Voldemort pushed his trousers down, freeing his neglected cock. The first touch was almost too much, and Harry trembled, groaning softly. Voldemort swiped his thumb against the head of his cock, applying light pressure at the slit until moisture escaped, pre-cum that he circled back into the head, making him writhe and whine. It kept coming, making him wetter, more receptive to Voldemort's circling thumb. He wasn't going to last, was amazed he'd managed to keep it together. Voldemort leaned closer to his ear and whispered,
"We both know the real us… There is no line between us."
Harry nodded, giving in. He wanted desperately to touch, and to be touched, and blocked out the niggling voice at the back of his head. He ran his hand down Voldemort's body, finding the top of his pants. It was easy to pull them down, and when he realized Voldemort wasn't wearing any underwear too, he bit his lip to stop a broken moan.
Harry took hold, and as soon as the hot weight was in his hand he swallowed and shivered at how good it felt. Voldemort's cock was silky smooth. The head was wet and wide, and his lashes fluttered when he thought of it entering him, breaching him, pressing its heavy weight on his body until it was accepted inside.
One light tug and a shudder ran up Voldemort's body, his chest hitching under Harry's testing touch, and Harry's stomach fizzled. Voldemort was panting into his open mouth. They were both staring at each other, gasping for breath, hands on each other's cocks. Harry tugged again and watched another wave of sensation travel through Voldemort. His eyes momentarily closed, then flashed open, dark and devouring.
Harry shifted closer, pushing his mouth to Voldemort's waiting one. It was a kiss of sweat and blood, and Harry couldn't get enough. Harry kissed until the tastes all blended, and it was their addictive cocktail of desire, wrongness, and relief.
Their tongues curled, slowed, until the pace was leisurely, fleeting licks and swipes across slackened lips. Harry gave as much as he got back, and they pressed their foreheads together. As soon as they were no longer distracted by their mouths, they remembered their hands.
Voldemort started fisting him, fast and unforgiving. Harry increased the speed of his touches on Voldemort, chasing him as if it were a game of who'd come first. He let his guilty thoughts dissolve away, and all he could feel was Voldemort's stiff cock, slick under his touch, his own cock tingling so intensely, so close to the edge of oblivion. It was messy, uncoordinated, full of wet gasps and desperate pants, but it was the hottest hand-job he'd ever given, hottest one he'd ever received. Harry shoved his face forward, not to kiss, but to press himself into Voldemort's throat. He breathed deep, getting drunk on his scent as he spilled into Voldemort's hand. His moan muffled against Voldemort's muscles, but Harry heard the shudder of his voice, wrecked and devastated by the sudden release.
He could've stopped stroking Voldemort… he'd finished, Voldemort's hard-on was his problem… but Harry couldn't stop. He wanted to finish Voldemort off, wanted to feel his cum splatter against his chest and soak his hand. Harry kept his face against Voldemort's throat, closed his eyes, listening to the panting by his ear, the wet slide of his hand. It spurred him on, and when Voldemort tensed suddenly, Harry pulled back to see the orgasm wash over his handsome face.
Voldemort closed his eyes, opened his mouth wider in a silent gasp, then shivered right down to his toes. His cock spurted hot cum against Harry's shirt, and he looked down at it glistening on him, not repulsed, but pleased he'd done it.
Blissed out, satisfied, Voldemort looked even better, and when he smiled, his cheeks lifted, and the skin around his eyes crinkled. Harry stared at him, mesmerized, then smiled back, a real smile, small, but real, not a lie.
Voldemort laughed, prodding his swollen lip. Harry's shock, or amusement, or whatever it was that made him grin ended. He stared up at the ceiling, preparing himself for the tidal wave of shame, guilt, and self-loathing, but it didn't come.
The ceiling was blocked by Voldemort rolling on top of him,
"I've got you now."
He looked happy, triumphant, like he'd won a game, completed a puzzle. And Harry realized that he had finally lost to Voldemort.