CHAPTER 46
.
.
Seeing Lord Voldemort calmly walk towards him and then kneel, was a fantasy he'd never even dared to contemplate.
It was beyond impossible— and yet, here they were. Harry, sitting on the edge of the bed and the Dark Lord sinking to the floor between his legs.
Holy Merlin, mother of fuck.
This was it.
Harry had taken a gamble and it had paid off. He had noticed, throughout their time together, that Voldemort reluctantly— but consistently— responded to his commands. The man allowed Harry to overrule him on occasion, and really, that speech he'd given on the island about submission being for the strong had Voldemort written all over it.
Harry had just not understood at the time.
And now he did.
Unable to stop himself, he reached out and touched the man's tense face. Those red, snake-like eyes were staring with slight confusion through Harry's chest. It was clear that he had acted on impulse and not careful planning, as was his usual method of behaviour.
Well, usual for everything he did, except for his interactions with Harry.
Because Harry had always been able to get Lord Voldemort to behave recklessly.
Like the man was currently doing— kneeling for him.
He wanted to offer praise, call him a good boy, say that he was proud of him, but he knew that Voldemort would not appreciate those words. Not yet, at least. Once Harry showed him how deeply he could make the Dark Lord sink, then the words wouldn't rankle.
Harry sat up straighter, looking down at the figure waiting for him.
Voldemort seemed to be getting more uncomfortable with each passing second. Harry could tell that he was close to losing this one chance, because if Voldemort stood up, if he decided that Harry was unworthy, then the Dark Lord would never kneel again.
This show of trust was precarious and had to be handled carefully.
He wants you to dominate him. Start with that.
"Here are my rules," Harry said, and watched those fists clench with quiet rebellion.
And that wasn't going to fly.
He was about to Vanish the man's clothes, but realised that he had no idea what Voldemort's hard lines were.
How the hell am I supposed to ask that?
A safeword between them seemed preposterous, yet he needed to make sure that he wasn't crossing any lines.
He let his gaze travel down from that flat face to the man's long, beautiful neck, then to his proud shoulders.
The villain who had started two wars, ripped apart his soul with Dark magic, killed hundreds of beings… was kneeling at his feet.
By choice.
"Merlin, you were right," Harry muttered. "It's so much better when this isn't forced."
Voldemort's gaze darted up to meet his with instinctual reproach— and Harry reacted. He slapped him hard over his right cheek, watching that bald head snap to the side.
Silence exploded between them and Harry waited to see what Voldemort would do. The Dark Lord slowly brought his face back, his eyes now lowered.
"Fuck," Harry breathed, marvelling at that deference. That acceptance. "I need you on the bed."
Voldemort didn't move and Harry didn't push him. He had to allow little moments of choice or Harry would never know if he was doing this against the man's will.
"I'll tell you what will happen if you climb up," Harry said, feeling his cock lengthening uncomfortably inside of his tight trousers. "I'm going to punish you for murdering those two innocent people. There will be pain. Then, I'm going to fuck you."
Those red eyes flashed to his and Harry saw that there was fear there, as staggering as that seemed.
Harry could scare him.
But he didn't want to. That spark of anxiety in the Dark Lord awakened protective fire inside of Harry.
He would never truly hurt this man.
"Here's what won't happen," Harry went on, hoping to reassure him. "I won't tie you up. Not this time. I won't use magic on you. And I won't do anything sexual you don't agree to."
Voldemort looked back down at his hands.
"If you want that, climb up onto the bed. If not…" Harry glanced away towards the door. "If not, we'll go downstairs to the sitting room and talk about how unhappy I am that you killed two more people."
Voldemort didn't move for long minutes.
Harry tried not to feel disappointed, but what had he expected? This was the Dark Lord. It was amazing enough that he'd gotten the man to even kneel. The rest must be too far.
He doesn't want this.
He put a gentle hand on Voldemort's shoulder.
"Okay," he said softly. "Let's go down—"
Abruptly, Voldemort rocked back onto his heels and stood, then smoothly slid onto the bed.
Harry turned to watch him lay down onto his back, arms at his sides, his gaze riveted straight up to the ceiling.
Harry felt his chest tighten.
He trusts me.
It was more precious than anything else that would happen this afternoon.
"Thank you," Harry breathed, but then realised that Voldemort probably didn't want to hear platitudes right now.
Harry had promised a punishment and that's what had gotten Lord Voldemort to kneel. It was time he delivered it.
Shifting over until he could lay on top of the Dark Lord, he let his weight settle onto that larger body. Voldemort's hands came up to wrap around his back, but the man had not earned that right.
Harry reached behind himself and gripped both of those thin wrists, twisting them and pinning the grinding bones to the mattress.
Voldemort's eyes widened, but he did not fight, did not berate Harry for his insolence.
"Don't move them," Harry warned.
When he let go, Voldemort kept his hands raised above his head where Harry had planted them.
Fucking hell.
He's obeying me.
Slowly, he sat back and began to remove his own shirt. Those hooded eyes watched his progress and, when Harry tossed the clothing aside, that gaze sharpened, caressing his torso heavily enough that Harry could almost feel it.
"I know you don't like the name Tom," he said, reaching down and beginning to slowly undo Voldemort's robes, "and neither do I. Voldemort suits you. But when you're on your back, under me, doing what I tell you to and taking your punishments, you will be Tom. Because you hate it. Because you made me tolerate boy somehow, so you're going to learn to take Tom for me."
He slid the material off the man's shoulders and lifted himself up so that he could remove all the intrusive clothing completely. His robes. His shirt. His trousers. His surprisingly mundane pants.
Lord Voldemort was naked— his thin, completely hairless form laid out beneath him.
Waiting.
Submissive.
"You're Tom for me," Harry said vaguely, taking in the encouraging erection. "No one else gets to call you that."
He trailed a hand down that tense form, touching him simply because he could.
"I think I got you onto the bed too early," he mused quietly, realising that he knew exactly how he wanted to punish the Dark Lord.
Moving to the end of the mattress again, he braced his feet on the floor, legs spread, then turned his head to meet that unsettled gaze.
"I already warned you, months ago, what I would do to you for bad behaviour." He gestured to his thighs, watching those red eyes widen. "I want you over my lap, Tom. I'm going to smack your arse. Fifty times."
.
.
.
.
Everything inside of him was chaos.
Disbelief erupted at the insolent words— that the boy would dare threaten to do such a humiliating action— but other parts, other hitherto silent voices in him whispered that the pain might be gratifying. That the boy's hand on his unprotected skin had the potential to delight far more than the prize of knocking Harry back down.
"You have three seconds," Harry warned in a voice that promised something dark, something forbidden. "Three."
He gripped the sheets with indignation. He was not a child that could be threatened—
"Two."
The boy's eyebrows raised in provocation, as violence thrashed within him.
"One."
Voldemort sat up.
Harry's eyes shone with something akin to pride, to excitement, and Voldemort purposefully shuffled with dignity to sit beside the boy.
"This is hard for you," Harry quietly observed, and placed a hand on the back of Voldemort's bare neck.
He used no pressure, yet it was clear what the boy wanted.
Looking down, he examined Harry's legs. They were clothed, separated just slightly, and familiar. This body belonged to him. It was technically his own lap that he would be stretched overtop of.
Harry was his.
And it could not cost too much from Voldemort to trust his own possessions.
His own self.
For Harry was his equal and therefore there was no ignominy.
The warm hand at his nape followed him down as Voldemort leaned over Harry's thighs, placing himself across the boy's lap.
He heard a stifled groan from Harry and it signalled his own arousal to take heed. He was naked, in his enemy's clutches, offering himself undefended to accept physical aggression.
This position was unimaginable.
For a moment, panic jolted within him at the danger of what he was allowing to happen.
"Settle," Harry commanded, his other hand coming up to stroke Voldemort's flank solidly. "I've got you."
Before his discomfort could grow more insistent, the hand on his hip disappeared and then struck him shockingly hard on his backside.
The pain in his skin was nothing to the blinding realisation of his reality.
That was a slap.
Harry slapped you.
And you are allowing it.
The fingers at his neck remained, holding him still. Holding him together.
"That's one," Harry said softly, sounding awed. "I won't ask you to count. Get ready, this is going to hurt."
The second came down viciously, followed rapidly by a bombardment of more than he cared to count.
He kept his eyes open through it, staring fixedly at his own bare limbs on the opposite side of Harry's trousered legs.
The discomfort was jarring, the sting waking him up when he wanted to retreat into his mind. The pain angered him, yet his ire was not directed at Harry, nor even himself. Remaining motionless during an attack went against his carefully honed instincts.
There was a pause and Voldemort took a stuttering breath, releasing it slowly through his nostrils. He had made no sounds throughout the torrent of strikes, and for that, he was relieved.
"Why am I doing this, Tom?" Harry asked, stroking his fingers over Voldemort's tingling skin.
He was suddenly aware that his cock was hard, pressed firmly against Harry's thigh. He had not expected that. Bringing forth Harry's pain was enjoyable, of course, but his own had never affected him thus before.
"Answer," Harry ordered, the fingers on Voldemort's nape tightening slightly, "or I double the amount."
Voldemort pressed his forehead to his own bracing arm above his head.
To answer would be choosing humiliation in the place of further pain.
Which did he prefer?
Did he wish to be obedient or unafraid?
Harry huffed out a darkly amused laugh.
"Of course you have to be difficult." The boy adjusted slightly on the bed, moving Voldemort as well. Getting ready for the next onslaught. "Let's see if you remember why when I get to fifty."
Harry's hand came down again, hard, and Voldemort tensed. His muscles constricted automatically, despite his intimate knowledge that relaxed skin was damaged far less than taut.
"Gods, you're so fucking red right now," Harry rasped, pausing briefly to rub his hand over Voldemort's heated backside.
The touch was incredibly pleasurable after the pain. Unthinkingly, he moaned, but stifled it almost immediately. Harry's hips jolted in response, rocking the boy's erection into Voldemort's ribs.
"Oh, fuck. You like that, Tom?"
Voldemort, of course, did not reply. He concentrated on staying still and organising his mind, which was becoming more difficult to do.
The strikes began again, stinging and unpleasant— yet there was an ache, an insidious pool of arousal deep in his abdomen that was building with each impact. It felt wild and elusive, but every smack against his skin brought him closer, made that delicious torment more intense.
It felt like an orgasm building, but that had to be impossible considering his own erection was trapped and not being attended to.
Harry stopped unexpectedly, and Voldemort made another damning sound of protest.
"That threat isn't going to work at all anymore, is it?" Harry asked with amusement, gently raking his nails over the burn on Voldemort's backside.
The sensation ramped up the need throbbing within him and he clenched his teeth to keep in any sounds that might betray him.
"You're into this," Harry observed, and his hand wrapped around to press against Voldemort's aching cock.
That was too much and he groaned, his hips jutting forward to slide his erection against the boy's firm legs.
"Fuck, yes," Harry breathed, still prodding him clumsily. "Gods, I want you so badly right now."
And all at once, Voldemort wanted that, too. He wanted to feel what Harry could do to him, what new sensations the boy could coax from his flesh.
"But not yet," Harry firmly stated. "This is supposed to be a punishment. If you enjoy yourself too much, that'll just be incentive to murder whoever you want."
As if I need incentive.
Harry laughed weakly.
"I don't know why I thought that you would hate this. I figured humiliation and pain would piss you off, but you're just as perverted as I am." He laughed again. "So much for punishment."
Harry abruptly stilled, and something about that sent trepidation through him.
"I have an idea, but I'll have to use magic on you," Harry said, and Voldemort twisted to look up at him. "Come here for a sec, so we can talk."
The boy pulled him up and settled him beside him on the bed. When his backside touched the covers, he held his breath in discomfort, but dismissed it, more concerned about what Harry had in mind.
The boy was watching his reaction to sitting and seemed to find pleasure in it. Knowing that Harry was aroused by his pain stoked his own desire. Harry could be taught to enjoy torture, as well, perhaps. Could stand beside him as they ruled the world.
"I want to keep you from coming," Harry said boldly, and Voldemort gave him his full attention. The boy's face was flushed, a slight sheen of perspiration on his brow. "I want to use magic to stop you from orgasming."
"How long?" Voldemort demanded, his voice rough after so long under silent duress.
Harry grinned darkly.
"Until after I do. And I'll be coming inside of you."
Voldemort closed his eyes against the rush of lust that seized him at that.
Harry's lips were suddenly on him, kissing him forcefully, his hands reaching around and taking two palmfuls of Voldemort's tender arse.
It hurt, and Voldemort moaned, trying to pull away, but Harry followed, pushing him back to lay on the bed. Letting go of his sore skin, Harry climbed on top of him, feeding him his tongue and biting into his lips.
When they broke apart, Harry's eyes were frenzied.
"I want to fuck you so bad, but I have to finish what I started on that arse of yours. I'm only at sixty-three and you still haven't told me why I'm delivering this punishment."
"I killed," Voldemort answered, staring up at Harry. "Two men."
The boy paused and then bestowed a brilliant, aching smile on him. Absurdly, that joy affected his cock as well, tightening his stomach with want.
"You did. Do you think I want you murdering people?"
It was more than he could reply to. The words were insignificant. Meaningless. Harry knew that he would continue killing despite the boy's disapproval. This performance was absurd.
Harry reached down and fisted Voldemort's erection, squeezing it uncomfortably.
"Let me use the orgasm-controlling spell," Harry demanded.
Voldemort did not wish to be denied. He did not want magic used against him when he had no access to it himself.
But Harry's insistence was compelling, his green eyes hard and imbued with challenge, so Voldemort inclined his head in acceptance.
At once, the spell sunk into his skin, removing none of the intensity of his ardour, just the possibility for his climax. It was an endless torment that Harry would control completely.
"Oh, Tom, you are so good for me."
Voldemort recoiled from that moniker, but Harry did not let him go far. The boy's fingers were still touching his cock and he began to stroke him cruelly, heightening his arousal, intensifying his frustration.
"Now, don't hate me, but you still have twenty-seven more to go."
The stimulation ceased and Harry pushed against his side, urging him to turn over onto his stomach. Reluctantly, he obliged, bringing his arms up as a pillow for his head.
"I'm going to do these all at once, okay?" Harry said, coming to sit on Voldemort's legs, straddling him.
The dominance of this position, of being pinned to the bed, his backside exposed, was concerning. It chilled him, but Harry did not give him long to reflect.
A firm hand came down and smacked against him. Voldemort took it in silence, staring straight ahead, watching the way a tree outside cast shadows on the bedroom wall.
There was a rhythm to the strikes, which made the pain more bearable. He could anticipate their coming and breathe through the sharp stings.
Resolved to endure, he sunk into an almost sopherific state due to his meticulously disciplined mind.
"Ninety-nine— one hundred!" Harry said, putting more weight behind the last strike, which broke the pattern and startled Voldemort abruptly.
Harry grabbed the meat of his backside and savagely squeezed. Voldemort had not been expecting it and therefore made a sound— a ragged, choked shout that echoed through his mind tauntingly.
He let the judgment go, distracted by Harry's tortured groan. The boy's weight settled on him and he thrust against Voldemort's burning skin.
"I'm going to fuck you now, Tom," Harry whispered, his nose burrowing in between Voldemort's shoulder blades. "Roll over."
He could not comply, as the boy was pressing him down. Harry bit Voldemort's protruding bone and it was such a unique, bizarre feeling that Voldemort twisted to look behind himself. Harry was grinning.
"Bet you can't get me onto my back," the boy goaded, and Voldemort felt some of his arduously suppressed dominance stir.
At once, he twisted over, his hands clamping to Harry's hips and rapidly pivoted, throwing the boy under him on the mattress. Harry looked shocked and laughed, but Voldemort captured those lips roughly, devouring his mirth, and caging the boy's smaller body beneath him.
Harry arched up against him, his eyes closed.
This is better.
This is correct.
But all too soon Harry ripped his mouth away, panting.
"Enough," the boy said breathlessly. "Get off."
The command was weak and Voldemort ignored it, staying above him and sucking marks into Harry's neck.
"I said get off me, Tom!" Harry growled, bringing his hands up from somewhere and wrapping them both around Voldemort's neck.
Suffocating him.
That feeling… the tight constriction which made it impossible to breathe, combined with his recent vulnerability to Harry, awakened a muscle memory from his childhood and he reacted fast against it.
He broke Harry's hold, collapsing the boy onto his chest and shoving him away. Harry backed up, shifting off of him fully and looking at him with concern.
"What was that?"
Voldemort propped himself up on his elbows, returning his gaze.
"Self-defence."
Harry's lips twitched, but he would not be diverted.
"Did I hurt you?"
Irritated, he shook his head.
"Of course not. I am not so fragile."
Harry continued to scrutinise him.
"Was it the strangling? Do you not like that?"
Voldemort reached forward and gripped a fistful of the boy's hair, tilting his head back.
"I grow tired of this inquisition. Fuck me, or I shall be forced to take back control."
Harry's eyes flew wide, his lips parting.
"You want that?" the boy asked moronically, sounding surprised.
Voldemort let go of Harry's hair and grabbed his chin instead, tilting his head down to lock their gazes.
"Do you believe that I would allow you to do something to me which I did not want, Potter?"
Harry choked out a breathless laugh.
"And here I thought that you were helpless against my seduction."
Voldemort made a sound of disbelief, letting the boy go.
"I am merely educating myself. Can you deliver on your promise of a feeling like none other?"
Harry's smile became lascivious.
"You fucking bet I can." He snaked his hands underneath Voldemort's hips and grasped two handfuls of his tender arse. "How sore are you?"
Voldemort took the discomfort, refusing to display a reaction. He diligently kept his hands at his sides.
"Much less so than I expected."
Harry pulled back in apparent offence.
"Much less? Well, that's no fucking good. Guess I should have whipped you with that rattan cane, then."
The boy huffed out a breath, weighted down with some emotion that Voldemort could not decipher.
"I did not say that I was disappointed, Harry," Voldemort clarified, not particularly eager to be whipped apart. "But I had assumed that you would use this as an opportunity for vengeance. Reimbursement for my many violent acts against you. "
Harry did not look happy about that.
"Which part? The slapping?"
Voldemort nodded.
"That, of course. But also your threat to fuck me."
Harry's face fell.
"Threat? Jesus— No. I didn't mean that the sex was going to be part of the punishment. Did it sound like that?"
Of course it had. Because it would.
"It is only natural that—"
"You think that I'm going to use sex as a way to hurt you? For our past?"
Perplexingly, the boy sounded upset.
"You have me at your mercy," Voldemort explained, even though he should not need to. "I have no magic and have even consented to this, so your guilty conscience need not impact you." He lifted his shoulders indifferently. "Of course you would want to—"
"Just stop," the boy interrupted, sitting up and putting some space between them. "Gods, that's fucking sick."
Harry screwed up his face in disgust, but Voldemort was at a loss as to what was happening. He was amenable to this. It would not be sexual violence, but rather simply a payment rendered.
"This sounds an awful lot like before, you know," Harry muttered, piercing him with a reproachful stare. "When you offered yourself as part of a trade agreement."
Voldemort inclined his head in acknowledgement.
"Is not all sexual congress merely that? We both want something from the other. In this case, you have more to gain, but—"
"I don't want to have sex with you if you don't want to. If it's just payment. I've told you this."
Voldemort tilted his head.
"Can it not be both?"
Harry searched his face intently.
"So you actually want this? You want me to... top you, even if there's no payments? No debts or vengeance?"
Voldemort felt his lips curl, the desire from earlier reawakening at the thought.
"I find myself intrigued by the idea."
The boy nodded, though he still seemed suspicious. His gaze dropped down to study Voldemort's body, those fingers coming out to gently wiggle under him and touch his stinging skin. The boy was drawn to the pain he had inflicted.
How delightful.
"Have you ever done that before?" Harry asked quietly.
Voldemort paused, confused.
"That," he repeated.
Harry gestured to the foot of the bed.
"Let someone… hurt you. For pleasure. Have you ever had a partner that enjoyed BDSM?"
BDSM.
He knew the term, had learned about it in his youth, but his proclivities had never struck him as adhering to that subculture.
He enjoyed hurting people. He could appreciate the sexual appeal of a person in pain. He issued commands and expected compliance.
Yet, none of it was feigned. It was not a role that he played for titillation.
It was who he was.
He was a Master, biologically.
"Voldemort?" Harry ventured.
Voldemort sat up against the headboard, though he was careful not to dislodge Harry's possessive fingers.
"I have had submissive bed partners before, yes. I am aware of the dynamic."
"Have you ever… been submissive?"
Voldemort glanced again towards the end of the bed.
Harry's warm hand on the nape of his neck as the boy struck him repeatedly, his backside ablaze with pain—
"Who would dare," Voldemort whispered, then looked back at Harry. "Who but you."
Harry smiled softly.
"What about sex. Have you ever been penetrated?"
The question was irritating. Irrelevant. This dialog had disrupted what had been an enlightening experience and he would rather simply return to it.
"Of course."
Harry nodded.
"Did you enjoy it?"
Irritating and intrusive.
"How is that relevant to our current situation, Potter?"
The boy made a coughing sound.
"Well, when you say that you expected me to use sex as revenge, I think it's a fair question to ask!"
Voldemort shifted, readying to stand. At once, Harry slapped a firm hand down onto his sternum, halting him. He looked up to reprimand the audacity of that, but Harry's stern gaze silenced him.
"You can't leave," the boy told him levelly. "Not like this. Please. Please just tell me."
Voldemort wanted to sneer at the ridiculousness of this melodrama.
"It is irrelevant—"
"It's not, Voldemort. I need to know! That's the second time you got spooked— not spooked," Harry quickly amended, likely catching his enraged expression. "Just— tell me, okay? Have you been penetrated before?"
Voldemort swiped the boy's hand from his chest and stood, unwilling to listen to any more of this nonsense. He had been foolish to attempt this experiment. Trust was—
Harry was suddenly in his path. The boy grabbed onto his arms tightly, holding him still.
"Get on your knees."
Voldemort looked down at him, stunned that the boy could believe that he would actually kneel again after—
Harry let go of his left arm and raked his fingernails viciously down Voldemort's naked back, digging in and pulling a strangled cry from Voldemort's throat.
The pain cut through his need to leave and he looked down soberly again at Harry, whose eyes were full of menacing darkness.
"Get. On. Your. Knees, Tom."
Voldemort was frozen, staring into that unwavering gaze. An unfamiliar compulsion commandeered his muscles.
Without thought, he felt his legs bend.
When he was seated, Harry placed a hand onto his head, like one would a dog.
"That's it, Tom," the boy said softly, as if he was pleased.
Voldemort stared at Harry's trousers, his mind wiped clean. Silent.
"Now, you are going to answer me, do you understand? Say, I understand."
Answer me.
"I understand," he recited.
The fingers on his scalp began to stroke his skin gently.
"Good, Tom. Tell me, have you ever been raped?"
Voldemort felt his body tense, but the hand on his head kept smoothing over his skin softly. He closed his eyes.
"Yes."
Harry hummed with approval.
"Tell me about it."
Voldemort thought back to the memories that were being requested.
"At Wool's. An older boy."
There were no feelings attached to this recollection. It did not hurt him nor concern him at all. He had outgrown it.
"Is that all?" Harry asked, his voice sounding oddly strained.
"Once more at Hogwarts. First year. Before I became untouchable."
He had made Talbot pay for that, a few years later. And no one had ever connected the boy's death to the virtuous Tom Riddle.
The fingers on his skin continued to pet him.
"Have you ever had a pleasurable experience being penetrated?"
Pleasurable.
Horace had not been pleasurable, nor had the other handful of bed partners that he had endured for self-advancement, but they had been consensual, so there was that. Yet the question had not been regarding consent, so Voldemort shook his head.
No. It had never been particularly pleasurable.
A quick sound of movement made him open his eyes. Harry was kneeling down, staring at him, and that shocked Voldemort out of his quietude.
The boy regarded him heavily.
"So then, why are you letting me do this?" Harry asked, his face becoming weak. "You don't have to. I just thought that you'd want to."
Voldemort tried to make sense of that.
"I do."
Misery lined the boy's brow.
"But you thought that I was going to purposefully hurt you—"
"You did. One hundred strikes."
Harry shook his head.
"Not that. That was meant to hurt. It was your punishment. But sex… it doesn't have to."
Harry's eyes were intense with some unknown emotion.
"If you actually still want to," the boy ventured, almost nervously. "If you're sure… will you let me show you?"
"Show me," he repeated, not understanding.
"How good it can be. How gentle."
Gentle.
He did not want gentle.
"I am not delicate, Potter."
"I know. Believe me, I know you're strong. I just…"
Harry stroked a finger across Voldemort's cheek.
"Will you trust me?"
Voldemort nodded, even without considering his reply.
Trust.
He did trust the boy. And if Harry wanted to show him something, Voldemort would let him.
Harry stood, pulling him up, then guided him to return to the bed. Voldemort found that his thoughts were distant. Quiet. He followed Harry back to lay supine, next to him.
"I'd like to…" Harry began, and then seemed to change his mind. "Don't freak out, okay? I don't want to say fuck, so the other term is making love— but I know that you don't— that you said you have no need for… that. It's just what it's called. Alright?"
Voldemort tilted his head, faintly amused by the boy's discomfort.
"Can I make love to you?" Harry asked boldly, his face flushing.
Enjoying how flustered the boy was, he nodded.
Harry leaned forward and kissed him— it was sweet and gentle and incredibly foreign. He tried to take control, reaching out to fist the boy's hair, to bite at Harry's lips, but each time he tried, the boy raked his fingernails painfully down Voldemort's back to still him.
To remind him that he was not in control here.
Harry pulled away, smiling at him as his fingers slid down to grasp Voldemort's cock. The touch shocked him and he felt his blood pool low in his stomach in response. Harry began to slowly stroke him.
"That's good, Tom."
Abruptly, it stopped. Voldemort met that green gaze, which had become perplexingly anxious.
"I think you're right," the boy said, sounding contrite. "I had been trying to punish you with sex. I just realised that. But I don't want to anymore, okay? Here."
He felt Harry's magic sink into his erection and he recognised that the orgasm-denial spell had been reversed.
"There. And you're not Tom anymore, either, alright? You're Voldemort. I want to fuck Lord Voldemort right now. Is that okay?"
He had never been anyone else.
No matter how Harry had insisted that he could play Tom when receiving punishments, the fact remained that Lord Voldemort was impossible to eliminate.
He inclined his head and Harry grinned.
"Good. I prefer you as Voldemort."
Harry leaned down and took Voldemort's nipple into his mouth— gently. Those hands mapped the skin of his torso, carefully smoothing over him and the soft treatment was inexplicably maddening.
He was unused to it.
Copulation had began as a necessity for advancement and had later become an enjoyable distraction, but through it all, the act always required a certain amount of disassociation from him.
He had never enjoyed being touched.
It was uncomfortable. Perilous.
By physically dominating his bed partners, he had found a way to satisfy his baser urges without being touched reciprocally. Or, if touching was required, he could ensure that it was violent.
This… tenderness. It disturbed him.
"Harry," he said, wiggling his wrist free from Harry's grip and bringing his hand up to push against that chest. Stopping him. "I need pain."
Harry met his gaze, seeming unconvinced.
"No, you're used to pain," the boy countered, his fingers weaving with Voldemort's on his chest, then slowly pulling them away. "I'm supposed to be showing you something new, remember? Trust me."
"It is not a matter of trust—"
"You're uncomfortable. I know. But I'll take care of you. If you really don't want this, say, Quidditch, okay? And I'll stop."
Quidditch?
Why would he not simply verbalise his dislike?
Harry released him and shifted down on the bed, maintaining eye contact and moving lower on Voldemort's body.
"I want you in my mouth," Harry whispered, flicking his tongue out to lick down Voldemort's abdomen. "Yes? Can I?"
Abruptly, he was reminded of Harry's bizarre fantasy involving taking him into his mouth while Voldemort pursued a mundane task.
He had been intrigued by that idea. Bemused, perhaps, yet—
The boy's warm breath brought him back to the present as it ghosted against his navel, those hands lightly tracing down to his hips.
Harry broke their gaze and looked down at Voldemort's waiting erection. The boy paused, then teasingly licked the skin of his stomach that traced his glans.
"Can I?" Harry asked again, his tone seductive, his lips almost touching Voldemort's throbbing cock, mocking him, tormenting him—
"Yes," Voldemort breathed in defensive approval, closing his eyes as Harry sucked him right inside his mouth at the word.
It was hot and wet and Voldemort's fingers went straight to Harry's hair, fisting it, trying to control something, but the boy made a sound of protest and worked Voldemort's fingers free.
Resigned, he leaned his head back, letting Harry torture him, if that was his desire.
All of his attention was riveted on the boy, on his mouth and his tongue as it slowly slid up and down against him.
As he lay there, aware that any decisive movement on his part would be parried, he was forced to acknowledge that perhaps there was a modicum of pleasure to be found in a lack of agency.
He felt… not helpless, because Lord Voldemort could never be thus reduced, but there was a certain scintillation to his artificial powerlessness.
He had to lay there and take it.
It was not a feeling that he was familiar with.
Harry released his cock and Voldemort opened his eyes to meet the boy's hooded gaze.
"I want to work you open with my fingers now," Harry said softly, his chin still resting against Voldemort's erection, his warm breath teasing his slick skin. "Will you let me? I promise not to hurt you. And you can say Quidditch at any time."
Voldemort felt no fear in the face of Harry's desires.
He nodded.
Smiling, the boy swallowed him down again and he moaned, then clenched his teeth against further sounds.
Harry's oiled digits were suddenly at his entrance. Unconsciously, he held his breath, waiting to feel the stab of trespass, but instead, Harry merely traced his skin lightly. Not pressing inside. Not forcing him to accommodate the appendage.
Just smooth, predictable strokes.
Voldemort released his breath. He felt his muscles relax, though he had not been aware that they had been tensed. He closed his eyes.
"That's it, Voldemort," Harry whispered, moving down to suck one of Voldemort's testicles into his mouth.
That nimble tongue massaged the sensitive tissue and Voldemort was again struck with how vulnerable this position made him. If Harry bit down, if he chose to rip him open, sinking his teeth into his unprotected—
"Settle," Harry soothed, and Voldemort unclenched his fists, forcing his lungs to deflate. "I won't hurt you."
He did not require the assurance. Lord Voldemort was transcendent and indomitable.
That swirling finger at his entrance slowly breached him and Voldemort's eyes flashed open. Harry's mouth returned to his cock and diverted his attention, avidly drawing smouldering arousal from him.
He could do nothing but lay back, Harry's finger inside of him, gently sinking in and easing out, that beguiling mouth pulling ecstasy from his cock.
Soon, another digit joined the first and Voldemort felt Harry work it inside, carefully scissoring the two appendages together. It felt… invasive, yet not unpleasant.
There was something intimate, something that required again that singular trust that Harry was so fond of asking of him, in allowing someone to penetrate him with their fingers. He had never been on the receiving end of this act.
He was again left inactive and dependent upon Harry to see to his readiness.
And again, somehow there was a baffling thrill to his uselessness. He felt invisible. Victimised.
Submissive.
He would have preferred that Harry took him with no preparation; a stinging, forced entry that he would endure and then dismiss.
But this was not about what he wanted.
Harry was determined to be gentle with him, to rewrite his disappointing experiences, and Voldemort was obliged to comply.
And somehow, that excited him.
At last, the boy pulled his fingers free and crawled up his body.
"How're you doing?" Harry asked nonsensically.
Voldemort stared at him, his gaze dropping to the boy's swollen, pink lips, wet from his ministrations on Voldemort's aching cock.
"I am ready," he proclaimed, prepared to move on, but the smile Harry offered him in return was patronising.
"I'm not," the boy said, his eyes dark with challenge. "Not yet."
Being denied…
In every other situation, from every other person, it incited murderous violence within him, yet with Harry…
His singular license to gainsay Lord Voldemort's wishes was invigorating.
"I haven't told you the rules yet," Harry informed him.
Rules. As if Voldemort was a—
"This still isn't a punishment, and I swear that I'll be gentle, but I promised to show you the pleasures of submitting. So, if you want to come, you'll have to wait until after I do. That's the first rule. There's only two. The second is that before I allow it, you're gonna have to beg me."
His stomach clenched oddly at that pronouncement.
Beg.
Surely not.
His expression must have displayed his refusal because Harry grinned.
"That's right. I want at least a please."
Voldemort met Harry's gaze with disdain.
"I have never begged for anything in my life, Potter."
Harry shrugged.
"That's a shame. Guess you'll be going home unsatisfied."
It would not be the first time. And he would rather that than debase himself.
"So be it," Voldemort said.
Harry leaned forward, capturing his lips briefly, just long enough to unsettle his feeling of discomfort. When the boy pulled back, Voldemort's hands were on Harry's hips, guiding them to thrust against his abdomen.
"Nah," Harry whispered. "I reckon I'll have you begging by the end."
The boy's confidence was contagious and Voldemort found himself looking forward to discovering if Harry could indeed achieve the impossible.
The boy's finger idly flicked Voldemort's nipple, his gaze becoming stern once more.
"Now, you have to be honest, okay? Do you want me to make love to you?"
Voldemort sneered at that term, but Harry's distracting fingers kept him present.
"I am amenable to your determination to do so," he replied.
"That's not a yes."
"Neither is it a no, and as you are resolved to teach me to submit, it should suffice."
Harry stared at him critically for a moment longer and then grinned.
"Alright, then. You're gonna love it, I promise. I'm going to make you feel so good."
Harry's fingers returned to his entrance again and Voldemort allowed it, focusing on how the probing digits affected his cock.
As he laid back and let the boy work him open again, the feeling was somewhat decadent. He could relax and let Harry concern himself with his Master's pleasure. As it should be. Harry was worshipping him, dedicating his actions to ensuring that Voldemort enjoyed himself.
The familiarity of that was comforting and thus, when Harry shifted forward and held himself ready against Voldemort's relaxed opening, it felt like it was for Voldemort's pleasure alone.
"You look like a fucking dream," Harry breathed, his face flushed, his eyes rapt onto Voldemort's. "Still sure?"
Voldemort nodded, and Harry kissed his forehead, then pressed inside.
He gripped the boy's shoulders, his head tilting back, waiting for his body to accommodate Harry's stinging intrusion. He felt helpless— his legs spread wide, his body invaded, pinned on his back—
"Breathe, Voldemort."
He did— he gasped in a breath and that helped. He took another and realised that Harry was waiting for him to adjust. The boy was inside of him, claiming him, stabbing him, his arms caging Voldemort in, his breath hot against his neck—
"Hey," Harry said soothingly, his hand rubbing Voldemort's cheek. "You're okay. I've got you."
That was not comforting. To be reminded of the boy's ownership of him, how Harry Potter was victorious against Lord—
"Close your eyes," Harry commanded, and Voldemort did. "Good. That's right. Now, I need you to realise something, okay? Listen to my words. You are my purpose. Do you remember that? You are what matters most to me in the world."
Voldemort let the words calm him.
Yes. I am the pinnacle.
"I am never going to hurt you, okay? And you're in control here, too. You can say Quidditch, or just tell me to stop and I'll get right off."
That helped. He was not trapped— magicless as he was, pinned as he was. He had options.
"I just want you to feel good. Does this feel good?"
Harry gently shifted his hips and Voldemort's eyes flashed open at the shock of pleasure that produced. It was still tight and vaguely uncomfortable, but also… full.
Exhilarating.
Harry Potter had put him onto his back without force.
"I can't even tell you how fucking amazing you look," Harry rasped, beginning to move within him. "So powerful. And I know you're just humouring me."
The boy increased his speed, setting an overwhelming rhythm that moved Voldemort's body with each thrust.
"You're Lord Voldemort," the boy enthused, and the admiration compelled Voldemort's hips forward. "You're the most powerful wizard alive."
Harry's eyes were full of ardour and sincerity as he stared down at him, fucking into him so hard that Voldemort had to grip onto the headboard.
"You're fearless and ruthless," the boy growled, leaning down to whisper these galvanising sentiments into his ear, "and I know that you're choosing to grant me this gift. You're choosing to let me make love to you because you're strong. So fucking strong and brave. You're letting me because you know that you could throw me off in a heartbeat if you really wanted to."
Of course he could. Lord Voldemort was invincible. Immortal and unparalleled.
Harry reached down and began to play with Voldemort's nipples again, softly tweaking them, twisting them— not to the point of pain, just enough to draw his attention.
"You trust me to care for you," Harry breathed raggedly. "I adore taking care of you. I know I'm not very good at it, but that's all I want. Just to be allowed to love you. Just to get to be near you."
Harry let go of his nipple, instead wrapping his fingers around Voldemort's cock.
Voldemort sucked in a breath. It was too much. Too much stimulation. The feel of the boy inside of him, forcing him open, making him take this, and now the hand on his throbbing, aching erection—
"Harry," he breathed.
"Yes," the boy replied at once, speeding up his strokes, and it was too much, too much—
"Come, Harry," he insisted, feeling his legs shake with the effort of holding himself back.
The boy laughed weakly.
"Not yet."
"Then— stop touching me," he demanded, reaching down to remove the boy's fingers from stimulating him, but Harry just held him tighter.
"You haven't begged yet."
Begged.
"And I will not," he growled.
He closed his eyes.
"Fuck, Voldemort," Harry gasped. "You feel amazing. You're perfect."
"Let me—"
"Beg."
He threw his head back with frustration.
"I will come without your consent," he threatened, opening his eyes to see Harry's reaction.
The boy scoffed, still thrusting into him punishingly, making Voldemort's stomach clench with need, with desperation.
"Don't tell me," Harry panted, "that the great Lord Voldemort can't control himself."
And all at once, he felt awake again. Cold.
Angry.
Harry wanted begging, but Lord Voldemort would not beg. He could be convinced to fall only so far and this was too much to demand.
Instead, he focused his mind, retreating into it, and disassociated.
He let go of the boy, closing his eyes.
"Hey," a voice said, and the pressure on his lower body ceased. "Voldemort? Hey!"
Hands touched him, but he did not react.
"Stop," that voice ordered, but it was easy to ignore.
"Tom!"
Pain erupted on his cheek and his head was knocked to the side. He buried the sensation and retreated further. He could no longer practice Legilimency, but he had spent decades honing his mind against outside interference.
"I'm sorry," a small voice said. "You don't have to beg. I'm sorry."
The hands returned and smoothed over his face.
"Please. Come back to me."
Warm pressure brushed against his lips.
A kiss.
"I'm so sorry, Voldemort. Please stop hiding."
Hiding.
Hiding?
Voldemort opened his eyes to see Harry's worried expression.
"Get off me," Voldemort commanded in a deadly tone, and Harry did, at once.
The boy jumped back, right off the bed, his hands outstretched placatingly.
But Voldemort would not be placated.
"You believe that Lord Voldemort cannot control himself?" he whispered contemptuously, sitting up and piercing the boy with his stare.
"I'm sorry! I know you can, I was just joking—"
"Perhaps you think," Voldemort said, pushing himself up onto his knees and shifting towards the edge of the bed where Harry was standing, "that he routinely allows others to dictate his actions."
"I don't. Please, Voldemort, I know—"
"Or," he cut in, straightening up before the boy and looming over him, "you assume that his display of impeccable mental governance when he permitted you to bend him over your lap was somehow accidental."
"Please," Harry begged. "I just wanted to get a rise out of you. I swear it wasn't—"
"I think that I am finished indulging your fledgeling dominance, now."
Harry stared at him in horror— naked, one hand barely covering his exposed, flaccid cock.
The sight of him…
The boy had been so quickly brought low after believing himself capable of commanding Lord Voldemort. His ruin reawakened Voldemort's desire.
He would have the boy on his own terms.
"You wanted me to beg," Voldemort said quietly, reaching out to touch the boy's face, but Harry flinched back.
Fear.
Being able to pull it from such a worthy adversary seared his blood with a ravenous need to take.
"I do not beg, Potter. Not even for you."
Slowly, he grasped Harry behind his head and threw him back onto the bed. The boy fell face first and Voldemort followed, pinning him underneath him.
"I do not beg," Voldemort reiterated in the boy's ear. "But you do. And you will."
Bringing his hand to his own mouth, he expelled saliva into his palm, then transferred it to Harry's arse. The boy moaned, pushing back against him, but Voldemort did not care for his enthusiasm.
He slapped his hand down hard on that firm backside causing Harry to cry out.
"Beg me to fuck you, boy," Voldemort ordered, swirling his finger around the edge of that tight entrance.
"Please!" Harry implored shamelessly, and Voldemort immediately thrust his finger deeply into that grasping heat.
Harry groaned, thumping his head down onto the disordered covers.
"You thought that you could command Lord Voldemort, did you?"
He kept those thin hips pressed to the mattress as he worked in another two fingers indelicately.
"What have you learned, boy?"
Harry licked his lips, his face turned to the side so that he could breathe.
"That you don't beg," Harry said, releasing a breathless laugh.
Voldemort hummed.
"Remember that the next time that you think to set rules. Ensure first that they are attainable."
Harry's legs widened, making room for Voldemort to kneel between them.
"Next time?" Harry asked in a quiet, hopeful voice.
Voldemort removed his fingers and lined himself up.
"As we have forever together, I might as well take the time to train you."
Without hesitation, he thrust himself inside.
Ahh.
Much better.
Harry made a sound of discomfort, but Voldemort's questionable sympathies could not be called forth after what Harry had put him through.
"I should deny your orgasm, Harry," he threatened, hearing the boy whine at his words. "I should make you suffer for daring to punish me for something that you are fully aware that I do."
He set a cruel pace and fucked into that smaller body, biting every inch of skin that he could reach. Sliding his hand under the boy, down that concave stomach, he gripped Harry's rigid cock and began to fist it.
"Oh, gods," Harry hissed, pushing back against him, trying to take Voldemort even deeper.
"I am the Dark Lord," Voldemort went on, needing Harry to accept this truth. "Did you believe that one hundred strikes would cause me to renounce that?"
Harry made a sound of protest.
"You can't," he panted. "You can't be that anymore. Not if you want to keep me."
Voldemort growled, squeezing the boy's erection until it had to hurt.
"I will always be the Dark Lord, boy. And you're not going anywhere. You're mine"
Harry swung his leg out and twisted. Voldemort's cock stayed embedded somehow as Harry flipped onto his back. Momentarily stunned, Voldemort stared into those hard eyes.
"You can't have both," Harry asserted, stretching up and then gyrating his hips to slide back down on Voldemort's cock. "If you want me, you can't kill people. I'm not kidding."
He watched Harry move, his body fluid and slow as he impaled himself over and over, his gaze locked onto Voldemort's.
"And my punishment won't be slaps on your arse next time," Harry said. "Next time, you'll lose me."
Voldemort could not move. Surely the boy was exaggerating.
"You know who I am," Voldemort argued tonelessly. "I have not lied."
Harry nodded, continuing to work himself up and down on Voldemort's frozen body. It was impossible to look away.
"I know. And I love you, Voldemort. But I won't be responsible for any more deaths."
"You are not. They are mine."
Harry shook his head.
"By loving you, I've made them mine, too."
The words made no sense. And it was difficult to concentrate with Harry's lithe form undulating on him.
Harry's hand came down to grasp himself, slowly pumping his own erection.
"I want to see you come, Voldemort," Harry whispered.
Yes. This was supposed to be about Lord Voldemort's pleasure.
He gripped the boy's hips and recommenced fucking him, watching Harry's expression turn agonised.
Needing more control, he tried to take over for the boy, but Harry swatted his hand away and kept stroking himself.
"Come for me," Harry breathed, and Voldemort felt all the tension that had been building, all of his want and his pain suddenly coalesce inside his abdomen.
"Now," Harry demanded, and pulled him closer, grabbing a punishing fistful of Voldemort's tender backside.
His hips snapped hard against Harry. He took in that determined gaze, the way the boy chewed on his lip as he rapidly worked his own cock, and finally— finally Voldemort's body succumbed. He pulsed inside of that glorious heat, watching Harry's mouth drop open, his face tilt back.
"Oh, gods, don't stop— don't stop—" Harry gasped, and Voldemort obeyed, clenching his teeth.
It hurt to keep going. Harry's tightening body abraded against his over-sensitised glans, but he was powerless against the boy's command.
He stared at Harry, wanting to absorb every detail— those wide, wild eyes, the way he held his breath, and those narrow hips as they pumped jerkily when the boy spent himself all over Voldemort's chest.
Beautiful.
He collapsed on top of that precious form, careful not to smother him, but needing in that moment to maintain their physical touch. They both breathed heavily, silently, as Voldemort ran his hands possessively over those too-sharp ribs.
He recalled the doctor's notes about Harry's malnourishment. His dangerous weight.
An unfamiliar mantle of responsibility for another descended slowly onto his shoulders. Harry Potter was his, and as such, it was his duty to oversee the boy's care.
Lord Voldemort would not tolerate the boy's obstinacy any longer. Clearly, Harry needed a firmer hand.
Shifting, he bit down hard on Harry's sternum, feeling the shallow bones protruding just under the skin.
"Ouch!" Harry cried, trying to shove him off with no success. "Merlin— give a guy a second to recover!"
Voldemort released him and lifted his head to meet Harry's bewildered gaze with admonishment.
"Get up, Harry," he ordered. "It is clear that you are unable to feed yourself, therefore we will proceed to the kitchen and you will eat for me."
"I'm not even hungry!" Harry insisted petulantly, and it was curious how the boy believed that that would deter Lord Voldemort.
Standing, he dressed and then turned to the boy with a raised eyebrow.
Harry groaned and made an unimpressive, futile fuss, but ultimately, he listened to his Master and followed him obediently down the stairs.