Dreaming of Bloodstones
folder
Harry Potter › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,657
Reviews:
6
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,657
Reviews:
6
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.
Dreaming of Bloodstones
Title: Dreaming of Bloodstones
Author: Lunablue
Email: deadredsocks@yahoo.com
Homepage: http://www.geocities.com/deadredsocks/user.html
Rating: NC17
Warning: Bad Words, Post OotP
Pairing: Lord Voldemort/Harry Potter
Category: Romance, Drama
Summary: Lord Voldemort dreams of Bloodstones, sex and Harry Potter.
Disclaimer: All information on Crystal’s and Stones is extracted from Connie Islin’s book
“Little BIG Book of Crystals and Stones” and is copyrighted in her name. I lay no claim to it.
Harry Potter and associated characters belong to J.K. Rowling and associated companies thereof.
I’m simply kidnapping them for my own perverted uses.
* * * * *
Lord Voldemort dreamed of bloodstones.
Bloodstones and sex and most of all and before it all and more important than it all, he dreamed of Harry Potter.
Harry Bloody Potter, The Boy Who Wouldn’t Croak, The Thorn In His Side,
The Royal Pain In Voldemort’s Ass. . .
The Sexiest Thing To Happen To The Universe Since Lucifer.
Harry Potter with his red, sinfully tempting lips, Harry Potter with his lithe body and Quiditch toned abs,
Harry Potter with his Avada Green eyes and Midnight Black hair, Harry Potter with his ghost pale skin,
Harry Potter with his lilting voice that did things to your libido that should be declared illegal.
Harry Potter who taunted and tormented his dreams.
Harry Potter, Gryffindor’s Secret Slytherin and Dumbledore’s supposed Golden Boy.
Harry. . .
Fucking. . .
Potter. . .
God he wanted to just wrap his hands around that little neck and strangle him to death.
Watch the blood trail down where his fingernails dug in deep.
Slam his dick into that tight little hole while the bitch begged him to stop, begged like his mother.
God yes, he got hard just thinking about it.
Of course, that was usually about the time he’d wake up.
Lonely moments spent in an opulent bed, silks and velvet caressing his bone pale skin.
Withering like a bitch in heat while long fingers wrapped around his cock and his hips thrust ever upwards,
seeking a warmth that wasn’t there. Brown hair splashed on the pillows like blood stains in the dark and
hell’s eternal fires glowing red in his eyes.
Disjointed words, hissed in parseltongue, cutting through the silence like a knife.
Becoming more fragmented, more frantic, the quicker his hand moved.
Images of The Brat running through his head, slipping past his eyes like mercury.
It was only lust and obsession.
Or at least that’s he he told himself as he sat there indulging in daydreams of how it would feel to have
those mocking red lips wrap around his cock and suck like a black hole. Tongue sliding through his slit and
green eyes watery with pain as he grabbed the boy by his hair and held him there, rocking in and out of that heat.
Potters tears always became bloodstones whenever they hit the ground. Red and green.
Tiny little bloodstone tears that fell to the ground as he hung there, suspended from the ceiling, the perfect image
of innocence defiled. Blood falling from the tiny cuts that he’d been given, that he’d begged for, when passion
over took sense.
They say that when Jesus bled on the cross the red droplets hit the ground and became stones.
Sometimes he wonders if it’s Potter who will purify wizarding blood by destroying all those loyal to the shadows,
but then as he looks into the boy’s eyes as he dreams he knows it’s otherwise. Can see the darkness swirling behind
jade orbs as he fucks the tiny little cherub into the mattress, wall, floor, mirror, bathroom tub. . . whatevers available.
Can see it as the boy sits atop him grinning wickedly and grinding their hips and cocks together, driving him into an
impossible fever of passion.
“Tom. . . my Tom. . .”
Spine arching and head thrown back in ecstasy as the dull slap of Potters cock smacking against his stomach
echoes through out the room. The siren was bouncing up and down on his dick with the enthusiasm of a kid
with a new toy.
“Impudent brat. . . oh god, faster. . .”
“Say it.”
“Fuck no. . .”
Hands reaching up to scrape down a hard chest, drawing blood.
“Say it or I’ll stop. . .”
The slut teased him.
“ . . . never. . .”
Cherry lips gliding across the shell of his ear, whispering naughty words.
“Say it and I’ll make you cum so hard and long you go cross eyed.”
His eyes rolled at the thought while his will buckles under the pressure of the boy’s demand.
All he can do is let out a sob in response. Then Potter rises of his dick completely and hangs above him, motionless.
“Please say it . . .Master.”
It’s that last part that does him in.
“Yours!”
Then he’s screaming as he’s back inside that warmth, being squeezed soo tight and a hand reaches down to
finger his balls and tease his arse. He barely had to touch himself after waking up, cuming so hard he blacks out.
It took him five months to figure out that Potter had learned how to invade his dreams at will.
That they where sharing dreams. That Potter wanted him as much as he wanted Potter.
That fact alone was enough to give him a case of blue balls for the next solid week.
It took him another three months to accept it.
After that it only took a hasty sleeping potion to offer the boy an escape from Professor Dumbasadoor and the
Order of the Overcooked Turkey.
This time the bed’s sheets where black velvet and he was on top.
His voice came out husky as he leisurely rocked in and out of Potter, his hips barely moving as he kept brushing against
the other’s prostate.
“Join me?”
Potter, who had previously been lost in an ocean of ecstasy, stopped mid moan.
A look of incredulity spread across his face to be quickly replaced by a smirk.
“Now why would I want to do that?” He asked in a patronizing, humor the little kid voice.
“You’re my sworn enemy after all, The Big Bad Darrd, rd, the one I’m destined to defeat.
You do remember all that, yes?”
As he spoke his hands made their way leisurely up and down the other’s backside and one of his feet caressed a calf.
The possibility that Potter would say no had never even crossed his mind before that second.
Pulling out to his tip he slammed back in hard and watched as jade eyes rolled backwards with pleasure.
“You enjoy this? You want this? Think about it Harry, us forever like this. Rulers of the entire Earth,
gods among angels and men, anything and everything you could ever desire at your fingertips.”
Laughing flippantly Harry wrapped his arms around Tom’s neck and pulled him down chest to chest so that his lips where caressing a perfect shell shaped ear.
“And what if the only thing in this world I want is you dead and your slaves rotting in Azkaban? Will you give me that?”
Could you give back the lives of the hundreds of innocent people who’ve died during your Reign of Terror? My parents? Sirius? Cedric?Could you give me them? The sixteen years of childhood and innocents you stole from me? Can you take away all the grief and all the heartbreak you’ve caused?” Here he laughed again, more sinisterly.
“No, I don’t think you can. You may Lord over Death, Tom, but it is life that keeps the world going ‘round. It is life and the will to survive no matter what that keeps people going. For you my Tom are many things but living is not one of them and since you are not alive how can you expect to keep an entire world so?”
“But I am alive, feel my heart beat? Feel my lungs draw breath? I live, you are no necrophiliac.”
Pushing up on shoulders tell red eyes met green Harry stared for a few seconds.
“Mayhap your body lives but you died inside years ago. Now? Now you are nothing tha than a hollow vessel, empty except for the dark energies you channel and ghosts of memories. Why do you think your Eaters of Death are not the proud warriors they once where? You are weak and they sense that. A good leader use’s his life energy to sustain his men and you have none to give them. So you see, you have already lost and this war is nothing more than a desperate, childish tantrum of denial against the inevitable.”
Then Harry reached out with his magic and ripped the dreamscape to shreds, bloodstones spilling like a wave over them as they disappeared. And as Voldemort woke up he heard a sound that, maybe, might have been his heartbreaking.
If he’d still been human enough to have one.
*Fin*
Author: Lunablue
Email: deadredsocks@yahoo.com
Homepage: http://www.geocities.com/deadredsocks/user.html
Rating: NC17
Warning: Bad Words, Post OotP
Pairing: Lord Voldemort/Harry Potter
Category: Romance, Drama
Summary: Lord Voldemort dreams of Bloodstones, sex and Harry Potter.
Disclaimer: All information on Crystal’s and Stones is extracted from Connie Islin’s book
“Little BIG Book of Crystals and Stones” and is copyrighted in her name. I lay no claim to it.
Harry Potter and associated characters belong to J.K. Rowling and associated companies thereof.
I’m simply kidnapping them for my own perverted uses.
* * * * *
Lord Voldemort dreamed of bloodstones.
Bloodstones and sex and most of all and before it all and more important than it all, he dreamed of Harry Potter.
Harry Bloody Potter, The Boy Who Wouldn’t Croak, The Thorn In His Side,
The Royal Pain In Voldemort’s Ass. . .
The Sexiest Thing To Happen To The Universe Since Lucifer.
Harry Potter with his red, sinfully tempting lips, Harry Potter with his lithe body and Quiditch toned abs,
Harry Potter with his Avada Green eyes and Midnight Black hair, Harry Potter with his ghost pale skin,
Harry Potter with his lilting voice that did things to your libido that should be declared illegal.
Harry Potter who taunted and tormented his dreams.
Harry Potter, Gryffindor’s Secret Slytherin and Dumbledore’s supposed Golden Boy.
Harry. . .
Fucking. . .
Potter. . .
God he wanted to just wrap his hands around that little neck and strangle him to death.
Watch the blood trail down where his fingernails dug in deep.
Slam his dick into that tight little hole while the bitch begged him to stop, begged like his mother.
God yes, he got hard just thinking about it.
Of course, that was usually about the time he’d wake up.
Lonely moments spent in an opulent bed, silks and velvet caressing his bone pale skin.
Withering like a bitch in heat while long fingers wrapped around his cock and his hips thrust ever upwards,
seeking a warmth that wasn’t there. Brown hair splashed on the pillows like blood stains in the dark and
hell’s eternal fires glowing red in his eyes.
Disjointed words, hissed in parseltongue, cutting through the silence like a knife.
Becoming more fragmented, more frantic, the quicker his hand moved.
Images of The Brat running through his head, slipping past his eyes like mercury.
It was only lust and obsession.
Or at least that’s he he told himself as he sat there indulging in daydreams of how it would feel to have
those mocking red lips wrap around his cock and suck like a black hole. Tongue sliding through his slit and
green eyes watery with pain as he grabbed the boy by his hair and held him there, rocking in and out of that heat.
Potters tears always became bloodstones whenever they hit the ground. Red and green.
Tiny little bloodstone tears that fell to the ground as he hung there, suspended from the ceiling, the perfect image
of innocence defiled. Blood falling from the tiny cuts that he’d been given, that he’d begged for, when passion
over took sense.
They say that when Jesus bled on the cross the red droplets hit the ground and became stones.
Sometimes he wonders if it’s Potter who will purify wizarding blood by destroying all those loyal to the shadows,
but then as he looks into the boy’s eyes as he dreams he knows it’s otherwise. Can see the darkness swirling behind
jade orbs as he fucks the tiny little cherub into the mattress, wall, floor, mirror, bathroom tub. . . whatevers available.
Can see it as the boy sits atop him grinning wickedly and grinding their hips and cocks together, driving him into an
impossible fever of passion.
“Tom. . . my Tom. . .”
Spine arching and head thrown back in ecstasy as the dull slap of Potters cock smacking against his stomach
echoes through out the room. The siren was bouncing up and down on his dick with the enthusiasm of a kid
with a new toy.
“Impudent brat. . . oh god, faster. . .”
“Say it.”
“Fuck no. . .”
Hands reaching up to scrape down a hard chest, drawing blood.
“Say it or I’ll stop. . .”
The slut teased him.
“ . . . never. . .”
Cherry lips gliding across the shell of his ear, whispering naughty words.
“Say it and I’ll make you cum so hard and long you go cross eyed.”
His eyes rolled at the thought while his will buckles under the pressure of the boy’s demand.
All he can do is let out a sob in response. Then Potter rises of his dick completely and hangs above him, motionless.
“Please say it . . .Master.”
It’s that last part that does him in.
“Yours!”
Then he’s screaming as he’s back inside that warmth, being squeezed soo tight and a hand reaches down to
finger his balls and tease his arse. He barely had to touch himself after waking up, cuming so hard he blacks out.
It took him five months to figure out that Potter had learned how to invade his dreams at will.
That they where sharing dreams. That Potter wanted him as much as he wanted Potter.
That fact alone was enough to give him a case of blue balls for the next solid week.
It took him another three months to accept it.
After that it only took a hasty sleeping potion to offer the boy an escape from Professor Dumbasadoor and the
Order of the Overcooked Turkey.
This time the bed’s sheets where black velvet and he was on top.
His voice came out husky as he leisurely rocked in and out of Potter, his hips barely moving as he kept brushing against
the other’s prostate.
“Join me?”
Potter, who had previously been lost in an ocean of ecstasy, stopped mid moan.
A look of incredulity spread across his face to be quickly replaced by a smirk.
“Now why would I want to do that?” He asked in a patronizing, humor the little kid voice.
“You’re my sworn enemy after all, The Big Bad Darrd, rd, the one I’m destined to defeat.
You do remember all that, yes?”
As he spoke his hands made their way leisurely up and down the other’s backside and one of his feet caressed a calf.
The possibility that Potter would say no had never even crossed his mind before that second.
Pulling out to his tip he slammed back in hard and watched as jade eyes rolled backwards with pleasure.
“You enjoy this? You want this? Think about it Harry, us forever like this. Rulers of the entire Earth,
gods among angels and men, anything and everything you could ever desire at your fingertips.”
Laughing flippantly Harry wrapped his arms around Tom’s neck and pulled him down chest to chest so that his lips where caressing a perfect shell shaped ear.
“And what if the only thing in this world I want is you dead and your slaves rotting in Azkaban? Will you give me that?”
Could you give back the lives of the hundreds of innocent people who’ve died during your Reign of Terror? My parents? Sirius? Cedric?Could you give me them? The sixteen years of childhood and innocents you stole from me? Can you take away all the grief and all the heartbreak you’ve caused?” Here he laughed again, more sinisterly.
“No, I don’t think you can. You may Lord over Death, Tom, but it is life that keeps the world going ‘round. It is life and the will to survive no matter what that keeps people going. For you my Tom are many things but living is not one of them and since you are not alive how can you expect to keep an entire world so?”
“But I am alive, feel my heart beat? Feel my lungs draw breath? I live, you are no necrophiliac.”
Pushing up on shoulders tell red eyes met green Harry stared for a few seconds.
“Mayhap your body lives but you died inside years ago. Now? Now you are nothing tha than a hollow vessel, empty except for the dark energies you channel and ghosts of memories. Why do you think your Eaters of Death are not the proud warriors they once where? You are weak and they sense that. A good leader use’s his life energy to sustain his men and you have none to give them. So you see, you have already lost and this war is nothing more than a desperate, childish tantrum of denial against the inevitable.”
Then Harry reached out with his magic and ripped the dreamscape to shreds, bloodstones spilling like a wave over them as they disappeared. And as Voldemort woke up he heard a sound that, maybe, might have been his heartbreaking.
If he’d still been human enough to have one.
*Fin*