Endless by Verity

Locked into a room, desperate, denied the ability to fight. They both know how to play that game. One plays the prisoner, the other plays the warden. Until rescue occurs.

The war goes on and on, for so long that one day they're no longer reckless teenagers with cracking voices imprisoning each other with sarcasm and/or nobility. So one offers the other a game of chess.

White against black, a war eternal - "Are we kings or pawns?" asks the fair-haired man.

"Pawns, of course," says the raven-haired one, sighing as he runs his fingers through his hair.

"I'd rather be king."

"Of course you would. What's battle without power?"

"It does grow wearisome."

"Do you still want to win?"

"Sometimes."

They are enemies; but they can be honest with each other, for who would ever expect them to tell the truth?

"I would trade the world to be in your place," says one to the other.

"Of course you would. It would mean an end."

And, as it seems right and fitting, the two men gently lift the chessboard up from the table, tilt it, and watch the ivory and ebony pieces cascade to the floor, rattling on the cold grey stone. Hogwart's dungeons? Voldemort's? It doesn't matter any more.

The raven-haired man makes the first move, capturing the blond one's mouth in a long, hungry kiss. Their hair glistens in torchlight - yin and yang? Or merely a contrast so great it implies meaning.

They end up on the table, pale skin on pale skin, tired - bone weary. But they are always tired - for they have never been given the priveledges of stopping, or living.

"There is only black and white when we leave here, Potter."

"Of course, Malfoy, so long as you keep in mind the shades of grey."