It had been a week of solid arguments, sulking, tantrums, wheedling and even refusing sex, but Harry didn't seem to be able to get through to him.
"But I'm supposed to fight him!" Harry pleaded, for maybe the thousandth time. "How can my own boyfriend support the man who I'm literally prophesised to fight against?"
"You've not met him except when you're fighting him." Draco said, reasonably. "At least I'd met both him and Dumbledore before I committed to who I'm siding with. And prophecy is a load of garbage anyway."
Harry slumped back onto the side of the bed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and finger like he had a persistent headache, and squeezed his eyes shut. He felt the bed he was seated upon drop slightly, as Draco slipped in besides him, wrapping his arms around Harry from the side.
Harry leaned into his boyfriend, sighing, and opened his eyes. Draco was shirtless, and when he looked down at the arms encircling him, he was confronted yet again with the new tattoo on his boyfriend's arm. In fairness, his boyfriend had made no effort to hide it from him - he couldn't fault his honesty. Harry took the arm in his hands and traced over the mark with his thumbs. Somehow he thought it would feel different, but the skin on that wrist felt exactly the same as before.
Draco hissed. Harry looked up and stopped his idle exploration of his boyfriend's tattoo. "Does it hurt?" he asked, concern in his voice.
"Not really, it's just a little sensitive."
"Do you think he can tell when someone touches it? Aren't the marks supposed to link back to him?"
"I don't really know. He doesn't really tell anyone how they work."
Harry just hummed in response, and brought the wrist to his mouth. Gently blowing on the Mark, he smirked at the way his boyfriend visibly shivered, with goose-pimples making the fair downy hair on his boyfriend's arm. He feathered a gentle kiss on the mark, so softly it was almost not there.
Harry pushed his boyfriend back onto the bed. "Let's find out, shall we?" Harry raised an eyebrow, before tracing the length of the Mark with his tongue. His boyfriend's back arched up.
"Jesus fuck Harry!" Draco moaned. Harry loved how his silver-tongued Slytherin boyfriend absolutely lost all of his cool when he got turned on.
Harry traced down the line of his boyfriend's perfectly defined stomach until he reached his crotch, gently running his fingertips over the twitching bulge still trapped in his tailored black trousers. He unsnapped the fastening, and reached inside and pulled out the rock hard dick that Harry loved so much - a good three inches longer than Harry's own much smaller endowment, currently trapped and twitching in Harry's jeans.
Usually at this point, Harry would take his boyfriend's cock into his mouth and suck him in just that way they both liked, until Draco grabbed him by the hair, jammed it down his throat and made him swallow his load. This time, however, Harry was more interested in seeing what reactions he could get by using his tongue elsewhere - and continued gently tracing the lines of his Mark with the very tip of it.
From the almost purring noise that Draco made while Harry brought him to the edge with his left hand, his tongue still lavishing attention on left wrist, he suspected that the oversensitivity of his new tattoo wasn't entirely a bad thing.
A short while later, Draco was slowly coming down from the blissful relaxation that accompanied a good orgasm - all traces had been licked off his stomach and Harry's hand by the Boy-Who-Lived, who was now curled up into his side, still fully dressed.
The Slytherin sleepily turned to his Gryffindor boyfriend, and asked "You want me to... you know?"
Harry shook his head and blushed, like the bashful little lion that he was. Draco knew what that meant - that the boy had orgasmed in his underpants while he brought Draco off. As embarrassing as it was, it was a pretty common occurrence for Harry. He seemed to enjoy being on his knees. Sometimes he wanted to cum three or four times in a night, other times he was happy with just one. Tonight was the latter, it seemed.
Draco chuckled to himself, and pulling his boyfriend in tighter to his side, they both drifted off to sleep.
The next morning, during breakfast, a jet-black owl landed on the Slytherin table, where Harry was currently seated alongside his boyfriend. When he'd first started alternating between tables after he'd begun dating Draco in his third year, there'd been a fuss, but by now the sight of house members sharing each other's tables had become considerably more commonplace.
The bird offered a leg, which had a small scroll attached to it. Harry unfurled the letter, and offering the bird a piece of bacon, which it accepted before disappearing along with the other post owls.
When we last spoke, Draco Malfoy told me that you have been left tragically underinformed in regard to our cause and our aims.
We shall converse in person. Draco has been kind enough to allow me access to one of his family properties, which I believe would serve as an excellent meeting point. I will await you this Friday evening, from 6pm. This letter has been enchanted as a portkey, and will activate ten minutes prior to the meeting time.
I can assure you of your safety - no Death Eaters will be in attendance, save for your partner, and I harbour no ill will towards you. I ask that you do not bring anyone else, as I will not offer them the same guarantee of safety. Likewise, I would prefer that you do not speak of this to anyone outside of Draco.
I swear on my magic that regardless of the outcome of this conversation, you will be allowed to leave at any time, and no harm will come to you or Draco during our meeting - for as long as you extend the same courtesy to myself.
PS: I rather enjoyed your reaction to my Mark.'
And that was how, at 5:57pm on Friday, Harry was sat next to a huge marble fireplace, in a grand meeting room in a less-well-known Malfoy house - his boyfriend's family owned a lot more than just their Manor, as it turned out - sharing a velvet loveseat with his death eater boyfriend, and awaiting the arrival of the Dark Lord himself.
"Harry. What a pleasure it is to finally make your acquaintance properly, at last."
The door had gently clicked open, on the stroke of 6pm, and whatever he'd expected to come through it, this... was not it. The last time he'd seen Voldemort, he'd been a hairless, pale, featureless, scaly creature. Not to mention that he was in his seventies by now. The man in front of him, however, looked less like a snake and more like some sort of twenty-five-year-old Italian fashion model - exquisitely defined cheekbones dusted with a light and fashionable stubble, perfectly-styled jet-black hair, lithe muscle on his arms as shown by how he'd rolled up the sleeves on his tailored formal shirt. If it wasn't for the crimson eyes, Harry would have had no idea that he was speaking to the Dark Lord.
Well, that, and the fact he'd greeted Harry in Parseltongue, of course.
The man had swept into the room just a minute before, and honestly Harry was gaping like a fish. Draco had gracefully slid from the sofa and dropped to one knee, inclining his head in supplication.
"Draco, you may be seated." Voldemort continued in English. "Harry, there's no need to look so shocked."
Harry regained his voice. "You look... different."
Voldemort chuckled. "What use is there in being the most powerful wizard of all time, if you can't even correct a couple of aesthetic complaints? Besides, I rather like having a nose again." He turned his head to the side, showing it in profile. God, even that was perfect. Like something from a Greek statue.
Also, Harry had also remembered the man's voice to be cold, and callous. But this wasn't cold, it was cool, like a gentle breeze on a summer's day. It was beautiful.
Voldemort stepped inside the room properly, and glided gracefully over where Harry was now standing, offering his hand to shake. As Harry took it, he got a gentle scent of a very alluring aftershave, and suddenly wished he'd brushed his hair some more. The man had a firm handshake, and Harry almost thought he was meeting some sort of (wildly attractive) business acquaintance, rather than Voldemort himself.
"Please, take a seat." Voldemort said, while taking a seat on a wingback chair facing the two teenagers. He gestured, and a bottle of extremely expensive looking firewhiskey and three crystal glasses appeared on the small table between them. "I'm afraid we'll have to serve ourselves - if house-elves even smell this stuff, they have an unfortunate habit of getting alcohol poisoning. Draco, would you mind doing the honours?"
As Draco poured out three glasses of golden liquid into the glasses, Harry looked at the man sitting opposite. Voldemort was absolutely nothing like he expected, or like he remembered from their brief meetings in the past few years. Draco had assured him that the man was indeed completely sane, and actually resembled the Voldemort from before the first Wizarding war - some of his father's and grandfather's memories had been shown to Draco in a pensieve when he was younger.
The firewhiskey took some getting used to; Harry's first mouthful had caused him to go bright red and steam to come out of his nose, much to Draco and Voldemort's amusement. Draco persuaded him to gently sip it, instead, and he found himself getting far more comfortable with it.
As they slowly made their way through the alcohol, the young Gryffindor found Voldemort to be a far more affable man than he'd ever expected, and far more open with his views about politics, the power of dark magic and its uses, and his own history than he ever would have believed. He gently corrected some of the misapprehensions that Harry had been given throughout his time in the wizarding world, by Hagrid, Dumbledore, the Weasleys and others. Harry flushed when, a few hours into the meeting, he was thoroughly enjoying the man's company. He was witty, he was intelligent and refined, he argued his points with logic and reason, and Harry had learned more than he'd learned about the Wizarding World in the five years since he'd first encountered it.
Draco had just made some jocular remark about their school days together so far, and how they became boyfriends instead of enemies a few years ago. All three of them had chuckled, and settled into a companionable silence. Suddenly, the Dark Lord replaced his empty glass on the table, and reached a hand out, gently running it down the side of Harry's face. He looked into Harry's eyes, and spoke.
"Do you know just how beautiful you are?"
Harry started, and looked towards Draco in shock, who met his eyes, smiling gently. "Let it happen, Harry. Don't fight it."
Heart racing, Harry turned slowly back to the Dark Lord, not finding a hint of mockery there. The man leaned over the table, gently taking the back of Harry's head into his left hand, and kissed him.
Harry's eyelids fluttered shut, as the Dark Lord deepened the kiss, setting sparks off down his spine and making Harry feel like he was boneless. And then Voldemort wrapped his arms around him, and with just the gentlest hint of a gust of air, they were moving.
The Dark Lord broke the kiss, and Harry opened his eyes to realise they were in a different room entirely. This was clearly a bedroom - Harry blushed to the tips of his hair when he realised why.
Harry belated realised that Draco had come along for the ride, but was just standing to the side of the bed, watching and gently smiling. Voldemort pushed Harry down to the huge soft bed, and gently ran a finger down the outside of the boy's shirt - the buttons popped open of their own accord, revealing his smooth torso and defined stomach.
The man kissed along the teen's neck, wandlessly and wordlessly banishing the shirt so Harry was now topless.
"What a wondrous creature you are. Beautiful." Voldemort breathed in his ear. Harry sighed blissfully, acceding to the man's demands upon him. He continued to kiss down the boy's throat, past his nipples and down to the point where his trousers were fastened. With merely a flick of the Dark Lord's eyebrow, Harry's belt pulled itself free and the trousers unfastened, revealing the small but hard bulge inside his black silk briefs - a gift from Draco, Harry finally realised why his boyfriend had insisted on him wearing those today.
Voldemort gently ran his fingers over Harry's twitching, silk-covered organ, before allowing his magic to pull Harry's trousers down and off - he realised that his socks and shoes had also disappeared at some point, Harry had lost track by this point - and now he was just in his briefs.
The boy lifted his head up from the bed, looking down his body at the gorgeous man currently kneeling between his legs. His almost absolute nudity contrasted with the still fully clothed Voldemort, who was staring at Harry with unconcealed desire. The man hooked his fingers into the silken briefs, and slowly dragged them down Harry's body, revealing his small, twitching penis.
Harry blushed - the size of his penis was always an awkward point - but Voldemort didn't give any sign that he was displeased, in fact just breathing the word "Perfect..." before descending on it with his - as it turned out, extremely skilled - mouth.
The man was an expert - Draco was good, but Voldemort had decades of experience and patience far beyond that of a teenage boy, and he brought Harry to the brink more than once, leaving his eyes rolled into the back of his head, and his hands fisted into the duvet in desperate frustration.
Finally, the hair trigger of the teenage boy on the bed could take no more, and with only a desperate whine as warning for the man currently with his mouth between Harry's legs, the boy arched off the bed and fired probably the hardest orgasm of his life into the man's mouth.
Voldemort, like an expert, didn't react and continued to nurse Harry's dick through the mind-shattering orgasm, gently suckling at it until the flow of Harry's orgasm had finally ended. He pulled off, swallowed, and looked up at Draco.
"I wonder, Draco... how many times do you think I could make him do that tonight?"
"I assure you, he can go for at least three or four before he's spent, my Lord." said Draco, from the side of the room. Voldemort smiled. Harry, panting on the bed, couldn't get the breath together to respond, still trying to gather his wits together to even understand English again.
"I am eager to test that, my beloved subject."
Turning his attention back to the prone boy beneath him, Voldemort moved as if he was going to suck the boy's cock once again, but instead, after ghosting kisses on the tip of the still hard organ - to be a teen again - he moved lower and lower and -
"Holy FUCK!" yelled Harry, as he felt the Dark Lord's tongue breach his entrance. He reflexively moved as if to sit up, but Draco was by his side, pinning him down to the bed. His boyfriend took Harry's ankles and lifted them higher, granting Voldemort greater access to the Gryffindor teen's backside.
Moans, pleas, and expletives fell from Harry's lips in a muddled stream, as Voldemort rimmed him into borderline insensibility - something even Draco hadn't done with him before. He tried to reach for his cock, but Draco, pulling out his wand, whispered something that sprung his hands back onto the bed above his head, leaving him completely beholden to the sensations that the Dark Lord was wringing from his taut body.
Harry felt it building - and he felt a tear come to the corner of his eye.
"Please..." Harry sobbed. "I- please..."
And then his back arched, his cock twitched, and he came, spattering his orgasm across his flat stomach. Voldemort felt the hole twitch around his tongue, and pulled out to watch as the debauched Gryffindor teen's cock shot once, twice, thrice, four times across his body.
"Delightful." The Dark Lord whispered, standing up and running a finger through the boy's essence. He ran it up to Harry's lips, and the boy gently sucked on the man's finger, cleaning every trace of his own seed off the digit. Voldemort's eyes darkened in renewed lust.
Voldemort leaned in, and licked up the side of the boy's neck, making him shiver. "I'm going to fuck you now." He whispered into Harry's ear, and Harry couldn't bring himself to argue. "Would you like that?"
Harry sighed deeply and happily. "Yes... my lord..." he breathed, eyes half-lidded and filled with love and lust. Voldemort stifled his gasp at the address from this darling boy, and stepped back from the bed to disrobe. Meanwhile, Draco looked down on Harry with such love and pride in his eyes, and as Harry met those eyes, he tried to wordlessly project his gratitude at his boyfriend.
Somehow, Harry was still hard - even after the second orgasm. He couldn't however, find the energy to pull his body off the bed. His hands had released after his second orgasm, and he lazily wrapped his hand around his prick, watching as Voldemort revealed every inch of his perfect body.
When the man finally dropped his underwear, Harry was the one to gasp - it was huge, far bigger than Draco's, and a slight jolt of fear ran through him. Luckily, Draco came to the rescue, bending over the bed to meet Harry's lips in a gentle and loving kiss.
"Don't worry," He whispered into Harry's lips. "He'll use spells to make it fit. I promise he won't hurt you, trust me." Harry relaxed slightly into the kiss, as he felt a hand cover his spit-slicked entrance. Draco broke away, although he continued to hold Harry's hand in support.
A couple of whispered words later, and he could feel the sensation of being stretched out, and a slightly cold slickness betrayed the lubricant that the Dark Lord had spelled into existence. A repeat of the lubrication spell on Voldemort's prick, and suddenly the man was over him, locking eyes with him, and Harry felt a blunt, hot pressure at his hole.
For a moment, nothing happened, and then with a suddenness that took his breath away, the head of Voldemort's cock suddenly breached the entrance and stretched him beyond what he'd ever felt before.
As Draco had promised, though, he felt no pain - just fullness and pressure, which sparked into pleasure as the man's dick pressed inexorably into him, deeper and deeper by the moment.
Finally, just when Harry was starting to wonder if it was about to reach his tonsils, he felt the man's hips meet his backside, and glowed in pride for having the whole organ inside him.
Voldemort gave him a few moments to adjust, and eventually Harry opened his eyes, looking at Voldemort through a sweat-soaked fringe, and nodded. The man leaned in, left a soul-stealing kiss on his lips, and followed up with a thrust that left his eyes rolling into the back of his head.
Oh fuck. Yes. This was what Harry had waited his whole life for.
If he died right now, he wouldn't go anywhere - because this was clearly already heaven. And he thought he just might - human bodies aren't equipped to take this much pleasure.
The Dark Lord set a pulsating rhythm that would normally have been considered punishing, but instead it just set a spiral of pleasure outranking even his first two orgasms of the night, eddying down his body, through his fingertips.
He suspected that if he tried to cast a patronus now, Prongs would probably be so bright that he'd blind them. And so powerful that dementors the world over would shudder in fear.
"Fuck... oh god... Please take me... My Lord... " Harry moaned, in desperation. Draco squeezed his hand, Harry's other hand still fisted into the bedsheets, trying desperately to cling on to something.
Voldemort gasped, keeping up the battering rhythm as he fucked the boy who, before now, was considered his nemesis. "Darling... say that again..." he moaned.
"You're my lord! Please, I want to be yours!" Harry begged, half-insensible.
Voldemort leaned down and kissed Harry, furiously and desperately. Harry could feel the thrusts getting erratic, and his own third orgasm was building.
Draco leaned in and whispered into Harry's ear, still holding and squeezing his hand in support. "I'm so proud of you, Harry. I love you."
Voldemort wrapped his hand around Harry's free wrist - the left one. Finally, he pulled back from the kiss, and froze, his eyes hard shut. The boy could feel the hot, wet pulses inside him as the Dark Lord came with just a gentle exhale of breath, and just as his own pleasure crested into a tsunami, Voldemort gasped out one word.
Harry cried out as he felt the burning rip through his arm and tug at his soul. "Master..." he sobbed, as he came, harder even than the first two orgasms of earlier that evening, tears of joy springing to his eyes at having brought such pleasure to his Lord.