Better Than Cookies {COMPLETE}

A/N: Sorry it took me so long to write this. It just would not come out! Anyway, Here ya go. Hope the H/V scene is satisfactory. Somewhat descriptive torture in this chapter. You've been warned.

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“Harry.”

Voldemort watched as his submissive shut down on him. The light left the green eyes and they took on a far away look. It was as if Harry were deep inside himself where no one could see him, reach him, hurt him. Voldemort frowned at the thought of someone hurting Harry. Only one person had ever been so suicidal as to try to harm his mate. The thought of the, now deceased, muggle made him grit his teeth and hold back a growl. But Harry doesn’t remember that, he had to remind himself. No, Harry had Obliviate himself and, assumedly, erased all of the memories of that time. Didn’t he?

“Harry. Harry look at me.”

The small body beneath him shivered and light slowly came back to the emerald gaze. “Voldemort.”

The Dark Lord ran a fingertip along Harry’s jaw line to test the waters. Harry didn’t so much as twitch. Instead his eyes held a calculating, watchful look. Something was different.

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Harry heard the voice in his head like a broken record. Snape had betrayed him. Not just him. Snape had betrayed the Light. In some way, the potions master had forced his compliance and… There his mind ran into a brick wall. How exactly had Snape managed to bond him to The Dark Lord? He drew a blank when he tried to push past the place in his mind where he knew the answer must be waiting. He shook his head, tossing his bangs out of his eyes and looked up at The Dark Lord. No matter. The most important thing, now, was to escape Voldemort’s base and find his way back to headquarters or Hogwarts.

He focused on Voldemort’s face and wondered, for the first time, if The Dark Lord had always been quite so… Attractive? Handsome? Masculine? It was hard to say which word would work best. Maybe, all of them. He quickly discarded that thought process and arched his back to rub his hips against Voldemort’s. The action had the desired affect. The Dark Lord groaned and pushed back.

Harry quickly bit off his moan by chewing on his lower lip. Keep your head, Harry. His personal order got more difficult to follow when Voldemort began rubbing against him slowly. He somehow found his way between his thighs. The same strange tiredness weighed down his limbs and he didn’t have the energy to fight even if he chose to. The lethargy did have one great strength. It made it easier for him to lay still and allow The Dark Lord to molest him.

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Rather than being glad Harry had stopped fighting, Voldemort was suspicious. He bent his head down to nip at Harry’s collar bone and the boy did nothing more than sigh. It was as if he had no energy. The bond was obviously getting impatient. As he placed a kiss at the base of Harry’s throat, he felt the pulse just under the skin. It was sluggish. He jerked back and looked do into his mate’s eyes.

Harry looked back at him and defiance flashed for a moment before his eyelids lowered to hide his emotions. Voldemort prodded at Harry’s mind. It was pathetically simple to get through his shields. On the surface was the Golden Boy of Gryffindor, plotting to play The Dark Lord’s “game” until he could get the upper hand and escape. Voldemort growled under his breath. Under the surface, the bond was teeming with energy. It felt how close the two of them were and urged the submissive to give himself over to his dominant. When Harry hadn’t immediately done that, the bond had begun to tear away at his life force. To put it simply, the bond wanted them to mate or it would kill Harry and by association, all of the inner circle.

Voldemort grabbed his mate by his upper arms and shook him. “Harry!”

Harry blinked up at him dazedly. Even the defiance had bled from his gaze. Only a tired, dreaminess was left.

Voldemort shook him again. “Harry, dammit!” A crushing panic started in his chest, making it difficult to breathe. When Harry’s eyes fell shut, he did the only thing he could think to do. He kissed him.

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Harry felt foggy. He was planning to do something very important. It had to do with the Order and Hogwarts and… It didn’t really seem to matter. The air that was being drawn into his lungs felt like it was drugged. He was completely limp and not even the pleasant sensation of someone kissing his neck could make it go away. Someone spoke to him, their warm breath blew across his cheek and he wanted to moan. His throat wouldn’t work. Not even when the voice took on an edge on panic and strong hands began shaking him.

It was very dark and the air was warm. Harry let the warmth drag him deeper. The sound of the voice faded until it was far away, just a whisper, and Harry mentally sighed. Suddenly, there were flashes of bright light in the darkness. The light grew brighter and brighter until his eyes were open and he looked up into Voldemort’s face. The Dark Lord’s lips were on his and then his tongue was probing his mouth. Harry moaned and thrust up into the hand that had formed a cocoon around his cock.

The hand squeezed rhythmically. Harry gasped and raised his hands to grip Voldemort’s shoulders. The Dark Lord nibbled gently on his bottom lip and slide his own cock into his hand alongside Harry’s. It was like an electric shock. Harry dug his nails into Voldemort’s back, squeezing his eyes shut, and biting his lip to keep from crying out. The warm fluid made the way smooth and The Dark Lord added a twist on every downward stroke.

Harry felt as if he was coming unglued at the seams. His throat was producing sounds no grown man should make. It was a mix between a cry and a moan. He shook his head to get his hair out of his eyes and looked up and Voldemort.

The man over him threw his head back and growled. Sweat dampened the hair at the base of his neck and made his muscled chest gleam in the candle light. He was a Greek god, carved of pale, smooth marble. Suddenly, Voldemort’s crimson gaze dropped and their eyes met. Harry licked his lips at the raw hunger in the other man’s gaze.

Voldemort’s moved quickly, dropping his head to capture his lips again. Harry sucked on his tongue greedily, mimicking the strokes of Voldemort’s hand. In that moment, he realized Voldemort’s hand was no longer wrapped around the both of them. His cock was pushing against the hard planes of The Dark Lord’s stomach. Voldemort’s hand was somewhere lower down.

Harry let out a surprised gasp, when a fingertip prodded behind his balls. Slick and hot, it quickly found its goal and eased into him an inch. Harry felt his muscles tighten around the intruder, trying to get used to the new sensation. For some reason the word “new” didn’t feel right. The finger slid deeper and his ability to form thoughts vanished.

Harry keened and gripped The Dark Lord’s shoulders hard. Two fingers entered him and a needy ache began to build. He wanted more. Needed more. He tossed his head on the pillow, as the fingers stretch and twisted inside him. His moans were impossible to hold back. They were high-pitched and needy. He met Voldemort’s gaze and jerked his head down to crush their lips together.

Voldemort bit his lower lip and then soothed it with a swipe of his tongue. His mouth was almost impossible hot, as he moved from Harry’s lips to below his ear, before finally sucking hard on his neck. Harry arched up into the fingers and the pleasure/pain of the bruise forming on his neck. He heard Voldemort murmur something against his skin, the sensation of his lips tickling enough to make Harry gasp and his nipples harden.

Totally wrapped up in Voldemort’s mouth on his neck, it took him a moment to realize the thrusting of the fingers had stopped and a larger, hotter object had replaced them. He let out a small sound and Voldemort raised his head to look in his eyes.

“I…” Harry trailed off, not sure what to say.

Voldemort’s lips curved into a genuine smile. “Relax.” He rubbed the head of his cock against Harry’s stretched opening several times, smiling as Harry’s eyes drifted closed. “And keep your eyes open.” He pressed forward.

Harry felt himself stretching and locked eyes with The Dark Lord. Fear flickered in his mind, like a shot in the dark, before it faded into relief as Voldemort slid into him. He felt his eyes tearing and blinked quickly to get rid of the moisture before Voldemort noticed. Crimson eyes narrowed and The Dark Lord froze.

“Did I hurt you? Harry?” Voldemort frowned and began to pull out.

Harry gasped and shook his head hard. “No,” he yelled. Quieter, he whispered, “No.” He smiled tremulously and moved his hips. “It’s not that. It’s just. I feel so…” He drifted off and looked up at Voldemort.

The Dark Lord smiled. “I know.” He brushed his lips across Harry’s and rocked forward slightly. His smile widened at Harry’s gasp.

Harry moved with Voldemort’s thrusts, relishing the smooth slide of his cock inside him as he was filled over and over. The ridges rubbed over his prostate in a maddening way that made his legs shake and his thighs grip Voldemort’s hips tighter. His cock was pressed tight between their bodies as the rising friction made his vision blur. Everything built, the tension, the pressure, until finally he erupted violently. He let out a scream and came on Voldemort’s stomach and across his chest.

Seconds later, Voldemort came. The pulses of hot liquid seemed to make his orgasm last for hours. Finally, shuddering and clinging to The Dark Lord, he collapsed against the bed linens. He looked up at Voldemort who was holding his greater weight off him with shaking arms. Their eyes met and Voldemort rolled to the side, pulling Harry on top of him.

He tucked Harry’s head under his chin and held him tightly. “You have no idea.”

Harry started to raise his head, but Voldemort just held him tighter. He sighed and relaxed into the comforting embrace. When Voldemort softened enough to slip from him, he bit his lip to hold back a cry. Gripping The Dark Lord tighter, he fought the urge to cry. Finally, silent tears began to flow.

Voldemort instantly tensed as the wetness landed on his chest. “Harry?” He sat up and pulled him into his lap. Cradling his face, he searched his eyes. “Did I hurt you? What’s wrong.”

Harry shook his head and sobbed. His throat hurt, but he managed to force out, “I’m so alone again.” He dropped his head.

Strong arms wrapped around him and held him tight. “No.” Voldemort gripped his chin gently and lifted his head. “You are never alone again.” His eyes sparkled bright red with flecks of emerald green and Harry gave him a small smile.

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Severus Snape was no fool. There were many who called him other things behind his back, but by no stretch of the word could he be called a fool. As a rather intelligent person, he was well aware of how much trouble he was in with the headmaster of Hogwarts. The moment he stepped off the train without Harry Potter in tow, Dumbledore’s eyes had darkened. So, it was no surprise when he found himself strapped naked to a heavy, iron frame in the dungeons less than an hour later. The steady slap of leather on flesh was no surprise, nor was the way his voice broke after the first fifty lashes. The fingernails that dug into his hips were not unexpected, but the blunt instrument shoved into him was startling.

The pain was nearly overwhelming from the beginning, but by the time his vision darkened to black and his voice ceased to work from screaming, he was beyond caring.

Severus woke slowly to a world made of agony and wishes for death. His throat was on fire, was the first thing he noticed. As he became more aware, he began to feel the true depth of his punishment. The floor under his cheek was cold and damp. He was still in the dungeons. As he tried to turn his head, he had to cut of a scream. The flesh of his back felt as if it was entirely gone. As if Dumbledore had finally tired of trying to whip it off and had decided to do away with it by flaying him alive.

The realization of his back brought his attention to his lower back and then even lower. His inner thighs itched from the blood dried there. He tried again to get a look at his immediate surroundings and failed to move so much as an inch. He thought of his mate, probably sitting in his cabin waiting for him to come back from a meeting. Only he wouldn’t be coming back this time. Not if he couldn’t get some medical attention soon. He grit his teeth and took a deep breath.

If there was a hell, Severus seriously doubted it could be worse than the feeling of rough stone on his torn back. It took all of his self-control not to scream in agony. After several long minutes, in which his vision blurred and darkness crept in on the edges, he finally was able to see where he was. It was cruel irony that the room contained a fireplace. Dumbledore knew, no doubt, that it would be impossible for him to reach it and he would have to lay there, mere feet from salvation, and die.

Severus’ black eyes glittered in fury. Dumbledore had better hope he died. He pressed his palms to the ground on either side of his waist and sat up. He didn’t bother to hold back the shriek now that he knew he was far from any help. The room was one in the deepest part of the dungeons. No one would ever find his body if he died. The thought was enough to force him to his knees. Tears rolled down his cheeks by the time he began to crawl toward the fireplace.

Every movement caused blood to dribble down his sides to the floor. He didn’t even want to think about what the movement did to other torn parts of him. He was luckily, nearly numb from the waist down. It made it easier to deal with the warmth he could feel sliding slowly down his thighs. He had to whisper the spell twice before the fire lit. For several seconds, he simply stared at it, unsure if he even wanted to live.

Hagrid would never be able to look at him in the face again. Not after this. After all, what did he really have to live for? Not the Dark, they had Harry who could act as a spy if need be; not Hagrid, who would look at him in shame; and certainly not the Light, who expected him to be dead. He paused. If Dumbledore expected him to die, he wouldn’t have left him with a fireplace. No, this was a sick test of some kind. Severus smiled humorlessly.

He held out his hand and a pile of power appeared. Severus looked down at it. Where to go. When all was said and done, there was only one place he could be sure of getting help. He threw the handful of floo power into the fire and bit back a sharp cry. Quickly getting control of himself he ground out, “Malfoy manor,” and crawled into the flames.


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A/N: All spelling mistakes are mine. P.S.- Poor Sevy.