After vanishing the photograph Voldemort rolled to face Harry. It took Harry more of an effort, but he turned on his side, facing Voldemort. There was no wolfish smile, or amusement in Voldemort's eyes, only sadness. Harry focused on his swollen lip, the ugliness he'd put there. He reached tentatively, cupping Voldemort's cheek, then brushed his thumb against the puffy flesh.
Voldemort licked at the cut, catching the pad of Harry's thumb.
"I shouldn't have hit you. I'm sorry."
Voldemort smirked,
"Have you forgotten who I am, what I've done?"
"No, sometimes I wish I could, then maybe I wouldn't feel so … guilty."
"Guilty? Why do you feel guilty?"
He didn't know. He was lying next to his captor, in a room that was decorated with the memories of his failure, and Voldemort's triumph, the most horrific kind of triumph, but when he looked at him, he saw Voldemort as an illusion, the handsome man with a monster mind, but beyond that, there was someone else, someone Harry connected with, his confidant, his secret keeper, an end to his loneliness.
"Because I like you, and I feel guilty for liking you, not hating you, and I feel guilty for lashing out at you when you were only trying to calm me down. I feel guilty lying next to you now, knowing what you've done. So yeah, the by-product of everything spinning in my head, is guilt."
The words rushed from his mouth, and only doubled his guilt, tripled it, made it so unbearable he verged on a breakdown. Voldemort seemed to notice his inner conflict and pressed his hand to his, still against his cheek,
"It's okay, what you're feeling is normal."
"Normal?"
"Well, normal for this highly unusual situation."
"Feeling guilty all the time is exhausting."
"Then stop."
"Like it's that easy."
Voldemort lifted his shoulder in a shrug,
"I would not know; I don't feel guilt. But I have heard of the phrase guilty pleasure. I think I might be yours."
Harry's throat tightened,
"Maybe you are."
"Why not indulge in it completely?"
"I'll feel worse afterwards."
"You don't know until you try."
They gazed at each other; Harry felt the puff of Voldemort's breath against his thumb and saw the pupil in the center of his soft brown eyes expand. When Voldemort leaned forward to press a kiss to Harry's lips, he didn't dodge it. He shut his eyes and accepted it, but didn't kiss back. Voldemort nudged Harry's cheek with his nose, then brushed his lips against Harry's as he spoke,
"Kiss me."
He slipped his hand down from Voldemort's cheek, to his firm chest,
"I can't cross that line."
"There's only a line if you've drawn one. I certainly haven't."
"There is a line: you're a murderer and I'm the boy who lived."
"Not here, we're not. We are just two people that want to know each other completely."
Harry closed his eyes, rubbing his nose to Voldemort's. He couldn't help it, nor could he help the frantic beat of his heart, of his blood flowing south. Having Voldemort so close felt intoxicating, his scent, his heat, his lips so close.
"It's not right,"
Harry whispered, but it didn't stop him from pressing his mouth to Voldemort's, a quick touch just to see what it was like. Voldemort's lips were soft, warm, and he returned the kiss. He could smell his wonderful distinct scent that made his gut squirm in the most addictive kind of way,
"Imagine we met in a club, you know nothing about me, and I know nothing about you."
"But that's not how it is."
Voldemort gripped his hip, and the touch burned, making him shiver and rock his body in Voldemort's direction.
"I said imagine. Now I've taken you back to mine, and we both know what we want, we both know where we're heading."
"I can't…"
Harry said, pushing his hand against Voldemort's chest. Voldemort glanced down at his hand and then lifted it. He curled each of Harry's fingers, except his ring finger, then sucked it into his mouth, all the way. Harry gasped at the suddenness, and the wet heat around his finger.
Voldemort didn't break eye-contact, and Harry felt his tongue, the slight suction and it went straight to his groin. He shivered, staring deep into Voldemort's dark eyes.
Voldemort pulled Harry's finger back out. He was panting, too turned on and frustrated to care about anything but having the wet heat of Voldemort's mouth around his finger again. Voldemort picked up on his desire because the next thing he knew Voldemort was sucking his finger back into his mouth
The hair on the back of Harry's neck stood up, and another shivery wave travelled through him. Even though he knew it shouldn't… it felt good and fuelled his arousal.
Voldemort moved his lips higher before digging his teeth in. Harry's heavy breathing got worse, and embarrassed heat surged into his cheeks. He was so horny he was hyperventilating, so desperate he was prepared to overlook all the bad, for a quick moment of something good.
When Voldemort removed Harry's finger from his lips, Harry focused on the teeth indents, right where an engagement ring would have been and he couldn't help but feel as if Voldemort had branded him, marked him, and although the marks would fade, he knew he wouldn't forget. He'd been freed from a lie but was trapped in the truth. He wanted Voldemort and he wanted him badly.