Slash: Abraxas/Tom
Inspiration: 'Embers' performed by Adam Hurst
www [.] youtube [.] com/watch?v=91xjYctWo60

Disclaimer: I Do Not Own Harry Potter

Captivation
He's always had a penchant for the darker, more mysterious things. This one comes in the form of a Riddle, smelling of winter spices, and death.

He swept past me with barely a glance in my direction, but from that instant I was drawn to him; drawn by his enigmatic prowess, the purpose in his step. I felt an ancient magic stir the air at his passing, and in that moment, I felt utterly powerless. My eyes were glued to his face, and I could barely breathe past a consuming ache that tightened deep within my chest — for him, his alabaster skin and dark eyes. He barely looked at me.

He was captivating, a charming devil of a man; so gracious, so quietly composed and benevolent, that all would bend to his will at a single glance. He had the whole school enthralled — what a wonder, an utter privilege, that he was in our House; that we could be graced with association to one so… incredible. He held us all, so gently, so completely, in the palm of his hand. We were so willing – I was so willing — to do anything, for him: for one stare of those deep, obsidian eyes; to be graced with the slight curve of his mouth or a gentle nod, a touch, in thanks; a quiet word, from his lips. To be close enough to hear a single breath, a single sigh, was enough to set my skin on fire. I craved him, his presence.

I would watch, my very core entranced, as he dined at our table. Every movement was fluid, delicate, but held purpose. He never gave anything away behind that ever-so-slight smile, which always lingered hungrily at the corners of his lips. He would gently pull back the lax drape of his sleeve as he reached towards his goblet, the material slipping, receding, to reveal the smooth skin of his wrist, the slight jut of his bone. His movements were so smooth, so captivating. I adored his pale wrists. I wanted to take that elfin joint and kiss it, tracing the winding, violet arteries strewn beneath his pastel skin; I wanted to feel his temperate pulse quicken beneath my touch, belying the ever-calm composure he exulted. I wanted him to reach out and touch me with his slender fingers, breaking through his own self-control to reach me. I was fascinated by the way the light reflected off his skin, the way the sinews of his neck flexed gently as he turned his head, a soft curl of dark hair tickling his eyes.

But I knew, even then, in that one moment it took me to glimpse his face, I knew there was something that lurked behind those deep, haunting eyes; below his quiet, calm disposition there lurked something terrifying. A terrifying power. But still more, I longed for him, I longed for him to know my name.

Then, one day, he came for me. Out of the shadows, he caught me by the arm, his grip steady and strong; he was so sure of himself, of the lure he held over me. He tugged me to him, and I obeyed. My books thudded to the floor. He pulled me up against him, and cornered me into a small, dim alcove. The bricks glowed a deep brass in the torchlight, but their touch was like ice against my nervous skin. My shirt had risen slightly, catching on the wall, and his warm fingers were strumming against the slither of bare skin at my hips as he pinned me, trapped me, against him.

I shivered, arching against the harsh stone at my back. He was so close, so solid as he pressed into me, his body heat sending a yearning jolt through my gut. A blush smattered my face; his breath was hot on my cheek, and I could pick out the flecks of grey in his eyes. This close, I was intoxicated by his scent: a mulled concoction of winter spices lulled me and drew me in closer. My whole being trembled for his touch. His thumbs brushed against my skin in agonising little circles as he forced our hips together, pressing his mouth fiercely to mine.

I melted with a quiet moan, pulling him closer to me by the waistband of his trousers, my hands clumsy, tipping myself into him as all thoughts flew from my mind. I could feel every inch of his body pressing into me, pinning me, his hands wandering across my stomach as he slipped his tongue into my mouth. Seconds melded together into minutes. I couldn't remember closing my eyes, focusing solely on his touch, his tongue against mine, our mouths locked around my small gasps, but regardless of my senses I knew whatever he wanted of me, I would give.

But suddenly, with an abrupt jolt, I became aware of something blacker; something sharp against the foggy swirl within my head. I blinked, pulled back, and looked at him. There was a dark fire, an intense hunger, deep within his eyes as he fixated black pupils upon me, and my knees began to shake. With a stare so deep, he could look straight into my very soul and out the other side. After a minute, he pulled away with a gentle smirk, his soft fingertips resting at my lips, but I couldn't tear my gaze from his avid stare.

Thumb lingering at the corner of my mouth, his breath hot against my cheek, he whispered suddenly, "Would you swear yourself to me, Abraxas?" I was mesmerised. I knew that, should it be asked of me, I would do anything for him, for just another heartbeat in his presence. I slid to my knees, hands fisting in the front of his robes with sheer need, his fingers delicately resting on my jawbone. I leant forward and placed a kiss upon his clothed hip, feeling lightheaded with the sudden, overwhelming scent of winter, and of death.

"Yes," I whispered, my voice echoing down the long, deserted hallway. The torches flickered, time fell still. "Yes, my Lord."