she asked.
Harry felt the concerned glance move through the others in the room like a ripple on water, Ron clearing his throat and Neville's brow furrowing in sympathy.
He nodded and shrugged.
"Still nothing we can use."
"Are you sure?" Hermione pressed, as Harry had known she was eventually going to. "Perhaps if you told us what you were seeing, it might have some significance that you're miss-"
"It's nothing, Hermione," said Harry, rubbing his bloodshot eyes wearily. "Really. Just… seepage."
He slumped down into one of the decaying armchairs as the meeting broke up. He barely heard the low murmurings as they left the library, closing the door almost silently behind themselves as if he were an invalid not to be disturbed.
He only realised he hadn't been left entirely alone when he registered the scratching of a quill over the far end of the library. Raising his head from his cradling hands, he saw Blaise Zabini taking notes from one of the old tomes of Dark magic. Harry wasn't particularly comfortable with Blaise's long periods of study in the library. It was full of the nastiest Black secrets, and while Blaise insisted he was a refugee from the war, Harry wasn't sure he believed him.
"You and Malfoy were involved, weren't you? With each other I mean."
The musing on Blaise's Slytherin background brought the question to Harry's lips before he'd even considered it. He winced as Blaise raised his head slowly, laying his pen down on the text.
"Not that it's any of your business," he said, eyeing Harry with detached irritation, "but I don't consider the relationship over." For a heartbeat, Harry thought he might have gotten away with it and the words of a hasty escape were almost on his lips when Blaise's eyes narrowed. "He was in your vision, just now, wasn't he?"
Harry floundered, his mouth working uselessly, before he nodded.
"How is he?" Blaise demanded.
Harry shrugged and examined his fingernails. There didn't seem to be a tactful way to tell someone that their boyfriend was frequently occurring in pornographic interactions beamed straight into your head courtesy of your nemesis who happened to be watching.
"He's… alright."
"He clearly isn't or you'd be able to look me in the eye," said Blaise. "I can be trusted not to go into hysterics, whatever the news might be."
Oddly, as much as Harry thought it was a bloody horrible thing to have to tell someone, the idea of someone else knowing what Voldemort was putting in his head was too tempting to resist. Blaise was clever too, objective in a way that Harry couldn't be. Blaise could maybe make sense of it, and making sense of it was the first step to making it stop. And Harry wanted it to stop, with almost every fibre of his soul.
"He was sucking someone off. And the time before that, he was being fucked. Like the time before that," said Harry in a rush, before the sudden glint in Blaise's dark eyes made him reconsider whether it was a good idea after all.
There was a long moment's pause as Blaise stared at Harry, who gritted his teeth defiantly and didn't look away.
"Willingly?" Blaise asked at last. "Is it always Draco you see?"
"He seems willing enough," Harry said, feeling his cheeks burn. "And it's always him and I don't bloody understand what Voldemort thinks he's playing at."
The cool note of scrutiny in Blaise's gaze unnerved Harry, and he struggled to keep his composure, keeping his fingers curled tightly into the mouldering arms of his chair to stop them from irrationally becoming fists.
The crumpled ball of paper that Blaise threw without warning struck Harry in the shoulder, before he fumbled to catch it.
"You're not sleeping, you're barely eating, you can't concentrate and your reflexes are dulled," said Blaise. "I'd say Voldemort's tactics are inspired." He looked down at his page of writing, the first sign of awkwardness entering his body language. "I suppose I'm not surprised really. Your attentions to Draco were always verging on obsessive. If I noticed, you can be sure He did."
*
Draco's shoulders are stained with green and blue bruises, but he glances back at Harry and lowers his lashes coyly as he allows the man in front of him to slide his robe from him.
It's another Death Eater. Harry's seen this one before. He's the one with the coarse, dark hair. The one who had Draco bent over the arm of a sofa, pressing his pale cheek to the damask cushion, fucking him while Draco's gaze never wavered from Harry.
A consummate performer, Draco settles languorously on the bed. He reclines against the pillows, propping himself up on his elbows, and spreads his legs without any apparent shame at all. His cock is already half-hard, curving up from tight blond curls. There are more marks on his hips and thighs - faded with age to a whole range of shades of blue, purple, green and yellow.
The muscles in his flat smooth stomach are quivering, and they jump as the man settles between his parted legs and bows his shaggy head to kiss the inside of Draco's thigh
"You're with him now, aren’t you?" Blaise's voice hissed in his ear, hot and serpentine.
Turning away from the urban nightscape beyond the window, Harry glanced, glassy-eyed, at Blaise.
He was standing so closely that Harry couldn't move without pressing closer to him. There was something feverish in the intensity of his gaze and when he laid his fingertips on Harry's flushed cheek, his touch was scorching.
"Who's he with?"
Harry rested his forehead on the cool, smeared glass of the window and distantly heard the clock at the foot of the stairs chime two. The rest of the house was silent, the Order members either departed or asleep in their beds.
"I don't know," he whispered at last. "Just some Death Eater."
"But he's being fucked?"
Draco arches off the bad as the man's hand works between his buttocks and tries to spread his legs wider. His head has lolled back onto the pillow, tossing from side to side as he stares desperately at the ceiling.
The man's holding him down with his thick, muscled arm like a bar over Draco's stomach. His other wrist is flexing sharply. He looks up at Harry and amenably lifts Draco's hips so Harry can see he's got two slick fingers crammed in Draco's pink, stretched arsehole.
"Yeah," Harry breathed. "He's fingering him."
Blaise's arm slid about him and Harry turned into him, grinding his hips closer mindlessly while he stared out of the window into the stars at Draco's sinuously writhing body.
"Are his fingers deep inside him? Or are they just teasing? He's squirming, isn't he? Like he can't make up his mind whether it feels too good, hurts too much, or both."
Harry nodded. His breath blossomed a fog on the glass as he panted. Blaise's cock was hard and sliding against his thigh, with only a few layers of material between them: Blaise's soft black robe and Harry's pyjama bottoms. The arm about his waist was both supporting him and keeping him from pulling away.
"He's, oh God, he's putting his cock in him. And Draco won't hold still. Won't let him go either, but he… fuck that must hurt," Harry whispered, his eyes widening as Draco tries to twist away from the thick head of the man's cock that's being forced into him, his lips moving in some silent, frantic plea and one slim leg tangling about the man's lower back, heel pressing down and urging him on.
"He needs to be tied down, don't you think?" Blaise suggested, barely a hitch in his silky voice as he rutted against Harry's hipbone - sharply exposed where his pyjama bottoms had slipped down - his rhythm a smooth demand.
"Yeah, needs to be tied down."
"I used to tie him down. Make him helpless and mine. Make him take my cock, and he loved it. Is he loving it, Harry? Does he like what's being done to him?"
Harry wishes he could hear the noise Draco's making. His head's flung back, all that silvery-white hair falling like frost from his flushed, twisted face. His whole body undulates with each thrust as he's fucked. The curve of his spine every time he arches off the bed looks unnatural; his ribcage seems to be in danger of piercing the slick white skin that covers it.
Harry nodded, his forehead sliding against the moist glass of the window with an absurd squeak. His legs didn't seem strong enough to hold him up and he was almost grateful for the arm holding him up and the cock pressing against his that sent blood surging through him and set his heartbeat throbbing in his ears.
"Tell me how he looks," Blaise insisted. His lips were hot and wet against Harry's cheek as he kissed him and his teeth were barely covered. "You can see him, you can tell him how he is, you can share."
There was almost something pleading in Blaise's voice, but Harry couldn't penetrate the heavy red fog creeping about his vision that kept him from doing anything other than staring at Draco and riding the rhythm of Blaise's cock.
He pushed back, groaning in frustration as the expensive material of Blaise's robes muffled the sensation. There was more skin Harry couldn't get to, more skin besides Blaise's fingertips spidering along his jaw and his mouth working hungrily against his cheekbone, whispering encouragement.
"You want to tell me, you must do. How can you watch and not tell me? He's so beautiful when he's fucked, isn't he? When he shuts up and doesn't pretend to be anything he's not. So beautiful."
It isn't going to be long. The man's labouring harder, his big hands clamped about Draco's birdlike hips. Harry wishes he could move closer still, wishes he could move so closely he could see the man's cock shoving into that tight, little hole. Draco's shivering, his frame contorted until it looks like twisted metal. He wants to hear Draco scream when he comes, wants to reach out and feel him tremble.
"Can't move any closer," Harry whispered. "He won't move. Voldemort… But, Jesus…. I want to see…"
Even as Harry's voice was trailing off into a frustrated whine, Blaise was tugging him nearer into the warmth of his body, wrapping him in his arms and the robe and the scent of cognac and desperation.
"Show me, Harry, show me how to move…"
It took Harry a moment to understand what Blaise was saying, managing to catch a glimpse of his dark eyes even as he watched the man haul Draco back down the bed and right back down onto his cock. Then, jerkily, he snapped his hips, settling into the same rhythm that was pounding Draco's arse.
"Yeah," said Blaise as he fell into time. "Yeah, that's right. Show me."
The throbbing in Harry's head and the tightening clench of his lower belly overwhelmed him and he fisted his hands into Blaise's robes. His head felt too heavy for his neck and he grimaced as he tried to shake off the almost sickly ache, grinding against Blaise in the animal need to come.
There are tears glittering on Draco's eyelashes, Harry notices, when at last he moves close enough to see. He's wet with sweat, shining in the candlelight. His expression is beyond ecstatic. He doesn't see Harry at first - blind as he's brought to the brink. Then his eyes flutter open and he comes like an angel as his gaze fixes on Harry's face.
"There," muttered Blaise, his hand sliding tentatively up Harry's shoulder to ease him back onto his own feet. "Come on, Harry."
Harry swallowed and drew in a shuddering breath, looking away from Blaise's face and over to the skyline. His worn pyjama bottoms stuck to his thigh as his come seeped into them. He took a step back and then risked a glance at Blaise.
He was peculiarly relieved to see the dark flush of Blaise's cheeks and the sheen on his forehead. He didn't know whether to thank him for his company, or to rage at him for trying to crawl into his head just like everyone else did.
When Blaise turned and walked away without a word, Harry supposed it wouldn't make any difference either way.
*
"Such a good boy," Voldemort said, stroking the damp hair from Draco's forehead. "You did that very nicely indeed."
"Mmm," agreed Draco as he laid dazed and panting for breath on the bed while Rodolphus pulled his clothes back on. Greatly daring, Draco caught Voldemort's long-fingered hand and pressed the knuckles to his lips. He lifted his gaze to his face slowly and cautiously.
He was rewarded with Voldemort settling down on the edge of the bed beside him, his other hand sliding beneath Draco's chin and tilting his face up.
"Such a shame really," he murmured, his red eyes raking over Draco's face, his lips curving into a smile as Draco's warily self-satisfied expression wavered.
"A shame, my lord?"
There was something about red eyes that meant that when they were looking at you, you couldn't help looking back.
Blaise's lip is curled back, his expression half-feral as he pushes against Harry. There's a fervency in his eyes that Draco doesn't recognise, has never seen. And it's all focused on Harry.
Voldemort didn't stop smoothing the hair off Draco's face even as his anguished shriek rattled about the room.
"I hope you weren't expecting a rescue. Your lover and your saviour…. What a shame."
END
FROM: fleshdress
TITLE: Green-Eyed Monster
PAIRING: Harry/Blaise, Draco/Others, implied Draco/Blaise and Harry/Draco
RATING: NC-17
SUMMARY: Harry's seeing things he really thinks he shouldn't, and Blaise turns out to be less than helpful.
WARNINGS: none in particular
DISCLAIMER: JK Rowling owns these characters and I'm making no money from playing with them.
AUTHOR NOTES: I hope I got most of your kinks. I think I got voyeurism, frottage, mindfuck, dirty talk, exhibitionism and jealousy! Thanks to J for the beta.
The man's face is vaguely familiar. Harry looks at its brutish lines and remembers the front-page headline from the Daily Prophet a few weeks ago: Azkaban's Last Death Eaters Escape!
But it's not the man's face that matters - not even his staring, dark eyes or the determined set to his mouth that curls his upper lip back to reveal sharp, yellow teeth.
It's the thick cock he's working wetly between Draco's swollen lips that matters.
Harry moves to get a better view of Draco's face - rapturous, his long lashes lowered in bliss - as the man fucks his mouth ruthlessly. He's got his big hands knotted in twists of Draco's white-blond hair, but Draco manages to glance in Harry's direction.
His robe's slipping off the sharp angle of his shoulder and his body hangs limp and exhausted from the cock in his mouth and the hands in his hair.
But he keeps his eyes fixed on Harry as the man comes. He rocks back onto his heels when the man has finished using him. There's come dribbling from his lips, and he looks at Harry and smiles.
"Look, Harry, I know you'd rather be out fighting," said Hermione, frowning at him, "but preparation is key."
Harry rubbed his scar, which currently felt like a zigzag trail of acid on his forehead. The library of 12, Grimmauld Place floated back into place around him like snow in a child's snowglobe. Hermione's anxious face was looking at him from across the table of scattered building schematics.
He wetted his lips and tried to make his brain feel like his own again. It felt wrong in his head, wrenched about and out of place. Every time Voldemort had done this - eleventh time since it began a month and a half ago - he pulled Harry's mind just a little more out of shape, until it was beginning to feel like hammering a round peg into a square hole with grey matter squidged against the sides of his skull.
"Dreaming again?" she asked.
Harry felt the concerned glance move through the others in the room like a ripple on water, Ron clearing his throat and Neville's brow furrowing in sympathy.
He nodded and shrugged.
"Still nothing we can use."
"Are you sure?" Hermione pressed, as Harry had known she was eventually going to. "Perhaps if you told us what you were seeing, it might have some significance that you're miss-"
"It's nothing, Hermione," said Harry, rubbing his bloodshot eyes wearily. "Really. Just… seepage."
He slumped down into one of the decaying armchairs as the meeting broke up. He barely heard the low murmurings as they left the library, closing the door almost silently behind themselves as if he were an invalid not to be disturbed.
He only realised he hadn't been left entirely alone when he registered the scratching of a quill over the far end of the library. Raising his head from his cradling hands, he saw Blaise Zabini taking notes from one of the old tomes of Dark magic. Harry wasn't particularly comfortable with Blaise's long periods of study in the library. It was full of the nastiest Black secrets, and while Blaise insisted he was a refugee from the war, Harry wasn't sure he believed him.
"You and Malfoy were involved, weren't you? With each other I mean."
The musing on Blaise's Slytherin background brought the question to Harry's lips before he'd even considered it. He winced as Blaise raised his head slowly, laying his pen down on the text.
"Not that it's any of your business," he said, eyeing Harry with detached irritation, "but I don't consider the relationship over." For a heartbeat, Harry thought he might have gotten away with it and the words of a hasty escape were almost on his lips when Blaise's eyes narrowed. "He was in your vision, just now, wasn't he?"
Harry floundered, his mouth working uselessly, before he nodded.
"How is he?" Blaise demanded.
Harry shrugged and examined his fingernails. There didn't seem to be a tactful way to tell someone that their boyfriend was frequently occurring in pornographic interactions beamed straight into your head courtesy of your nemesis who happened to be watching.
"He's… alright."
"He clearly isn't or you'd be able to look me in the eye," said Blaise. "I can be trusted not to go into hysterics, whatever the news might be."
Oddly, as much as Harry thought it was a bloody horrible thing to have to tell someone, the idea of someone else knowing what Voldemort was putting in his head was too tempting to resist. Blaise was clever too, objective in a way that Harry couldn't be. Blaise could maybe make sense of it, and making sense of it was the first step to making it stop. And Harry wanted it to stop, with almost every fibre of his soul.
"He was sucking someone off. And the time before that, he was being fucked. Like the time before that," said Harry in a rush, before the sudden glint in Blaise's dark eyes made him reconsider whether it was a good idea after all.
There was a long moment's pause as Blaise stared at Harry, who gritted his teeth defiantly and didn't look away.
"Willingly?" Blaise asked at last. "Is it always Draco you see?"
"He seems willing enough," Harry said, feeling his cheeks burn. "And it's always him and I don't bloody understand what Voldemort thinks he's playing at."
The cool note of scrutiny in Blaise's gaze unnerved Harry, and he struggled to keep his composure, keeping his fingers curled tightly into the mouldering arms of his chair to stop them from irrationally becoming fists.
The crumpled ball of paper that Blaise threw without warning struck Harry in the shoulder, before he fumbled to catch it.
"You're not sleeping, you're barely eating, you can't concentrate and your reflexes are dulled," said Blaise. "I'd say Voldemort's tactics are inspired." He looked down at his page of writing, the first sign of awkwardness entering his body language. "I suppose I'm not surprised really. Your attentions to Draco were always verging on obsessive. If I noticed, you can be sure He did."
*
Draco's shoulders are stained with green and blue bruises, but he glances back at Harry and lowers his lashes coyly as he allows the man in front of him to slide his robe from him.
It's another Death Eater. Harry's seen this one before. He's the one with the coarse, dark hair. The one who had Draco bent over the arm of a sofa, pressing his pale cheek to the damask cushion, fucking him while Draco's gaze never wavered from Harry.
A consummate performer, Draco settles languorously on the bed. He reclines against the pillows, propping himself up on his elbows, and spreads his legs without any apparent shame at all. His cock is already half-hard, curving up from tight blond curls. There are more marks on his hips and thighs - faded with age to a whole range of shades of blue, purple, green and yellow.
The muscles in his flat smooth stomach are quivering, and they jump as the man settles between his parted legs and bows his shaggy head to kiss the inside of Draco's thigh
"You're with him now, aren’t you?" Blaise's voice hissed in his ear, hot and serpentine.
Turning away from the urban nightscape beyond the window, Harry glanced, glassy-eyed, at Blaise.
He was standing so closely that Harry couldn't move without pressing closer to him. There was something feverish in the intensity of his gaze and when he laid his fingertips on Harry's flushed cheek, his touch was scorching.
"Who's he with?"
Harry rested his forehead on the cool, smeared glass of the window and distantly heard the clock at the foot of the stairs chime two. The rest of the house was silent, the Order members either departed or asleep in their beds.
"I don't know," he whispered at last. "Just some Death Eater."
"But he's being fucked?"
Draco arches off the bad as the man's hand works between his buttocks and tries to spread his legs wider. His head has lolled back onto the pillow, tossing from side to side as he stares desperately at the ceiling.
The man's holding him down with his thick, muscled arm like a bar over Draco's stomach. His other wrist is flexing sharply. He looks up at Harry and amenably lifts Draco's hips so Harry can see he's got two slick fingers crammed in Draco's pink, stretched arsehole.
"Yeah," Harry breathed. "He's fingering him."
Blaise's arm slid about him and Harry turned into him, grinding his hips closer mindlessly while he stared out of the window into the stars at Draco's sinuously writhing body.
"Are his fingers deep inside him? Or are they just teasing? He's squirming, isn't he? Like he can't make up his mind whether it feels too good, hurts too much, or both."
Harry nodded. His breath blossomed a fog on the glass as he panted. Blaise's cock was hard and sliding against his thigh, with only a few layers of material between them: Blaise's soft black robe and Harry's pyjama bottoms. The arm about his waist was both supporting him and keeping him from pulling away.
"He's, oh God, he's putting his cock in him. And Draco won't hold still. Won't let him go either, but he… fuck that must hurt," Harry whispered, his eyes widening as Draco tries to twist away from the thick head of the man's cock that's being forced into him, his lips moving in some silent, frantic plea and one slim leg tangling about the man's lower back, heel pressing down and urging him on.
"He needs to be tied down, don't you think?" Blaise suggested, barely a hitch in his silky voice as he rutted against Harry's hipbone - sharply exposed where his pyjama bottoms had slipped down - his rhythm a smooth demand.
"Yeah, needs to be tied down."
"I used to tie him down. Make him helpless and mine. Make him take my cock, and he loved it. Is he loving it, Harry? Does he like what's being done to him?"
Harry wishes he could hear the noise Draco's making. His head's flung back, all that silvery-white hair falling like frost from his flushed, twisted face. His whole body undulates with each thrust as he's fucked. The curve of his spine every time he arches off the bed looks unnatural; his ribcage seems to be in danger of piercing the slick white skin that covers it.
Harry nodded, his forehead sliding against the moist glass of the window with an absurd squeak. His legs didn't seem strong enough to hold him up and he was almost grateful for the arm holding him up and the cock pressing against his that sent blood surging through him and set his heartbeat throbbing in his ears.
"Tell me how he looks," Blaise insisted. His lips were hot and wet against Harry's cheek as he kissed him and his teeth were barely covered. "You can see him, you can tell him how he is, you can share."
There was almost something pleading in Blaise's voice, but Harry couldn't penetrate the heavy red fog creeping about his vision that kept him from doing anything other than staring at Draco and riding the rhythm of Blaise's cock.
He pushed back, groaning in frustration as the expensive material of Blaise's robes muffled the sensation. There was more skin Harry couldn't get to, more skin besides Blaise's fingertips spidering along his jaw and his mouth working hungrily against his cheekbone, whispering encouragement.
"You want to tell me, you must do. How can you watch and not tell me? He's so beautiful when he's fucked, isn't he? When he shuts up and doesn't pretend to be anything he's not. So beautiful."
It isn't going to be long. The man's labouring harder, his big hands clamped about Draco's birdlike hips. Harry wishes he could move closer still, wishes he could move so closely he could see the man's cock shoving into that tight, little hole. Draco's shivering, his frame contorted until it looks like twisted metal. He wants to hear Draco scream when he comes, wants to reach out and feel him tremble.
"Can't move any closer," Harry whispered. "He won't move. Voldemort… But, Jesus…. I want to see…"
Even as Harry's voice was trailing off into a frustrated whine, Blaise was tugging him nearer into the warmth of his body, wrapping him in his arms and the robe and the scent of cognac and desperation.
"Show me, Harry, show me how to move…"
It took Harry a moment to understand what Blaise was saying, managing to catch a glimpse of his dark eyes even as he watched the man haul Draco back down the bed and right back down onto his cock. Then, jerkily, he snapped his hips, settling into the same rhythm that was pounding Draco's arse.
"Yeah," said Blaise as he fell into time. "Yeah, that's right. Show me."
The throbbing in Harry's head and the tightening clench of his lower belly overwhelmed him and he fisted his hands into Blaise's robes. His head felt too heavy for his neck and he grimaced as he tried to shake off the almost sickly ache, grinding against Blaise in the animal need to come.
There are tears glittering on Draco's eyelashes, Harry notices, when at last he moves close enough to see. He's wet with sweat, shining in the candlelight. His expression is beyond ecstatic. He doesn't see Harry at first - blind as he's brought to the brink. Then his eyes flutter open and he comes like an angel as his gaze fixes on Harry's face.
"There," muttered Blaise, his hand sliding tentatively up Harry's shoulder to ease him back onto his own feet. "Come on, Harry."
Harry swallowed and drew in a shuddering breath, looking away from Blaise's face and over to the skyline. His worn pyjama bottoms stuck to his thigh as his come seeped into them. He took a step back and then risked a glance at Blaise.
He was peculiarly relieved to see the dark flush of Blaise's cheeks and the sheen on his forehead. He didn't know whether to thank him for his company, or to rage at him for trying to crawl into his head just like everyone else did.
When Blaise turned and walked away without a word, Harry supposed it wouldn't make any difference either way.
*
"Such a good boy," Voldemort said, stroking the damp hair from Draco's forehead. "You did that very nicely indeed."
"Mmm," agreed Draco as he laid dazed and panting for breath on the bed while Rodolphus pulled his clothes back on. Greatly daring, Draco caught Voldemort's long-fingered hand and pressed the knuckles to his lips. He lifted his gaze to his face slowly and cautiously.
He was rewarded with Voldemort settling down on the edge of the bed beside him, his other hand sliding beneath Draco's chin and tilting his face up.
"Such a shame really," he murmured, his red eyes raking over Draco's face, his lips curving into a smile as Draco's warily self-satisfied expression wavered.
"A shame, my lord?"
There was something about red eyes that meant that when they were looking at you, you couldn't help looking back.
Blaise's lip is curled back, his expression half-feral as he pushes against Harry. There's a fervency in his eyes that Draco doesn't recognise, has never seen. And it's all focused on Harry.
Voldemort didn't stop smoothing the hair off Draco's face even as his anguished shriek rattled about the room.
"I hope you weren't expecting a rescue. Your lover and your saviour…. What a shame."
END