A/N Back when Harry was still a prisoner in the dungeon.
Harry lay on the cold stone floor, staring up at the stone ceiling, waiting.
He d lost count of the days some time ago. It no longer seemed to matter. The only thing in his world for some time now was just a single meal a day, hearing the changing of the dungeon guard and the screams of other prisoners. And Voldemort's daily visit.
The man, who did look far more like a man now, came every day to beat Harry. He didn't even try to get any information, as if Harry would have any.
Harry had fought against him at first, had screamed and cussed him. Then he'd accepted that it was going to happen every day until he could either escape or was rescued, neither likely to happen. Once he stopped fighting so hard, his body was able to respond to the pain.
Pain had been Harry's secret pleasure since he discovered that he could get hard. It was when he was hurting himself while jerking off that he came the hardest.
Being chained in a dungeon getting beat within an inch of his life probably wasn't the best time for his body to respond, but it had. And to his horror, Voldemort finally noticed. He had seen the surprise and twisted pleasure in those red eyes that day.
After that, the man was always making lewd comments, touching him in clearly sexual ways, and even going so far as to jerk him off. All the while as he beat him, cursed him, hurt him in so many ways.
Staring up at the ceiling, Harry could admit to himself just how good it was.
The pain of the whip, cane, wand, blade, or whatever was amazing. The way Voldemort hissed as he said such dirty things to him. The way the wizard looked as he hurt him, the joy in those red eyes, the bulge Harry could see from time to time. The feel of those long pale fingers wrapped around his cock, stroking him, sometimes slowly and gently, most often tightly and fast.
Harry looked forward to his daily visitor. And he could finally admit it to himself. He liked what Voldemort did. He liked how lately the Dark Lord would tell him how good Harry was being and how much he enjoyed his time with him. He liked that he no longer worried about what was going on anywhere else. He liked that he wasn t expected to do anything here, except what Voldemort wanted while he was there.
Harry sighed softly.
He knew he should be fighting to get out, should be wanting out, should be missing his friends and the outside world. But he wasn't. He didn't want to fight, he certainly didn't want to fight in a war. And when he was completely honest, he didn't want to miss or care about anyone, or anything. He'd been expected to do so much in his life, while no one really cared about him. He didn't want that.
He wanted peace, for himself, and to be taken care of.
And as strange as it seemed, that was what he was getting in Voldemort's dungeon. Sure, he wasn't getting enough to eat, but it was more and better food than he got at the Dursley's. And yes, he was cold and alone, but again something he'd been all his life. And of course he was hurt, yet again a constant in his life anyway.
His treatment here would be considered bad by other people, but it wasn't anything he wasn't used to.
Here he got halfway decent food, his cell was bigger than his cupboard, he was basically left alone, wasn't expected to be a slave. Yes, Voldemort hurt him, but even that had changed. The man had taken to allowing him some small form of pleasure or release most of the time. He was giving Harry better food lately and even a thin sheet two days ago. He was taking better care of Harry than his family had. And he was taking better care lately, since Harry stopped fighting and started accepting.
Harry smiled faintly. Yes, the Dark Lord was taking care of him, in the important ways. And that was what mattered, right?
And perhaps Voldemort could give him the other thing he wanted. Peace. He wanted to feel at peace, to no longer care or have to take care of others. It was already happening. Harry couldn't do anything about what was going on outside, so he wasn't going to care.
He fingered the thin sheet he had pulled over his body. Voldemort had given it to him for being good, maybe he could earn more? If he stopped fighting, completely stopped fighting, would Voldemort taken even better care of him? If he submitted to the Dark Lord, would he take care of him and allow him the peace he wanted so much?
He liked that idea. But could he do it? Could he completely give into the man who was said to be the most evil wizard of their time? To the man who killed his parents?
Harry closed his eyes and pictured the other wizard in his mind. Images of the man as he hurt him flashed through his mind, as well as one of him walking through the dungeon, of him dealing with his Death Eaters, of him fighting. Images of him running his fingers through Harry's hair, of allowing Harry to sit by his feet and just rest, of him smiling down at Harry as he knelt before him.
Yes, he could do it. Harry decided. Even if he never left the dungeon, he could submit as long as he was taken care of and given peace.
He listened to the now familiar sounds of the dungeon until he heard the sound he knew meant his visitor was coming. He heard the door of the outer dungeon open and the soft "My Lord" given by the guard.
Harry quickly removed his tattered and dirty clothes. He had started doing it awhile back to save what was left of them. Instead of waiting against a wall with the usual trace of fear, he moved to the center of the cell.
He knelt there, sitting back on his feet, bowing his head to look at the floor. He usually felt a little fear as he listened to Voldemort's steps, unsure if today would be the day that the other wizard killed him. He didn't feel that fear this time. He was giving up fear. He was submitting to the Dark Lord and that meant no longer fearing him.
He listened to his cell door open and almost smiled when he heard Voldemort's step falter as seeing him.
"Well, well, Potter," Voldemort said closing the cell door. "What do we have here?"
Harry stared at the floor then the feet that stopped right in front of him.
"Are you broken?" The Dark Lord went on. "Or have you simply stopped fighting me?"
"I no longer wish to fight, My Lord," Harry answered honestly.
The older wizard was silent for a long minute. "What game are you playing?" He asked skeptically.
"No game," he said softly.
He felt Voldemort's thin finger and sharp nail under his chin, lifting his face up. He looked into those blood red eyes and let him see his honesty.
"Are you giving up, Harry?" Voldemort asked slowly.
"Yes, My Lord."
"I never thought I would actually see you bow and call me your lord," he said after another minute. "Especially without you being broken." His pale finger moved to trace Harry's jaw. "It makes me wonder why you are at my feet. Tell me."
"I don t want to fight," My Lord, Harry told him. "I never wanted to fight."
"And what do you want?"
"I just want to be me," he whispered. "I want to selfish and not care about anything else."
"You are not leaving this cell," Voldemort said firmly.
"I know, My Lord," he said calmly. "I simply don t want to fight you anymore."
"Are you going to fight that you enjoy our time?" He asked in a hiss.
Harry shook his head a little.
"Then be a good boy and stand against the wall," the Dark Lord said after a moment. "We'll start with the whip."
Yes, My Lord, Harry said instantly and did what he was told. He knew his life just became so much simpler and he was sure he was going to like it better.
(As was pointed out to me, this is the day Harry sucks Voldemort. This is just the beginning of their session and that does happen, I just didn't think it would be something Voldemort would start with.)
