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Leather Overcoat

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Harry blinked. Several times. He was peripherally aware that he might be gaping openly at what he was seeing. He was directly aware that he was staring, eyes roving up and down several times, each slower than the last.

"Fuck me you're hot," he muttered to himself.

He may or may not be losing his grip on reality.

If Voldemort were surprised, he didn't show it. Honestly, Harry wouldn't have felt bad even if he *were* making him uncomfortable. Not only because Voldemort was a Dark Wizard (TM) but because anyone wearing a black suit and leather overcoat that skin-tight was asking for it .

Harry glanced up again, tracing the lines of the wizard's throat up to the sharp angle of his jaw. He swallowed thickly. From the small movements of that elegant jawline, he supposed Voldemort might be saying something, but Harry had no idea what.

He blinked a few more times, attempting to refocus on the situation at hand (rather than the -ahem- emergent situation in his trousers), and finally managed to hear properly. "...prophecy," Voldemort was saying. "Or do you want your friends to die?"

"What I want is to take that suit off you," Harry blurted out, then flushed as he processed the words coming out of his mouth.

Voldemort had his wand levelled at Harry, but faltered, narrowing his eyes. " What did you just say to me?"

"I--uh--" Harry stammered, taken aback by his missing brain-to-mouth filter. He did not recover well: "I want to take that suit off you, piece by piece," he repeated, in little more than a whisper, licking his suddenly dry lips and averting his gaze.

Oh Merlin, his face was probably as red as Ron's hair. Harry took a step back, staring at the floor. He looked up at the sound of footsteps approaching him, to see Voldemort coming much closer, wand still pointed at Harry's throat. Oh, that swagger in his step. It was making Harry weak at the knees.

"Why do you have to be so hot ," he complained under his breath. Unfortunately, the Dark Lord was close enough to hear him say it.

Harry stepped back again, only to find himself now leaning back against the wall, fenced in by an imposing figure in all black. He raised his head, swallowing nervously. His heart was pounding in his ears.

And then.

Voldemort's (otherwise terrifying) face softened into a teasing smirk. " Harry Potter ," he hissed, the switch to Parseltongue raising the hair on the back of Harry's neck, " undone by physical attraction. I wonder... " A single long finger traced down the side of his face, and Harry bit down on a gasp. " ...just how far you would go, how much you would offer, to fulfill that request of yours. "

" This is so unfair ," Harry whined in the snake tongue, " I just got over how hot you were as a sixteen-year-old, and now this ? Just...just kill me or whatever ." He closed his eyes at the feeling of Voldemort's cold hand on his cheek, thumb rubbing circles just below his eye.

The hand pressed down on his cheekbone, nail digging in. " I will investigate the meaning of that complaint...in the privacy of my quarters ," the Dark Lord murmured. " You will be joining me there, you understand. " The wand-point dragged down the center line of Harry's chest from his collarbone to his stomach, but no lower -- regardless, it prompted an involuntary moan from Harry's throat, which he immediately regretted permitting to escape his lips.

Then there was a pull, like a Portkey, and he abruptly disappeared from the Atrium with Voldemort in a swirl of black fog.

From the sidelines, Bellatrix stared, the enormity of the situation dawning on her. She screamed in anguish just in time for Dumbledore to arrive: "NO! TAKE ME TO YOUR CHAMBERS, MY LORD! NOT HIM !"

Whatever magical transportation had just occurred, Harry's sense of balance responded the same way as with a Portkey: that being, he fell over immediately. On the plus side, he landed on a soft surface that was, per initial impressions, a bed.

A large bed, in fact.

And Voldemort was standing over him, in the low lighting, shrugging off his gorgeous leather overcoat while Harry watched.

Harry's throat clicked when he swallowed this time. He pushed himself up into a sitting position, just as Voldemort began to unfasten the top button of his -- oh, Merlin, his waistcoat .

"Wait," Harry choked out, "let me --"

Obligingly, Voldemort let go of the half-unfastened button, and held his arms out while Harry got up and attended to it. " What was that about my 'sixteen-year-old self' ?"

Harry's brain-to-mouth filter was still out of service, apparently. "I saw him in the diary in my second year. He was -- you are -- unfairly attractive, you know that?" His breath fanned out over the smooth black fabric; Harry was abruptly aware of how close he was to the Dark Lord's trouser buttons.

"I..." Harry licked his lips. "I just worked out my feelings about that, and then..." The last button of the waistcoat came undone. The fabric fell away, exposing the next layer: thirteen (Harry counted) black buttons against a collared shirt that felt like silk under his questing hands.

Harry worried his lower lip between his teeth, feeling a bit dizzy. He swayed when he stood up to unfasten the Dark Lord's tie, next, fumbling at the smooth material. When the tie was finally loose, he let out a soft sigh –

That cut off in a ragged gasp when Voldemort got a grip on his hair and pulled his head back.

"Ah --" Harry's surprise was cut off by the sudden and intensely arousing feeling of a mouth pressed against his own, and -- oh -- the heat of that mouth's tongue licking in, over, into every facet of his own teeth and tongue. He moaned into the kiss, hands grasping feebly at the Dark Lord's broad shoulders, and let Voldemort press him back into the mattress, still snogging him.

It sent coils of heat down to the base of Harry's spine, a flush spreading over his skin, and he hadn't even taken the man's shirt off yet.

Voldemort let go of his hair, the better to push Harry down into the bed while he deftly undid all the buttons on his shirt one-handed. Harry moaned at the sight of the smooth, white skin underneath. " Tell me, Harry ," the Dark Lord hissed while he tugged the shirt off, " just what happened to the diary after that ?"

"Ah -- it --" Harry gasped, again, attempting to flinch away from the hands swiftly undressing him while his legs were pinned by the Dark Lord's hips, " it's gone, he's -- gone, Basilisk fang, oh please not there ," he sobbed, as Voldemort rolled his hips at just the right angle to grind up against him.

Voldemort's skin was still cool against his, but his mouth -- oh, his mouth was hot , Harry discovered, as he writhed under the Dark Lord's attentions at his throat and chest, sucking bruises into Harry's skin (he assumed) and tonguing over his pulse, heated breath against Harry's skin raising goosebumps.

" Foolish boy ," came the hiss against -- oh -- one nipple, " I will tell you later in great detail how much of an advantage you gave me from that very action ." The slide of cool fingertips down to Harry's waistband drew a long moan out of him; he would have arched his back, but he was scarcely able to move under Voldemort's weight. Oh, he wanted, he wanted

" I want you ," he hissed, desperately rocking his hips up against the Dark Lord's. " Please --"

That earned him a sharp intake of breath and a wordless hiss of pleasure from the older wizard, and the subsequent magical loss of his trousers, shoes, and socks, all of his remaining clothes really save his boxers. Those, Voldemort tore through with little effort, rather than pull off. " What do you want from me ?" he teased, easing off of Harry just enough to let him glimpse the tent in those black trousers while he unbuttoned them.

And of course Voldemort would be the type not to wear any underwear. His erection sprang out from the fly of the black slacks the minute he had undone the accompanying belt, and lay heavily on Harry's thigh for a long moment in which Harry could only lie there and gaze, lust-hazy, at the most gorgeous cock he'd ever imagined existed.

Maybe, he considered, the reality had inspired his dreams, rather than the other way around.

He licked his lips, swallowed, but his mouth and throat were still dry. " Please ," he rasped, " put it in me ."

Voldemort's breath audibly caught at the request, but he didn't give Harry time to let it wash over him; instead, the Dark Lord reached out a hand and wandlessly summoned a small black bottle. " I should make you bleed for what you have done ," he murmured in Harry's ear, leaning in, " but I will settle for your screams of desperation, this time ."

Harry trembled violently at the suggestion, and then again at the press of a slick finger against the tight pucker of his arse. He forced himself to relax enough to let it enter, and was rewarded -- punished? -- with the unrelenting plunge of the digit to its base. Slowly, the finger opened him up just enough to take the second one in with it on the next thrust; when the fingers scissored him open, Harry felt tears welling up in his eyes, and -- " please --" the heat of Voldemort's tongue, licking them off his eyelashes.

" Delicious ," Voldemort whispered, and it was not only the tears that he spoke of. Harry could hear the obscene squelching of the fingers fucking in and out of him.

From what he had 'researched' on the subject over the past year and a half, Harry had expected there to be a third finger, before he was -- ah -- penetrated. Evidently, that wasn't what the Dark Lord wanted. When the two fingers pulled out, they were replaced not by three, but by the blunt, slicked head of what could only be Voldemort's cock.

" Please ," Harry begged again, " I can't -- "

" Oh, but you can . And you will . " It began to press into him, slowly but firmly, and Harry honestly struggled against the Dark Lord's unforgiving hold on him when the stretch began to hurt.

" You said you wouldn't make me -- ah -- bleed ," Harry sobbed, trying and failing to push the man off him. " Please, it hurts, don't -- "

Cruel laughter against his throat, to match the continued, merciless push inside him. Harry bore down on the massive intrusion to no avail other than pain; he found, to his dismay, that he still liked it despite that.

" You plead with me to put it in, and now to take it out ," Voldemort observed with a sharp thrust in that settled him all the way inside Harry's arse. Harry could feel the pulsing, throbbing, wonderful thing inside him, and he couldn't help but try to grind down on it. " I wonder ," the Dark Lord continued to murmur in his ear, " which request is more honest ."

Ever-so-slowly, he pulled out halfway, then forced in deeper still, angling up against Harry's prostate. Harry screamed , seeing stars, and threw his head back against the pillows, feeling splashes of precum spatter against his stomach from the force of the motion.

" The former, then ," Voldemort noted, and then he was fucking Harry in earnest.

Somewhere around the third violent thrust, Harry lost his sense of passing time to endless repetitions of the Dark Lord's name, three syllables flowing off his lips in a litany of praise. " Voldemort ," he cried, " Voldemort, please -- "

He was dreaming, he had to be, there was no way he could feel this good in reality. Harry was coming apart at the seams, held together only by the weight and grip of the Dark Lord on top of and around him while he pounded mercilessly into Harry's tight, twitching hole. This was nothing like his fantasies of the Tom Riddle from the diary; this violent, nearly animal fucking was going to send him into the afterlife.

" Please ," he gasped, " you're gonna -- gonna break me -- "

The voice that answered him trembled. " Then -- break ."

Teeth bit down, digging into the meat of Harry's shoulder, as Voldemort's hips stuttered, losing the rhythm in favor of bringing them over the edge. Harry dug his nails into the Dark Lord's shoulder blades and screamed for all he was worth as orgasm overcame him -- vision whiting out, limbs seizing up.

When he came to, it was to hear harsh panting against his clavicle, to feel Voldemort's tongue licking over the bloody bite mark on his shoulder, more than that, to feel Voldemort's cock pulsing as it spilled deep into him. " My...lord ," Harry rasped, eyes half-closed.

If anything, that comment seemed to spur the Dark Lord on more; a weak thrust into Harry, a low possessive growl in his ear, and another few spurts of cum leaked out of Harry's overstuffed arse.

" My darling boy ," Voldemort breathed against his ear. " Grant me some reprieve before I break you again ."

" ...In the morning ?" Harry whispered. " I'm....exhausted ." Even if he did want it a little, he couldn't move his limbs if he tried.

Voldemort threw an arm around him, murmuring something inaudible into the sheets.

In the end, they waited till morning.