Bloodied Shadows*
summary: when harry is looking for inspiration for his next novel, he stumbles across a house with a sinister past and well, you know what they say - curiosity killed the cat.
inspired by american horror storyβs murder house
warnings: themes of horror, blood, violence, murder, smut: mxm pairing, choking, hand job, sub!harry
i wrote this for halloween last year and really loved writing something darker than i usually do so felt like sharing it here too. Hope you enjoy!
The misty moors of the English countryside rolled past the window in an endless sea of autumnal browns against the dark grey sky looming above. A distant chill clawed against the taxi window, threatening to clasp its grip around the curious man watching the world go by. There was not a single soul around except for the silent man in the driver's seat - the promise of solitude growing ever closer the further out of town they ventured.
A deep sigh breathed past Harry's lips as he ran his ringed fingers through his unruly curls, phone pressed against his ear as he reluctantly listened to his manager reminding him of the clauses in the contract he'd signed last year.
"We agreed you'll have the first draft on my desk by the end of this month and you've decided to take a little trip out of town?" Keith's unimpressed voice filtered through the phone, causing Harry to roll his eyes. "You don't have time for dirty weekends away with your girlfriend, Harry."
The man forced himself to bite back the scoff threatening to rumble from the back of his throat at his manager's words, knowing it would do nothing to get him back in Keith's good graces. Glancing at the empty seat next to him, Harry forced himself to find the humour in his manager's assumption to avoid the overwhelming stress of knocking out the first few chapters of his novel overnight. If Keith had bothered to check his emails, he would have known Harry was using this escape to the countryside to search for inspiration. It was purely work related and he was fairly confident that by the end of the night, he'd have a solid plan to break through this current bout of writer's block.
"I promise, first thing tomorrow morning the draft will be in your inbox." He grumbled; his tone almost bored as Keith continued to rattle on without even acknowledging what Harry had said.
"If you needed extra time, you should have told me sooner. Maybe then I could've negotiated something with your publisher. I can't work miracles, Harry. This only works if you communicate-"
A dull tone cut off Keith in the middle of his lecture and with a quick glance at his screen, Harry quickly discovered there was no longer any signal.
Outside, the stretches of rolling fields had changed into one singular stretch of road surrounded by the confinement of a never-ending line of decayed trees shedding their orange leaves. Harry supposed it was a blessing being so isolated from the outside world, he could focus on meeting his deadline without the constant distraction of his phone ringing every five minutes.
The screeching of the car's brakes caught the writer's attention as they slowed to a complete stop in the middle of nowhere. A frown creased his brows as he peered out the window at the stretch of misty grey land outside, wondering what had caused such an unexpected stop in their journey. The google maps tab open on Harry's phone said he was still ten minutes from his intended destination.
"This is where the road ends, you'll have to go the rest of the way by foot."
"Y'know, this is like every stereotype in every horror movie ever made, right?" Harry scoffed rudely, folding his arms across his chest as he threw the driver an unimpressed stare in the rear-view mirror. He'd heard the rumours about where he was going but they were so ridiculous he didn't expect anyone to actually believe them. "Let me guess, you're about to warn me I'm in grave danger and it's not too late to turn back."
"Selly House is no joke, mate. Every unsolved murder in the area has been linked to that place, nobody that goes in comes out alive." The driver warned, genuine fear present in his gaze as he took in the scepticism lacing Harry's features.
"Yeah whatever." The writer sighed, knowing there was no use trying to argue. He'd seen enough horror films to know he'd end up flat on his ass in the middle of the road with his bags at his feet while the driver sped off in the opposite direction as fast as he could. "How much do I owe you?"
Minutes later, Harry was pulling his puffer jacket tighter around his body as the cold threatened to steal the air right from his lungs while he continued to sort out his bags the driver had dumped on the floor. The rumble of an engine speeding away echoed in the distance, mingling with the sharp cries of the crows flying overhead. If Harry was the type to read into things, he would be unnerved by the lack of civilization around him, but luckily this was the exact kind of solitude he was seeking for his novel.
Already his mind was running havoc with ideas simply from his surroundings, and his shoulders loosened with relief as he felt ready to start writing. Weeks of staring at an empty notebook had left him drained, pushing him further into a slump that had him convinced his whole career was a mistake - that the success of his previous novel had been a fluke.
But the fresh air biting at his skin, causing his cheeks to flush pink, snapped him back into reality. Made his creativity come alive again. And this was before he'd even stepped a foot past the threshold of the infamous murder house that lay dormant a couple of miles down the road.
When researching potential places that could inspire a dark storyline for his latest thriller, Selly House had popped up on Google too many times for the writer to ignore. Spending an entire evening delving into the history of the house led Harry down a path seeped in murder, unsolved crimes and mysterious disappearances. Centuries of ghost stories, rumours of shadows dancing in the dark and whispers of temptation drawing unsuspecting guests through the doors lit the flame of curiosity in Harry's mind.
He had never believed in ghosts, ghouls and so-called unexplainable events. Horror movies were predictable and Halloween was just another excuse for retail companies to make a shit tonne of money. It was an ironic mindset for someone who had spent the past year making money off writing a chilling horror novel but it was something he was good at even if he felt it was all a bunch of nonsense. Anything to pay the bills...
Naturally, once the writer had heard the stories, read the newspaper reports, he was intrigued. He needed to know what elements of this house sparked such fear in the local community and made it so famous. Once he discovered the roots of these childish ghost tales that haunted the town of Selly, Harry had the perfect setting for his own novel.
And what better time to get a feel of the place than Halloween night.
His plan was fool proof. Nobody dared go within five miles of the house so he would be able to sneak in undetected, nose about the decrepit ruins for a bit before settling down by the dim light of his torch to spend all night completing a draft of the first few chapters. It would be silent and he could finally get some work done without his phone constantly ringing, demanding his attention.
Heaving his backpack over his shoulder, Harry let out a quiet sigh as he began trudging his way down the road in the direction google maps pointed him. He scoffed to himself as he noticed the road he was currently on led directly up to the driveway of the house with no sign of it abruptly ending like the driver had implied.
Not a single soul was around, all that accompanied Harry on his walk were the echoes of his own footsteps and the crows squawking up above, seemingly following him in his journey. Misty rain was suddenly upon the man, dampening his curls and making him pull the hood of his jumper over his head to protect himself from the weather.
"Fucking English weather." He grumbled to himself, wiping his phone screen against his jeans in an attempt to clear the little drops of water making it difficult to see the map.
Bringing it back out in front of him, the screen was completely black. Tapping it gently, the writer hoped to wake it back up again but was left staring at his own reflection on the blank screen. Rolling his eyes, he tried pressing the side button but had no success.
If he hadn't had a full battery upon stepping out the taxi, he would've assumed his phone was just dead. But there was nothing to explain why it had suddenly stopped working.
Cursing to himself he angrily shoved the useless device back into his coat pocket, hoping he'd be able to fix it once he got to his destination. However, in his own arrogance when looking into the house, he'd failed to note the accounts of all modern technology suddenly rendered useless around the house.
With nothing but his own company, Harry began to hum to himself, hoping to pass the boring walk a little quicker. The shadow of a tall, gothic building loomed prominent against the deep grey sky, serving as a guide for Harry to follow. Even from a distance it wasn't hard to recognise what struck such fear among those in the area.
Despite spending almost half a century abandoned, Selly House looked just as new as it had the day the building had been completed. There were no signs of disrepair, no overgrown ivy snaking up the stone walls and the front gardens were all properly cared for. The sight alone made Harry stop dead in his tracks, confusion knitting his brows together as he muttered his thoughts under his breath.
Surely this was the right place?
Glancing behind him briefly, the man tried to gauge his surroundings. It made no sense.
There was not a single soul that would dare enter the grounds of Selly House, not since the gruesome murder-suicide that had taken place fifty years ago on this exact date. After decades of murders and disappearances linked to those who lived in the house, the deaths of Ethel and Rowan Montague had shaken the community so deeply that the town council had agreed to never let the house be put back up for sale again.
In that time, you would expect the outside to at least appear a little weathered, especially with the number of storms this part of the countryside faced.
A crow squawked above, feathers fluttering as it swooped close enough to Harry to make him flinch before landing atop the iron gates. Its yellow eyes stared at him, unmoving as if waiting for Harry to take another step forward. Daring him to enter the grounds.
The writer shook his head, snickering to himself slightly at how cliche this all seemed and the fact he had for a split second briefly entertained the idea of turning back around.
He was getting too inside his head about this, it was a house that had an infamous past - of course it was going to be a little unnerving. But he knew that when planning this trip. He wasn't coming for a relaxing weekend away; he was coming to be scared. For the house to prove itself to him so could use that material for his own personal gain.
Suck it up, buttercup.
Taking a deep breath in, Harry willed himself forward, up to the gates and over threshold. He almost laughed when nothing happened, no voices emerged from the shadows, no brutal murderers ran at him with a bloody axe. He was fucking fine. In fact, he was almost bored by the lack of excitement.
All those stories warning him not to come here, all those tales of gruesome incidents and the only demon to greet him was his own imagination running away with him. Kind of pathetic when you think about it.
Now that he stood in the middle of the driveway, Harry could properly take in the details of his surroundings.
The front garden itself was split between both sides of the cobbled driveway leading directly to the house. A fresh lawn on either side carried tiny droplets of dew from the unpleasant weather, lined by borders of neatly trimmed back hedges going slightly orange with the changing seasons. It was simple but upheld the elegance of the plot of land - emphasised by the grandeur of the house looming like a shadow in the dark. The exterior looked like it had stepped straight out of a Victorian gothic novel with pointed arch windows, a steeply pitched roof and made from dark grey stone. If someone would have told Harry this was the place Dracula had lived, he would have believed them.
Harry's mind had become a wildfire of inspiration, sparked alight by the hundreds of avenues that he could take his novel. Any inkling of doubt Harry had about this place had evaporated into thin air, leaving a level of curious excitement in its wake.
Wasting no time, Harry hurried up the stretching driveway, his eyes flitting about the expanse of land in a desperate attempt to commit every tiny detail to memory. That was until he was struck speechless by the line of stone statues guarding the front of the house - seven gothic angels, their bodies and facial features contorted in various states of pain, each one more severe than the last as if depicting a story. Or perhaps serving as a warning. A warning of what might happen if one dared to venture further.
Whatever the meaning, Harry was captivated. They were the only parts of the house that appeared to age with speckles of moss clinging to the podiums and chipped elements only seeming to add to the decay each angel held within themselves.
The wooden porch creaked under Harry's step as he approached the front doors and he was just about to turn the doorknob to enter when he became aware of a weird cracking sound echoing in the still silence smothering the surrounding land. Clearing his throat, Harry slowly turned to look behind him with a frown. His heart skipped a beat as he was suddenly faced with all seven angels staring directly at him, their tortured expressions now directed in his direction as if he was the one inflicting such suffering upon them.
They hadn't been looking this way before. Harry knew that for certain. The writer swallowed thickly as he willed his racing heart to calm down. It was just an overused trick he'd seen in horror movies - similar to those paintings with eyes that seemed to follow you across the room. His creative mind was running away with him, that's all.
Suck it up, buttercup. Just a little closer...
"You must be losing your damn mind." He muttered to himself, shaking his head slightly in disbelief that he was allowing himself to grow so unsettled when he didn't believe in the supernatural. It was all bullshit, he had allowed the rumours of the house to run rampant in his mind, causing logic to get entangled with fictional fantasies. "Get a hold of yourself."
Rusted hinges creaked loudly as Harry finally pushed the oak front door open, the stale, musky scent of the house hit him almost immediately and made him cough a little as it caught him by surprise. Even though the house hadn't fallen into disrepair in the decades it had remained empty, the entire place felt as if it was frozen in time with the interior design steeped in grand decor of the early nineteen-hundreds.
Harry couldn't help but gape in awe at what surrounded him: velvet wallpaper, crystal chandeliers, golden trims and polished mahogany floors. It was as if he had stepped onto the set of a costume drama and he could feel himself growing impatient to start exploring. Judging by the size of the place, he could easily spend all night nosing about the numerous rooms instead of writing but he couldn't allow himself to forget the reason he came here.
Darkness had closed in around the house by the time Harry had finished searching for inspiration around the house and was feeling more than ready to churn out a couple of chapters. However, he was a little disappointed he had found nothing out of the ordinary in his search. No headless bodies in the kitchen, no ghosts creeping down the hallways, no bloody handprints smeared along the windows. All there had been half melted candles, family paintings, children's toys and moth-eaten clothes.
It had been a little disappointing but Harry had expected it. He knew the stories were made up, exaggerated over time to scare kids at night to stop them from getting too curious.
But at least his brain was almost bursting with new story ideas.
It had been an hour since he'd set up camp in the old library upstairs with his camping lantern as the only source of light in the gloomy room. The desk had a thick layer of dust covering it but it didn't bother Harry, it only served to create a more gothic atmosphere surrounded by all the shelves of leather-bound books as he frantically scribbled his thoughts down on paper.
Time seemed to pass differently in the house, slipping out of Harry's grasp before he knew it as he allowed himself to be entirely consumed by his work. Every glance at his watch would give him a different time, sometimes ten minutes would have passed since he'd last looked, other times it would have been hours. The only constant he knew was the night sky barely visible through the fogged-up library window.
The glass panels rattled slightly as the wind picked up outside, whistling through the slight gaps in the window panes. With the weather picking up, Harry knew to expect some strange noises to echo about the place as it was expected for things to go bump in older houses such as this one.
What he didn't expect was for the simultaneous slamming of all the upstairs doors to shake the house the way it did, causing him to jump out of his skin and make his heart start pounding in his chest. Dropping his pen in the desk, Harry's head whipped around to look behind him, his hands shaking slightly as adrenaline started to course through his bloodstream.
A small draught flowing through the house couldn't have made such a noise. But Harry refused to let it rattle his nerves. He knew there was a reasonable explanation for everything and it was possible there could be undiscovered disrepair where the wind was entering from.
Another rumble reverberated deep within one of the bedrooms and Harry couldn't ignore the voice in the back of his mind calling for him to check it out. It sounded like something had fallen over and the last thing he wanted was to be blamed for wrecking the place when he'd been minding his own business the whole night.
His legs felt heavy as he hoisted himself out of the library chair, clutching his lantern in his clammy hand as he forced every step forward and out of the room. Heavy, anxious breaths rattled in his chest as he gave in to the fear stroking its claws at his brain, a rising nausea settling as an uncomfortable lump in the back of his throat.
The hallway was steeped in shadows crawling through every crack and crevice waiting to pounce on Harry when he least expected it. The little light from his lantern did little to protect him from the monsters lurking around every corner, watching and waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.
Floorboards creaked underfoot as he peeked down the hallway, making Harry shut his eyes briefly to steady his nerves. His chest rose and fell as he made a conscious effort to slow his breathing, a hand placed lightly over his chest to feel when his heartbeat had slowed back to normal. Everything was fine and just as he'd last seen it. All that had changed were the bedroom doors were now closed.
He was still alone. Alone...
He was fine. He was safe. And he was alone.
Any resolve he'd managed to tackle over his emotions went flying out the back of his mind the moment his eyes fluttered back open only to be met with his own green orbs staring back at him from the other end of the dark hallway. But they weren't his. They were an exact copy, darkened with something Harry couldn't quite put his finger on.
A sinister smirk glinted in the limited flecks of light reaching that far, making a chill run-down Harry's spine. Shadows obscured the figure's face but Harry had looked in the mirror enough times over the years to recognise his reflection when he saw it.
What the fuck was going on?
All logic flew out the window as he moved on his own accord, his brain barely processing the movement before Harry was running towards himself - desperate for answers. But his double seemed to predict every move a second before Harry reacted, gliding towards the master bedroom and vanishing into thin air before the writer could catch him.
"Who the fuck are you?" Harry yelled in fear, his words trembling as he frantically threw open the bedroom door after the mysterious figure. Beams of light spilled into the room, illuminating a path for Harry to search for answers. His chest was heaving once more, as the man was on the verge of hyperventilating. "W-what do you want?"
Raising the lantern in his hand, Harry searched high and low in every single corner possible for any sign that what he had just seen was real.
Look at the little lamb, all lost and scared of the dark.
Let me comfort you, come to me buttercup. Let me save you.
Coming up short for an explanation, Harry was left with no choice but to return to the library - notably more shaken than when he'd left.
Goosebumps had risen against his inked skin now that he had been set permanently on edge, his tired mind allowing him to fall into the trap of believing the superstitions every logical part of him fought to disprove. But he had seen himself. He had seen himself walking away and disappearing through a closed door. It wasn't a reflection, there were no mirrors except from in the bathroom.
Wind howled menacingly on outside, whipping the onslaught of rain against the glass window panes. Thick drips leaked through the gaps, soaking into the wallpaper as it streamed down the walls and began to pool on the mahogany desk below. With every passing second, the puddle continued to grow and Harry cursed under his breath as he hurried to salvage the hours of work scribbled on the pages.
Trembling hands scooped up the sodden pages, beams of light fading slightly as the lantern toppled to his feet. It was impossible to see what he was doing as the shadows creeped closer, scraping their talons impatiently along the walls as they waited for their chance to engulf the man at his most vulnerable.
Harry's hands had become soaked with the thick liquid as he struggled to save his things before they were ruined, small drips falling from a crack in the ceiling and sliding down his face from where it landed in his messy curls. A horrid metallic stench suddenly flooded Harry's senses, his nose wrinkling in disgust as it suddenly dawned on him that something wasn't quite right.
Rain water didn't ooze from crevices the way this was and it certainly didn't reek of stale death that made you nauseous. Papers fluttered to the ground as Harry allowed them to slide from his grip, raising his palms in front of his face to confirm what he already suspected.
Crimson blood tainted his pale skin, smeared along his wrists and stained his cheeks as it clung to him like a disease. His stomach lurched as he remained rooted to the spot in horror, more blood pouring in through the ceiling faster than ever. Drenched in blood, Harry could no longer deny that this house wasn't normal - all logical reasoning was disproven before the thoughts even entered his mind. Intense nausea forced him to snap into action, dashing through the long hallway towards the direction of the upstairs bathroom.
Crashing through the door, Harry flung himself to the sink. His shoulders heaved forwards as his body worked to get rid of the contents of his stomach. Blood smeared against the pale porcelain as he gripped the counter so hard his knuckles turned white. Sweat clung to his forehead as shaky breaths rattled his lungs, petrified sobs echoing about the bathroom as Harry felt himself descend into madness.
His eyes flitted up to the cracked mirror, hoping to convince himself that this was all in his head. That somehow this was just one big nightmare and he wasn't here soaked in stranger's blood that rained down from cracks in the roof.
But what he saw was so much worse, rattling him to his very core.
Alongside his own pale features staring back at him, another form approached from the shadows from behind.
A muffled yelp escaped his lips as he whipped around to face the shadow smirking at his fear with amusement. The form stalked closer like a cat watching its prey, waiting for the right moment to pounce and feed from his emotions without a single remorse.
Trapped in place, Harry could feel the edge of the sink digging uncomfortably against his back as tried to keep his distance. Wary eyes never left the figure as it stepped into the beam of moonlight streaming through the tiny window, transforming the menacing shadow into one of the most attractive men Harry had ever seen.
Brown eyes, broad shoulders and slicked back hair stole the breath from Harry's lungs.
"Shhhh...don't fret, buttercup." A silky-smooth voice breezed through the air, making Harry's heart skip a beat as he got wrapped up in the sexual haze wrapping around him. He greeted it willingly, a sense of familiarity within this situation calmed his racing heart and a warm blur fizzled in his mind - making him forget of all the fear the night had instilled deep inside himself. "I'm here now."
Entranced in the man's beauty, Harry's legs moved of their own accord and carried him into the light - close enough for the nameless beauty to brush his index finger over his blood-stained cheek. Brown eyes met green and Harry tumbled willingly into the stranger's spell.
Only, this wasn't a stranger. No, Harry knew this man, had felt this man's passions before. His heart leaped in his chest as a sense of deja vu washed over him like a cool wave on a summer's evening, lips curling upwards as he greeted a long-lost lover.
"Rowan." He whispered into the small space between them, his voice wavering with emotion as he leaned into the man's delicate touch.
"I missed the sound of my name from those pretty lips." Rowan breathed out a chuckle, wasting no time in pressing his lips against Harry's with such passion that he had to grip Harry's waist to keep him from staggering backwards. Hot, frenzied kisses were exchanged, breaths shared and soft moans filled the air as Harry's hands found their way to Rowan's hair, smearing thick blood through the strands as he tugged harshly.
Their bodies were flushed together in a matter of seconds, Rowan's strong form walking Harry backwards so he was pressed against the bathroom counter once more. This time, however, there was not a single inkling of fear present in Harry's mind - completely overshadowed by the whirlwind of lust controlling his every action.
The kiss grew more frenzied, more desperate as Rowan asserted his dominance over his lover with Harry willing to do anything if it meant eliciting more of those delicious moans from the man towering above him. Adventurous hands explored the man's broad shoulders, venturing south to trail down the expanse of Rowan's toned torso over the soft material of his silk shirt.
Harry could feel the amused smirk against the skin of his neck as Rowan's sloppy kisses made his breath catch in the back of his throat, their blown pupils meeting briefly in a shared glance - a silent question of consent present in the slight twitch in Rowan's brows.
"Is this real?" Harry was breathless, fighting through the pleasure lingering in his bloodstream as Rowan's intoxicating presence loosened its grip around his heart a little. Peering up at the man through his lashes had Rowan rolling his head back with a stifled groan.
"You tell me, buttercup." His voice was thick with lust, causing a wave of arousal to rush straight to Harry's cock, half hard in his trousers and begging for attention. "Does this feel real?"
Before Harry knew it, Rowan was pushing his hips roughly against his own so he could feel his bulge, ready and waiting to pleasure him once he was given the green light. A low moan sounded from deep within Harry's chest, the feeling of Rowan's hardness rubbing against his own made his head swim in the most delightful way.
"Y-yes." He panted, flopping his head forward to lean against Rowan's toned chest.
"Then don't overthink it." Rowan purred in Harry's ear, strong hands gripping the side of his hips as he took control again. "Turn around, hands on the counter."
His waist bumped against the porcelain sink as Rowan roughly spun him into the position he wanted, tightly fisting his curls in one hand and yanking them so Harry had no choice but to stare at his reflection in the mirror.
He looked utterly wrecked already and he had barely been touched, crimson blood smeared across his face, lips swollen and pupils blown as he met Rowan's intense stare in their reflection. His lips were painted red from the dark blood that had been transferred from their heated kiss but the blood only turned Harry on more. It promised all the mess and dirty passion he was craving.
Rowan's bloodstained hands slowly snaked their way around Harry's neck, his darkened gaze lapping up every subtle flicker of emotion across Harry's face.
"You gonna let me touch you now?"
Harry's eyes fluttered shut momentarily as he nodded eagerly, a low chuckle from behind making his hips buck against the counter in search of some kind of release. Warm hands cupped his arousal through the material of his trousers, applying just enough pressure to make his head spin.
"Words, buttercup." Rowan's words slipped from his tongue, filled with such lust that Harry couldn't help but let out a quiet moan. His green eyes locked onto the reflection of Rowan's fingers toying with the zipper of his trousers, a devilish smirk across his lips as he purposely took his time to tease Harry.
"Please...fuck me, Rowan." He whined, his palm sliding over Rowan's pleading him to do anything to burst the building bubble of lust that was making him feel crazy. To touch him, to kiss him. To just fucking pleasure him.
Sweat dripped down his forehead as he continued to get worked up, his body falling against Rowan's strong body as his hips worked on their own accord, circling with Rowan's gentle teasing to work out some of the tension rolling through his body. Quiet gasps and frantic whimpers filled the air like music to Rowan's ears as he watched Harry grow frustrated at his failed attempts to pleasure himself against his hand.
"What's wrong, puppy?" He taunted, blood red lips pouting against Harry's ear as his sinister stare taunted the man through the mirror. "Pants a little tight?"
"P-please, I'll be good." Harry's words were breathy and light as he grew lightheaded under Rowan's intense stare. The red blood smeared all over his body from where he was pressed up tightly against Harry's writhing body only emphasised his devilish act, turning Harry on to no end as his mind played over a dozen different ways this night might end. "I'll be a good boy for you."
Danger loomed somewhere distant in the back of his mind but it did nothing to scare him. It only made him hornier, more desperate to feel Rowan exert his claim over his body however he wanted.
The bloodied grasp on his neck, squeezing with just enough pressure to add to the intense level of pleasure stole all of Harry's attention. His blown pupils couldn't focus on anything else.
"What do you need me to do, pup? Tell me."
"Anything! Please, just touch me. I need it, I need you!" Close to tears, Harry's eyes fell shut as his head began to swim, too many sensations flowing through his bloodstream to even blurt out exactly what he needed. He'd take anything at this point as long as he got to cum soon. "I'm being good for you, please!"
The only response was Rowan tugging at Harry's curls to snap his attention back to the mirror, a pointed look warning him to do exactly as he was told in order to earn what he was begging for.
"Eyes on me, pup or I stop. Got it?" He purred seductively, wasting no time in finally unzipping Harry's trousers and pulling his hard length out, a bead of precum collecting at the tip in anticipation of Rowan's full attention.
But just as Harry thought he finally thought he was going to finally touch him; Rowan brought his hand up to his lips.
"Spit." He demanded, and Harry obeyed without a single hesitation. "Good boy."
His cock twitched at the praise, instant relief enveloping him as Rowan finally wrapped his hand around Harry's arousal, slowly stroking his length with calculated movements. Pure bliss overtook Harry's features, his brows tugged together in pleasure as his lips parted to let out a loud moan.
"F-fuck." He groaned, his hips thrusting upwards to aid Rowan in his actions, his hands gripping Rowan's hair in a silent plea for him to continue kissing along his jawline. "More."
Rowan didn't have to be told twice, his tongue licking a stripe along the sharp edge of Harry's jawline, savouring the sweet metallic taste of the blood tainting his flushed skin. The muscles in his arm rippled under the flowy material of his shirt as he continued to tug at Harry's length, flicking his wrist ever so slightly to make sure he smeared the blurts of precum along the tip.
Waves of pleasure ebbed and flowed through Harry's entire body, making his legs grow weak enough that Rowan's strong body had to shift slightly in order to keep him standing upright. Heaving chest and sweaty curls, blood began to slide down Harry's forehead again as he felt himself rapidly reaching the edge already.
The grip against his neck tightened even more to the point Harry expected to have bruises where Rowan's fingers dug into his skin but he didn't care. It made his head grow even lighter, pleasure swimming through his brain and made every sensation he felt in the pit of his stomach intensify by the second.
Harder and harder Rowan's hand clamped the tender flesh, restricting the air that tried to enter his lungs. Harry watched as the man's eyes grew impossibly darker, something switching in his demeanour slightly that had his guard flying up. Something was wrong.
His chest felt heavy as he struggled for breath, eyes widening in fear as he noticed Rowan's other hand was no longer pleasing him, instead moving at a rapid speed to lock his arm where he was grabbing at his throat. The muscles in his biceps locked tighter than his hand was able to and cut off the air Harry desperately tried to suck into his lungs.
Panic overloaded his brain where pleasure once blurred his judgement. Adrenaline made his heart race, something that only seemed to urge Rowan on.
"Your heartbeat sings for me, buttercup. Isn't it beautiful?" He whispered darkly, tightening his iron grip even more as Harry's hands clawed desperately for some kind of relief.
Eyes wide and body jolting with fear, frenzied attempts to escape only made Rowan chuckle. His vision began to grow blurry as his brain was deprived of oxygen, tired eyes struggling to stay focused on the reflection of Rowan's sinister shadow overpowering. Any attempt in escaping, he realised, was pointless.
This man wasn't human, he had known that the moment he'd fallen for his intoxicating spell. He'd walked blindly into the trap set out for him since he'd entered the house hours ago. He was going to die here. His name would be added to the long list of victims Selly House had claimed as its own, his own arrogance being the cause of his downfall.
Shhh..buttercup, don't be scared. It's time to return home.
His limbs went still as the darkness creeped in around him, the last few seconds of consciousness slipping from his grasp faster than he could fight back. Before he knew it black consumed him and he gave himself over to Rowan.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A cold breeze whipped around Harry as he stood in the middle of the road, the silence of the woods around him providing the peace he needed to collect his thoughts. The decaying petals of old flower arrangements fluttered away, joining the swirls of orange leaves scattered across the floor.
Sad eyes stared at the dead flowers - old memories from loved ones that had moved on with their lives while he remained eternally trapped on the other side, just out of their reach. His mother's handwriting stood prominent on the letter attached to the freshest bouquet, one that appeared at this spot every year to mark the anniversary of her son's passing.
Harry read her heartfelt words over in his mind, clinging on to her hope that he was in a better place.
"I thought I'd find you out here." A gentle voice approached cautiously, making Harry turn to greet his lover with a smile. Rowan stood behind him, brown eyes mirroring Harry's sorrow as he understood the pain flowing through his heart. It had been fifty years since his own passing but it never got easier watching someone like Harry come to terms with their own death - especially one that was so brutal.
Even now, Rowan couldn't look Ethel in the eye. Her jealous rage in seeing her husband fall in love with the innocent man who had stumbled upon the house had triggered a psychotic rage within her. She'd spent hours torturing Harry's mind, making him see disturbing things, chasing him about the house until eventually causing him to trip down the stairs and tumble to his demise - all while Rowan watched, trapped in the shadows Ethel had confined him to.
Overcome with emotions, Harry allowed Rowan to wrap his arms around him with a comforting warmth that battled the autumnal weather making him shiver slightly. Laying his head against his lover's chest, he allowed the sound of Rowan's heart to ground him, calming him from such a draining night.
"I forgot again, didn't I?" He sighed, feeling Rowan's soft touch playing with his messy curls.
"Sometimes it takes a while to process a traumatic death. You're lucky it was me that found you, I doubt Ethel would have been so quick to save you."
Harry knew Rowan was right, Ethel would have savoured every moment of his pain before eventually putting him out of his misery. She took pleasure in watching him play out the day he died, trapped in the vicious cycle until his mind finally accepted he was eternally trapped in the afterlife, living among the other countless victims the house had claimed that hid in the shadows.
"I suppose you had to kill me."
"It's the only thing that brings you back, buttercup. But I think you're starting to remember things now; you gave in to me pretty quickly this time."
At Rowan's smugness, Harry couldn't help but roll his eyes fondly. He should have known all that would play on his lover's mind were the intimate moments they always shared before Harry's death, all in an attempt to avoid discussing how it felt to murder his lover over and over again.
He knew Rowan couldn't help the darkness that clouded his mind when it came to murder. The house had taken its claim on his mind, just like it eventually would on Harry's.
There was no escaping Selly house, not even in death.
But Harry would gladly give in to whatever was in store for him if it meant an eternity in Rowan's arms. An eternity with his lover.
