Warning:

This chapter contains sex. If you don't like it, don't read it.

If you like it, please enjoy and tell me about it.

41. The Strangest Kind of Foreplay

It took Harry some time, and he didn't know how much time, to realise he was back in his rooms, in his drawing room, and that he wasn't alone. That he in fact stood leaned against Voldemort with his forehead against his shoulder and that one of Voldemort's hands made slow circles against his lower back.

Remus, Remus was behind all those murders. All those dead children. Remus Lupin, a man I trusted, a man I liked, a man I once loved like I loved Sirius … He killed those children. He murdered them in cold blood. Nothing can excuse that. Nothing can ever excuse that or make it better. He murdered them. Children. So many children!

It was hard not to gag at the thought. Hard not to rage. Hard not to go to pieces. He had given up holding back the tears from the very beginning.

Voldemort's hand against his back felt real, felt grounding, felt connecting. Connecting him to something other than the pain and the rage and the despair and the deep, deep grief. Harry leaned closer and moved his head so it was his cheek against Voldemort's shoulder and his face was pressed up against the man's throat. Thus, Harry became closer to Voldemort, chest against chest, and he could smell Voldemort even better. He smelled of wild green places again, fresh and green and rich all at once, like a rainforest at high noon and a windswept meadow on a cool summer night. Like the magic in the hidden places in South-America. Harry let it fill his lungs before he let the air out again.

Voldemort continued to make lazy circles against his back, and didn't seem to care that Harry pushed himself closer, or that he was sniffing him. Sniffing him in a way that was more animal than human, the way Remus sometimes …

No, no! I cannot think about it now, I cannot, I will not! Not now, not now!

"I need a distraction," Harry said, his voice wet and hoarse and he pushed his feelings, grief and rage and betrayal and heartache down, down, down. He couldn't take it all in, not now. It was too much. The shock alone was too great. "If you aren't willing, then I have no problem with going for a run or a swim, but if you are willing, I would like to have sex."

"Now, when you are so upset?" Voldemort's voice was all silk and … yes, concern, Harry was certain it was concern, even if he had slammed shut and then barred the mental door the moment he had identified the dead body on the ground. He did not need such an intimate witness to the chaos of his feelings, not even after all he had let Voldemort witness the last few months.

"Yes, as a welcome distraction, so I don't have to think … don't have to take it all in and consider it and … I simply have to do something else than think, right now. Tomorrow is soon enough for all the rest. Sex or some other physical exertions would be best, something that I don't have to be calm and sharp-witted to do."

"And you will feel the same about your invitation a few hours from now, a few days?" Voldemort bowed his head, and if Harry wasn't completely of his mark, scented him right back.

Well, neither of them was entirely human, so why the fuck not.

Harry took a small step back and looked into Voldemort's eyes, eyes that made his stomach clench in a good way, because they were smouldering. His husband liked the idea, like it very much it seemed, but he still took the time to be certain Harry wouldn't regret it.

Safe, I'm truly safe with him. And it doesn't even feel crazy anymore.

How much and how fast things can change.

Harry opened his mind door, just a bit, and waited until Voldemort opened his own and got a good look at Harry need for diversion and his certainty that sex would do nicely.

"I'm sure that sex have worked brilliantly as a distraction at other times and I'm sure that I would like to have sex with you now," Harry said and let Voldemort notice that it wasn't a lie and that he wasn't at all in doubt. Harry got a lick of lust and interest back in return before he closed the door slowly. He closed it carefully and barred it better than usual. He didn't necessarily mind the shared body experience they had had the last time, but he wanted to stay in his own body this time. He wanted to share in sex and pleasure, sure, but he wanted his pleasure to be his alone.

"You seem certain enough and I am not unfavourable towards trying again," Voldemort said and let a hand glide down Harry's back, carefully guiding Harry closer again so they were chest against chest and Harry's face was tucked into the crook of Voldemort's neck. His arms went around Voldemort and Voldemort continued to stroke his back leisurely. This time they scented each other almost simultaneously and Harry smiled into the pale, cool skin of Voldemort's throat.

Still, 'not unfavourable' wasn't really good enough for the first time Harry truly wanted to have sex with the man. 'Not unfavourable' was too close to be merely accepting.

"If I don't have the enthusiastic consent of my partner, I prefer not to do anything," Harry said.

Voldemort huffed into his hair and hugged him towards his chest. It wasn't a bad feeling, not at all, and it still didn't feel any kind of wrong, weird, or crazy. But then, all the breaks in the past months had made Harry used to the close contact in a positive context, instead of all the painful episodes with the soul shard that had only made him too aware of how trapped he was. If he wasn't quite certain that just cuddling wouldn't be enough to keep the horror-show in his mind at bay, he would have suggested that instead.

"I do not know how to show you this enthusiastic consent, would it be enough to simply say that I give it? My only hesitation is your reaction later if you feel I took advantage of the situation."

"You do not take advantage of the situation or of me in any way, shape or form. I'm clearheaded enough to know my own mind that much, but if it makes you uneasy, then we won't do it. It's that simple."

Voldemort slid a hand into Harry's hair and began massaging the back of his head. Harry didn't manage to hold back the small whimper-moan at the delicious feeling of those long fingers and sharp nails in his hair, against his scalp. After a moment Voldemort leaned back enough to look into Harry's eyes and he put a hand against Harry's jaw, slowly stroking it. The red eyes were still smouldering and all the touching and petting thus far spoke for itself.

And Harry didn't mind, he didn't mind at all.

"I give my full and enthusiastic consent to this endeavour," Voldemort said in a low voice. "Is that sufficient?"

The hand against Harry's jaw did feel good, safe even, and the eye contact almost dragged him down into the calmness as it did on his breaks. At the same time the fire in those ruby eyes, the possessiveness and lust, made parts of him clench in anticipation. He had seen that possessiveness several times now, both in Voldemort's eyes and read it from his feelings. Voldemort coveted anything that was powerful or extraordinary, and by rights; Harry was both. But even if he had seen the feeling in Voldemort's eyes, Voldemort had never seemed likely to act upon it in any way. Sometimes Voldemort had even appeared a bit bothered by not being able bury the possessiveness well enough. Not because he wanted to plan something behind Harry's back, but because he worried that the feeling would ruin the progress they had made.

It was frightfully easy to discern such things when one could read each other's feelings like the two of them could.

That discovery, that knowledge, made Harry feel freer than he had thought he could be in this marriage. So, he didn't usually mind the possessiveness or the lust when they showed themselves. Not when he now knew that he was truly safe with Voldemort and that he never would be hurt or harmed in any way. Not when he knew that Voldemort wouldn't ever push him into something he genuinely didn't want to do. Not when he suspected that he actually could have charge of his own life.

And more important than anything else, not when he suspected that when he brought up Hermione, Voldemort wouldn't mind her presence in Harry's life more than he minded the presence of Susan, which he didn't mind at all. The possessiveness wouldn't get in the way for even that.

Surprisingly, Harry now felt that Hermione had been right to dare to hope for good things in Harry's life, the way Harry hadn't been able to, back in the weeks before the marriage. He still thought that hoping for a good, or even tolerable life, married to Lord Voldemort had been a tall older. What did it say then, that he right now, after six months married to the man, truly felt he had reason to believe that he could have a good life? And more, that he could have a life more on his own terms than at any other time in his life?

Why should he mind the possessiveness and lust when Voldemort never would take anything from Harry because of those feelings? And right now, it seemed he might give Harry what he wanted, exactly because of those feelings.

"That will do," Harry said. "Only limit I can think of right now is no kisses on the lips, but body and face are alright." Harry smiled at his husband.

"Noted, I have nothing to add."

Harry tilted his head into the hand against his face. Less than six months ago he would have tried to claw Voldemort's face off before he let him touch him like this, and he would have done it on purpose. What wonders obstinate determination, a mind bridge and a few months could do. He snorted and then felt his eyes go huge.

Voldemort looked back with a raised eyebrow, curious as always.

"I just remembered my predilection to harm you when I'm not all here mentally. While I don't think it should be a problem now, I want to ask if you want to try the one and only safeguard I have managed to come up with since we discussed it last."

"I would like to hear more, at the very least. What made you remember so suddenly, you seemed rather shocked?"

Harry removed a hand from Voldemort's back and put it over Voldemort's hand against his face.

"I realised that some months ago I would have gone for your throat, no questions asked, if you tried to touch me like this."

"Yes, I can see how that made you remember your predilection of using teeth and claws against me," he stated dryly. "What solution have you found?"

"Impenetrable runes written in my blood with my magic and protective intent. Because like sings to like, and even if your magic isn't able to stop whatever it is that I do when I'm completely out of it, my own magic and blood should do a better job."

"What runes are you considering using and where do you want to place them?"

Harry drew a rune array in burning letters next to them and pointed at seven of them. "These, in a circle around your neck, these two above each other in the front." He pointed at the next line. "These, in a circle over your shoulders, collarbone and upper back. Also, I want to mention that I have practised forcing only my mouth and hands to change, in the hope that if I get used to the fact that I can do it, I will also have greater control over the change and stop doing it if I don't choose to do it."

Voldemort studied the runes and nodded slowly. "I am willing to try this."

"Alright. I was thinking of trying to make them keep for a month and see how it goes. I can of course remove them at any time if you want me to, else a glamour spell should hide them well enough."

Voldemort nodded again, a small smile in his eyes when he looked down at Harry. "Blood and magic it is."

"I can't do it when you have your robes on." Harry waited a moment before he spelled all the buttons on Voldemort's black silk robe open.

"Excuses, excuses," Voldemort muttered, but stood still when Harry removed the robes, and then he stood completely naked. The gaze that met Harry's was bordering on hungry. Harry removed his own robes and underwear, because why the hell not.

"I will place this rune here," Harry pointed at one of the runes that glowed in the air and then touched a spot on Voldemort's neck. "Then I will place that one here."

He continued like that around Voldemort's neck before he touched the spot directly above the first rune.

"That sounds good. Do proceed." Voldemort used wandless and non-verbal magic to conjure a simple leather thong and tied his hair up, so it was out of the way. He had never done that before, and Harry used a moment to appreciate the difference in his appearance without his hair around his face, when he had hair, that was. The face became shaper and more aristocratic. Harry thought he might like it. He also thought that he wouldn't cut his own hair again for some time, not all of it at least. Tying it up was the only solution he had ever found to keep it somewhat in check, but he had cut it the same day he had shaved off his beard that spring. He still missed his beard.

Harry drew his wand, made a cut in his palm and let down his shield so all his magic was free and sparkling and strong. It entwined with Voldemort's magic and Harry froze while he got used to the feeling. Usually, if something like this happened, it was at the beginning of his breaks and it was just for a moment while they made the magical circuit between them to give Harry his break. This was different, so different. It was more. More potent. More intimate. More wanting. More, simply more. It sparked over his naked skin. Sang in his blood. Pounded with his heart. Shone behind his eyes. Bubbled like champagne in his mouth. It took several long moments before he felt steady enough to continue with his task.

Harry drew power into the blood that had gathered in his palm, turned his wand into a delicate brush and looked up at Voldemort who watched him with blown pupils and a rigid posture. Apparently, Harry wasn't the only one who had reacted to their entwined magic.

"Don't move." Harry couldn't help but smirk when Voldemort bit his jaws hard enough to make his teeth grind. He focused on his magic, on protection, on safety and defence. Then he began to paint the runes on Voldemort's skin.

Slowly, carefully, he painted each rune with his blood, in an exact circle around Voldemort's throat, and waited to see, to feel the result, after he had painted the seventh. The first part of the rune array connected perfectly. Harry waited a moment longer for it to set, to calm down, before he brushed a stasis spell over it. Just his runes, just his blood, the stasis wouldn't even touch the skin beneath the runes, that would be to invite disaster.

Harry took a small step back and looked into Voldemort's eyes again. His pupils were still blown and his face stiff. Harry gave him a cautious smile, only to be met with hungry eyes and a wash of magic against his senses. He gasped as he could feel the magic roar against his own. Sparkling. Singing. Pounding. Shining. Bubbling. In his head. In his blood. In every fibre of his body.

"Hey, you were holding back!" Harry accused.

"It would be impossible to stand motionless with our magic thus entangled, so yes Harry, I was holding back." The sound of his voice was a purr thrumming in Harry's head, in his chest. He was already getting hard, and Voldemort's voice didn't help. Not at all.

"I'm not done, so you have to reel it in again. I need mine," he tried to sound insistent, but feared he might sound a lot more petulant than he would wish.

Voldemort held his gaze for long moments before the magic quieted. It was a loss, but also a relief. It had never felt like this before, when he had let the shield around his magic down around Voldemort, but then … he had never wanted it to feel like this before either. Never invited it. Never let it. Even free from his shield he had held more control over his magic than he did right now.

Again, Harry focused on protection, safety and defence and began the bigger rune circle that would protect Voldemort from his teeth and claws. The first one went right beneath the hollow of his throat, the next under his collarbone. Harry had just painted the third rune on top of his shoulder when he looked down and realised that he wasn't the only one who found this exciting. Voldemort's cock was fully erect. Of course, he wasn't much better. Harry wasn't sure if he should snort at the strange foreplay, or lick his lips.

"What is it?" Voldemort had noticed his hesitation and looked at him only to follow Harry's rather pointed gaze down towards his own crotch. Voldemort met his gaze and while his eyes still held hunger, they now also held a smirk.

"I just thought that blood and magic have to be the strangest kind of foreplay I have ever been a part of, if not also heard of," Harry said. "Whatever works for us, I guess." He smirked back at Voldemort and continued painting runes.

"This is the last one." Harry stood in front of Voldemort again and carefully painted the last rune, waited while the first circle and the second joined in a complete and powerful protective array, and put his stasis spell on the freshest runes.

"Please look them over yourself, to be certain no mistakes were made." Harry conjured two mirrors, one big and one handheld, and Voldemort used several minutes to control that the runes were correct and that the arrays were perfect, and that the stasis spell only touched the blood runes.

"I am satisfied," Voldemort said with a nod. "It seems probable that it should hold, even if we will not know for certain unless it becomes necessary for them to do so."

"I fervently hope that it won't come to that." Harry Vanished the two mirrors again and stepped right up to Voldemort, felt Voldemort's cool skin against his own and felt the other man's erection against his stomach. Voldemort's hands went immediately around him and into his hair and Harry leaned into it, leaned into him, pressed his face against his throat and inhaled. He smelled like blood and magic now, in addition to wild, green places.

One of his hands clung to Voldemort's shoulder, the other was slowly stroking down his back, again and again. Revelling in the cool skin underneath his fingers and mouth, against his face and chest. That hard cock against his stomach was alluring, promising. His own cock twitched just at the thought of having Voldemort inside him again. That had been wonderful the last time, even if almost everything else had been difficult and confusing. What would it feel like now, when they both genuinely wanted it?

Voldemort ran his hand against Harry's face and neck. Through his hair and down his back. Harry turned his face up and slowly, carefully, he kissed Voldemort's jaw, from beneath his ear to his chin. In repercussion Voldemort's long fingers grazed his arse, the feeling made Harry press harder towards him and Voldemort's hand came back. Not grazing but grabbing this time, massaging his arse and making Harry rub himself against Voldemort's hip, wanting, needing, friction. A small moan of want escaped him, and he didn't mind.

Voldemort released him and withdrew his hand before he also removed the arm around Harry's waist.

"Where do you think you are going?!" Harry's voice was hoarse and breathy at the same time. One hand on the back of Voldemort's neck and the other on his shoulder, he was burying his face against his neck, not letting him go.

A hum of laughter and then Voldemort turned his head and kissed Harry's jaw. His lips were cool and soft and chaste and sinful, all at once.

Harry wanted more.

"I was thinking that the bed would be a better place for us, before this goes further." The voice was pure velvet and made Harry shiver. "Also, I should get the oil. Unless you prefer to use a spell this time?"

"I will use the cleaning spell, but other than that I mostly prefer to be warmed up by hand. Because it feels good and not because I'm anxious that I will react badly if things move too fast. If you agree?" Harry slowly let up the grip he had on the other man. He wanted more of the cool skin, of the soft lips against his face, of the pressure of Voldemort's hands against his back, his head, his arse.

He wanted more.

"I did manage to get you to beg last time; I am not averse to hearing you beg again. Who knows, Lord Voldemort might even be benevolent and give you a boon." He said it with so much smugness and amusement that Harry leaned in again and licked him from collarbone to jaw before he kissed that chiselled jaw. Then he took a step back. He was burning with desire, but it sounded like a good plan to take it to the bed.

Voldemort turned towards him with wide eyes, and Harry grinned.

"Did you … did you just …"

"There is a rule that you might not be aware of; if I lick it, it's mine."

Voldemort, the Dark Lord who now ruled all of magical Britain, blinked at him. Just blinked at him.

"Now, I have a spell to cast, and you have an oil to fetch. Meet me in bed?"

Voldemort blinked at him twice more, before turning away while shaking his head.

Less than two minutes later they met again in Harry's bed. It seemed like Voldemort had gotten over the shock of being licked and neither of them mentioned it. After settling himself outstretched beside Harry on the bed, leaning on one elbow, Voldemort simply let his hungry gaze trail over Harry's body. It felt like his eyes scorched his skin and Harry gave a soft whimper, he still wanted more. More touches, more kisses, more long fingers in his hair and soon, soon, he would need to be filled.

"What do you want, Harry?" Voldemort said in a smooth voice and crimson eyes met green. "Tell me what you want."

Beg me, the gleaming eyes said, beg me for what you want. I might just give it to you.

Harry arched against Voldemort, rubbed his whole body against his, and moaned. Voldemort laid a long hand against his chest and pushed him back down to the mattress. The cool fingers burned against his skin, but not nearly as much as the eyes that held his. So much want, so much hunger, so much possessiveness, for him. For Harry. Harry whimpered, blinked, and tried to think through what Voldemort had said.

Telling Voldemort what he wanted, or more like begging for it, wasn't actually any hardship for Harry. He didn't mind begging in this setting. He might find it slightly frustrating, slightly humiliating, but in the right context, with the right person, it was also exhilarating, intoxicating and even erotic. He suspected Voldemort of getting off on begging, but he actually trusted the man enough not to take it too far, not with Harry, not at this point. Besides, if Harry begged for it, then Voldemort would know for certain that he did want it. Harry guessed that that might be more important to Voldemort, right at this moment, and knowing that made him like the idea even better and made him feel even safer.

"Touch me, please. Please, just … just touch me!" Harry tried to arch against Voldemort again, still very much wanting more.

The hand lifted from his chest and long fingers trailed from Harry's neck and down his body. Harry shivered.

"Yes, please, more, more please!"

The hand continued to caress his body. Harry shivered and squirmed, moaned and whimpered with need. Voldemort's eyes were on his face and the hunger was burning, burning, burning. Eating him up. Owning him. Possessing him. How something so hot could be contained in something so cool, Harry didn't know.

Harry moved under Voldemort's hand, against his body, and felt the hard cock leave a wet trail against his side. He whimpered, then gasped when Voldemort grasped under his leg and spread his legs apart, exposing his hole, before kneading the lower part of his arse, long fingers almost touching his entrance. Harry moaned and rocked his body, trying to get the fingers closer but they disappeared.

"Use your words, Harry. What do you want?" It was no more than a silky whisper in his ear, hot breath making him quiver.

"Your fingers," Harry whined, and Voldemort trailed his fingers down his chest and lightly over Harry's hard cock. "Your fingers …" The fingers were caressing his cock now, making the whole of Harry twitch. "In me, please, in me. Fuck me!"

The hand disappeared from his cock and Harry actually sobbed in desperation. Then long, slick fingers circled his entrance and Harry eagerly spread his legs. Voldemort hummed and moved closer, slowly got partly on top of Harry, so the arm he held himself up on could reach Harry's face and neck, could touch and stroke and hold. The fingers continued to circle his entrance and tease him.

"Harry, look at me. Open your eyes and look at me." The voice was velvet soft, but commanding, unyielding. It made him shiver, nearly in fear, but absolutely in want and need and desire.

Harry opened his eyes and blinked several times, unsure when he had closed them. Voldemort's face was right over him, his hand against his jaw, red eyes now almost completely black with lust, an inferno hidden in their depths. And still, one hand was gently teasing Harry's entrance and the other was even gentler against his face.

"Is this what you want?" One finger pressed against his entrance and Harry arched up, only to push against Voldemort's hard body and even harder cock. The finger stayed there, slick with oil, almost breaching him, but no more.

"Yes, yes, please. Please fuck me, please spread me open and fuck me. I want that. I want that so much." Was he sobbing? Yes, he was actually sobbing, while rubbing against Voldemort and trying to get that finger just a bit closer, just a bit. "Please, spread me open and fuck me, please, please!"

Voldemort's eyelids fluttered, he gave a small, sharp inhale and a shudder ran down his long, hard body. Then that teasing finger finally, finally breached Harry's entrance and Harry gave a gasp and just moaned while the finger slowly fucked him.

Voldemort's other hand stroked his neck and temple and the conflicting sensations, of pleasure and care, was almost unbearable, and Harry felt a tear burn and then run down his face. He hurriedly opened his eyes that he yet again hadn't noticed that he had closed, and met Voldemort gaze just a moment after Voldemort saw the tear.

"It's so good, so very good," Harry whispered hoarsely. "Please don't stop."

Voldemort considered him, his face, his eyes and the body that lay willing and pliant under him, and didn't stop his ministrations. Harry gave a grateful sigh and laid a hand on the arm that touched his face. He looked Voldemort in the eyes again while the man's finger fucked him leisurely.

"May I have more now?" he asked. The fire and extreme need had been doused because of the overload of conflicting sensations, but the wish for pleasure was still there.

Voldemort leaned down and kissed Harry's neck.

"You may," he said in no more than a whisper and added a second finger. The two fingers entered him excruciatingly slow, spreading him open, slowly, so slowly, and so deliciously. Voldemort kissed his neck again, up to his ear and then down to his collarbone, where he nipped at Harry's skin.

"So good, so good," Harry moaned, and Voldemort proceeded to fuck him. He changed between scissoring him open and fuck him as deep as his long fingers would go. The smouldering heat took fire again and Harry clutched at him while also trying not to push down on his fingers. He had the distinct impression that Voldemort wanted to do the fucking himself. And he was good at it, so very good. It left Harry panting.

"More. Three fingers now. Please, more, more now. More." He was trembling, almost clawing at Voldemort's back, but not with real claws, fortunately.

He could feel Voldemort's satisfied smirk against his shoulder, but he complied, and Harry arched into him when that third finger spread him open and then Voldemort grazed the bundle of nerves inside that made pleasure ripple through Harry, and Harry was turned into a quivering mass of pleasure and lust and need and burning and want, want, want!

Voldemort did hesitate for a second or two before he slowly gave into Harry's begging and added the fourth finger. He was unbearably gentle, and Harry could feel oil dripping out of him to puddle beneath him. But he did get that fourth finger, did get that feeling fullness, of being spread open, of the fingers leisurely moving inside him, finding the perfect spot, the perfect angle. He was a gasping, whimpering, squirming mess, clawing and pawing at Voldemort in pleasure and desperation before he managed to get out any more words.

"You, I need you to fuck me. Please. Please, I need it. Please."

Harry went incoherent when Voldemort drew back his hand and moved to align himself with Harry's entrance. He could feel the tip of Voldemort cock against him.

"Please, please, please, give me, give me more, give me you. I need you inside me. Need … need …"

Voldemort began to slide into him, into his hole that he already had fucked open with his fingers, and he was slow, painstakingly slow. Harry was writhing under him, trying to hold himself back from impaling himself on Voldemort. Voldemort had so far given him everything he had asked for, begged for, he would give him this too. He focused on enjoying the slow glide, the feeling of laying underneath someone, open and exposed, vulnerable but safe, the feeling of being pushed into, of being forced even more open, the slight stretch and burn because of Voldemort's girth, but not really pain. He was whimpering, almost sobbing with lust, and enjoying every second.

Voldemort seated himself completely in Harry and paused, bowed his head and kissed Harry's neck and let Harry get used to the fullness in his body, to relish in the feeling. Four fingers might have been nice, but they weren't really much compared to Voldemort's entire cock. He could feel his entrance flutter around Voldemort's base, his walls constrict around him, trying to get accustomed to the intrusion, the mass, inside him. So hard, so full, so much, so perfect.

Harry clutched Voldemort towards him and hid his face against Voldemort's neck, stifling his small gasps and whimpers against his skin. Voldemort kissed him leisurely, with all the time in the world, while his body was taunt as a bowstring above Harry and Harry could almost feel the blood pounding in Voldemort's cock inside him, it was so hard.

"Good," he whispered, shivering when Voldemort moved just a bit and his cock inside him also shifted. "So good." He didn't want Voldemort to get the wrong idea. Not now. Not when it felt so very, very good.

A part of him was oddly satisfied with this feeling, this fullness, this closeness.

The rest of him wanted more, needed more.

"Move, please. Please, move. Please fuck me."

Voldemort complied. Slowly at first, but he soon gave in to Harry's pleading and began fucking him in earnest. Hard and fast and glorious. Harry was pounded into the mattress, and he loved it. It was everything he had hoped for, everything he had wished for, and so, so much better than that first, necessary and awkward time. The pleasure was building and unbearable, and not enough.

"Need you. Need … harder …deeper … more … you!" Harry was panting, desperate. "More. Please."

The hand that still lay against Harry's face was even now just supporting, not grabbing or holding, an anchor in the onslaught of feelings and pleasure and hardness and desire. It was strangely reassuring, that hand, when the rest of the body above him was moving in a raging passion, pounding him ruthlessly and hard, and was completely and utterly magnificent.

Voldemort met his gaze, slowed down and forced a frantic negating sound out of Harry, before he got Harry's legs over Voldemort's shoulders and set up the pace again. Hitting even deeper inside Harry. Harry groaned and tossed his head back.

"Yes, so good, yes. More, give me more, please. Please, please, please!"

Voldemort pummelled into him, and Harry could feel him jerk and come and begin to fill Harry, while he still moved inside him. A long hand grasped around Harry's rock-hard and leaking cock and tugged and twisted and the still hard cock in his arse was jerking and filling him with warm cum and he had been so aroused, so desperate for so long, and the hand around his cock twisted over the head of his cock again and Harry screamed as the orgasm ripped through him.

Slowly Voldemort let Harry's legs down again and even more slowly he pulled out of Harry. Even exhausted and blissful, Harry whimpered at the loss. Voldemort cast a spell that cleaned them both up and lay down beside Harry, close but not quite touching. Harry leaned in and kissed his neck before letting himself sink completely down into the mattress, eyes half closed.

They were silent, just breathing, just calming down and letting the vestiges of the pleasure run its course.

"For the record, that was fucking fantastic, or fantastic fucking," Harry said hoarsely.

"I am glad you approve," came the wry answer. "And yes, for the record; that was bloody fantastic."

Harry felt like he got a whiplash, that was how fast he moved his neck to stare at his husband, who never cursed like that, ever. The bastard gave him a small, lopsided grin and Harry's heart almost stuttered to a halt. Voldemort's shoulder long hair was partly out of its binding and had become mussed and there was a slight sheen of sweat on his face. His red eyes still had very big pupils and were a little dazed, and then that smile … It was probably the biggest and most real smile Harry had ever seen on him. Not counting all the evil grins he had seen through the years.

Harry swallowed hard and didn't have to remind himself that it was alright to find his husband attractive. For once he didn't have a problem remembering that, remembering the plan. He had an attractive husband that just now had pounded him into the mattress in the most glorious way. A husband that seemed like he enjoyed it enough to maybe want to do it again sometime.

"That's good," Harry said. "Would that mean that you are up for a repeat performance?"

"Not in the next fifteen minutes, no."

Harry stared at him, and he knew his mouth was partly open, but he didn't manage to close it.

"You do know you are not seventeen, right?" he asked after finding his voice again.

"I am not completely human," Voldemort reminded him. "And after out last talk about a potential sex-life, I decided to figure out a few things for myself."

Harry nodded, that made sense, and it was so incredibly typical Voldemort. He always wanted to know everything and be prepared for everything. He was like the most prepared boy scout in history. The thought almost made him snort, but he held it back.

"Yeah, about the same here," he admitted slowly. "It … changed after I … well, changed."

"However, if you were asking about whether I would like to do this again in more general terms, then the answer is yes."

"That is good to know," Harry said, almost in a whisper.

There was a new silence, it was still calm, still comfortable. It was relaxing, enjoying silent company.

"Now, what was it that you said earlier?" Voldemort came closer and looked down at Harry.

"What?" Harry forced his eyes open in time to see Voldemort lower his head, then he felt a long, cool tongue lick him from his shoulder to his ear.

"If I lick it, it is mine, was it?" Voldemort hummed in amusement and Harry just stared at him, stared at the merriment in those crimson eyes. Nobody would ever believe him if he told them that a good fuck got Voldemort into mischievous mood.

No one would believe him! Ever!

A/N:

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