Burning Bridges
Burning Bridges
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12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt;font-family:\"Times New Roman\";color:black\'>Title:
Burning Bridges
12.0pt;font-family:\"Times New Roman\"\'>Rating: NC-17
12.0pt;font-family:\"Times New Roman\"\'>Pairing: HP/LV
12.0pt;font-family:\"Times New Roman\"\'>Summary: Hunted by both the light and the
dark, Harry spends his
12.0pt;font-family:\"Times New Roman\"\'>last night of life in the embrace of his
personal prisoner of war,
12.0pt;font-family:\"Times New Roman\"\'>his captive...Lord Voldemort.
Featuring UKE!
12.0pt;font-family:\"Times New Roman\"\'>VOLDEMORT!!!! ::laughing::
12.0pt;font-family:\"Times New Roman\"\'>WARNING: Semi-rape
12.0pt;font-family:\"Times New Roman\"\'>Disclaimer: They don\'t belong to me.
12.0pt;font-family:\"Times New Roman\"\'>Author\'s note: This monster spawned from
a drabble challenge gone
12.0pt;font-family:\"Times New Roman\"\'>horribly wrong. I twisted the "My
candle burns at both ends, it will
12.0pt;font-family:\"Times New Roman\"\'>not last the night. But ah, my foes and
oh, my friends, It gives a
12.0pt;font-family:\"Times New Roman\"\'>lovely light" challenge into my own
short story. Heh, enjoy.
Burning Bridges
As a child, he had
wanted to be an auror more than anything, and he was.
He had advanced through the ranks rapidly and found himself wanting more than
anything to end Voldemort’s reign personally, and he
did. Voldemort had been captured, taken to his
private residence as a morbid keepsake, a reminder of why those closest to him
had died. Months passed, months of a steadily declining career, hollow threats,
and mindless semantic arguments. In a day, all of that changed.
Harry Potter laughed hollowly and sat on the corner of his
bed, elbows propped heavily upon his leather-clad knees. Soil and dried blood
caked the thick leather armor spanning his lean torso. It had been a hard
fought battle on his part, quashing the Death Eater rebellion, but the Death
Eaters were not the only forces out for his blood. He had apperated
to his private residence moments before he would have been felled.
Voldemort glanced up from his
seated position at the floor of Harry’s foot board and sighed irritably. “I see
you live another day, boy,” he stated emotionlessly, closing a small notebook
he had been reading to pass the time. Potter shot him a lopsided grin and
patted the bed next to him. “Sit.” Voldemort
his lips and sat where he was bidden.
As soon as the ex-Dark Lord was situated on the edge of the
bed, fists firmly clenched in his robes, Harry rose to his feet and loomed over
him.
He pressed the older man down slowly so as not to appear
threatening, and leaned down to whisper softly into his ear. “My candle burns
at both ends,” he stated cryptically, his voice heavy. The warm waft of Harry’s
breath teased the delicate scales of the Dark Lord’s neck, his posture
stiffening abruptly at such intimate contact. “What are you speaking of, you
infernal child?” he growled.
He made to stand, but Harry stepped forward, between his
robed legs, so that any move on Voldemort’s part
would bring him flush against the boy’s chest. The man sat back down heavily,
eyes narrowing.
“Potter...” he hissed in warning. Harry simply smiled
mirthlessly and shoved him down brusquely upon the black silk sheets, then
proceeding to crawl over his struggling form and lock the Dark Lord’s wrists
above his head. “As I said, my little lordling, my
candle burns at both ends,” Potter stated, his brilliantly green eyes dulling,
reflecting the horrors of his lost childhood, “it—I will not last the night.”
Voldemort struggled with all the
strength left to him, setting off on a violent string of curses in German,
English, and parseltongue, and wrenching his head
from side to side. Harry waited out his violent fit patiently and, when the man
had calmed sufficiently, released his wrists and pulled him into a sitting
position. The luminous oculus above the bed drew in the last dying embers of
the sun’s rays and bathed the drama’s participants in insubstantial opals of
fire. Voldemort’s breathing came in fast, clipped
stutters, a faint patina of perspiration crowning the delicate scales of his
forehead and slightly sunken temples.
Straddling the man’s thighs, Harry straightened and rubbed
his own temples. “I have burned my bridges Voldemort.
There is a contingent of aurors searching for me as
we speak, an army of Death Eaters patiently biding their time until they have
my head served on a platter,” he sneered derisively, and unconsciously ghosted
his gloved hands down across the serpentine man’s sides.
The Dark Lord laughed hollowly, “Are you looking for
sympathy? It’s nothing less than you deserve, boy.”
“No, I suppose not...I should had have known that I would be
considered a potential threat after I defeated you.”
At this, Voldemort appeared
somewhat interested; the wounds on his arms, the spell residue on his armor had
been caused by his own people? Interesting indeed.
Harry leaned back slightly and unclasped the cumbersome chest armor and wand
sheath; he retained his wand. “It all comes back to you, you damned snake,” he
ground out, pressing the tip of his wand painfully into the translucent scales
of the Dark Lord’s throat.
“I am hardly responsible for your failures,
with Harry’s proximity. “Partially correct, and if my candle will not last the
night, then ah, my foes and oh, my friends it will give a lovely light. And
you, my dear Dark Lord,” he sneered malevolently, “will make certain of that.”
roughly brought their lips together, eliminating all space between them. The
older man wrenched his head back and sputtered incredulously. “What do you
think you’re...” Pointing his wand threateningly
between his eyes, Harry effectively silenced him. “Do as I wish,
rash behavior when under pressure. You have tasted my power before; do you want
to be punished again?”
The body against him shuddered imperceptively
and Harry found long fingers running up his sides and leaving angry red tracks
beneath his shirt. He inhaled sharply as the Dark Lord brusquely, painfully,
tweaked his nipples into pertness between his unforgiving claws. The
intentionally rough touches were welcomed, but a bit too controlling for
Potter’s liking.
The young man grasped Voldemort’s
thighs and pulled them, one on each side of his slender hips.
sea of black silk sheets. Harry grinned mischievously down at the man’s pallid,
and quite nude, body, wand in hand. Silver scars embraced the left side of his
chest, a magical memento from his capture. Shrugging the thick
his wand down Voldemort’s chest as he began to
struggle once more. “It will be over quickly enough. The less you struggle, the
more merciful I will be,” Harry stated nonchalantly. Glaring,
with already, Potter.”
The young man reached down and grasped the Dark Lord
roughly. Calluses covered the pads of Harry’s palm and fingertips, adding a
greater degree of fricative pleasure as he slowly stroked the man to agonizing
hardness.
The Dark Lord moaned unintelligibly in response and bucked
continually into Harry’s unforgiving grip, reluctantly loving every moment of
human contact and reveling in the other’s power. Potter whispered a lubrication
spell and softly stretched Voldemort with his
fingers. The knuckle of his first finger met resistance, but as he stroked his
captive’s straining arousal, the man relaxed into him, hissing encouragements
in parsletongue and hating his lack of control. Three
fingers later, Harry, satisfied with the state of his partner, whispered yet
another lubrication spell and gently entered Voldemort
without preamble.
The amazing sense of being filled with corporeal fire set
every nerve in his body aflame, sending the Dark Lord arching into the air.
Potter reverently ran his hands over the flat plane of his captive’s stomach
and to the small of his back in an effort to support the man beneath him,
glittering scales seemingly creating a light of their own. He placed a gentle
kiss to the base of Voldemort’s exposed neck.
In response, the Dark Lord wrapped his long legs around the
young man’s hips and moaned gutturally, ignorant of pride. No other
encouragement was needed as his nemesis pulled mostly out and sheathed himself
roughly, picking up a much more rapid pace.
Never before had Voldemort
realized the true extent to which he could be controlled, a previously
inconceivable notion in his mind. It was only as he bucked eagerly beneath the
young man in rapid, piston-like thrusts, as he insistently pulled his captor
deeper into his body, that he knew what it was to be hopelessly lost in
another. Harry pounded into the Dark Lord with wanton abandon, clutching the
translucent scales of the man’s hips in his vice grip as he pressed himself in
to the hilt.
With a strangled cry of intermingled pain and pleasure,
With two more fervent thrusts, Potter came as well, eyes staring at the night sky unseeing, and mouth open in a silent scream. He pulled out gently and
lethargically collapsed at his partner’s side. It wasn’t long until the haze
that obscured Voldemort’s vision receded, leaving him
breathless in Harry’s loose embrace. “Thank you, Voldemort,
thank you for this last gift. In return, I have a gift for you as well,” he
stated clearly.
<
The addressed awkwardly shifted onto his elbows. “There is
nothing you could ever possibly give me, Potter, that would change my hatred
for you,” he responded emotionlessly, crimson eyes narrowing. Harry softly
traced the line of motion sensing pits along his jaw line with one hand, and
pressed a long cylindrical object into Voldemort’s
claws with the other. Placing a chaste kiss on the older man’s pallid lips, he
said “I think this will suffice.”
The Dark Lord smiled mirthlessly and pressed himself further
into the young-man’s warm embrace.
“I’ve always hated you,” he whispered, adjusting the angle
of his wrist.
“al\'>Avada