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“Is this real? Or has this been happening inside my head?” Harry asks, waiting for the last bit of guidance from Dumbledore, the man who left him out of the loop so many times, yet Harry still danced to his tune like a fool.
Here he is, dead. A shrivelled body of Voldemort’s soul trembles under the bench. Most likely, dead, too. Harry still has the intense urge to touch it. Maybe he will, after the old man fucks off.
“Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean it is not real?”
Right. He nods at no one in particular, since Dumbledore is already disappearing behind a white mist.
His eyes snap to Voldemort’s piece of soul and in a few long strides Harry is there, lifting it up from under the bench. A sigh of relief escapes him, and he realises what bothered him so. This piece, if it remains detached, Harry will miss it. He would never be whole again, doomed to emptiness and excruciatingly lonely existence.
No. He won’t allow it. Harry clutches the small body tight, determined to keep it close. Voldemort’s soul whimpers lightly but content, as if the thought of separating from Harry also scares it.
The white fog surrounds them, and Harry closes his eyes, ready for his next adventure.
Harry lets out a contented sigh, as he feels strong hands envelop him tightly, his back flush against the broad chest of his husband. He’s exhausted but blissfully happy after their long reunion night.
They haven’t been able to see each other for a couple of weeks since Tom was busy with some serious international campaign as the Minister for Magic, and Harry had to wait for him through the lonely nights. He took to wearing Tom’s clothes in his absence, inhaling the familiar scent and imagining that it was actually Tom hugging him. His patience has been rewarded. The moment Tom arrived and saw Harry only in his too large for Harry’s smaller body t-shirt, he threw him to bed and fucked senseless. About four or five times. Harry stopped counting after the third.
This might be the tenth round for all he knew or cared, but his body is still too sensitive to respond in full wake. That’s alright, he thinks sleepily, Tom always had stronger stamina and higher libido, and Harry gave him permission to use his body whenever he pleased however he liked, even in his sleep. Subconsciously, Harry arches his back, positioning his arse just perfectly for his husband’s cock.
“Mhm,” he whines in a haze. This feels right, when now fully erect the large cock goes deeper inside him. But Harry’s still tired, and when sleep comes to him again, he doesn’t bother resisting it.
The next time he gains awareness is when he feels the hard cock sliding out of his well-used hole before slamming back in fast pace, slick lube making all of it easy and painless. Harry moans in pleasure, the pillow under his cheek damp from his saliva. He’s on his stomach and Tom is thrusting inside him with abandon as if they haven’t been at it all night already.
His whines don’t go unheard and Tom leans to place a kiss on Harry’s neck.
“Awake now, darling?”
Harry can only moan again, as Tom hits that sensitive spot inside him, and Harry’s attention shifts to his own arousal. Tom moves him around, his cock sliding off Harry’s sensitive hole only for a moment, before he’s thrusting again, holding Harry by the knees, spreading him wider. Harry thrusts his hips in turn, finding a better angle, and places his legs over Tom’s shoulders. Tom traces over them gently with his fingers and gives a kiss to Harry’s ankle, peering at him with unwavering desire.
Harry moans, eyelashes fluttering, and reaches out to his own throbbing cock. He only makes a few circling motions before he feels a generous amount of lube getting poured and Tom takes it from there, grabbing Harry’s cock firmly, their fingers touching. He doesn’t swat Harry’s hand away, instead using it to satisfy Harry, guiding his smaller fingers full of slick over Harry’s hardness.
Gentle touch gives way to the stronger grip, Harry’s hand slips away, and he closes his eyes, succumbing to the sensation. The rhythm now matches Tom’s thrusts inside him, and it doesn’t take long for them both to reach the climax.
Fully awake now, Harry rides the waves of orgasm, accepting Tom’s release inside with a sense of satiation. No matter how many times Tom comes inside him, it always brings Harry pleasure, too. His husband wants him, can’t get enough of him. The thought alone sends Harry’s mind flying in a dizzy bliss.
Tom places feathery soft kisses on his cheeks, not in a hurry to pull out. Harry clenches his muscles over Tom’s softening cock, catching the flicker of satisfaction and want on his husband’s handsome face.
“Missed you,” Harry mumbles, embracing him by the neck and capturing his lips in a slow and lazy kiss.
“Missed you too, my love,” Tom whispers in Harry’s lips, and Harry sighs, happy and content.
He doesn’t know what he’d do without Tom. A vague dream he once saw returns to the forefront of his mind, and he holds onto Tom tightly, not wishing to even think about it.
Them fighting, to death and beyond. Surrounded by war, blood and murder, hate and unforgiving fate. No. They are meant to be together, inseparable. Irrevocably entwined with each other, body and soul.
However real that dream felt, it couldn’t be real. Harry looks at the dark brown eyes of his husband, confident in those simple truths, only seeing matching love and devotion there.
Tom kisses him again, his cock still half-hard inside Harry, and Harry closes his eyes, losing himself to the mirth of being so loved and wanted, so whole.
Whatever reality tries to mess with his mind in the dreams, he will always choose Tom. Just like he knows, Tom will always choose him.