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Harry walked home from campus, completely unconcerned. Hermione had warned him for days about the serial killer lurking around campus, but Harry thought it might be a hoax. It was close to Halloween after all, and no bodies had been found. There was nothing to suggest that there was a killer except for some missing students. He certainly didn't expect that if there was a killer, they would come after him. There was nothing about Harry that he felt was outwardly attractive to others. He was a bit shorter than his friends, his hair was wild and untamable. People loved his eyes though, and they had a fascination with the scar on his forehead from where he had run into a table at a young age. The scar resembled a lightning bolt which was about as fascinating as he was.
He should have paid more attention to his surroundings. He should have been wary of Hermione's warnings or even Ron's subtle tensing at the idea. He should have walked home with someone else. He, Ron, and Hermione rented a house together. They should have traveled home together. But he didn't. He hadn't cared, hadn't paid enough attention.
So, he didn't notice when someone else crept up on him. He didn't notice anyone else was there until he suddenly felt an arm around his neck. He struggled but it was in vain as his vision blackened quickly. He didn't notice if something else was involved, all he knew is he suddenly felt a body against his own, someone strong against his back, and the arm around his throat before everything was gone.
He didn't know how long he was unconscious. He didn't even know when he woke if it was the same day. All knew is he was staring at the remnants of the sunset, the oranges and yellows that danced across the sky and the ground; fingers of sunlight fading, before there was nothing. And now he was here. Where here was, he didn't know. He didn't even know which was up at this point. His head thrummed and it felt like a spotlight was blinding him every time he tried to open his eyes. Every nerve in his body sang and was dulled at the same time.
It took several tries to open his eyes, finding that it wasn't a spotlight in front of him, but in fact a soft, overhead light. He blinked a few times, white spots clouding his vision before the world began to come into focus. The area around him looked like a cabin. The walls and floors were made of wood with no sign of carpeting. There was a fire crackling in the corner, the only sound in the room other than Harry's panting breathing. There were some imbedded shelves on the walls, stone surrounding the fireplace, and some scarce furniture. It didn't look as though anyone lived there, or maybe it was a vacation spot. His eyes focused on the space in front of him, seeing a window open to the night sky, stars shining through trees, and in front of it a wooden table. Chairs were surrounding it and as he focused on his body more, he noticed he was in one of them. Or rather, he was tied to one of them.
In another chair, leaning against the window, was another. He appeared to be about Harry's age, with high cheekbones and dark, wavy chestnut hair. His body was long and lithe and he had long eyelashes which brushed his cheeks as he sat with his eyes closed. His feet were propped up on another chair. One hand was resting across his abdomen and the other was playing with a knife which he spun on the table. Now and then the knife would thump as the handle hit a bowl on the table but the man only shifted it and continued playing with it.
Harry's throat felt like it was stuffed with cotton as he tried to open his mouth. He wanted to speak, to ask the man what he was doing there, to beg him to let him go.
The man sat quietly for a few more minutes and if his hand wasn't moving, Harry would wonder if he was even alive.
Eventually, he opened his eyes and Harry was suddenly captivated. He had brilliant but dark blue eyes, the same shade as the sky just before sunrise. He swallowed thickly.
The man was gorgeous, ethereal even. Harry suddenly felt inadequate, even tied to the chair as he was.
The man leaned forward, taking his feet off the chair and stilling the knife. He pulled it off the table and shifted forward, pressing his elbows to his knees and holding the knife with both hands.
"I find myself in a state of bewilderment," He said quietly. His voice sounded like velvet. It was an earworm that wiggled its way into Harry's brain and refused to leave, even with so little spoken. "You see, normally this is over quick." He looked down at the knife he was holding. "Most don't even wake up before I end them." His eyes flicked back to Harry and suddenly he felt the need to squirm in the chair, to try to break loose with that predatory gaze watching him.
"Let me go." He demanded, his voice hoarse.
"'Let me go.'" The other mimicked then let out a breathy chuckle. "The ones I let wake up always say that. 'Let me go.'" His eyes flashed. "'Why are you doing this?' Or 'what do you want from me?' Or 'I'll give you anything. Just please.'" His voice changed tone and pitch as he spoke, likely mimicking past victims. "They struggle." He pointed the knife at Harry, who had started struggling in his restraints again and the motion made him stop. "But ultimately it's useless. They all die."
He stood and with a swift movement, plunged the tip of the knife into the table. He strolled over to Harry, his hips swaying with the movement.
"But with you," He said quietly. "I find myself bewildered." His fingers ran down the side of Harry's face in a ghost light touch but Harry flinched.
Reality had set in now. Hermione had been right. There was a serial killer. And now he had taken Harry. He tried to loosen his hands in the restraints. If he could get one hand loose he could escape. He might even be able to incapacitate his kidnapper. Thoughts flew through his mind. He had to escape. He had to find a road. Find help.
The other looked at him with amusement, and Harry suddenly realized that there had likely been others before him who had the same thoughts. This wasn't the first time the killer had seen this type of desperation before. He was used to it. He was amused by it.
Harry swallowed thickly.
The killer sighed. "Normally, I like this." He moved closer to Harry. Harry angled his head upward, straining to see the killers face, to make eye contact. If he was going to die, he would die with his killer knowing he hadn't bested him. Harry would die as he lived, stubborn to the end. The killer's fingers drifted from his face to the ropes, tugging at them slightly. Harry could feel chains around his wrists and ankles and a slight shift told him he was bolted to the floor. He wasn't going anywhere. This would be the last thing he saw. The killer would be the last person he knew. "I like the power." His hand came back to Harry's face, but this time to grip his chin, jerking Harry's head back. "I like the control."
The killer's grip was almost painful, his eyes flashing with something before he eventually let Harry go and sighed again.
"But I find I am unable to kill you."
Harry's mind short-circuited.
The killer cocked his head as he stood above Harry.
"Yes," He said quietly. "You heard me right." The other moved again this time shifting his body over Harry's and straddling him, letting his weight fall onto Harry's bound legs. "I can't kill you. I don't know why." He ran his hand through Harry's hair, fingers brushing over the strands. "Maybe it's this wild raven hair of yours." His other hand trailed down Harry's face. "Maybe it's your look, like someone who's lost everything and carries the weight of the world on his shoulders." His eyes shot to Harry's. "Are you an orphan?"
He wondered for a moment if he should even answer. What good would it do? But what good would it do to refrain from answering? Maybe answering would let him live longer.
"Yes," He said quietly.
The other hummed.
"Who raised you?"
Harry swallowed thickly. "My aunt and uncle."
The other's fingers began trailing over his face, as though he were memorizing it. "Did they treat you well?"
Memories sprung to the forefront of Harry's mind and he vehemently pushed them away. "No."
The other's fingers trailed over his lips. "You want to be free." His index finger took a particularly long time leaving Harry's bottom lip. "You want to be loved."
"Yes," Harry answered breathlessly. He wouldn't admit it, but he often felt incredibly alone. The Weasleys, Ron's family, were good people who had helped him a little when he was younger. But Ron had Hermione and even though they were friends, he often felt like the odd one out with them.
"I want that too." The other whispered.
"Is that why you kill people?" He asked without thinking. "Because they wouldn't love you?"
The other smirked. "I kill because it's fun. Because I like it." He leaned forward slightly. "But I can't kill you."
Harry's mind was buzzing, his thoughts moving like lightning through his mind.
"I'll make you a deal," The other said after a moment. "Give me something, and I'll consider letting you go."
"Give you what?" He asked.
The other's hand trailed down Harry's bound chest, down his abdomen, and between his legs, brushing over his cock.
"Oh." He said as he jumped. He swallowed thickly, his mouth feeling dry again. "But I-" He stopped himself. "I don't even know your name. You don't know mine."
His mind couldn't help but think about the deal the other had offered him. Maybe, if he did what he asked, he could go home. He debated about telling someone afterward what had happened, who they were looking for. He looked up into those waiting dark eyes, swallowing thickly. He could do this. He could do this one thing and then he could be free.
"What's your name?" The other asked quietly.
"Harry. My name's Harry."
The other ran his hand through Harry's hair once more. "Hello, Harry."
He then stood abruptly, striding back over to the table. Harry thought that maybe telling his name had been a mistake. That maybe would die now. The other pulled the knife from where it was stuck in the table and walked back to Harry, his gaze intense. He braced himself, waiting for the knife to brush his skin, but instead, the knife dug into the fabric. Harry was taken by surprise as his clothes were practically torn from him, exposing his body to the cool air and the bite of the ropes. He struggled slightly, feeling them press into his flesh. The other discarded the knife and began tugging at his own clothes until both were bare.
Harry struggled against the bindings more. "How can I-"
The other shushed him with a finger against his lips.
Slowly, he lowered himself onto his knees, before shifting the ropes that bit into Harry's hips. His flaccid cock sprung forward and he hissed at the cold air and the other's touch. It wasn't that he was inexperienced, but he was touch-starved, and even the touch of a killer was enough to arouse him to some extent.
The other's eyes flashed slightly as he bent his head. Harry wondered what would happen next before suddenly, the other's tongue ran over sensitive flesh. Harry gasped in shock, his body jumping in his restraints. The killer grinned, reminding Harry eerily of the Cheshire Cat, before he dipped his head once more. Harry didn't have any warning before the other took him in his mouth, sucking fiercely.
His body was a live wire. Arousal began humming through his veins. Any coherent thought he had left vanished immediately as the blood that was once in his brain drifted downward to his swelling cock. The other hollowed his cheeks, sucking with vigor at Harry's cock. He felt as though he would jump from the chair just because of arousal alone. Perhaps this was all he needed to free himself. He continued, bobbing his head before taking Harry full, his cock pressing against the back of the other's throat. He groaned, letting his head fall back.
It was strange to him that only a few minutes earlier, the restraints had spelled certain death for him.
Now, however, he suddenly felt more aroused at the idea of being tied down. At the idea of being held still while someone else did the work.
The killer licked and sucked for another few minutes, his hand taking place of his mouth when he needed to breathe. His pupils were dilated, his eyes filled with lust as he worked on Harry's cock, making him harder and harder by the second. He didn't think it was possible to be this aroused, but the killer's mouth was almost addictive.
He wanted to thrust upward, to bury himself in that wet heat. But the ropes held him in place. He groaned again, aroused even further by his lack of movement. The killer grinned again before rising. He straddled Harry once more, grinding himself against Harry's body. Their lengths brushed as he did, making him groan once more. He let his head fall forward, resting on the other's shoulder slightly. After another moment, the other's movement's stopped. Harry heard him spit and suddenly a hand was massaging his cock. And then the other was moving again, this time shifting his hips forward and impaling himself on Harry's cock.
He gasped, feeling suddenly trapped between the killer and the chair, his cock sinking slowly into incredibly tight heat. The other sank down slowly until he was fully seated, Harry buried within him. His head shook automatically, his body needing a physical way to manifest his pleasure, given that he couldn't reach or grab for the other. He was certain that he could be let out of his restraints now and he wouldn't go anywhere. All he wanted was to be right here, buried in that heat and pleasure forever.
The other began to shift, thighs flexing as he pulled himself upward and then sank again. Over and over, he moved and his movements began to increase. The other's hands came to his face, cupping him and then leaning forward. Their lips pressed together and Harry surged in his restraints, his body begging to be let go so he could wrap his arms around the other. Whatever siren song the other had sung had worked its magic. He was trapped, but not by the ropes anymore. Just by the other, his angelic face, and the feel of his body.
The other's movements increased, the sound of skin slapping against skin heard above the crackling of the fire. The other rode him, their lips pressed together in heated yet sloppy kisses. The other didn't withhold any sounds, moaning into Harry's mouth. Their bodies ground together, his cock brushing against his abdomen with every movement.
"Oh, Harry." The other moaned, his grip on Harry impossibly tight.
Harry came with a cry, pleasure rocking through him. The other came not long after, the ropes that bound Harry's abdomen suddenly becoming sticky. They sat together for a moment, foreheads pressed together and breathing heavily.
The weight of what just happened broke through the post-orgasmic fog in his brain and that coupled with the events of the day, was enough to start pulling him into that same darkness he experienced before.
"Tom," The other said quietly against his ear. "My name is Tom."
Darkness.