Moonlight walking, I smell your softness
It had been a month since Harry had been taken from the battle field, a week of proving himself time and time again. It seemed everyone thought his reasons for the change in heart false. Dare they think his love false? But he had showed them, again and again he tortured and cursed those who dare question him. The only good was that Voldemort seemed quite pleased with Harry, the way he talked of the world at his Lord's feet, of a throne made of muggle bones. In the first week, he had been tortured many times, but he had shown his love by not uttering a single sound and this seemed to please the Lord even more.
And now he stood, in the middle of a large room with an equally large window shining moonlight onto the floor in front of him. Voldemort walked slowly toward Harry, causing rips and tears in the moon's beams. Harry's eyes shone bright with wanting as he watched his Lord move. When he was directly in front of Harry, he stopped, stared at the young teen intently. Slowly, Harry brought his hand up and lightly touched his Lord's cheek, the skin smooth beneath his fingers. Voldemort's eyes narrowed and Harry trembled under the gaze. The Dark Lord raised his hand swiftly and grabbed Harry's wrist in a vice grip. Harry's breath quickened in anticipation. And suddenly, Voldemort's lips were on Harry's own, claiming and dominating Harry brutally. Harry moaned and quickly opened his mouth to his Lord, his love.
Oh finally did he have this! After an entire month of subtle flirting and years of waiting, he finally had the desire of his love, finally held the other man in want of himself. Harry growled in lust and brought his hands up to wrap firmly around his love's neck, pressing them close together. Voldemort pulled away soon after, spent a long moment simply watching Harry come down from his high. Then he left without looking back.