Lots and lots of talking, actual civil talking. Phew—what a peculiar occurrence. I didn't get to the Daphne Greengrass conversation (like I promised). But to make up for it, I added a… *cough* lime/lemon scene. Definitely not sex, but I'm just warning those of you now.

Chapter Eight

The nap he took did wonders to his sore body. After escaping the Dark Lord's wrath, Izar had shut himself in the bedroom he had woken up at this morning. He didn't know if there was only one bedroom or more, but he hadn't cared as he shut and locked the door. Not that a simple lock would stop the powerful wizard from entering...

An hour nap later, Izar found himself venturing quietly out of the house and onto the tile around the pool. Barefoot, he enjoyed the rough limestone on his heels as he paced slowly back and forth. He had taken one of Voldemort's button-down shirts and rolled it up to his elbows and left a few buttons open in the front. Despite it being November, there was a warm breeze, and the sun was incredibly tepid. It probably shouldn't have been so warm, but he pinned it to his… new status.

Above, the sun was slowly sinking past the horizon, indicating that the first day of his immortal life was coming to an end. There was something else shifting in the horizon, something intangible but heavy with forewarning.

"Do you feel it, child?"

Hearing the voice so soon again made Izar's chest tighten with anticipation. During his school days at Hogwarts, his interactions with Voldemort were sparse. But then again, his interactions with Voldemort were seen as a chore and something he had to always struggle with. Now, he could genuinely say he enjoyed their conversations, even if most of them ended with the other furious.

He turned, watching as Voldemort set a plate on the small table next to the pool. Izar had smelt it earlier, of course, but he was surprised Voldemort had saved him any—let alone, carry it out here for him.

Izar turned his attention back on the sky. "I do. What is it?"

Voldemort seemed pleased at his answer. "It's the calm before the storm." He said it with such an obvious air that it made Izar think he should have known the answer beforehand. "Come eat," the man ordered lightly.

Izar tore his gaze away from the horizon and slowly inched forward. He grinned when he saw the steamed vegetables and the tender steak sitting next to the chair across from Voldemort. "Do they teach culinary skills at the Dark Lord institute?"

The Dark Lord narrowed his gaze on Izar, watching him closely as he approached the table. "I excel at everything I do," the man responded briskly, conceitedly. "If there was a house-elf rebellion, I would not go hungry like most wizards—who are dependent on others."

Despite the arrogant tone, Izar had to agree with the man's words. Voldemort would learn to do things himself just because it wouldn't make him dependent on others. And then again, Voldemort was raised in an orphanage, a Muggle environment. He didn't have the comfort of house-elves as most young pure-bloods have.

"I know you don't particularly find meat enjoyable," Voldemort began again, motioning Izar to sit across from him. "But it's a good source of nutrients. Your venom will digest it and store it properly." As if reading Izar's mind, the man inclined his head. "We don't need food, just as we don't need sleep and blood. But it gives our body the energy it requires. I want you to keep a regular diet and sleep pattern. The last thing I want is a weak and disgraceful comrade."

Izar smiled thinly at the disgusted tone before sitting across from the man's lounged form. "It's touching you care."

Voldemort gave a noise of disagreement in his throat, watching carefully as Izar took his first bite.

"There is a reception ball at the Ministry tomorrow," Voldemort began. His long fingers stroked his crystal tumbler which contained amber liquid, most likely brandy or firewhiskey. "It will be held to honor the two running competitors for the position of the Minister. I need to know if you are mentally and physically stable to attend as my political heir. There will be eyes in attendance that will be looking for any sort of weakness on your behalf."

Izar paused, looking up at the attentive crimson eyes.

"Are you up to the challenge?" Voldemort inquired softly. "You will need to remember your pure-blood etiquette and keep a firm mask on. There will also be no arguing with me. A political apprentice does not argue with their Master, especially in public." The Dark Lord was all serious and his words carried a warning that there would be repercussions if Izar stepped out of line. "I'm afraid we've already crossed the line of no cheek in private."

Izar schooled his features, not appearing the least bit affected by the Dark Lord's words. "I'm more than prepared," he declared unperturbedly, feeling a bit eager. Wasn't it just a few months ago when he expressed his reluctance to dance among politics? He hated politics. But there was something alluring about dancing amongst the cunning with the Dark Lord by his side. "After all, its only old men with their wands shoved up their arse."

Voldemort gave him a disproving look and Izar merely blinked up at him innocently.

"The two running mates?" Izar turned the subject around coolly. "I know Rufus Scrimgeour is the main contender and… Pius Thicknesse?" he raked his mind for the name of the second candidate he had read in the Prophet. "I know we want Rufus to win the election, and he most likely will with his popularity, but does Thicknesse stand any chance at succeeding?"

A cruel smile stretched Voldemort's lips. "No. Thicknesse is a weak-minded fool. Whereas Scrimgeour's methods tend to lay with brutal force, Thicknesse takes after Fudge in his peace and negotiating tactics. The population wants a strong force in office during these dark times. They were shaken by the Death Eater's involvement during the Third Task and even more uneasy with the small attacks during the summer."

Voldemort took a sip of his brandy, eyeing Izar over the rim of his cup. Izar had to marvel. It was.... what? Five minutes into their conversation and they hadn't broken out in any disagreements. It wouldn't last, he was sure, but it was nice… for now. One thing they both had in common were politics and the war. These topics would always be a safe zone.

"As soon as Rufus Scrimgeour was rumored to run for the next Minister, the Death Eater's stopped their attacks and feigned fear," Voldemort continued. "The population took notice of the Death Eater's silence in regard to Scrimgeour's rumored run for office. The weak-minded sheep will vote for Rufus just because they believe he can stop the threat of the Death Eaters."

"All according to plan," Izar finished. "And when will you make an appearance?"

Voldemort raised his eyebrows. "Me? Or the Death Eaters?"

Izar stabbed his boiled potato in contemplation at the man's question. "The Dark Lord," he specified quietly. "At the moment, the public believes it's just a group of terrorists wreaking havoc across Britain. When will they begin to see that it's a Dark Lord?"

Voldemort leaned back on his patio chair, something dark dancing beneath those slit-eyes. "I plan on having an organized riot the night Rufus Scrimgeour is announced as our next Minister."

Izar set his fork down, finally realizing the meaning behind the calm behind the storm. This was it. After many years of planning on Voldemort's behalf, the world was going to change. Lord Voldemort would make an appearance shortly and Tom Riddle would step into the spotlight and slowly manipulate the minds of the wizards and witches of Britain. The man's planning was evidence of his genius mind, and something only a man without a split soul could come up with.

"A raid?" Izar tried to mask his eagerness. "Full army?"

Apparently he didn't hide his eagerness as well as he thought, for Voldemort offered an amused smile. "Yes, child. Full army. You will do well not to use your newly discovered magic-sensitivity ability during the raid. It's a useful power, but very distinguishable, unless you are certain you can kill your victim."

Izar grin darkened and he glanced down at his half-eaten plate of dinner. He wasn't hungry before, but now the sight of food made his stomach twist. "That won't be a problem." Izar slowly reached forward, curling his fingers around Voldemort's crystal tumbler.

Daring the man to deny him, Izar slid it across the table before lifting it to his lips. All the while, Voldemort watched him closely. Izar tipped the tumbler back, feeling a burn as the liquid went down his throat. Egh, it was horrible.

He set it down, masking his disgust before pushing it back across the table toward the Dark Lord. As soon as he came within distance, Voldemort's long fingers curled around his tumbler and, in turn, around Izar's fingers—holding him in place.

"You don't have your magic-sensitivity, do you?" Voldemort, the ever intelligent man, mused.

Izar's lips thinned. "No."

Voldemort was impassive as he stood from his chair. The Dark Lord prowled back into the house, leaving Izar blinking after him. The younger wizard sat back against his chair, pondering. He didn't think he gave away too much of his emotions over the loss of his magic-sensitivity. But then again, Voldemort had sharp eyes and could see past him like no one else. It was difficult to hide his bitterness. Magic had and always will be everything to him.

Suddenly, the Dark Lord returned, holding another glass tumbler. This time, the liquid inside was a deep crimson, almost burgundy.

"Here," Voldemort passed the crystal glass across the table toward Izar. "You will most likely enjoy this more than the brandy."

Izar looked down at the tumbler before looking up at the Dark Lord. "I liked the brandy," he bluffed skillfully.

Voldemort didn't bat a lash. "Liar." The Dark Lord settled back in his chair, eyeing Izar in amusement. "Cognac is incredibly potent and is usually for the more mature drinker. You should start off with wine. I think it will suit your preferences much better." A pleased light entered Voldemort eyes as he watched Izar frown at the wine. "It's better to know what liquor you prefer while you attend social gatherings. You don't want to be seen by the host shivering in abhorrence after each sip."

Pale green eyes narrowed on the Dark Lord. "I made sure I didn't reveal my distaste."

Voldemort waved a lazy hand, dismissing Izar's insulted tone. "Just try it, child. Humor me."

"I think I humor you enough as it is," Izar murmured before sipping at the wine. It was dry, but it went down his throat much easier than the brandy had. It held a sort of appeal as it warmed his mouth, enticing his taste buds before traveling to the back of his throat. He didn't even need to look at the Dark Lord to know the man wore a smug expression. "You are far too smug for your own good," Izar growled.

A chuckle was all he got in response.

They sat in a comfortable silence. Izar could hear the small waves lap against the gutter on the pool and further away, he could even hear the distant lake. He had yet to see the lake, but the air was heavy with moisture and his advanced smelling could detect the evidence of the lake's reach across the landscape.

"I don't believe your magic-sensitivity is gone," Voldemort announced bluntly.

Trying to hide his skepticism, Izar offered the Dark Lord his attention. "Cygnus," he started, memories flooding to the forefront of his mind. "Manipulated me and my genes. My magic-sensitivity was his own doing so I could touch the Veil and survive. Hell, he made it so I couldn't learn Occlumency easily." He threw that bit in there just to defend his lack of ability to learn the mind-art. "I was created for his convenience. When my body died, everything died with it, including my magic-sensitivity."

Voldemort's gaze never wavered from Izar. There were many things that would catch and hold someone's attention around the patio, but the Dark Lord didn't appear to see anything but Izar. "Your magic-sensitivity is part of your magical core. The venom killed your body, thus destroyed Cygnus' chance at a living vessel. It did not destroy your magical core."

Izar hesitated. He remembered, when he was a prisoner in his own mind, that he had gotten a look at Voldemort's magical core through Cygnus' eyes. It had been split into two, two very complex cores. One housed the majority of Voldemort's magic, while another one functioned as a stabilizer for his creature.

"Your magic-sensitivity is housed in a new place in your core," the Dark Lord took a sip from his brandy. "You just need to discover it once again."

It sounded logical; something Izar should have thought himself. A magical ability wouldn't be in the blood or the DNA, it would be in the magical core itself. Izar leaned forward, cradling his head with his palm as he twirled the tumbler with his forefinger and thumb. "I don't…" he cleared his throat. "The ability that Cygnus used to smother out someone's magical core, I don't think I can ever use it if I were to find my sensitivity again."

He was much more comfortable with just feeling and seeing the magic. Many wizards abused their magic. They took it for granted and thought it was their right to possess such a endowment. Wizards were gifted at birth to carry a part of nature, a part of the universe's power. The ability Cygnus created was abusing such power. It was cowardly and it was disgraceful.

Voldemort raised an eyebrow, silently coaxing Izar to continue.

"That ability is just like casting the Killing Curse at someone's turned back. It's cowardly and spineless," Izar hissed out. He still remembered Regulus' expression as his father went to his knees, appearing lost and vulnerable. Cygnus' power had surprised Izar, even awed him to some extent, but the more he thought about it, the more he was disgusted with it.

A hand reached out to touch his cheek. "You are far too ethical, child," Voldemort breathed.

Green eyes widened before narrowing. "You say it like it's a bad thing."

The Dark Lord admired Izar's face, caressing his jaw with his fingernail. "It is," the Dark Lord breathed. "You and I have many differences. Ethics and morality is something I do not want to argue with you about. Ever."

The man's words were said in such a way that Izar could recognize the deeper meaning. Voldemort was unethical and would not allow Izar to preach to him about morals and honor. It was something he would not be swayed on. Izar was perfectly fine with that. He supported many of Voldemort's actions and philosophies; he even turned a blind eye on torture. Trying to sway a Dark Lord to calmly tap his enemy on the shoulder before he engaged in a duel was not something Izar had ever planned on doing.

Nonetheless, he scoffed when he remembered the Ministry. "You did something rather honorable the day at the Ministry," he smiled. Crimson eyes narrowed at his smile, causing it to grow wider. "You saved my father from going through the Veil. It's rather… admirable on your behalf."

Voldemort hissed, removing his hand from Izar's face. "I did it as insurance, never doubt that, child."

And Izar didn't. Regulus didn't mean anything to Voldemort. The only reason the man saved Regulus from going through the Veil was because Izar looked highly upon his father. There was also the idea that Voldemort needed Regulus alive for his own plans.

He just enjoyed teasing the Dark Lord about it in order to see that delightful expression on the man's face.

As if reading his mind, Voldemort cleared his expression and straightened up. Dark humor danced beneath his eyes as he studied the impish grin on Izar's lips. "Tell me about your Dark Mark," the man ordered sharply. "It is a very remarkable feat that you learned to manipulate it. I can safely express my appreciation now that it's behind us. But what I'd like to know is how you managed it."

Izar drained the rest of his wine, setting it down on the glass table. He avoided the man's eyes and, in turn, stared at his rolled up sleeve. The Dark Mark was the deepest shade of black Izar had ever seen it. The serpent hissed, eager at the Dark Lord's presence.

"I had a bit of help," he confessed, grinning.

He remembered the exhilaration he felt when he accomplished his goal at manipulating the Dark Mark. It didn't matter that it was now turned back to Voldemort's Mark. What mattered was Izar had done it, had accomplished something no one could ever hope to imagine. And what made his success even sweeter? He had done it without the Dark Lord's awareness.

"Ollivander," the Dark Lord guessed correctly. "I swore him to secrecy."

"You did," Izar recalled. "But that didn't stop me from breaking into his shop and looking at his ledger. When I discovered the Mark worked similar to the Protean Charm, I guessed that your wand core was the object that linked them all together. After I looked at Ollivander's ledger, I…" he trailed off, glancing away from the Dark Mark and up at the man. "I obtained the brother to your wand."

"You stole it?"

"It…" Izar's lips thinned. Should he tell Voldemort? He had gotten this far. If Izar backed out now, Voldemort would grow suspicious over nothing. "It called to me."

Voldemort was unreadable as he searched Izar. Finally, after what seemed like ages, the man's lips curled sadistically. "Interesting." Long fingers caressed his jaw in contemplation. "And do you have any guess as to why the wand called to you then and not when you were eleven?"

It was a question to gauge Izar's response. The Dark Lord likely knew the answer. And Izar knew the answer just as well as the Dark Lord. After all, he had months to ponder on it. "My first guess is that I hadn't met you until the summer of my fourth year. And when we met, my magic somehow altered when it came in contact with yours. It somehow recognized you as my mate." Izar paused, holding up his left hand. "My last theory is that the Celtic band had something to do with it."

"It's most likely the former," Voldemort nodded. "The Celtic band can be designed to manipulate your magic, but I used it for other means."

And they both knew what those 'other means' were.

Izar stiffened, but Voldemort continued.

"Please continue," the man invited. "I'm eager to know how you got past the ward. Your magic-sensitivity must have aided you considerably, as did the wand."

Izar offered a light shrug. "I ate the ward. The spell I invented allowed me—"

"The spell you used on Bellatrix, yes, I remember quite vividly. And you ate the ward…" Voldemort trailed off, his eyes raking the length of Izar with a possessive light. There was something darker, darker than possessiveness in Voldemort's gaze. It made Izar leery, yet painfully aware at the same time. He realized now that Voldemort was four predators rolled into one; a Dark Lord, a serpent, a Fae, and a vampire.

But then, Izar was just the same, minus one.

That thought gave him the confidence he needed to raise his eyes and meet Voldemort's hungry stare. He may not be as skilled and experienced in this game as Voldemort, but he was more than willing to try.

Voldemort sat back in his chair. The sky was darkening, spreading shadows across the Dark Lord in every place Izar wished he could have seen clearly. With his creature blood, he could see in the dark better than normally, but the man's face was still shadowed and unclear.

Izar had two options.

He could sit there and grow uncertain with Voldemort's continued stare and silent thoughts, perhaps appearing vulnerable while he was at it, or he could entice the man and lure him out from the shadows.

The latter was a dangerous move, especially when the Dark Lord was in his own mindset of playing a game. Izar felt like a mouse, running straight into the cat's exposed claws. But who said he couldn't survive that collision? He had just as much sway over Voldemort as the Dark Lord had over him.

Izar stood from his spot and walked toward the pool. He was painfully aware of the stare following him as he touched the water with his foot.

"I'm afraid there are no clothes allowed in the water, child," Voldemort's voice whispered at his back.

Izar grinned broadly, his back still turned to the Dark Lord. Voldemort had underestimated Izar. Most people were felt ashamed or exposed in their own skin. Izar, however, had never felt embarrassed about his body. He was confident with his skin and didn't have any qualms with undressing. He especially wouldn't mind stripping if Voldemort thought he would never.

He unbuttoned his shirt and dropped it on the patio beside the pool. Keeping his expression schooled, Izar walked around the pool and toward the steps leading into the ocean-blue water. As he unbuttoned his trousers, he looked innocently over at the Dark Lord. With a coy smile, he dropped his pants, revealing everything.

Yes, he was playing with fire. He knew. But there was something oddly thrilling about enticing the Dark Lord. It gave him an adrenaline he had never experienced before.

As Izar slowly submerged in the water, he watched as the tall form unfolded itself from the patio chair. Like a dark and dangerous shadow, the Dark Lord glided soundlessly around the perimeter of the pool, his shirt dropping next to Izar's.

The move wasn't unexpected, but it still surprised Izar. Something heavy twisted his stomach as he watched the Dark Lord unbutton his trousers. Crimson eyes met green, challenging him. And then the pants dropped and Izar was afraid he made the wrong choice at teasing the Dark Lord. The man was already hard and heavy, eager to get his hands on Izar.

The younger wizard dropped his head underneath the cool water, understanding that he couldn't pull away from Voldemort now that the man had made his move to counter Izar. It would be seen as spineless if Izar jumped out of the water and into the house before Voldemort came in contact. But he could play and tease the Dark Lord. After a bit of lingering caresses, Izar could retreat from the pool, satisfied that he could get a rise out of the Dark Lord.

But would he be able to pull away from Voldemort when the man was set on taking what he wanted?

Izar broke the surface of the water, watching as the Dark Lord advanced closer before stopping mere inches from him. The first thing Izar should have taken notice of was his surroundings. It was stupid to be cornered by Voldemort, even stupider that there was no way around the man without looking like a frightened child.

Voldemort's eyes held no reassurance as he looked down his nose at Izar.

The Black heir gathered his courage, reaching out to do what he had planned on doing. Tease and play. As soon as his fingers brushed the Dark Lord's chest, a hand shot out and curled around his wrist. With surprising quickness, Izar's arm was forced backward and onto the patio behind him. The Dark Lord hovered close, a malicious grin to his lips as he breathed in Izar's scent. The man knew he had taken Izar's move away from him.

"I hope you weren't planning on playing my own game against me," Voldemort murmured thickly, huskily. "Because you won't succeed."

His face loomed and Izar shot out, curling his fingers harshly in the man's thick hair. He pulled, causing the man's head to rear backward and away from Izar. "Stalemate," Izar breathed passionately. He tugged the man's scalp for good measure, enjoying the pained hiss escaping from Voldemort's mouth.

Split-scarlet eyes looked gleeful at Izar's actions. It occurred to Izar that the Dark Lord grew aroused and stimulated when he could outsmart him, or… at least keep up.

"You forgot I have another hand, silly child," Voldemort hissed.

And suddenly, Izar's cock was taken by a rough hand. The boy gave a cry of pain and pleasure, drowning out Voldemort's amused laugh. He saw stars as the Dark Lord stroked him skillfully and moved his body so Izar's free arm was pushed and caged against the wall of the pool. It was an uncomfortable position on both their parts, but they only saw it as a struggle for dominance.

This was the first time Izar had ever been stimulated by another. It was pathetic, but then again, it was what Voldemort had demanded when he gave Izar the Celtic ring. The Dark Lord wanted his virginity, his inexperience. He wanted everything of Izar.

Izar kept his fingers curled in Voldemort's hair as the man continued to stroke him. His thoughts grew hazy and dizzy and Izar bit his bottom lip to keep himself grounded. There were positives to this situation. He wanted some experience before he gave himself completely to the Dark Lord. And he wanted to get used to this intoxicating feeling of having the Dark Lord this close and intimate. But even in his hazy mind, Izar knew that he probably would never get used to this.

"You think too much, Izar. Come for me and I'll let you have free reign."

Izar closed his eyes as the Dark Lord gave his balls a teasing caress.

And then he lost control.

Crying out, he came, bringing black dots to his vision. He lay limply against the wall of the pool, dropping his hold from Voldemort's hair. The Dark Lord let go of his wrist and cock, floating away from Izar with a brilliant light of smugness about him.

The younger gritted his teeth, finally gathering strength to look up at Voldemort. The man had just broken the surface of the water, slicking his hair back with his fingers. The slick-back hair brought attention to his sharp cheekbones and rustic features. The man didn't look anything like the Dark Lord then.

Izar, intent on his own revenge, swam toward the man. His advance was taken note of as Voldemort watched him, his whole persona radiating self-satisfaction.

Growling low in his throat, Izar reached out to Voldemort, curling his hands around the man's head and kissing him. Their bodies molded together under the water, both aware of Voldemort's heavy member between them, demanding its release.

Voldemort curled his hands around Izar's legs, lifting the slim limbs around his waist. And suddenly, Voldemort's cock rubbed Izar's arse, a silent promise that it belonged there—that it was meant to be there.

Izar broke the kiss, glaring. "You said I get free reign."

Voldemort tipped back his head, his arms strong around Izar's body as a pleased smile crossed his face. He looked carefree then, not at all like the man who grew giddy for torture and the deaths of Muggles. But there was still that sparkle of dark promises in his gaze, one that reminded Izar never to underestimate him.

The youth reached forward and caressed the man's chin. "I want to take you in my mouth," Izar breathed.

Voldemort's eyes widened in untamed pleasure before he let go of Izar and swam toward the edge of the pool. Using his forearms, the man pulled himself out of the water, a cocky grin on his face. "Then do it." Something in the man's expression warned Izar that Voldemort had something up his sleeve. It was if he were thrilled at Izar's suggestion because it fit his own means.

Ignoring the quiet warning, Izar curled his hand around Voldemort's knee, reaching for the aroused manhood with his opposite hand. Voldemort's cock was hard, heavy, and incredibly hot. Because they were undead, they didn't have a pulse, but they still had their blood. Reproductive organs must have been salvaged in Voldemort's manipulations, allowing them both to grow hard. He pondered if their sperm was still fertile, but pushed that thought away when he realized now was not the time to allow his Ravenclaw curiosity out.

He had never given head before, but because he had his own cock, he knew what would feel good and what he had imagined in his own mind.

"By the time you wrap your pretty mouth around me, I'm afraid I'll have—"

Izar cut the man off as he licked the underside of the cock. Voldemort was already so hard that Izar knew the man wouldn't last very long. The hard evidence confirmed his speculation that Voldemort grew aroused at their interactions, grew excited over the challenge Izar offered. It wasn't just sex that enticed the Dark Lord.

Keeping one hand caressing up Voldemort's thigh, Izar nibbled lightly at the cock. It was thick and long, and Izar knew he would never be able to take all of it in his mouth. No doubt Voldemort would enjoy watching Izar try to choke him down his throat.

He leaned forward, tasting the white seed leaking from the tip. It was bitter and salty, not at all delicious, but not unbearable. Izar opened his mouth wide and took Voldemort down his throat. Because he didn't need oxygen, Izar believed this was far easier than it would have been human. Though, his short fangs were difficult to maneuver as he tried to avoid scratching the Dark Lord raw. The thought of nicking the Dark Lord amused him, but he knew there would be consequences afterward.

He looked up at the man as he went down again. Izar would have thought Voldemort would have his head thrown back and his eyes shut in pleasure. Instead, the stare that met his own made a large wave of pleasure wash through him.

Voldemort was watching him domineeringly, yet looking at him as if he were fascinated with Izar. The stubborn smirk was on the man's face, a smirk that clearly meant the man thought he had won some great prize.

Izar narrowed his eyes, wrapping his tongue around the warm appendage and sliding his fang along-side the tender skin. As soon as this happened, Voldemort's balls tensed and Izar knew the man was about to ejaculate.

Without warning, the Dark Lord reached forward, curling his hand around Izar's hair and pulling him away. Bemused, Izar allowed the action. He would have thought Voldemort would have wanted to release in his mouth—as means as dominance. But Izar would soon find out that ejaculating in his mouth was the least dominant act.

A strong hand kept his face in place as the thick seed hit his cheeks and forehead and eventually his eyes. Izar gave a growl of anger, trying to pull away, but the hand held him firmly in place. Rope after rope of sticky fluid landed on his face, claiming him.

If felt like eternity until Voldemort had finished his orgasm, but in reality, it was only seconds. The man hissed above him, releasing his chin. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that to you, love."

Izar seethed, pushing himself under the water and angrily scrubbing at his face. It was humiliating. He had fallen for it. The man had planned that out to the very last detail.

Breaking the water, he bared his fangs at the man. "You're a right bastard, you hear me?"

All that answered him was a growing smirk as the man lounged contentedly against the pool's ledge. Voldemort watched him exit the pool. "You looked delicious," a dark voice whispered after him as he padded around the pool and toward the house. "So utterly and completely mine."

Izar grimaced at the words, turning around and eyeing the Dark Lord's back. "I hope you know you just ruined any chance of another blowjob."

Before the man could respond, Izar shut the door to the house. Despite the man's actions, Izar couldn't stop the grin from stretching his lips. It was typical. This would always be typical. Izar just had to stop it from happening next time. And now that he had more experience with sexual contact, he was certain he would have more confidence the next time around.

After all, he would need to extract his revenge for the stunt the man pulled tonight.


{Notes} I know many of you enjoy the slashiness between Voldemort and Izar. However, there will not be a lot of these scenes in the story. There are still a lot of plot points I need to get in the story before it ends and Izar is not yet ready to give himself to Voldemort.

I didn't get a chance to respond to reviews. Again. I apologize. But a fast update, no? And next chapter will contain the Ministry ball. We'll meet Scrimgeour—and a few other familiar faces will be there.