A/N: Okay, I was inspired to write this when I was trying to explain to my friends why I love Sirry and Snarry. It came out so dark, I'm tempted to have the rating M simply because it's so disturbing. This is what happens when my teachers spend the whole day reviewing stuff I could do in my sleep, and I am forced to venture into the deepest confines of my mind for entertainment. As you will soon see, I am really fucked up.

Warnings: HPSB, HPSS (NOT a threesome), Dark!Harry, Manipulative!Harry

Disclaimer: Too disturbed to come up with anything witty at the moment…


He needed them both.

Sometimes he needed to be told that he was loved, to be told that everything was going to be alright. Sometimes he needed to be guided through tender motions, to experience something slow and gentle and magnificently sweet. Sometimes he needed to be held afterwards, to have a shoulder to cry on, and something to look forward to. Sometimes he needed to live in a suspended world of love and care and blissful ignorance.

That was when he needed Sirius.

And there were other times, more frequent times, when he needed all his problems to be torn away, forcefully and viciously. Times when he needed to bite and scratch and tear, simply because calming words and tender touches weren't enough. Times when he needed to be robbed painfully of whatever innocence he might have retained, if only because he knew that the world wasn't innocent, and when it decided to steal his innocence, it would be far more painful than anything he could ever do.

That was when he needed Severus.

He knew it was wrong, and on a deeper level than the fact that there was a twenty year age difference. He knew that people would think it was wrong, because Severus was his teacher, and Sirius was his Godfather, and they should know better.

But it went past that.

It wasn't Severus or Sirius that made it wrong; it was him. He was the one who had had the urges in the first place, the one who had acted on them. He was the one who kept coming back, who screamed and cried and begged for it. He was the one who had tangled and twisted and buried both men so deep inside himself that they would never escape.

He was the one who had made them love him.

In Sirius it was obvious. Obvious in the way that Sirius would wrap his strong arms around him, pulling him to his chest and tucking his head under Sirius' chin. Obvious in the soft touches and content smiles, in the whispered nonsense and the passionate love-making.

Obvious in the way he said 'I love you'.

In Severus it wasn't so obvious. It could only be seen when he looked very hard, searching for almost nonexistent clues. It could barely be seen in the way that Severus tightened his grip on him briefly, fleetingly, before he pulled out, got dressed, and left. It could barely be seen in the way he cried his name upon relief, for a moment sounding wanting and desperate. It could barely be seen in the darkly passionate screams and painful sex.

It could barely be seen in the way he didn't say 'I love you'.

And Harry couldn't stop this game, this intricate web of lies, deceit, and passion. Couldn't stop playing with the strings, letting both men dominate, thinking themselves the strongest, but always knowing that he was in control. He couldn't stop the string of broken hearts he would leave in his wake. He couldn't stop twisting the knife, digging it deep into their chests. He couldn't stop needing them.

And he didn't want to.


A/N: And I thought that 'Your Star' was the darkest thing I could write… Review please!