The nights, Harry decided, were the worst. Not because she couldn't sleep, but because she slept entirely too well. Voldemort insisted that they all stay together in the same bed, though at least neither he nor Tom snoozed in the nude. Unfortunately, neither Dark Lordian wore a shirt, and all Voldemort gave Harry to wear was a tiny silk nightgown.
But that wasn't the bad part. The bad part was how much Harry enjoyed it. Tom was so warm, like a space heater, and Voldemort ran at least five degrees colder than anyone she had ever met. She slept squashed between the both up them, back flush against Voldemort's cool chest with Tom's hot bare skin against her front. The contrast between warm and cold mixed with the false sense of bone deep sense of rightness lured her to sleep faster than any potion ever had.
And then came the fact that, apparently, Tom Riddle and Lord Voldemort were both perfectly, er, healthy red blooded males. And. And the first time Harry woke up to one erection pressed into her bottom and another against her stomach, she had a panic attack. A panic attack that did not, in fact, distract her from her own arousal. Actually the panic attack was because her first thought was a traitorous 'if it feels this good for them to touch me, how good would it feel to have them inside me?'
Those were exactly the thoughts one was not supposed to have about the Dark Lord who killed her parents and his younger self who almost killed one of her best friends.
Even if they were both insanely sexy.
And yeah, Harry knew they were sexy, okay?! Tom was—was lean, with the kind of muscle that was just present enough to be noticed and soft, classically handsome, youthful features. Voldemort was...fuller, with the kind of physique teenage girls were supposed to drool over, a sharply angled face, and thick shoulder-length hair she kind of really wanted to sink her hands into.
That night, Harry dreamed of cold hands slipping up under her nightdress and roughly squeezing her breasts, of warm hands gently guiding her legs apart. She woke up with two names fighting for dominance on her lips, just in time to catch Tom taking care of the evidence of his own dreams. She laid there, frozen and unable to look away as he pumped his hand almost desperately along the length of his penis, breathing coming in silent gasps that sounded an awful lot like her name. He finished, coming apart with his hips bucking the air, eyes squeezed shut and lips parted helplessly.
Harry...Harry had never wanted to touch herself so badly in her life. Tom covered himself again and Harry quickly feigned sleep, watching through her eyelashes until Tom drifted off once more.
A quick glance at Voldemort showed him dozing peacefully, so Harry sucked in a quiet breath and slid her hand down, down, down. She reached the hem of her panties and hesitated before taking the plunge. She rubbed her fingers across the spot that made her hips buck, biting her inner cheek with pleasure. She rubbed harder and faster, body going stiff as she reached a climax shocking quickly. She came, arching her spine, head pressed back into her pillow.
(Harry closed her eyes, body trembling with aftershocks, and completely missed the fact that Voldemort was entirely too still and Tom had stopped breathing.)
She woke up not much later to two parts of the same soul facing off above her. Voldemort was smirking and Tom had a pink flush across his cheeks, on his ears, crawling up his neck.
"Wha—" she began.
"Harry, pet, how would you like to have sex with Tom?"
She froze. Utterly.
"Ignore him," Tom spat, the flush deepening. "Harry—"
"Harry saw you masturbating last night, Tom," Voldemort said casually. "And Harry, he watched you touch yourself right after."
Harry felt her own face burn as she unwillingly met Tom's eyes. He looked humiliated, furious, and Harry felt a surge of hatred directed at Voldemort, stronger than it had been for months.
"How dare you," she choked out, then stopped, unable to find words strong enough
"But while we're confessing," Voldemort continued blithely, "I've wanted to fuck the both of you until you scream my name for weeks now."
She froze again, eyes darting wildly between Tom, who looked how she felt, and Voldemort, who looked smug.
"And that," Voldemort said, "is what we are going to do."
"No," Harry and Tom said simultaneously.
"Yes," Voldemort purred. He surged onto his knees, unreasonably huge, and loomed over the both of them. His erection, Harry immediately noticed, was straining against the soft silk of his sleep pants.
"This has got to be considered incest," Tom sneered. His feigned contempt didn't disguise the way his adam's apple bobbed when he saw Voldemort.
"I have done worse," Voldemort said freely. Harry was still frozen, but Tom tried to slide out of bed. Voldemort struck like a snake, grasping Tom's wrists and pinning them down. Tom writhed, but Voldemort forced a knee between his thighs and ground it against him. Tom inhaled so sharply it was almost a whimper.
"Don't," he managed. Voldemort ground his knee against Tom again anyway, grinning as his younger self twitched into the contact involuntarily.
"Stop it," Harry whispered. "Voldemort, stop."
"He wants it," Voldemort dismissed. "Look at him."
"That doesn't matter," Harry said louder, regaining her voice. "He told you no."
Voldemort finally looked at her, pupils so dilated she could barely see a ring of red around them. He released Tom's wrists and the younger boy scrambled back against the headboard, panting and shaking.
"Is this you volunteering?" he asked silkily, running a finger up her leg. And fuck, Harry did not want to have sex with Voldemort...except for the part where she really, really did. Physically, she wanted nothing more, except perhaps to have sex with Tom too.
But physical desires aside, Harry wanted to say no. But if she did that, Voldemort would go after Tom again.
"Yes," she lied. Voldemort narrowed his eyes, a smirk tugging his lips upward.
"How noble," he breathed, moving towards her. Harry swallowed hard as she found herself caged in between his legs. Voldemort used one hand to trap both of hers' above her head. He ran the other up her thigh and then hip, making Harry's nightgown bunch up around her waist.
"Maybe not so noble after all," Voldemort laughed as he dragged his index finger against the wetness visible on the fabric of her panties. Harry shuddered as he touched her, heat throbbing low in her gut.
She wanted him to get it over with. Voldemort, thankfully, had never been the patient type. He began rubbing harder against her. Harry, being young and already incredibly aroused, felt herself approaching a climax after only a handful of rough passes.
Voldemort immediately stopped, resting his full weight on the hand pinning her wrists as he yanked her underwear off. Harry instinctively clamped her legs together, another flush of humiliation coming over her.
"There's no need to be embarrassed, pet," Voldemort said so gently she almost could have believed he meant it if not for the sadistic, amused glint in those crimson eyes. He removed his hand from where it was pinning her down. Harry went to cover herself but cold metal materialized around her wrists, keeping her exactly where she was.
Voldemort took a hold of her nightdress and ripped it off of her like he was tearing a tissue in half. Fully exposed in every way, Harry lay before him, feeling herself start to tremble with a mix of fear and need.
"How pathetic," Voldemort murmured as his hands wandered across her akin. "So desperate for the one who killed your family...what would they say if they could see you now? Or who knows; maybe they can. Maybe they're watching right now from the other side of the veil."
Harry felt bile crawl up the back of her throat. Voldemort's hands had found her breasts and were squeezing roughly, so hard she wanted to cry out.
"What does your godfather think? Is he turning away in disgust? And your brave, righteous father—perhaps he's horrified, disappointed. But then again, perhaps he already knew you would stoop to this. Could he tell from the moment he first held you that you were nothing more than a filthy little whore? And your mother. Dear, sweet Lily Potter—"
"Don't you say her name!" Harry snarled, yanking against her restraints. Voldemort laughed. Abruptly he leaned down and kissed her with bruising force, biting her lips so hard she tasted copper.
When Voldemort pulled back, his mouth was smeared red with blood to match his eyes and he was still laughing. He moved to pull down his pyjama bottoms and Harry averted her gaze. He grabbed her face and forced her to watch as he disrobed. His penis was huge and swollen, larger than Tom's had been.
"You're going to have to beg for it," Voldemort informed her.
"Never," she denied furiously. To her surprise, Voldemort shrugged...and twisted in place, gazing at Tom, who he had also manacled to the bed at some point, who was staring at them with a mixture of desire and shame, who trembled when Voldemort looked at him.
"Please," Harry spat. Voldemort ignored her, grabbing Tom and flipping him over on his belly. He straddled him from behind, grinding his bare penis into Tom's clothed bottom as he struggled.
"Stop it!" Harry yelled. "I did what you said! Leave him alone!"
"Oh Harry," Voldemort grunted, still humping Tom. "Haven't I told you before? You have to mean it."
"Please," she begged. "Please, leave Tom alone."
Voldemort tutted, leaning over and pressing his lips to Tom's spine. "You're begging for the wrong thing, pet. Try again."
"P-please," Harry started. "I—please fuck me."
"Like you mean it," Voldemort ordered, but he was at least looking at her now instead of Tom.
Harry closed her eyes and focused on every bit of arousal she had felt, forced to share a bed with Voldemort for so many weeks, how many times she had dreamed, guilty and horrified at her own depravity, of the thick fullness of him inside her.
"I want—I need you," she tried. "I need you to—to be inside me."
He laughed. For a second Harry though she had failed. Then Voldemort released Tom's hips, who once again scrambled as far away as he could get.
"You're adorable," he said affectionately, coming over and planting a kiss on her forehead. "Almost innocent, though we both know better than that."
Harry squeezed her eyes shut and waited for him to take her. Instead a cool finger tapped her temple. "Open them up. I want to see your pretty eyes glaze over when I fuck you into the mattress."
If Harry had though she was incapable of blushing even more, she was wrong. But she met Voldemort's intense eyes, holding his gaze as he spread her legs far apart, hiking her knees up by her ears. She had never been so exposed. She wanted to look away, to close her eyes, to pretend she was anywhere else, with anyone else.
"Eyes on me, pet," he reminded her. Something hard pressed right against her opening and Harry jolted. It pushed inside her and—and Harry was gasping for breath, trembling violently, and nothing had even happened yet.
"Hush, love," Voldemort whispered, wiping away tears she didn't realize had escaped. "You're alright. Shh."
It was the kindness that broke her. Harry sobbed freely, bawled her eyes out, and Voldemort stroked her hair so softly, like she was something precious. Then, just when Harry was starting to think the blasphemous—that Voldemort wasn't so bad—he thrust inside her so deep and roughly that Harry cried out. Blunt nails dug into her face.
"Didn't I tell you to keep your eyes on me, whore? Did I tell you that you could look away?"
Harry couldn't have spoken if she wanted to. Getting fucked for the first time, shocker of all shockers, really hurt. Voldemort slapped her, not even faltering in his deep, quick rhythm.
"Answer me when I talk to you."
"Yes, sir. No, sir," Harry managed, well conditioned by her uncle as to the response cruel men wanted. But Voldemort hit her again.
"You will refer to me as 'master' or 'my lord'. Is that clear, pet?"
"Yes m-my lord," Harry gasped. He hit her for a third time.
"I've changed my mind. You'll call me master and nothing else," Voldemort commanded.
The words burned on her tongue, but Harry got them out. "Yes, master."
Voldemort laughed breathlessly and leaned down to kiss her. "Good girl. And to think, all it took to get you in line was a cock and a few slaps."
He moved inside her especially hard and Harry keened, clutching the wooden headboard as she threw her head back, only to immediately regain eye contact. He grinned at her, fierce and bloody.
"Good girl," he repeated, touching her where she usually touched herself, cool fingers sending hot sparks of pleasure spiraling out alongside the pain. Harry whimpered when he pulled away.
"No, don't, oh Godric, please," she babbled. "Please don't go."
Red eyes darkened. Another slap in time with a sharp thrust.
"Master," Harry amended desperately. "Fuck, master, please—"
"Touch me," she begged. "Master, touch me, fuck me, please—holy fuck!"
He did as she asked, rubbing circles on that sweet spot. Harry's mouth was open, she distantly knew, and her eyes rolled back in her head. Voldemort withdrew again, slapping her right on the privates. Harry shrieked.
"Eyes on me," he said harshly. "Are you stupid, slut?"
"I'm sorry," Harry said quickly. "Master. I'm sorry master."
Voldemort grunted and continued to pound into her, though he didn't touch that sensitive spot. Harry, despite the way her body rocked with the powerful movements, kept her eyes dutifully locked on Voldemort's face. He rewarded her with a gentle circular motion right above where he was buried inside her.
Harry could have cried again—so good, so good, it felt so good. Her neck trembled with the effort of keeping her head up, but somehow Harry managed. Voldemort's regular thrusts started to stutter and jerk, his breath coming in ragged huffs. He threw his head back. Something warm poured inside her, filling Harry up to an impossible degree. Voldemort twitched inside her a handful of times and pulled out with a wet schlick.
"Such a good girl for me," he grinned. He patted her wet opening once and started to slide off the bed. But Harry was nowhere near done.
"Wait," she cried, lowering her legs until they were flat, subconsciously thrusting her pelvis towards the ceiling. "What about—"
"What about you?" Voldemort finished. He hummed thoughtfully. "Well, let's see."
He waved his hand and Tom's shackles vanished. Harry had completely forgotten he was still there, jumping in surprise. Tom stayed where he was, uncertain.
"I've put a spell on the girl," Voldemort told him. "Her arousal won't fade until she's been brought to completion by an outside source. I, unfortunately, have business to attend to."
And then he swept from the room, still as naked as the day he was born. Harry, dripping with Voldemort's cum, stared at Tom. He stared back.
Harry tried for a smile.
"It's alright," she said. "You don't have to-to—I understand."
But Tom didn't look away. He licked his lips and swallowed.
"It's alright," Harry repeated, who was trying to stop her hips from humping the air in a futile attempt to gain friction. She trembled with need and the thought of laying there until whenever Voldemort decided to come back was unbearable.
"It's not that the idea of sex that disturbs me," Tom said quietly. "Quite the opposite, in fact."
Harry was frankly too muddled to wrap her mind around whatever it was Tom was trying to say.
"Don't—don't do anything you're not comfortable with," she ordered. "Not for me."
Tom laughed, almost bitter. "Harry you just let yourself get fucked by the man who murdered your parents so that he wouldn't do it to me."
"Don't care," Harry said stubbornly, though not entirely sure what it was she was disagreeing with. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to."
"Well, what if I do want to?" Tom moved closer and Harry could suddenly see that like Voldemort before him, Tom's erection was straining against its confines. She swallowed and looked into Tom's eyes. Tom's dark, hungry, nearly predatory eyes.
"I—fuck. Then what the hell are you waiting for?!" Harry groaned, bucking her hips impatiently. Tom moved closer and silently vanished the physical evidence of Voldemort's presence.
Tom's warm fingers danced over her thighs and hips. Harry tried to grind into his hand as it passed over her, but Tom pulled away.
"Do...can you turn on your stomach?" he asked quietly.
"I can do anything you want," Harry agreed dazedly. Anything to come, to get rid of the awful, glorious throbbing ache. Shite, she really was a whore.
"Good," Tom breathed, helping her flip over. "Can you get on all fours? Yes. Just like that."
Harry was shaking again. Tom slid his fingers into her bum. Tom spread her legs out further and pressed her shoulders down so her behind was sticking in the air.
"Have you done this before?" she couldn't help but ask.
"A few times," Tom answered with the kind of confidence that meant it was really more than a few.
"I haven't," Harry confessed, breath hitching as he started making scissor motions inside her. "I have no idea what I'm doing."
"I can tell."
"That's not a bad thing," Tom assured her. "It's attractive, even."
"Virgin appeal?" Harry guessed, biting back a moan.
"It's always more fun to ruin pure things," he agreed. Then, after a while: "I think you're ready. Do you feel ready, Harry?"
"I've been ready," she breathed.
"I'm going to fuck you so hard you'll forget your own name," Tom whispered back. She felt the hot tip of him press against her bottom. That was all the warning she got. Tom was, in a physical way, just as brutal as Voldemort. But no matter how roughly he pounded into her, there was none of the emotional abuse.
Hot fingers slipped into her folds suddenly, making Harry swear. Tom rubbed her sensitive spot firmly but gently, at complete odds with the way his thrusts grew more and more violent.
"Oh fuck," Harry gasped, rocking back and forth to meet his hands even as the pain in her arse increased. It hurt but was more than offset by the way Tom continued to rub her. Pressure built up and Harry stopped breathing, couldn't move, could do nothing but tremble as Tom touched her, fucked her, whispered dirty things in her ear.
His fingers pressed down and Tom slammed into her so hard Harry screamed. Her vision went white as pleasure wracked her body. The next thing she knew, the manacles were gone and she was laying on her stomach, just trying to breathe.
"She's had enough," Tom was saying.
"Oh, it's not little Harry I'm concerned about," came Voldemort's reply. Harry managed to turn her head to look. Tom was still kneeling on the bed, facing off against Voldemort. "It's you, boy."
"What about me?" Tom scoffed.
Voldemort reached out and stroked Tom's cheek. "Dear child, you're as hard as a rock! I could take care of that for you."
"Or you could fuck off and I could take care of myself," Tom snapped, shoving Voldemort's hand away. Voldemort backhanded him and Harry winced. She knew how that felt.
"I think you'll let me help you," Voldemort said, casually dangerous, "or I'll hold you down and fuck you until you bleed. That's not what you want, now is it, Tom?"
"Why can't you just leave me alone?" Tom hissed.
"Because I don't want to. Now, make a choice."
Tom made an aborted movement, as if he wanted to leave, but knew better than that.
Voldemort laughed. "Boy, you know better than that. Beg for me to touch you."
Tom's teeth gritted audibly and there was a vein pulsing in his forehead. He looked ready to kill; unfortunately Dark Lords weren't exactly easy targets. Harry tried to intervene, but something was holding her down, keeping her mouth shut. Probably Voldemort's magic.
For a second Harry though he would snap and try to hit Voldemort, but Tom looked down and closed his eyes.
"Please," he said, simple and quiet. Apparently that was good enough for Voldemort. He leaned over the frozen Harry and swiped his hand through the mess between her thighs, then wrapped it around Tom's length. Tom's hips twitched. Voldemort leaned forward and kissed him full on the mouth, languidly pumping up and down. His other hand started to toy with Tom's balls.
"Fuck," Tom whispered. "F-fuck."
He didn't seem to realize that he had half collapsed forward against Voldemort's chest, clutching him by the shoulders. His eyes were squeezed shut, Tom's forehead pressed into the crook of his neck.
"Such a good boy," Voldemort crooned wickedly, "letting me do this for you. You like it, don't you, boy?"
He squeezed the base of Tom's cock and smirked as his younger self gasped.
"You're such a dirty whore, Tom. Pretending like you don't want me inside you. You want nothing more! You want me even more than you want our Harry and that scares you, doesn't it?"
"Fuck off—ah!" The noise ripped from Tom's throat was halfway between a growl and a whine. Then Voldemort pulled away. Tom seemed to realize he was half leaning on the man and tried to do the same, but Voldemort held him by the shoulders, fingers digging into muscle.
"I'm going to fuck you," Voldemort rumbled in his ear, "and you're going to thank me for it."
No, Harry tried to say. Stop. I did what you asked, leave him alone! But Voldemort would never listen to her. Was never going to leave him alone no matter what Harry did. Red eyes full of sadistic delight flickered in her direction, confirming her thoughts.
"Like hell," Tom managed. Voldemort wrenched him around and shoved him forward. He caught himself on hands and knees just inches away from Harry. Voldemort knelt behind him, lining up his cock and slamming in. The whole bed shook. Silent tears ran down Harry's face as Tom's contorted in pain.
"St-stop, please, stop it—Salazar, please stop," Tom begged, reduced to clutching the sheets for dear life.
"No," said Voldemort coldly. "Say thank you, boy, and I'll make it feel good."
"Then you'll just have to suffer."
Voldemort thrust so hard that Tom's arms gave out and his face pressed into the mattress. Voldemort only clutched his hips harder. He came a second time, movements stuttering as Tom made noises that couldn't be sobs, because he was Tom Riddle, and Tom Riddle didn't cry. Voldemort pulled out, penis dripping with cum.
"Now, pet, you can return the favor. Tom's in the same situation you were. Make him feel good, won't you?"
But unlike last time, Voldemort didn't leave. He sat in a conjured armchair as Harry was released. Watching.
Harry did her best to ignore him. She pulled herself up and moved closer to Tom, who had sat back on his knees with his face hidden in his hands. He was shaking, though Harry couldn't tell whether it was rage, humiliation or desire. Probably all three.
"Do...do you want me to?" Harry asked quietly. Tom dropped his hands and looked at her.
"It's not like either of us have a choice," he said.
"There's always a choice," Harry insisted, but it sounded weak to her own ears. The look on Tom's face told her what he thought of that.
"Just do it," he commanded. That tone made Harry want to do the opposite in sheer principle. But when Tom stretched out, exposing himself, still throbbing and needy, she carefully reached out and touched him. The skin was surprisingly smooth under her palm.
"Lubricant," Tom reminded her.
"Oh," Harry said, flushing. "Er, right."
What should she use? Certainly not her own mess like Voldemort had. Tom took pity on her.
"Spit in your hand," he instructed. Harry did. "Now go ahead."
Harry tried, grasping the long shaft of flesh and carefully. "You can do it harder than that," Tom said, seeming almost amused despite everything. She supposed it was his way of coping. She tightened her hold and moved her hand up and down. It felt awkward to her but the way Tom reacted told her she was doing something right.
"Speed up," he said hoarsely. Harry did, her rhythm a little stilted. She stared down at the cock in her hand with concentration and startled when Tom's warm fingers lifted her chin. The next thing she knew, Tom was pulling her down into a kiss. His tongue swept across her lips. He tasted almost sweet.
"Keep going," Voldemort said.
Harry hadn't even realized she'd stopped. She kept on as Tom kissed her, slowly at first, but then with increasing insistence. He sucked her bottom lip into his mouth and Harry moaned aloud, heat rushing back into her gut. Her free hand was buried in Tom's lazy half-curls and Harry tugged experimentally. Tom broke off the kiss with a gutteral noise. Harry startled, her rhythm faltering.
"Don't you dare stop," Tom growled. He sank both his hands into her unbound hair, gripping so tightly it hurt, forcing her to meet his gaze head on. Harry's swallowed and continued, hand pumping him harder and faster as he rocked into her palm. His pupils were blown so wide they might as well have swallowed his irises. Then, finally, his cock jumped and Tom's eyes rolled back in his head, mouth falling open. Warm semen spurted all over her hand, across his stomach and legs.
"Harry," he gasped, so quiet it might as well not have been there.
"Tom," she said, unable to stop herself. "Tom."
He drew her into another searing kiss. They both jumped when Voldemort settled onto the bed behind them. His crimson eyes burned in the semi-darkness of the room.
"You are both mine," he said.
And Harry...for the first time, after everything that had just happened, couldn't refute him. She looked at Tom and saw the truth reflected there in his dark eyes.
"We are," she said, the idea of it sending a pang of equal parts horror and rightness down her spine. "We're yours."