THIS IS "A VERY POTTER MUSICAL"-CANON BASED. IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN IT, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DO THAT BEFORE READING THIS.

Second smut I've written. This time we explore a first that I've been itching to write for a while now. Yay.

It's not that he doesn't want to try it. Hell, he's been on the other end of it loads of times, so he knows that it's not that big of a deal if done right. It's just that… well, he's terrified of it. And it annoys him to no end because he's so damn curious about it too. How does that even make sense? How can you want something and be worried about it at the same time?

He wonders if Quirrell went through the same thought process before he experienced it. Had he been scared too, or had he experimented on himself beforehand? Should he do that? To try and see if he likes it? And what if he doesn't? It would be so unfair to Quirrell never to let him experience it the other way around.

Voldemort groans in frustration, covering his face with his hands as if that will help matters. But he can't help it. And really, nobody could blame him for thinking about this. Technically, it is a big step and all. But what makes it so damn frustrating is that the idea is so terrifying but so interesting at the same time, and he hates that. God, he wants to talk to Quirrell about this, but he isn't home yet. Damn that job of his. Damn those muggles. Damn all of this.

Just another hour or two. That should be fine. Voldemort stands up from the couch and walks over to the kitchen, needing something to distract himself with. Or just something to do. His answer comes in the form of a random soufflé recipe in this morning's muggle newspaper. He shrugs and thinks to himself that he might as well try it out, seeing as baking is probably his best bet to clear his head for a bit.

It works, sort of. While preparing the soufflé, Voldemort puts on some Benny Goodman, and it actually does distract him for the most part. Measuring cups, stirring the dough, and taking a few steps to the beat. It's pretty nice. That is of course until the damn thing goes into the oven. Voldemort kind of forgot about the part where everything needs to be quiet for it to raise properly. Damn it. He stands by the kitchen counter and glares at the mixture, as if his little crisis is its fault. And now he just wants to eat it to have his revenge. He drops his head onto the counter and groans again as he realizes how utterly stupid that thought is. This has not been a good day.

Probably the only bright side about all of this is that the soufflé does turn to be a success. For a moment, Voldemort feels proud of himself, and gives himself a mental pat on the back for yet another job well done in the baking department. He could probably make a name for himself if his name wasn't already known in both the wizarding and the muggle worlds. He huffs, and sets the table for Quirrell and himself, with the soufflé neatly placed in the middle. That should do it. Good atmosphere. Hopefully.

About ten minutes later, Quirrell comes home from work, and Voldemort practically jumps up to greet him like an excited dog. Quirrell looks a bit surprised to walk right into him the moment he steps into the house, but welcomes the closeness by giving Voldemort a small kiss. Voldemort smiles and nuzzles his nose. "Hi," he says, trying to ignore the fact that his heartbeat is picking up for no real reason.

"Hey, nice to see you too," Quirrell replies as he hangs up his coat and puts his bag down on the floor. "What's all this abou—" He stops to sniff the air as they get closer to the kitchen, an intrigued expression on his face. "Ooh, do I smell chocolate?"

Voldemort beams, and takes Quirrell's hand to pull him along. "Yeah, I made a soufflé earlier," he explains, reveling in the surprised but happy look on Quirrell's face as he sees the thing. "I, uh… I got bored," he then adds, only half-lying.

"It looks amazing," Quirrell says as he sits down, momentarily looking like he wants to poke the soufflé just to see what will happen. "Well, come on, then. I wanna get in on this right now!" He excitedly takes one of the forks Voldemort has put on the table, and scoops up a piece for himself. Voldemort huffs a small laugh before joining him, and within seconds they are both sitting at the table and enjoying the soufflé.

"Oh my God, Voldemort," Quirrell says dreamily after swallowing a bite. "I swear, if you didn't have the history, you could open up a bakery. Or have a private bake sale. Something!"

Voldemort laughs. "I know, right? I was actually thinking the same thing," he replies. "Or open up a restaurant or something. Oh! Or a dessert type place. Or a café!"

"Either way, something to do with food," Quirrell agrees before shoving another forkful into his mouth. "Mm! Because you're brilliant at it!"

"Well, I don't mean to brag, but yeah," Voldemort says, playfully putting his chest out in a boasting manner. "I am very good." He then takes another bite, and watches as Quirrell all but squirms with delight at getting to eat this damn thing. And that's when Voldemort remembers why he baked the soufflé in the first place. He swallows, puts down his fork, and then takes a deep breath. "Hey, Quirrell. Can I ask you something?"

"Hm?" Quirrell looks up, looking curious. "Sure, what is it?"

"It's about…" Voldemort doesn't have to be told that he's blushing; his cheeks probably look crimson. "It's about sex."

"Mhmm?" Quirrell urges as he's about to take another bite, apparently apathetic about where the conversation is suddenly headed.

"Well, uh… How does it, you know… feel?" Voldemort struggles, now feeling extremely awkward about all of this.

Quirrell giggles a bit before replying. "Oh, don't give me that," he says as he takes the bite. "You know I like it, and you know I think you're great at it. Is that what this is about? Some kind of self-consciousness issue?"

"No, no, I mean- I mean, I want to know… what it's like to be, you know…" Voldemort takes a moment to remind himself that he's a grown man and not a damn teenager and that he can totally finish this sentence. "Fucked."

It's only then that Quirrell realizes what it is Voldemort is asking him, which probably isn't the best timing. Because as soon as Voldemort says the last word, Quirrell has swallowed his bite, and now starts choking on it in pure surprise. He coughs and sputters, and for a moment Voldemort worries that he might actually be dying. He stands up and walks up next to him, hitting his back to hopefully help him out.

"Dude! I'm sorry!" he exclaims as Quirrell's coughs start to die out. He gets down on his knees in front of him, one hand on Quirrell's back and the other on his thigh. "Are you okay?"

"It- it's fine, don't worry about it," Quirrell replies between a few stray coughs as he reaches for the glass of milk that's been sitting there untouched this whole time. He takes a large gulp of it before inhaling slowly to make sure that the cough attack is over, and then turns to Voldemort. "Now. Okay. Um…" He looks down for a second, and then looks at Voldemort with a puzzled expression. "What?"

He looks so sincere and genuinely confused that it makes Voldemort blush even more for being so stupid. "I mean it," he says as he runs the hand on Quirrell's back down his arm to hold one of his hands. "I've, uh, actually been thinking about it all day. About what it's like."

While Quirrell still looks both a bit confused and concerned, he smiles as he squeezes Voldemort's hand. "Well, it's… It's certainly weird, there's that," he replies sheepishly. "And it does take some time getting used to – you should know that. But I mean, it's not really as scary as it sounds, especially not when you're doing it with someone you love," he adds, and uses his free hand to gently stroke Voldemort's face.

Of course Quirrell would be the one to romanticize something like that. Voldemort chuckles. "Yeah, I kinda figured," he says with a small grin. "But it's still, you know, really really weird, isn't it?"

"I just told you it was," Quirrell says, now smiling down at Voldemort. "Why are you asking me this, anyway? Are you—?" His eyes widen. "Do you—?"

"Yes," Voldemort finally admits, dropping his head down to his chest. "Goddammit, yes, Quirrell, I want to try it but I don't want to at the same time because I don't know if I'll like it or not and it's actually making me kind of nervous and fucking hell I never get nervous about sex but this is killing me and I just—"

"Voldemort, please!" Quirrell suddenly interrupts, and before Voldemort can even tell what's going on, Quirrell is on his knees in front of him too. He now has both hands on either side of Voldemort's face, as if to ground him, and Voldemort is surprised to find that it's actually working. "You're overthinking this. And besides, being nervous about sex is totally fine. I mean, how do you think I felt before my first time?"

"Uh… nervous?"

"Exactly. And the idea is pretty scary, but you know what it's like when it's done right." Quirrell smiles and brushes his thumb over Voldemort's cheekbone. "And if we did try it and you didn't like it, then that's fine too. It's not a rule that if you're in a relationship with a man, you have to like being fucked. Lots of them don't. It doesn't change anything."

There's something about the way Quirrell words it that makes Voldemort smile. He reaches over to put his hands on Quirrell's thighs, and presses his forehead against his. "Quirrell…" he says quietly before biting his lip. "I want to try it."

He doesn't have to look directly at Quirrell to know that his eyes have widened and that he's blushing. "A- are you sure? As in, really positive?" Quirrell asks, as if he's expecting Voldemort to tell him it's all a joke.

"Yeah. I'm sure," Voldemort replies, just now realizing that his heartbeat is picking up again. Ah. So that's why. Anticipation. He takes a deep breath as he collects himself, slowly but surely accepting the fact that he actually really does want this. He cements that fact by kissing Quirrell deeply, one of his hands sliding up to the other man's waist. Quirrell kisses him back, and while it feels a bit shy, Voldemort can tell there's some sort of passion behind it.

They pull back, and Voldemort can finally see the bewilderment in Quirrell's eyes. God, he's so adorable. "Wha… Right now?" Quirrell asks timidly, and Voldemort can tell he's just as nervous about this as he is.

Voldemort shrugs. "Why not? We're both pretty doped up on chocolate anyway," he says, and then takes Quirrell's hands in his and stands them both up. "And isn't that supposed to be sexually stimulating or whatever?"

Quirrell giggles a bit, and then laces their fingers together. "Okay… Okay, but I promise that if you don't like it, we can stop," he says in a reassuring manner as the two of them begin making their way towards the bedroom.

"I know," Voldemort replies, becoming more and more aware of his own nervousness. God. They're actually going to do this. He stops Quirrell just outside the door, and before either of them can say anything, he kisses Quirrell again, more passionately this time. Quirrell lets out a small, startled sound, but quickly melts into it, wrapping his arms tightly around Voldemort.

They stumble inside the room, lips still locked, and Voldemort grabs Quirrell's hips, pulling him even closer. He's pleased to feel that what little they've done so far is actually starting to get Quirrell a bit hard, and just knowing that gets Voldemort excited as well. He feels Quirrell tightly hold on to his shirt, and so he slowly starts to move them in the direction of the bed. He's already panting heavily through his nose, even though nothing has really happened yet. This is either going to be extremely good or extremely awkward.

Quirrell bumps into the edge of the bed, and drops down on it, pulling Voldemort down with him. They let go of the kiss just long enough for each of them to let out a startled yelp of their own before they've become an unceremonious pile on the bed. Voldemort pushes himself upwards and looks down at Quirrell, who, to his surprise, is laughing. "What?" Voldemort has to ask.

"Nothing, nothing, it's just…" Quirrell begins, and then moves his hands from Voldemort's back to his face again. He huffs another small laugh. "You are ridiculous."

Voldemort smiles at him. "Says the guy who fell for the Dark Lord," he replies before giving Quirrell another kiss.

Quirrell chuckles. "With no regrets," he says between kisses, wrapping his arms around Voldemort's neck as he does so. Voldemort wants to respond back, but can't quite separate himself from Quirrell just yet. Instead he deepens the kiss, and feels a shiver go down his spine when he hears Quirrell moan into it. Quirrell's voice may not be the deepest in the world, but the things it does to Voldemort nonetheless…

He suddenly finds himself opening his mouth over Quirrell's, and feels all kinds of rushes when he feels their tongues brush together. He hasn't felt so stimulated this early since… Well, since Quirrell's first time. Everything about this just screams sensitivity, and it makes Voldemort just the tiniest bit more nervous about it. Because if he's this sensitive now, then who knows what the actual sex is going to do to him?

Before he can even think about answering that, he suddenly finds that Quirrell's lips aren't on his own anymore, but have trailed down to his neck. He groans a bit as Quirrell pulls him down, sucking a bit the further down he gets. "Stop thinking," Quirrell says in a low voice, making Voldemort shiver again. "You're doing fine. Just… fine." The last word is barely a whisper said right into Voldemort's ear, and he lets out a shaky breath.

"God, Quirrell…" he breathes as he feels Quirrell running his hands down his sides. They reach the hem of his shirt, and start pulling it upwards, to which Voldemort complies by tugging it off himself. The quick movement forces Quirrell to stop kissing his neck, but clearly he knew this would happen, because he's now unbuttoning his own shirt in possibly the fastest way Voldemort has ever seen. Before he gets a chance to take it off, however, Voldemort yanks at his tie and pulls him up to a sitting position. "Leave it on. And the tie."

"Well, well," Quirrell says cheekily. "Someone's feeling a bit braver." He then grabs Voldemort's wrists, and actually pins him down on the bed. Voldemort's eyes widen as he looks up at him, already feeling completely debauched. "How did that happen?"

"I don't know, somebody was whispering sweet nothings into my ear and things got a little wild," is the first thing that comes out of Voldemort's mouth before he starts panting again. Quirrell's mouth is back on his neck, and he licks and sucks interchangeably, finding the exact spots that make Voldemort shiver and moan. He wriggles his hands a bit, wanting to touch, feel, something, anything to reciprocate. But Quirrell is having none of that.

"No, no," he says softly as he keeps kissing, now moving even lower. Oh God, he's going to start kissing Voldemort's chest soon, isn't he? "None of that now. This is about you, okay? Just relax." And now he's working his tongue downwards and holy shit this should not feel as good as it does. Voldemort starts squirming under Quirrell's touch, and it's not until a few seconds later that he notices that the man has started undoing his pants. Oh, he's good. Voldemort hadn't even realized that he wasn't holding his wrists anymore.

Once Quirrell has loosened Voldemort's pants, he slowly pulls them down, while simultaneously trailing kisses down Voldemort's chest to his stomach. It's too slow. Quirrell's gotten him too worked up already. He's about to point this out when Quirrell palms his erection through his shorts, and the comment dies in his throat. Even through the thin layer of fabric, the single touch is amazing, and Voldemort wants more of it. Thankfully, Quirrell knows exactly what he's doing, and starts moving his hand up and down a bit, teasing him, while still trailing his kisses downwards.

With a bit of effort, Voldemort props himself up on his elbows to scold Quirrell for the slow work, only to come face to face with the bastard lifting the waistband of his shorts with his teeth. Voldemort's panting becomes even more erratic, and seeing this only makes him that much more willing. His erection eventually springs free, and Quirrell is quick to grab it, which makes Voldemort gasp, drop back down on the bed, and then groan as Quirrell slowly starts stroking him. His pants and shorts get pulled off completely, and suddenly Quirrell's mouth is by his ear again.

"Look at you," Quirrell says in a husky voice – now there's a tone he's never heard before. "Gorgeous. Completely, utterly beautiful." Voldemort isn't sure if it's the voice or the words or the stroking that's making him groan so much, so he decides that it's all of it combined. And then Quirrell does something with his hand that makes him arch his back and curl his toes and practically whine with pleasure and oh God he wants more of this.

He grabs at Quirrell's tie again, and only then does he realize that he's completely nude and Quirrell's still almost fully dressed. The most surprising part is that he doesn't even care. Quirrell has picked up the pace a bit, and now he's moving downwards again, and oh fuck that's it. Voldemort has to bite his fist in order not to let out a yelp as he feels warm lips on the tip of his cock, with Quirrell's hand still moving at a steady pace. Quirrell only mouths the head at first, which should be frustrating to no end, but then he starts swirling his tongue on it as well and Voldemort just has to let out a groan.

"Where do you- ugh… Where do you come up with- this stuff?" he struggles to ask, and he feels Quirrell honest to God giggle around him.

"I told you," Quirrell says after letting go, and then licks up the underside, almost making Voldemort melt. "This is about you. And I know what my man likes."

Clearly, he does, because Voldemort is completely at his mercy right now. Maybe it's because he's still thinking about what's going to happen, but he's just so overstimulated that he can barely take it. And the more of him Quirrell takes in his mouth, the more he just wants to lie there and accept anything and everything being done to him. He does eventually manage to prop himself up again, and runs one hand through Quirrell's hair to encourage him. Quirrell looks up, and as soon as their eyes lock, Voldemort feels a jolt of pleasure, and he grabs tightly at Quirrell's hair as a reflex. The resulting moan around his cock makes Voldemort's eyes want to roll all the way back to his skull.

As Quirrell sucks him off, Voldemort notices that he's taking off his own pants now, and he feels kind of guilty for not being able to do anything about it. But then he figures that if he tries, he's just going to get told off. So he just continues to watch, moaning louder with each second as Quirrell sucks him harder. But right about when he's starting to get used to it, Quirrell draws out one final suck and with a long lick of the head, he's suddenly off.

Voldemort blinks at him, still panting, and his eyes wide. "Wh- what are you—" he begins, but Quirrell interrupts him.

"Hand me the supplies," he half-commands, and Voldemort is seriously starting to wonder what the hell happened to the Quirrell he was talking to about food not thirty minutes ago. Regardless, he obeys, and reaches over to the nightstand drawer where they usually keep their necessary things. He fumbles a bit, as his hands are shaking now for some reason, but he somehow manages to fish out a bottle of lubricant and a condom packet which he then tosses over to Quirrell.

"Now," Quirrell says as he squirts a generous amount of lube on his fingers; Voldemort gulps. "First off, like I told you, this is going to be a bit weird. But if everything goes alright, you should get used to it. If you don't, just tell me, and I'll stop. Okay?"

Voldemort just nods, not really sure if he can speak at this point. He's starting to tremble a bit, but soothes when he feels a hand and a mouth on his cock again, and lies back down. God damn. He's making a distraction. And it's working perfectly. Voldemort then feels a wet finger on his perineum, and gasps in surprise, until he realizes that Quirrell is just rubbing it there. He's not prodding, he's just lightly circling his finger around, as if he's letting Voldemort's body know what's coming. He does this for a while, until Voldemort almost feels like he's wet down there. It's already feeling weird, and nothing has even been inserted yet.

There's a little pop when Quirrell's mouth comes off Voldemort's cock again. "You ready?" he asks, now sounding much less husky than before. It almost makes Voldemort want to check if this is the same person that's been pleasing him for so long, but he refrains from making a joke about it. He nods frantically instead, not sure how much more waiting he can take. "Here goes, then. And remember. Tell me if it's alright."

The tip of Quirrell's finger slips in, and oh God, it is weird. But what's weirder is that Voldemort almost instinctively lift his knees and spreads his legs to give Quirrell better access. He feels genuinely surprised that he didn't clench around Quirrell's finger, but then again, he has been teased enough already, so maybe his body really is used to it now. Either way, he's taking this really well, even as Quirrell twists and turns his finger like he's making sure every piece of muscle knows what's going on. He pushes further, brushing the inside as he does so, and oh God he's practically at the knuckle now, just moving it around.

"Hey," Quirrell then says softly, once again hovering over him, only this time looking more concerned than anything else. "Talk to me. Tell me how it feels."

"It's… It's…" Voldemort doesn't know why it takes so long to say it. He doesn't need to think it over. It's very clear. "It's gooood," he finally drawls, closing his eyes and leaning his head back. Never in his life did he think he would be the one to say he liked getting fingered. But there it is.

"Good," Quirrell says, almost sounding relieved. "Because there's a lot more where that came from." He pulls his finger out and then inserts it again, and then repeats the motion until he's slowly fucking Voldemort just with his finger and holy hell it feels amazing. Maybe it's the fact that he's still jerking him off too, but there's definitely something more intense about this. Voldemort can feel himself stretch, loosen.

"Another," he hears himself groan after a few more moments. "Give me another." It's not until after he says it that he realizes how much he wants it. And Quirrell gives it to him. He does everything again; the slow entrance, the twists and turns, the inward touches, and then the in and out motions. Always waiting for Voldemort's approval, apparently listening for protests or something like that.

Eventually, Quirrell practically turns Voldemort into a writhing, begging mess beneath him, and yet Voldemort still wants more. No, he needs it. He wants to say it, but his brain has gone offline for the moment, and all he can do is pant and moan, managing to stammer the occasional "p- pl- please!" Miraculously, Quirrell understands, and while he doesn't add a third finger (which initially greatly disappoints Voldemort), he thrusts the two of them deep inside, twists them a bit, and—

"FUCKING HELL!"

"Sorry, sorry, I'll just—" Quirrell is clearly put off and is about to pull out, but Voldemort lets out a pathetic groan that stops him from doing so.

"Nonono! Do it again, do it again, do it again!" he demands, and lets out a thankful moan when he feels Quirrell push his fingers back in. Quirrell does it again, this time more carefully, and it sends a number of waves of pleasure throughout Voldemort's body, and he starts trembling again. Damn. He knows from his rounds with Quirrell that the prostate is a pretty sensitive spot, but he never imagined it would feel this intense! This is crazy. Completely fucking crazy. And he loves it.

Quirrell is no longer touching his cock, and is instead gently running his free hand down one of Voldemort's thighs, and kisses the inner portion of it. "You okay?" he asks, and good Lord, has Quirrell always been this considerate and amazing?

"Y- yeah," Voldemort breathes, and then swallows nervously. He still wants more. And he can only think of one way to get it. "And I think… I'm ready."

There's a brief moment of silence, in which Quirrell seems to share Voldemort's nervousness. Voldemort's mind clicks. He hasn't even thought about the fact that this is technically a first for Quirrell too. Shit. How had he forgotten? "Alright," Quirrell responds, and then reaches for the condom. He tears the packaging, and then slips it on, his hands shaking a bit. Voldemort almost wants to sit up to help him, but is so damn worked up that he can barely move. Quirrell then reaches for the lube again, and slicks himself with it until it's practically dripping off him. He positions himself in front of Voldemort and aligns them, reaching for a pillow to put under Voldemort's hips as he does so.

Voldemort prepares himself for the insertion, and soon feels Quirrell's tip pressing against him. "You're sure?" he hears Quirrell ask, and he's barely let go of the latter word when Voldemort starts chanting, "Yes, yes, yes! Please, Quirrell, just fuck me!"

It's slow. Agonizingly slow. And now that he thinks about it, Quirrell's fingers have done almost nothing to prepare him for this. But at the same time, he expected that. Because hey, a finger is only like one third of a dick, if even that. So he closes his eyes and focuses on relaxing, and letting Quirrell in. They struggle with it for a while, because goddamn this is so tight, and even Quirrell is panting now, but once he's finally in, they both let out a set of long, deep groans.

Voldemort opens his eyes again, and looks up at a very, very aroused-looking Quirrell propped up above him. Even though right now he wants nothing more than for Quirrell to start moving, he still takes the time to gently touch his face. "Hey you," he says, still sort of trying to get used to the fact that something is inside him.

"H- hi," Quirrell says with a small chuckle. "You ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," Voldemort replies with a smug little grin, despite the fact that he's so aroused he just wants to get fucked into the mattress right goddamn now. And that's something he has never caught himself thinking before. Clearly, they need to do this more often.

Quirrell pulls back slightly, but not out entirely, before sliding back in. It feels unbelievably weird, but it is without a doubt the best weird Voldemort has felt in his life. Quirrell does it again, ever so slowly, and Voldemort moans, leaning his head back and clutching at the sheets he's lying on. The more Quirrell does it, the more Voldemort moans, and he quickly gets used to the insertion, as the feeling of Quirrell moving inside him gets more and more pleasurable.

"Fuck…!" Quirrell groans as he gradually starts going a little faster, and Voldemort can tell he's going through the 'holy hell it's so tight' part of this. Quirrell grabs Voldemort's hips, and adjusts the angle a bit, and oh God it's perfect it's so perfect holy fuck. Voldemort groans louder the more he gets, and actually wraps his legs around Quirrell's waist to get him even closer. The combined movements cause Quirrell to sink even deeper, which makes them both moan loudly.

They've found a good rhythm, and Voldemort swears he can see stars every single time Quirrell pushes into him. It's not just the sliding that feels fucking incredible now; it's the thrusting. There's something in there that Quirrell keeps hitting with every thrust, and it's driving Voldemort crazy.

"You- you feel… amazing!" Quirrell manages between his panting and groaning, thrusting even harder now than before. It should hurt, it really should, but it doesn't. Maybe it was the drawn-out preparation, or the insane amount of lube Quirrell put on that's helping. Whatever the case, the fact that Quirrell is now pounding into Voldemort with reckless abandon feels beyond 'amazing' at this point.

"You too!" Voldemort exclaims, and then lets out a startled, but very pleasurable scream when he feels Quirrell hit his prostate again. And again and again and again. He doesn't feel jolts of pleasure anymore; he feels surges. And they only keep intensifying the more Quirrell moves. His hand reaches up to grab Quirrell's tie again, if only to give him some leverage because holy fuck it's so good. "Oh God, Quirrell, let's do this forever!"

"T- touch yourself!" Quirrell then says before losing himself in a series of pants and groans that almost send Voldemort teetering off the edge.

"Wh- what?"

"Do it!" Quirrell practically yells. "You- you should- ah! Get the most- out of this- and I can't- haa! Do it without losing the angle—"

"Quirinus Quirrell I swear to fucking Wizard God if you so much as think about stopping I'm gonna- HAHHH!" is all Voldemort manages to yell back before his own pleasure takes him by surprise. He strokes himself somewhat frantically; but really, it's the only way to go because it just feels so good. "Keep going, keep going, ah-ah, fuck, harder!"

And somehow, Quirrell does thrust harder. So hard, in fact, that the sound of slapping skin is starting to echo throughout the room even more than their combined screams of pleasure. And that's saying something because they're both screaming very loudly.

Just a few more thrust, just a few more strokes, and Voldemort feels himself clench around Quirrell, his balls tighten, and his entire body start to quiver. "Qu- Quirrell, I- I'm—" He isn't even able to finish the damn sentence before he's spilling over his own fingers, in perhaps the most mind-blowingly amazing orgasm he has ever gotten. He has honestly never felt one like it; it's like his entire body is exploding, and all he can do is just ride it out, automatically thrusting his hips upwards, and he almost feels like it's never going to stop.

It's only when the intensity dies down a bit that he realizes that Quirrell has come too, and that he isn't thrusting anymore as much as he's just drawing it all out as much as he can. They both slowly come down from it all, and try to ease their breathing. As they do so, Quirrell eases out of Voldemort, clearly knowing how wrecked he is down there, takes off the condom and throws it away. He then climbs forward a bit before collapsing on top of Voldemort, panting like he's just run a marathon.

"Oh, dude, no," Voldemort says between breaths and laughs a bit. "You're gonna get all messy if you lie there." Despite his words, Voldemort doesn't try to get Quirrell off him. He instead gently wraps his arms around him, holding him close.

"I can clean…" Quirrell breathes dreamily. "Could use a… a shower anyway. And this shirt's dirty…" He flops to his side and curls up to Voldemort, a silly little smile glued on his face. He looks at Voldemort, draping one hand over his chest. "Wow," he then says simply, still smiling. "That was… that was something."

Voldemort smiles back. "Yeah, it was," he says and then reaches over to kiss Quirrell's forehead. "You are one hell of a top. Never knew you had it in you."

At that, Quirrell's smile fades and his eyes grow concerned. "Oh shit. Was I too rough? A- are you okay? Oh jeez, I knew I shouldn't have just acted on instinct. I'm sorry, man, it was kind of sort of my first time and I—"

"Quirrell. Man. Listen," Voldemort says, cupping Quirrell's face in one hand and kissing him on the lips to shut him up. "You were absolutely fantastic. All the way through. I wouldn't have had this any other way." He lightly smooches Quirrell's nose to punctuate that statement, because he means it.

"So… it was okay?" Quirrell asks sheepishly, as if he's still worried about it not having been good.

"It was unbelievable," Voldemort says. "I can't believe we didn't do that sooner. Why didn't you tell me I was missing out on this?"

Quirrell chuckles. "Well, I… I thought maybe you were one of those guys who don't like to bottom," he replies with a shrug. "But apparently you do."

"Apparently, yes." Voldemort snuggles up to him, well aware of the pain in his backside, but too satisfied to care about it right now. "And you are an absolute beast when you top," he adds, and gets a playful poke in the side as a response. "What? You are." He nuzzles Quirrell. "And I love it."

"That's good," Quirrell says before giving him a small kiss. "Because we are definitely doing that again sometime. Just… not until after a while."

"Yeah, I think I'm gonna need a few days to recover after that," Voldemort says with a chuckle. He then gazes into Quirrell's eyes, and he swears that this man is just the embodiment of perfection. He wraps his free arm around him and entangles their legs together, just to make sure they stay connected. "I love you."

Quirrell holds him, and kisses him. "I love you too," he replies softly. "We really should get cleaned up, though. Especially you."

"I know," Voldemort says and giggles. "I just really don't feel like moving right now."

"Nah, I can't really blame you," Quirrell replies. "Okay, we can stay here for a bit, but not for more than an hour, alright?"

"Deal," Voldemort says, already involuntarily drifting off.

The last thing he's aware of before he dozes off completely is Quirrell kissing his forehead and lovingly telling him: "You are ridiculous, though. My Voldemort."