Hi hi~~

So this is my first ever attempt at participating at a competition (cue cheers please). I think I wrote that in the summary (the fact this is for a comp not the cheers). Probably.

Anyway!

The prompt was to write about my chosen pairing -Voldemort/Harry- making up after an argument. And I'm all like lol okay, and a few hours later here's what I produced.

Words: 960

Enjoy~~

"You are insufferable."

Green eyes hardened at the hissed furious words of the serpentine man who had just slammed the doors to his quarters open like it wasn't already unlocked. Such a jackass. To be fair though he was pretty sure that was one of the main criteria for Dark Lords.

Harry can see that advertisement now, it'll be all, do you have an immense hatred for a large group of people? Notice you have some minor obsessive tendencies and an urge to rule the world? Are you a complete jackass? Well a Dark Lord is the job for you!

"If you think those are the traits of Dark Lords Potter then I think you really should take a good long look in the mirror." Voldemort growled, though the younger male couldn't help despite the red haze of anger, notice the other looked much less tense, less ready to spring and lash out like he had when he entered his quarters. Just seeing that made his own body relax slightly in response, fiery hot emotions dimming down to an easily controlled simmer. Which was annoying because Harry knew he should be absolutely enraged for what the Magical Lord of Britain had done. He should be screaming and throwing hexes and punching the noseless bastard in the face.

Instead he closed his eyes and sighed, brushing back his hair with his fingers in a swift, soothing motion. "How many bloody times have I told you not to read my mind?"

"It's not my fault if you just broadcast your thoughts all over the place." Voldemort replied almost smugly, captured in the familiar web of an old, far more comfortable argument they've bantered at for years now.

"I'm not a jackass." Was protested, a weak attempt to cling onto the shreds of their true argument.

"I think those Order members would think differently considering what you did during the final battle at Hogwarts." Fuck. Low blow. The man knew he hated that memory, the guilt that came with it hand in hand, and those looks of utter betrayal and vengeance from people he considered family...

They were all dead now. Long buried and rotted in the cool embrace of damp earth, their last memories Harry will never know because that day, that battle, was the last he saw any of them. He'd buried those memories soon after, buried them like corpses. Corpses which Voldemort has dug up, revealing the disgusting rotting hurt to the light of day.

"Well at least I didn't just pass a bill that decreed confined exile to anyone in close relation to the members of the resistance."

"You should be happy I didn't execute them all like originally planned," The Dark Lord sneered. "You were the reason for such leniency, why aren't you pleased?"

"You're taking families away from their homes!" Harry burst out. "Do you have no soul?! Oh. Wait."

"You will not speak to me like that... Boy." The last word spoken mockingly, the older of the two more than fully aware how much Harry loathed being called that.

"Who died and made you king?!" The raven haired man screamed, heart hammering as rage scratched from inside his chest, clawing to get out and be unleashed in an inferno of destruction.

"Dumbledore did!" Voldemort shouted out, crimson red flashed brighter, alight with ferocity and temper, "Dumbledore died and you helped me do it." The harsh colour of blood still bright with fury darkened at the thought, the hissing quality of his voice more pronounced as the pale snake-like lord glided slowly toward the defiant, his defiant counterpart. Cold long fingers almost reverently cupping the lithe man's face, a contrast to the near violently way he pulled the other closer toward his being. "You helped me." He murmured lowly into the younger's ear. A sharp vindictive curl of pleasure weaved down his spine as he watched Harry flutter his green eyes as he reluctantly shivered, moving into his touch, surrendering to him.

"You are still a jackass."

"Ah but I am yours. Now and forever." The Dark Lord whispered enticingly, it was times like this you could see what the man could've been before Voldemort. You could see Tom Riddle, composed and suave and so very tempting with every word that dripped from his silver tongued mouth. Like honey sweet venom. So different to the vicious, ruthless persona of Voldemort. But then again, the man, either man, both men, were going to be the death of Harry anyway. It was all about picking your poison.

"Till death do us part?"

Voldemort growled, low and animalistic as he tightened his grip on his lover. "Death will never part us."

Harry smiled softly at the sheer resolve in the serpentine man's voice, his eyes straying downwards, lingering at the Gaunt ring and it's seemingly innocent black stone imbedded in it. "No," He mused thoughtfully, "I don't suppose you'll let it."

"Never." Voldemort agreed vehemently.

And then he pushed his almost lipless mouth against Harry's own human ones, slowly, possessively devouring the heat of him, of everything. Because Harry was his. This beautiful strong man that came to him. He might've came kicking and slashing and screaming. He might still be fighting even now. But Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived-To-Defy, was still here by his side years after the war. A constant in the swarming turmoils of deceit and lies and treachery. Standing by as his equal, a not so quiet presence on the mountain they've built from the rubbles of war, to watch the world they rule grow.

And that was almost enough for him.