Give Me a Reason
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Voldemort
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
4
Views:
6,006
Reviews:
16
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Voldemort
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
4
Views:
6,006
Reviews:
16
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Possession
Possession
They stare at each other, and Harry is lost.
“I never realized… You have flecks of green in your eyes…” he whispers, his words almost catching in his throat.
“Interesting. There are flecks of crimson in yours.”
You’re a liar. He wants to say this, angrily; but he is so pleasantly, deliciously tired. His eyes are hooded sleepily, his breathing is even. The silk sheets feel cool against his naked body, and long fingers run through his hair. Now is not the time to fight, again.
He always loses, anyway.
********************************************************************************
Aroused with desire, controlled by ecstasy, the boy is putty in his hands.
He could kill him.
But he won’t.
He has never been one to deny himself, and Harry… the boy… is a delicacy, a precious bonbon, waiting to be devoured.
He is so delicious, so responsive, but he still fights, he still resists. But he, in the end, is unable to hold out; Voldemort wonders about this to himself after the boy leaves.
Why? Why can’t Dumbledore’s precious Saviour, hero to the whole wizarding world, resist the temptation of evil?
Why can’t he resist his mortal enemy’s touch?
Perhaps he wants something, something no one else can give him.
He loves me.
He smirks to himself at this thought.
He wants me.
He has taken the Dark Mark, for me.
He is mine.
His blood runs through my veins.
My blood, my soul…
Mine.
***********************************************************************************
“Harry, Harry! Wake up!”
His eyes fly open, his heart beats, his throat is raw. It is dark in his room, but someone is shaking him; panic and something else runs through his veins.
“Sirius? What are you doing in here?”
His godfather smiles, relieved. “Harry. You were screaming in your sleep… I was-”
“What did I say? Did I say anything?” There is a strange edge to his voice as the details of his dream flood into his memory. His cheeks burn and sweat runs down his forehead.
“I couldn’t quite catch anything you said… Why? What’s wrong?”
“I…nothing. I’m just tired.”
Sirius looks thoughtful as he turns away. “I suppose I’ll see you in the morning, then…”
“Wait! Don’t-”
Don’t leave me alone, with him.
His godfather turns to him, grips his arm; fire runs through his veins and he gasps in pain.
“What? What’s wrong?”
Harry flinches away from his fatherly touch, resisting the urge to massage the Mark. It burns, stings, branded into his skin, a reminder. A symbol.
“Nothing, nothing, just….ah… my scar. My scar hurt.”
Even in the dark, he can see the worry. “Your scar… you know, I think you should continue your Occlumency lessons with Snivellus. I know you hated them, but perhaps it’s best.”
“Fine, fine.” Just get out of here.
“I’ll speak to Albus about it in the morning.”
“Great. Sleep well.”
“You too, Harry.” He shuts the bedroom door quietly behind him, and Harry’s heart sinks.
Oh, Shit.
************************************************************************************
“It’s over. Done. I can’t do this anymore, I…”
Voldemort smiles coldly. “It will be over when I say it’s over… Harry.”
He looks up at the older man, clenching his jaw in resolve. “No. It’s over now.”
He smirks and twiddles his wand in long fingers. “I think you need to respect your elders, child.”
“I’m not a-”
“Crucio.” The Dark Lord whispers the spell, quietly; almost lovingly.
White hot knives pierce every inch of his skin, and he does not even realize he is screaming in agony.
Voldemort flicks his wand lazily and the pain is gone, and he is panting on the floor, shocked. “What…what the fuck was that for?”
Another cold smile. “Such language, Harry. Such a foul mouth. Shall I do it again? Have you developed a taste for it?”
He shakes his head hurriedly, the coldness of the tile he lies on bringing him back to Earth. Or to hell. “No…no.”
He rises gingerly, his body aching.
“I don’t believe you.”
He stares into crimson eyes, suddenly absorbed into their scarlet depths. “What?” he whispers, a million miles away.
What is he doing to me?
“I said I didn’t believe you. Because you lied, didn’t you. You have developed a taste, haven’t you. A taste for danger, for…pain.”
He shivers at the way Voldemort said the word ‘pain’.
“No…”
The Dark Lord approaches him, and Harry is suddenly keenly aware of how close the bed is.
“Oh, really.”
“Yes…” He licks his lips nervously. “Get away from me,” he whispers, no conviction in his words.
He is suddenly on the bed, face pressed into the pillows, naked; he can feel Voldemort’s smirk, though he can’t see it.
Cold metal scrapes his skin and his heart skips a beat. “What are you doing?” He does not bother to disguise the panic in his voice.
His arms are raised above his head and he hears the unmistakable ‘clink’ of the handcuffs.
He handcuffed me to the bed.
He fucking handcuffed me to the bed!
Odd, such a Muggle thing to do, wasn’t it.
Hysterical laughter at this thought threatens to bubble to the surface when long fingernails run down his back.
He shudders, tugs at his bonds, squirms; but he cannot get free.
“You took the Mark for me, Harry. You are mine. Aren’t you.”
He hears the soft swish of a cloak and realizes that the Dark Lord is stripping. “No. No. I’m-”
Voldemort gets on the bed and licks his ear. “What was that?”
He feels cool, naked skin against his; he feels himself get aroused. He groans and tugs at the cuffs. “Nothing.”
The Dark Lord licks a line down his spine and he almost screams. “I hate you,” he spits out as the older man positions himself behind him.
“You love me.”
He is speechless; and then Voldemort is inside, and this time he does scream, loud and long, and with each thrust he screams again and again, pain and pleasure combining unbearably, and he feels teeth bite his neck, cold hands running up and down his body, and he possessed and set free.
He meets each movement Voldemort makes, pressing himself even closer to his sinuous body. He is on fire, and nothing matters anymore. He throws back his head, gasps, grunts, groans. He is not human anymore, but something else entirely.
Cold breath kisses his neck. “You love me.”
He tugs again at his bonds, and they dig viciously into his pale, unblemished skin. “Yes,” he hisses.
Before he comes, before he blacks out, he hears the Dark Lord whisper slowly into his ear.
“You are mine.”
End Chapter.
They stare at each other, and Harry is lost.
“I never realized… You have flecks of green in your eyes…” he whispers, his words almost catching in his throat.
“Interesting. There are flecks of crimson in yours.”
You’re a liar. He wants to say this, angrily; but he is so pleasantly, deliciously tired. His eyes are hooded sleepily, his breathing is even. The silk sheets feel cool against his naked body, and long fingers run through his hair. Now is not the time to fight, again.
He always loses, anyway.
********************************************************************************
Aroused with desire, controlled by ecstasy, the boy is putty in his hands.
He could kill him.
But he won’t.
He has never been one to deny himself, and Harry… the boy… is a delicacy, a precious bonbon, waiting to be devoured.
He is so delicious, so responsive, but he still fights, he still resists. But he, in the end, is unable to hold out; Voldemort wonders about this to himself after the boy leaves.
Why? Why can’t Dumbledore’s precious Saviour, hero to the whole wizarding world, resist the temptation of evil?
Why can’t he resist his mortal enemy’s touch?
Perhaps he wants something, something no one else can give him.
He loves me.
He smirks to himself at this thought.
He wants me.
He has taken the Dark Mark, for me.
He is mine.
His blood runs through my veins.
My blood, my soul…
Mine.
***********************************************************************************
“Harry, Harry! Wake up!”
His eyes fly open, his heart beats, his throat is raw. It is dark in his room, but someone is shaking him; panic and something else runs through his veins.
“Sirius? What are you doing in here?”
His godfather smiles, relieved. “Harry. You were screaming in your sleep… I was-”
“What did I say? Did I say anything?” There is a strange edge to his voice as the details of his dream flood into his memory. His cheeks burn and sweat runs down his forehead.
“I couldn’t quite catch anything you said… Why? What’s wrong?”
“I…nothing. I’m just tired.”
Sirius looks thoughtful as he turns away. “I suppose I’ll see you in the morning, then…”
“Wait! Don’t-”
Don’t leave me alone, with him.
His godfather turns to him, grips his arm; fire runs through his veins and he gasps in pain.
“What? What’s wrong?”
Harry flinches away from his fatherly touch, resisting the urge to massage the Mark. It burns, stings, branded into his skin, a reminder. A symbol.
“Nothing, nothing, just….ah… my scar. My scar hurt.”
Even in the dark, he can see the worry. “Your scar… you know, I think you should continue your Occlumency lessons with Snivellus. I know you hated them, but perhaps it’s best.”
“Fine, fine.” Just get out of here.
“I’ll speak to Albus about it in the morning.”
“Great. Sleep well.”
“You too, Harry.” He shuts the bedroom door quietly behind him, and Harry’s heart sinks.
Oh, Shit.
************************************************************************************
“It’s over. Done. I can’t do this anymore, I…”
Voldemort smiles coldly. “It will be over when I say it’s over… Harry.”
He looks up at the older man, clenching his jaw in resolve. “No. It’s over now.”
He smirks and twiddles his wand in long fingers. “I think you need to respect your elders, child.”
“I’m not a-”
“Crucio.” The Dark Lord whispers the spell, quietly; almost lovingly.
White hot knives pierce every inch of his skin, and he does not even realize he is screaming in agony.
Voldemort flicks his wand lazily and the pain is gone, and he is panting on the floor, shocked. “What…what the fuck was that for?”
Another cold smile. “Such language, Harry. Such a foul mouth. Shall I do it again? Have you developed a taste for it?”
He shakes his head hurriedly, the coldness of the tile he lies on bringing him back to Earth. Or to hell. “No…no.”
He rises gingerly, his body aching.
“I don’t believe you.”
He stares into crimson eyes, suddenly absorbed into their scarlet depths. “What?” he whispers, a million miles away.
What is he doing to me?
“I said I didn’t believe you. Because you lied, didn’t you. You have developed a taste, haven’t you. A taste for danger, for…pain.”
He shivers at the way Voldemort said the word ‘pain’.
“No…”
The Dark Lord approaches him, and Harry is suddenly keenly aware of how close the bed is.
“Oh, really.”
“Yes…” He licks his lips nervously. “Get away from me,” he whispers, no conviction in his words.
He is suddenly on the bed, face pressed into the pillows, naked; he can feel Voldemort’s smirk, though he can’t see it.
Cold metal scrapes his skin and his heart skips a beat. “What are you doing?” He does not bother to disguise the panic in his voice.
His arms are raised above his head and he hears the unmistakable ‘clink’ of the handcuffs.
He handcuffed me to the bed.
He fucking handcuffed me to the bed!
Odd, such a Muggle thing to do, wasn’t it.
Hysterical laughter at this thought threatens to bubble to the surface when long fingernails run down his back.
He shudders, tugs at his bonds, squirms; but he cannot get free.
“You took the Mark for me, Harry. You are mine. Aren’t you.”
He hears the soft swish of a cloak and realizes that the Dark Lord is stripping. “No. No. I’m-”
Voldemort gets on the bed and licks his ear. “What was that?”
He feels cool, naked skin against his; he feels himself get aroused. He groans and tugs at the cuffs. “Nothing.”
The Dark Lord licks a line down his spine and he almost screams. “I hate you,” he spits out as the older man positions himself behind him.
“You love me.”
He is speechless; and then Voldemort is inside, and this time he does scream, loud and long, and with each thrust he screams again and again, pain and pleasure combining unbearably, and he feels teeth bite his neck, cold hands running up and down his body, and he possessed and set free.
He meets each movement Voldemort makes, pressing himself even closer to his sinuous body. He is on fire, and nothing matters anymore. He throws back his head, gasps, grunts, groans. He is not human anymore, but something else entirely.
Cold breath kisses his neck. “You love me.”
He tugs again at his bonds, and they dig viciously into his pale, unblemished skin. “Yes,” he hisses.
Before he comes, before he blacks out, he hears the Dark Lord whisper slowly into his ear.
“You are mine.”
End Chapter.