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Broken Rules Make Better Lives

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The first time it happened, Harry’s certain it was a spur of the moment thing. He was being tortured, his friend’s safe wherever Dobby had taken them, him still in Malfoy Manor and taken to the dungeons not a minute after the battle. He wished he still had Draco’s wand with him, since it would still listen to him, but he’d dropped it at some point and for whatever reason hadn’t learnt how to summon wands. He’d been bound to the wall, stripped of both magical protection and clothes, and left there.

He’d been there for quite some before he came in, speaking of how he would make the boy beg for death, the usual with the snake-like man, before the torture began. He’d screamed so loud he tasted blood, he’d trashed against his binds, but he refused to give the Dark Lord what he wanted. He’d gotten incredibly close, mocking him, speaking in great detail about how he would torture his friends. Harry felt cocky enough and Voldemort was still very, very close to him, so he spoke once Voldemort had stopped monologuing.

“Not to change the subject, but I really can’t tell…” His voice was gravely and sore, “Are you gonna keep torturing me, or are we about to make out? I really can’t tell with how close you are to my fucking face.” He bit out. Voldemort looked vaguely confused for a split second, somewhat out of it for another, before slowly smirking and moving back. The cuffs and chains disappeared and, his body so weak from blood loss, his legs gave out and fell to the floor.

“Why, Harry, I don’t believe I asked you to speak.” He drawled, still smirking. He got closer again and Harry cursed himself for his sass, suddenly very aware of his nakedness. “I did have every intention of hurting you, Harry, but with a comment like that it makes me question it’s effectiveness…” A blush spread across Harry face. He shouldn’t have opened his mouth.

“Go on then, hurt me. I’ve already screamed my throat raw, what’s a little more pain?” The snarled, moving his head closer subconsciously, hands slick with his own blood. Voldemort grabbed his neck.

“Don’t test me, boy!” Harry was… so fucking confused at what his brain was telling him to do with the closeness. He knew he was going to die anyway, so why not make it more interesting?

“Fuck it.” He muttered under his breath, though he know Voldemort would have heard it. He grabbed the wrist on his neck, closed the distance between them and kissed him, teeth clacking together. For a moment, Harry was revolted and Voldemort was still until the Dark Lord’s other hand slammed him against the wall. Where he expected him to move away, he didn’t, and suddenly they were kissing again.

He tried to pretend he hated it, that he didn’t want it at all, but once hands moved lower, releasing his neck, he didn’t quite have it in him to care. Everything was a blur of feelings, some his own, others not. He was scratched and almost manhandled back up the wall, but he gave as good as he got. He parted from the kiss to bite Voldemort’s shoulder hard enough that he was dropped, literally, back in to the puddle of blood. Voldemort growled, low and animalistic, before trapping his hands in his spidery fingers and kissing him again. Harry yelped as his lip was bitten hard enough to draw blood. Everything stopped as the two took in the situation, trying to catch their breath in the limited space.

Somewhere along the line, the Dark Lord lost his robes. He’d also, at some point, gotten between his legs and dropped his hands, which Harry had apparently set in a death grip around his boney shoulders. He was still dizzy, but not from loss of blood anymore, though the torture was still obvious, lacerations and burns all over him. Moving back slightly, he watched as the bite on Voldemort’s should dripped blood as red as the fucker’s eyes. Human. He smirked as he saw scratch marks all over the pale, once-unmarked skin but as his eyes moved lower, he couldn’t ignore the thing that bugged him the most. How hard he’d gotten. And how hard he’d gotten too. He looked him directly in the eyes.

“The latter, then?” He asked. Voldemort growled, but didn’t move otherwise. “Well?” Harry stopped bracing himself and slipped on his own blood, “Finish what you start-” He didn’t even get the chance to finish his sentence before his neck was attacked. He arched his back, trying to hold back a moan. “Rude, at least let me finish my senten-” He let a breathy moan slip out when his thighs were scratched hard. “Dick…”

“Quiet.” Was all the Dark Lord said before moving his mouth back down to his neck. He barely felt fingers at his entrance before they were pushed inside of him, making him yell out in pain. He was prepped quickly, painfully and without care, so he scratched and bit at the fucker, or at least tried with the burning and defiantly not good feeling. The moaning was in not because it felt good. He growled weakly, opening his mouth to say something but he was promptly kissed quiet. “What did I just say?” The low tone of his voice made Harry shiver and huff out a breath.

“You could give me some fucking warning…” He muttered. Voldemort raised a brow before going back to kissing and sucking on his neck, and moving his finger’s just slightly slower inside of him. Just to spite him, Harry moaned louder. He felt Voldemort smirk into the skin of his nearly mauled throat before curling his fingers up. “Fuck!” Harry grabbed onto Voldemort’s arms, nails digging in slightly. He chuckled as he curled them again, pressing hard against his prostate and rubbing, and Harry very nearly came. That didn’t go unnoticed though, unfortunately.

He whined when his fingers disappeared, however ashamed he felt about that, but groaned as the other hand wrapped around his cock. He thrust up in to it, needing the friction, but the hand moved to his hip and pushed him back. He growled weakly, he was so fucking close, but resigned himself to screwing his eyes shut and resting his head against the cool concrete. He was about to complain, but found himself yelping in pain as he was dragged back suddenly across the floor.

“The fu-” A hand shot up to his neck in warning, so he went quiet, glaring hard at Voldemort. He towered above him, eyes raking across his body admiring his work. He shuffled closer on his knees, the hand once again moving between his legs to nudge Harry’s further apart. He looked down at him, silently asking. Harry blushed and huffed through his nose, but nodded minutely, making himself blush harder.

He suddenly felt something against his entrance, slick and strangely cool, before it was pushed inside him slowly. He was thick, and Harry wished he’d made the man prepare him more. He buried his face into Voldemort’s neck as he clung onto the man, a pained whine slipping past his lips. The slow push stopped, and Harry supposed it took a different sort of man to be into something like… well, he didn’t take Voldemort as the sort to have sex at all, let alone with someone who didn’t want to. The intense stretch died down slightly and he kissed the junction of Voldemort’s neck and shoulder.

This continued until Voldemort was completely inside of him, Harry panting hard against his neck. He hadn’t taken in how big his dick was, but he felt so full. Harry had all of about 10 seconds before Voldemort started a rough, punishing pace. He could no longer deny shit to himself; it felt so good.

He know he would have left scratches all over the man’s back as he clung to him, biting his neck to try and match his roughness. He smirked as he drew out a grunt, but it fell of his face with a loud moan when his prostate was thrust against. He lasted only a second more before he came hard, screwing his eyes shut and letting out a strangled cry. He’s only conscious for long enough to feel Voldemort finish inside him before blackness embraces him from loss of blood, residual pain, exhaustion and a mind blowing orgasm for his enemy.


When he woke up, he didn't open his eyes but he knew he was alone and absolutely certain it was all nightmare. He felt well rested and healthy, is in his clothes and, however much he loathes to admit it, it was not the first wet dream he’s had of Tom. In either of his forms. The only reason he opens his eyes is because he isn’t on a bed.

It was all very real.

He was laying in a cell in Malfoy Manor, chains on the walls, blood in his hair and… the door wide open? The hell? He moved to get up, feeling incredibly stiff, only to feel his arse ache when he sat on it. Bloody hell… Why did he have to be such a Gryffindor? Granted, it had felt great, and far, far better than the torture he’d been enduring, but still. Wincing as he rose, he slipped of his shoes and carefully walked out of the dungeon in his socks, something he’d learnt was smart at the Dursleys if you wanted to avoid confrontation.

He crept up the stairs, testing each one first. He listened closely for any sign someone could be there, but heard nothing. He peaked out from the stairs and found himself in an empty room. He continued his sneaking, but from what he could see, the house was completely deserted. He stood straight and made for the front door, before realizing how stupid an idea that was. He, instead, leaned on the dinning table, trying to think of what to do. He jumped 3 miles high when he heard the crinkle of paper, moving like lightning into a fighting stance.

He felt like an idiot when he looked at where his hand had been and saw a slip of parchment. He picked it up and read it, squinting slightly to decipher the immaculate, loopy handwriting.


I’m sure you must be confused as to where everyone has disappeared to, also why there is a note here waiting for your sneaking out of the dungeon. Conveniently, there is a raid I needed completed to retrieve some Death Eater. Incredibly last minute, I’m sure you can tell.

I will be honest with you, I don’t think my head has been this clear in quite some time. I would be grateful if, perhaps, we could… relive some stress again, should we need to. Though, knowing you, it was spur of the moment, so if we do this again, I’ll set some ground rules.

We won’t make eye contact so secrets aren’t revealed accidentally, we won’t talk, we CERTAINLY will not be cuddling, I REFUSE to give up control, and you are not to stay beyond waking up if you pass out again.

I have left a piece of parchment under this one, as well as a quill for your reply.


P.S. If you use this as some means of getting information, I will kill you once I’ve had my way.

Harry had turned scarlet by the time he’d finished reading the letter. Why would Voldemort-? He looked down at the blank parchment and wrote his very careful acceptance, then calling Dobby 3 times before resigning to have Kreacher and have the deranged house elf take him back to his friends.