Chapter 35

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The wards parted for him effortlessly, despite Harry not expecting to be welcome here. It warmed his heart that Voldemort obviously keyed him in even though they were not speaking. But he would not be distracted by sentimentality.

He threw open the front doors and closed his eyes to feel where Voldemort was.

Upstairs.

Harry ran up the steps, using the banister to pull himself forward faster, and followed his senses to take him to the door he was sure Voldemort was behind.

This room was warded too, but the protections melted back at his touch and Harry burst in, his heart beating in his throat.

Voldemort was kneeling on the hearthrug, his long fingers cradling his bowed head. Harry ran forward and pulled the hands back. Red eyes immediately sought his and widened, but they were unfocused and Harry could tell he was still trapped in his tortured mind.

"Hey, it's me, it's Harry," he said, stroking the man's skin where he was holding him.

Voldemort flinched, his head ducking down. Fuck. Harry let go and then placed his hands firmly on either side of Voldemort's trembling face.

"I'm here, baby," he whispered, and he saw a slight frown form between his brows. "It's me. Harry. You're safe, I've got you."

He was rubbing the soft, smooth skin and the contact was sending thrills of electricity through him. Merlin, it was almost painful it was so good.

"You're okay, I promise."

The man's eyes were clearing and his body slowly began to relax, though the frown grew deeper. Voldemort's red eyes met his and he pulled Harry's hands down from his face.

"If you call me that again, I will eviscerate you, Potter."

Harry laughed, reaching out to stroke down the man's cheek once more, unable to stop touching him.

"Merlin, I missed you."

Voldemort looked away and then pulled himself off of the floor. Should he insist that they talk about his panic attacks? Harry was well-familiar with them after all and could help.

"How bad are they?" he asked recklessly, in a small voice.

"They," Voldemort repeated, but the warning was clear.

Harry watched him stride to the dark window, keeping his back to him.

"Your panic atta—"

"Silence!" Voldemort hissed, and Harry felt the waves of Dark magic crash against him.

He closed his eyes for a moment and basked in the feeling of being surrounded by Voldemort's power again. Slowly, he opened his eyes and tried for nonchalance.

"Look, it's no big deal. I get them too."

"Fascinating," Voldemort said, his tone scathing.

Harry snorted and picked himself up off the hearthrug. He looked around and settled into one of the armchairs by the fire.

"Alright," Harry said, undaunted. "I'm not here to force you to confront your demons or anything. I just… I knew you were struggling and since I wanted to see you anyway, I figured I'd take the chance."

Voldemort was looking out the window, his posture tense. Harry sighed. This was not how he'd envisioned their reunion going.

He stood and walked to the other man. Unable to help himself, he gently laid a hand in the crook of Voldemort's elbow. It was not shaken off and Harry rejoiced at that minuscule victory.

"I missed you."

Voldemort didn't react.

"Can we talk?"

The muscles under his arm twitched.

"What more do we have to say to each other?" Voldemort asked, sounding almost uninterested, but Harry knew better.

Voldemort loved him. And he was going to make the other man realize it. Luckily, he knew exactly how to get the stoic Dark Lord to show some emotion.

"I wanted to tell you that there is no competition," he said, scouring the man's profile. "You are, by far, my favourite out of all the men I have let fuck me recently, way better than the guy a few days—"

Instantly, Voldemort spun around and his hands wrapped tightly around Harry's throat, lifting him off of the floor and shoving him against the wall. His head hit the plaster hard and his fingers scrambled to free himself, but it was no use.

Yes. This was what he needed, what he had lost.

Voldemort looked feral. His eyes were narrowed, but the slits of his pupils were thinner than he'd ever seen them.

"Tell me you are lying," Voldemort growled, and Harry felt the pressure in his mind of Voldemort trying to penetrate it.

Harry closed his eyes and shook his head the best he could.

"I'm not," he said, but only a meager whisper emerged.

When he opened his eyes again, Voldemort looked thunderstruck. The punishing hands released him and Harry fell to the ground.

"You let someone else touch you."

The words were whispered, sounding hollow and confused.

Harry felt ice spread through his chest. Oh no, mistake mistake mistake!

He had hurt Voldemort. There was deeper feeling there, as he had hoped, and Harry had just ripped it to shreds. Fuck. What have I done?

"It meant nothing," he said quickly, stumbling to his feet and trying to grasp those long fingers which were clenched into fists. "I swear. I just… I needed something—"

"You could have come to me," Voldemort rasped, taking another step back. "You knew I would welcome you."

Harry shook his head, panicking.

"I didn't. I thought you hated me for leaving like I did. For not saving you and not putting you first like you keep doing for me."

The other man's expression had closed off, becoming detached.

"It was just sex, just someone to get off with." He knew he was doing a terrible job explaining. "I don't want just sex from you. I wasn't looking for anything but to be fucked hard so I could try to forget you for a little while."

And in a moment of clarity, he realized that maybe this was the problem. Voldemort had never had just sex. Harry had been the first person he'd had sex with willingly and the act clearly meant a lot more to him than it did to Harry.

"Before you, I had a lot of… partners," Harry confessed. He wasn't trying to hurt Voldemort, but he wanted to explain his position. "I never saw sex as a big deal. It was just something that I did to cope with feeling empty."

Voldemort was looking away, his face pinched and his eyes narrowed.

"With you, it's different. It means more. Please," Harry begged, trying to reach out again, but Voldemort easily stepped aside. "I didn't think you'd care—"

Voldemort's wrathful eyes flashed back to him.

"Really, Potter. Have I hidden my abhorrence of sharing you?"

"No. Fuck, you're right."

If the man had been insistent about anything, it was keeping Harry all to himself. Bugger. It had seemed like such a trivial matter. He was horny and not ready to confront Voldemort so he had simply taken care of it by himself.

"It didn't mean anything. I just needed… something. I needed to feel something."

"Yet you did not come to me. Have I ever failed to satisfy you?"

Harry saw a flash of the Rupe Tarpea and how Voldemort had teased him, leaving him aching, before Disapparating, but even he knew that that had been vastly different.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "Of course not. You're the best, the absolute best I've ever had, that's what I was trying to say—"

"Then you believed I would be thrilled to be compared to a Muggle? Or to hear that you betrayed me?"

Harry's hand snuck to his chest and he clutched it.

"Betrayed you? But we're not…"

Voldemort's eyes blazed with fury and pain before he blanked his expression.

"Remove my ring," he demanded. "It means nothing to you, you do not deserve it."

"No! No, please, I—"

The Dark Lord took a menacing step towards him.

"Return my Horcrux."

Harry gasped.

"What? No!"

"I see now that your attachment to me has been merely due to the deficit from the murder of my original Horcrux."

Harry mutely shook his head, shattering, watching everything fall apart.

"You do not deserve—"

"Voldemort— stop! Just— listen to me, please!"

The other man's rage grew larger in the room at being interrupted.

"You dare—"

"I love you!" Harry shouted, coming forward and gripping the stupid fool by his face. "Shut up and listen! I love you."

The Dark Lord stared at him with wide, astounded eyes for long moments. Harry waited, still clutching the man's narrow face.

Voldemort pulled away, all the rage seeming to have left him.

"Then I am at fault." His voice was quieter. "I had assumed such a proclamation included a promise of loyalty. I was obviously mistaken."

"You weren't," Harry insisted, hating the hurt in the man's expression that Voldemort could not erase completely; hating that he had put it there. "Please, I'm an idiot, I thought you wouldn't care—"

"Do not lie to me, Potter!" Voldemort snarled, and suddenly the man's magic landed like a fist in his stomach and he flew back, his arse hitting a small table laden with books.

Harry heard them tumble to the ground, but he kept his eyes on Voldemort who had taken a step closer, his magic crackling around them.

"The only thing I have asked of you in all of this was fidelity," Voldemort snarled. "I could have asked for more, as you did. I could have demanded you change your values as you have asked me to do, or your conflict resolution style, again as you did, but all I have insisted upon was that you belong to me alone."

"I do." Harry sunk to his knees, seeing everything unravelling before his eyes. "I'm yours, only yours—"

"Then why the Muggle, Potter." His voice was lethal as he leaned right down and almost pressed his flat face against Harry's. "Your words and actions are not aligning."

Harry stared into those merciless eyes at close range, seeing the deeper shades of crimson, and tried not to flinch. The silence alerted him that he may actually be receiving an opportunity to explain himself. He breathed deeply, trying to organize his thoughts.

"You said that you couldn't love me," he began, thinking back to how he had felt before, trying to ignore Voldemort's face staring him down. "I was devastated. I quit my job, I stopped taking care of myself at all… I fell apart. I was lost."

After he had returned home from Voldemort's house, he had given up on ever being with the man.

The Dark Lord stepped back a few paces and watched him.

"I tried to move on. I... hurt myself when it got really bad." He laughed awkwardly. "I think that might have just made it worse."

He allowed his eyes to reveal the depth of his pain.

"I missed you so badly," Harry whispered, remembering feeling so alone and filled with such painful longing that he needed someone, anyone to make him forget for a few moments.

"I wanted you," he said, looking at Voldemort who was studying him with a strained expression. "I wanted you to… help me." Harry felt his face grow incredibly warm. "Sex… it helps calm me. Sometimes I just need to be put in my place."

Voldemort's lips shifted in obvious anger, but he remained silent.

"So I went to a pub. I found someone and it made things a bit better for an hour. I could breathe fully again."

Gavin had shoved his cock down Harry's throat, fucked him, hit him, and made him come, yet it had only left him feeling worse.

"But it wasn't you," Harry said, needing Voldemort to understand. "I told you about it to get a reaction because I knew you would be upset, but I didn't know you would hate me for it. It was just sex, just meaningless, emotionless sex."

"So am I too merely a convenient tool for you to rub yourself against when you need to moderate your feelings?" Voldemort's voice was cold. Contemptuous. "Anytime you feel vindictive, you will believe yourself entitled to seek gratification elsewhere? Is assisted orgasm all you desire from me?"

"No! See, that's exactly why I did it! I want more than just sex from you. But since you couldn't give me love, I didn't see a point in continuing to torture myself. If I didn't care about you then I would have come to you for sex, but I want so much more from you, I want everything and when you said I couldn't have it, I tried to protect myself by staying away."

Harry pushed himself to standing and walked the distance between them. He took hold of those motionless hands, gripping them tightly, and looked up into that bewildered but still angry face.

"I want you," Harry said, with clear emphasis. "I want you everyday, I want to wake up beside you and share your life. I want it all… and I think you can give it to me."

Voldemort stared down at their laced fingers, his furrowed brow marring the otherwise smooth face.

"Let me stay with you, Voldemort. Please. Don't send me away."

Harry was holding his breath.

This was it. Again. Either Voldemort accepted what he'd said or he didn't. And he would have to leave, yet again. They were always poised on the edge of a knife, perpetually in danger of losing each other. Or killing each other. Loving Lord Voldemort was exhausting.

A soft tug on his fingers was all the warning he got before Voldemort gathered him closer and smoothly Apparated them away.

They landed in a bedroom, the same one Harry had seen before. This must be Voldemort's chambers. He looked up at the other man, who was watching him, his eyes unreadable but intense.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered, and the red eyes darted away, but Harry brought a hand up to gently guide his face back.

The fingers still laced with his tightened at the action. A warning.

"I fucked up," Harry said lowly. "I need you to punish me for it."

Voldemort made a derisive sound in the back of his throat.

"This is not a game I enjoy, Potter. I will not be betrayed as an excuse to merit what I am about to do to you."

"No games, I promise. I messed up, I apologized, but I don't think either of us can move on until you make me suffer for it. Make me bleed."

"You will just enjoy it," Voldemort countered, but one of his hands had slid around Harry's back and squeezed his arse roughly, lifting Harry onto his tippy toes and bringing their groins together.

"Use me, then," Harry whispered, pressing his face into the man's chest, feeling the sharp collar bones against his forehead. "Show me that I'm yours."

Voldemort growled and picked him up. He carried him effortlessly backwards and then Harry was thrown onto a hard surface. He was surprised, confused, and he looked back to see a wooden desk, piled with papers and books.

When he turned to question Voldemort, the man was smirking ominously at him. He leaned down and took Harry's ear into his mouth, biting down hard. Harry screamed, his fingers digging into the man's sharp shoulders. It lasted for what had to be ten seconds and Harry waited, holding his breath, his lungs empty, as Voldemort ground down on his flesh.

Voldemort let him go and Harry collapsed back against the wood, panting, arms spread out. He felt like a sacrificial offering for a god.

"You do not deserve my bed," Voldemort said into his ear, as he swept aside the items on the desktop near Harry. "You will have to earn that back."

Dark magic slithered over him and wrapped around his wrists, forcing them together and stretching them over his head. A moment later, Voldemort seized both sides of his shirt and ripped it open, buttons flying everywhere, exposing his trembling chest.

And then the Dark Lord froze.

His eyes were piercing Harry's shoulders and chest and— with a jolt of terror— he realized that Gavin's marks must still be there.

Fuck.

Voldemort's gaze slowly rose to connect with his own and Harry saw a myriad of emotions burning there: fury, jealously, murderous intent.

But what seized his heart was the hatred.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered, and Voldemort closed his eyes briefly, his brows lowering.

"Who is he."

His voice was gravelly and low.

"No one. Not you."

Those eyes flashed open, immolating in their pain and anger.

"You wear his marks."

Harry's throat felt painfully tight.

"Give me new ones, then," Harry said anxiously. "Make me yours."

Voldemort growled and struck Harry hard in the face, his head knocking back against the wood of the table. Harry stayed there, panting, face stinging.

He was thrumming with fear and arousal. You wanted a reaction...

"It is clever what you have done," Voldemort mused darkly. "Bound me with a Vow and then returned to me with emblems of ownership from another man emblazoned upon your skin."

"No," Harry argued, lifting his head to face the man, "that's not—"

"You did this, knowing I could not retaliate. Could not slaughter that Muggle as is my right."

Harry felt his body trembling.

"You sought to wound me. To antagonize Lord Voldemort."

"Will you listen—"

"No, Potter. You listen."

He reached down and wrapped his hands around Harry's throat, his fingers digging painfully into the tendons on his neck.

He couldn't breathe.

"You belong to me," Voldemort hissed, bringing his face down and pressing it against Harry's.

Harry could feel his pulse slamming in his ears, could feel the blood trapped beneath that merciless constriction. Fuck— Merlin, why did I think that this was a good idea?

"I will tolerate this no longer," the Dark Lord seethed, bearing down further. "Here is my promise, my own vow. The next time you think to allow another man to touch you, I will kill them."

Harry heard the words but his tunnelling vision had most of his panicked focus.

"Hear me, Potter. I will not be betrayed again."

Harry tried to twist his head, to free himself, Merlin, the mad prick is going to strangle me to death!

And when Harry looked up, those eyes were unyielding. Exacting. Pitiless.

His mouth opened and closed desperately, trying to gasp in air but there was none to be had. Voldemort was going to kill him, just like he'd killed Ron, and Harry was thrashing but it was useless, he couldn't move, couldn't breathe—

His last thought before the blackness took him was that he should have remembered to heal those damn marks.

.

.

He woke with a gasp to find himself bound to a hard surface, looking up in fear at Lord Voldemort.

Who was smirking down at him.

"Welcome back, Potter."

Harry coughed, trying to roll over but he was clearly still restrained. He groaned, trying to swallow. Events were gradually coming back to him.

"You killed me," he said numbly, a little bit overwhelmed by that fact.

Voldemort scoffed.

"Hyperbole. I merely brought you into unconsciousness."

It slowly began to dawn on him what had happened.

"What the fuck, Voldemort?"

The man continued to look amused.

"Do not worry. I used the time you were out productively. I have Healed your past transgressions."

Harry looked down his body and saw that the hickeys and bite marks had all vanished. He glared up at the Dark Lord.

"You're mental! Who does that? You can't just— just—"

He faltered, still lightheaded from his recent lack of oxygen.

"I can. And I will go further should you not heed my words."

Voldemort leaned down and took a nipple into his mouth, biting down so that Harry screamed, his sore throat burning.

He let go and when Harry looked up at him, the Dark Lord's lips shined with smears of red.

"Jesus, Voldemort, " Harry breathed, feeling his cock pulse at the sight.

No.

He had to stand his ground. The man had almost killed him! What would have happened to his Vow if he had? Though, technically, if Harry had died then the Vow would have dissolved, but Harry was the Master of Death and could not be killed by pedestrian strangulation.

So... nothing?

"I will make you forget everything that is not me," Voldemort went on, licking a bloody path down from Harry's tortured nipple.

Harry fought so hard to not react. To ignore the tightening of his testicles, the tension in his lower belly.

"You will regret your rutting in the mud with Muggles."

Voldemort dragged his nails deeply down Harry's chest and stomach, the sharp sting drawing a moan from him.

Damnit!

Hands curled into his hair and yanked his head forward so that he was looking down his body at where Voldemort's face rested against the soft skin of his lower abdomen.

"You belong to me, Potter," Voldemort said warningly.

Harry could feel his stomach tremble with anticipation. Voldemort let go of his hair and slid up his body until he was staring at Harry from an inch away.

"And now, for your punishment."

Harry reared back, incredulous.

"You mean that wasn't my punishment? Almost killing me?"

Voldemort pulled away to stand and Harry looked up at him, still helpless and exposed, completely at Voldemort's mercy. So, nothing new there.

The Dark Lord was smiling, which was never a good thing.

"I have decided you will be displayed at a Death Eater meeting. You will demonstrate to me how much you love being touched and fondled and impaled by other men."

The fuck—?

Harry tried to sit up.

"What? Voldemort, no, you can't do that. I don't want to be raped by your Death Eaters! Blimey, one second you're possessive and the next you want to share me with your lackeys?"

Harry tried to read the man's expression, tried to understand if it was an empty threat or a real possibility. Fuck, no way, no way was he going to let Lucius Malfoy or bloody Bellatrix touch him. When he pictured it, he saw their mocking leers and laughter, yet when he tried to visualize Voldemort anywhere near that scene, he realized—

"You're going to kill them," he argued, wanting to laugh at how ludicrous that threat was. "You know that, don't you? If they touch me you won't be able to handle it."

Voldemort still looked resolved so Harry painted a picture for him.

"So you're telling me that you'll stand by while Lucius licks a trail up my body?" He spoke slowly, giving the man lots of time to imagine it. "While he takes his weird snake cane and whips it against my skin, marking me?"

Voldemort's eyes had darkened and Harry could feel his magic swirling and lashing out around him, but the man didn't otherwise react.

"Sounds good? Alright then, I'm sure you'll also be fine with seeing those red stripes across my back. On my chest. My arse. And you'll know that he put them there and that you let him. His marks on my body. You'll watch as he lays me down and puts his cock inside me, making me cry out for you as you see me writhe and suffer because poncing Lucius Malfoy is taking what belongs to you. You'd let him—"

"Enough!" Voldemort shouted, and his voice filled up the room, pressing against his eardrums, making them throb.

Voldemort leaned over him on the desk, placing one hand beside Harry's head and the other tightly holding his tender throat.

"Never. Yet, to know that these are all acts you have allowed others to do to you makes me want to brand your skin and massacre anyone who has dared touch what is mine. I will not abide it, Potter. I will not."

Harry felt his throat tighten with emotion. With happiness. It was all just a threat. Merlin, what a relief.

"You won't have to," he said, trying for a soft smile that would calm the other man. "I am yours."

Voldemort flexed and released the hand that was wrapped around Harry's neck intermittently, almost unconsciously.

"You wear my ring," he said pensively, slowly. "My Horcrux. A scar on your forehead that I gave to you. What more will it take to make you remember that you belong to me? What will it take, Potter?"

"The locket," Harry rasped, his throat ticklish from the pressure and Voldemort loosened his hold, cocking his head.

Harry took a breath and tried for a sly smile.

"Your locket. It attached itself to my skin just after Hermione and I escaped from Bathilda's place in Godric's Hollow. It… held me. Possessed me, almost. I was out for hours. Hermione had to use a Severing Charm to cut it off of me. I have a scar."

Voldemort's eyes dropped to study his chest and then his hand reached out and stroked the hairless, pink oval, obviously finding it. Harry closed his eyes for a moment, savouring the feeling.

"Another mark," Voldemort marvelled. "That is four."

The red gaze lingered on his chest, his fingers gently caressing the scar he had never paid any attention to before.

"Four," Voldemort mused, a frown appearing between his brows.

He seemed lost in contemplation so Harry left him to it and contented himself with revelling in the touch of those cool, sharp fingers against him.

"You know," Voldemort finally continued, "seven is a particularly powerful number."

Harry snorted.

Then he realized why Voldemort was likely bringing that up right now.

"Wait— seven? You don't mean you want to mark me three more times, do you?"

Voldemort's eyes slid slowly up to meet his and he was smirking, his eyelids lowered hungrily.

"Not all at once, of course. We will take it slow. Perhaps a tattoo."

Harry laughed weakly, still not sure how he felt about that. A tattoo? He hadn't even had time to give any thought as to if he even wanted any! No way in hell would he take the Dark Mark. Voldemort knew that, surely. He had to.

Would that stop him?

"And do I get a say in this at all?" Harry asked, a little breathlessly.

Voldemort made a sound in his throat, like a contemplative hum.

"I will take pity on you for today and instead, I will do only this."

He looked up at the top of Harry's head with a small smile and Harry felt his scalp tingle oddly.

"What're you doing?" Harry asked, a little panicked, wishing he could bring his hands down to touch his head.

Voldemort reached forward and ran a hand through the hair by Harry's ear… and then kept going. And going. Harry felt the gentle tug on his scalp even though Voldemort's hand was now down by his shoulder. Harry looked quickly to the side and saw black hair fanning out on the desk underneath him.

Long hair. Like, Lucius bloody Malfoy long hair.

"My hair!" he said in a higher pitch than he would have preferred.

Voldemort was smiling with teeth now.

"My hair, Potter."

Harry's stomach fluttered at that. But he ploughed ahead with his outrage anyway.

"I don't like long hair! It gets everywhere!"

Voldemort continued to run his hands through Harry's locks slowly, completely ignoring his indignation.

"What is this even about?" Harry demanded. "This isn't a mark!"

"I own every part of you," Voldemort rumbled lowly. "Yes, even your hair, Potter. And I prefer it this way. It will give me greater control when I fist it as I fuck you from behind."

He idly curled a strand of Harry's ridiculous hair around a finger and then yanked it hard. Harry hissed in pain and Voldemort's eyes gleamed in sadistic satisfaction.

"I'll look like a bloody poof," Harry grumbled, picturing the press and the public giving him a hard time.

"You are a poof."

Harry snorted.

"Yeah, but now I'll look it. Merlin, I'll look like Lucius sodding Malfoy."

"Lucius is exhaustingly heterosexual. The two are not correlated."

"Blimey," Harry sighed, shifting uncomfortably in his restraints. "Fine. I guess it's better than a tattoo."

"You have not escaped that fate," Voldemort said forebodingly, his gaze drifting to explore Harry's body.

Probably trying to decide where to put it.

The Dark Lord leaned back down over Harry and began to suck a hickey into his throat. Harry let his muscles melt into the wood as he closed his eyes. He felt like his body was nothing more than a parchment on which Voldemort could sign repeatedly, with various colours of ink.

He couldn't find it in himself to be bothered by that.

The other man broke away and Harry looked down at him.

"I have decided," Voldemort stated, studying Harry's face. "For now, Potter, I will take my displeasure out on you by doing this."

Voldemort gestured with his hand and Harry felt a slight pain in his testicles.

"Hey— what was that?"

Voldemort gripped him roughly by the balls, pushing their foreheads together. Harry was holding his breath with his jaw dropped open in pain.

"This," hissed Voldemort, rolling his ballsack between his pinched fingers, flattening them, "is my way of controlling you until I can trust you to control yourself. A spell of my own creation. I own your orgasms now."

Harry closed his eyes, frustrated by the idea, but also incredibly turned on. He was incapable of speech, so he just groaned. Did he seriously just invent a spell on the fly to torture me with?

"You will not be able to achieve release unless I permit it."

Merlin, at all?

"And, in case you are still hopeful, I must inform you that you will not be coming tonight." Why is that so fucking hot? "I am going to use you like the whore you are."

Harry flinched at the vehemence in that word. He hated that term. He wasn't one, anyways. He liked sex, sure, and he didn't particularly care who he slept with… or how many… or if he was single…

Okay. Maybe he was a whore.

Voldemort stepped back, leaving Harry half-dressed and cold on the desk.

"You do not even deserve to service me."

Harry's stomach clenched. Was he being sent away?

Dark magic suddenly lifted him off of the desk and brought him down to his knees, then to the floor. He was laying on his back, staring up at Voldemort who was looming over him.

"You shared your body with another, Potter. Perhaps I should invite one of my Death Eaters here and let them pleasure me instead. While you watch."

Harry froze. No.

Voldemort smirked at his reaction, whatever it was.

"Yes. I should summon Lucius, since he was a popular topic this evening. Bend him over this desk while you stand Disillusioned by his head, watching as I fuck him. Watching as he gives me something that you decided you no longer desired from me."

"No," Harry moaned, desperate, even though he was achingly hard at the thought.

Christ, I'm already deviant enough, am I a bleeding voyeur, as well?

Voldemort looked out towards the door, as if weighing his options. Then he turned and peered down at Harry.

"Perhaps another time. Tonight, you will lay there, under me, where you belong."

Voldemort's long fingers moved to his own trousers and he began to work them open as Harry stared.

"Since you resolved to take care of your own pleasure, so will I."

Harry watched the man reach into his pants and pull out his hard cock, regarding Harry intently.

"You will not touch me until you earn it," Voldemort commanded darkly. "You will lay there while I attend to myself and you will think about why it is not your hands wrapped around me. Why I am not striking you or taking you deep into my throat."

Those fingers began to pump that gorgeous cock and Harry moaned. He was surprised he'd been allowed to keep his voice, but there was nothing he could say, anyways. Watching Voldemort stroke himself, feet wide, glaring down arrogantly at him, was the hottest thing he'd ever seen and if this was a punishment, he couldn't see how.

Harry realized he could still move, he was not restrained in any manner now. His hand sneaked down to touch himself— he hadn't been ordered not to— but the moment his fingers reached his hipbones Harry's vision was removed.

"Oh, come on!" Harry protested.

"Sight is the price you pay for attempting to touch what is mine."

"I can't even touch myself?" Harry said, aghast.

He could hear Voldemort continuing to stroke himself, though the man was frustratingly holding in any sounds of enjoyment. This was a punishment wank. It was aggressive self-pleasure.

"You do not touch what is mine without permission."

"So I have to ask to…?" Harry inquired, hating how much he loved the thought.

"Try."

He growled in frustration.

"Fine. Please, oh my most terrifying Dark Lord, may I touch my own dick?"

Silence. Harry tried again.

"Please, may I touch myself?"

Still nothing.

"What do you want me to say? Please, Voldemort, Master, may I touch my penis while you wank over me? Good enough?"

"Acceptable," Voldemort said, and Harry heaved a breath of relief moving his hand to grab his cock, when Voldemort added, "But, no. You may not."

Harry shouted in furious dismay, his hands reaching up and fisting into his long, tangled locks.

"Can I at least have my sight back?" he asked desperately, but no response was offered.

Harry was just about to flip the man the bird when the feeling of hot come hitting him on the shoulder startled him into stillness. He waited, rock hard, sexually frustrated, and shaking with adrenaline.

He heard Voldemort breathing roughly and shifting nearby. Moments passed and Harry wondered if he was about to be kicked out. It was late, Voldemort was angry with him, and they still had mountains of resentment and betrayal between them.

The come vanished from his body and then his vision came back. Harry looked up to see Voldemort watching him, looking tired.

The older man was once again fully dressed, immaculate and not at all like he had just had a panic attack, then an argument, then almost killed someone, until at last furiously masturbating all over a man he refused to believe loved him.

Though, all in all, it was not their weirdest encounter.

"Don't throw me out," Harry whispered, and Voldemort's eyes fluttered for an instant.

They stared at each other, Harry feeling powerless to whatever the other man was willing to grant him.

Voldemort turned and walked slowly to his bed, beginning to remove his clothing. Harry watched, mesmerized but unsure as to what it meant for him. He continued to wait.

"Come, Harry," Voldemort instructed, his back to him.

Harry felt a jolt of happiness rush through him, but he reined in it.

"Do you…" Harry began, then gestured miserably to the floor. "I guess you want me to sleep…"

"Get on the bed."

Harry's heart began to pound. Was he forgiven? Merlin, he had not been looking forward to sleeping on the floor, but if that's what Voldemort wanted, then he would have done it. Still, he had to ask.

"I thought you said I had to earn back my place in your bed."

Voldemort turned to face him, his expression guarded. Calculating.

"You have earned it. Do not betray my trust again."

Harry nodded, but Voldemort walked forward and grabbed his chin forcing him to meet his hard stare.

"But take heed, Harry. The terms I set earlier were not exaggeration. Betray me again and I will kill your little paramour."

"You'll lose your magic," Harry whispered, because he had to.

"I would lose more than that if necessary before I would allow another man to touch you again."

Harry smiled cautiously, nodding his head and following Voldemort to the bed. They both undressed and then slid under the covers.

"That was almost romantic, you know," Harry muttered, still smiling as he rested his head against Voldemort's thin chest.

"Only you would find a promise of murder romantic."

Now grinning like a loon, Harry closed his eyes and let the man's steady, comforting heartbeat lull him into sleep.