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"My lamb," Voldemort said, tilting the boy's head up to gaze upon his angular cheeks, the pout of his lips, those electric green eyes hidden behind that wild mane. The boy didn't meet his eyes. Voldemort licked his lips–he wanted to taste that defiance on his lips, to feel it on his cocks. He would never let this sweet little thing leave. "You will make a beautiful bride."
"Do you agree to the terms set forth, Lord Voldemort?" The boy's father was a powerful ally, his word secured the alliance of many other dark creatures.
Voldemort ran a sharp fingernail under the boy's jaw, smiling at the repulsion creasing his lips, his narrowed, disgusted eyes.
"I do."
Vampire tradition dictated they were to exchange blood.
The boy, Harry, ran his fingers along the bannister as he took to the stairs, and Voldemort followed, a shepherd to his lamb. Harry didn't seem nervous, just upset, disgusted, twitchy. Voldemort could hardly resist when he saw the look the boy gave him over his shoulder, filled with contempt from the twist of his lips to the arch of his brow. Voldemort caught Harry at the top and looped an arm around his waist, nearly dragging him to the bedroom at the end of the hall.
Harry was a slip of a thing, his boyish curves and delicate fingers looking particularly small next to the sheer size of Voldemort's body and long, spidery hands. Voldemort thought his cocks might be the size of the boy’s forearms—Harry would break so perfectly for him. He smiled.
"You're depraved," Harry said as Voldemort pulled him tight to his side. His hoarse voice crackled like static.
The boy trembled as Voldemort parted his robes, unfastening the buttons on his under-robes with practised ease. The anxiety was palpable, and Voldemort throbbed under his robes. Harry was so young, so nervous. His hands clutched the duvet like it would save him from Voldemort's wandering hands.
Of course, there was no saviour here, not when the boy's own father had sold him without hesitation.
"My martyr," Voldemort said and curled his long, spidery fingers around Harry's chin, kissing him gently. "I will stain your soul with my hedonism."
"Don’t call me that–'' Harry spat, his teeth flashing. He recoiled like he'd been shot, but Voldemort followed like a dementor, sweeping over his prey and pinning him in place as he fell backwards onto the mattress. It was this that caused the boy’s mask to slip, fear taking over his pretty features. How delectable.
Harry would understand in time that this was his place, spread across Voldemort's sheets, the peak of a nipple etched into the thin fabric of his undershirt, his stomach exposed and waiting for Voldemort's teeth to sink in deep. He would feast upon Harry's body until his vampiric regeneration suffered, until his body was bruised and bloody and Voldemort could feel the stolen immortality suffusing through his veins. He wondered how it would feel–he'd never supped upon vampire blood but he was sure it would feel exhilarating, like a flush of life in his otherwise dead flesh.
"Beautiful," Voldemort praised, running his claws down Harry's exposed ribs, feeling the fragility of them, the way his breath stuttered in his chest as Voldemort inched closer to his stomach, to his cock. The boy was untouched there–certified through some simple spells–and Voldemort couldn't deny the fire it lit inside him, the knowledge that he will be the very first to touch Harry like this, to mould him to Voldemort’s cocks until he can't conceive taking anything else.
It was at that moment that he bent down, fastening his teeth over the flushed flesh of Harry's neck, fixing his teeth in deep until the boy was arching against him, muffled yells slipping between his lips like curses. Harry's fingers dug into the back of Voldemort's neck, but his instincts were weak–he couldn't escape despite his best efforts. Voldemort slipped two fingers into Harry's mouth, minding those sharp fangs, pinching his tongue between his fingertips until he drew blood. Harry quietened, but Voldemort could feel the quickened breath against his chest, and his advanced taste receptors could taste the fear in his blood. He groaned, pressing his hips against Harry's thigh as his cocks slipped out of their slit. His hand clenched the boy's shoulder tightly, and he imagined he could feel the bones grind.
He was disappointed to discover Harry's blood tasted no different than his own–iron heavy on his tongue. He pulled away, flicking his eyes over the bloodied neck, the way it started sluggishly bleeding the moment he pulled away, the heaviness to Harry's eyes and the high flush on his cheeks, the wetness on Voldemort's fingers where they rested lazily on Harry's bottom lip. Certainly he missed the fight in Harry's eyes, but he couldn't deny the luxury of this–the boy looked drugged, entirely consumed by his blood loss.
And Voldemort ached for him. He bared the boy further, his hunger twofold when he saw Harry’s cock was still soft, still pliable. He needed to touch him, to watch Harry come apart in a way he'd never desired before, until he was oversensitive, begging for his freedom. Harry stayed lax as Voldemort stripped him of the last of his modesty, and then split his robes at the waist, unbuttoning his under-robes no more than necessary. He didn't want to frighten the boy entirely. His mutations—the vicious hole in his chest where his beating, blackened heart sat, the breathing slits on his collarbones—would stay hidden for another day.
Harry's thighs spread like a Christmas lily in bloom. Voldemort didn't hesitate, tracing his fingers around Harry's hole and casting a lubrication charm. He wouldn't hurt the boy too badly... yet.
His fingers slipped in easier than he expected, and it was this that startled Harry out of his haze, trying to sit up as Voldemort's fingers sunk into the knuckle. Voldemort pressed a firm hand to Harry's chest, and he sunk down again, his eyes unfocused.
"What are you doing?" Harry asked, his words slurred. His hands tried to come up, but they reached no further than his hip before they fell once more. If Voldemort had known how effective blood loss was against vampires, he would've done this much sooner.
Or perhaps it was just Harry.
Harry looked down, managing to tilt his heavy head just far enough to see, and he clenched tightly on Voldemort's working fingers in panic. He'd seen Voldemort's cocks then. They were a feat of magic; bulbous bases swelled upon ejaculation, spines holding his prey in place as he filled them until they ached from it. The heads were sharper, more angular, more demanding as they speared their way in. It was bloody, messy, defiling. Harry would be his perfect victim.
"Preparing you," Voldemort replied, ducking down to press a kiss against the bloody wound on Harry's neck. A reminder of his weakness. Sure enough, the boy laid back down, but the flush in his cheeks was gone, his fingers twisted in the blankets like they would protect him. What a shame then, that Voldemort was relentless when it came to getting what he wanted.
Voldemort met Harry's eyes and smiled to show his pointed teeth. The boy looked away, but his tense thighs relaxed in increments.
How obedient.
He wasted no time casting another lubrication charm, heat unfurling in his gut as the sound of his fingers became obscene. Lubrication dripped out of Harry's hole and he sat up to fully take in the sight, the way it drooled from the reddened hole, Soon enough, his come would replace it.
Harry was ready... as ready as he could be, of course. Voldemort lined up the cock underneath and licked his lips as his other one lay against the boy's thigh. He looked unbelievably large next to Harry and his cock throbbed as he thought of them rubbing together, Harry’s cock dwarfed by Voldemort's creation.
"It won't fit—" Harry whimpered at the first touch, tightening impossibly. Voldemort lay a hand on his stomach, casting a muscle relaxant throughout his abdomen. If Harry wouldn't stop clenching, Voldemort would have to force him.
"It will fit, silly boy," Voldemort said, pressing harder. The first breach was always exquisite and he groaned, pinning Harry’s wrists at his sides. Harry let out a hitched sob from beneath him and Voldemort smiled, leaning down to capture his parted lips in a violent kiss. He fucked his tongue into Harry's mouth as he fucked his cock deeper, feeling Harry's tears as he tilted the boy's head up, opening his jaw wider like he could suck the very soul from him and keep it nestled next to his own.
He would take everything from this boy, leave him empty and aching and longing for him. There was no better fate for this little vampire prince.
Harry's fangs were out, sharp blades that nicked Voldemort's blackened tongue and lips as they kissed, and Voldemort knew it would be over soon; Harry's indecisive fingers moved from the duvet to the front of Voldemort's robes, trying to push him away, to pull him closer.
It was second nature to slip inside Harry's mind as he tilted those soft hips up, pressing Harry’s knees to his shoulders and fucking him deeper. He was full of turmoil, indecision, disgust and dismay, pain and pleasure. It was beauty, smooth skin and aching hardness and sparks over his eyes as Voldemort rubbed against his prostate. For his family, for his family, he thought, but Voldemort knew his hardness, his enjoyment, wasn’t for his family.
Harry was close. All he needed—
Voldemort reached down, fisted Harry's half-hard cock loosely, and he was close, so close—
Voldemort withdrew mentally and pulled his collar down as quickly as he could. Harry leapt for it, sinking his fangs into Voldemort's jugular as he came, clenching around Voldemort's cock, muffled moans filling the air.
He only needed to dip inside Harry's mind for a second before he too was coming, his spines releasing as his knots swelled. He pushed in as deep as he could, ensuring his knotting was successful, and groaned as his cocks pulsed, coating the boy inside and out, drenching him in his spend.
Harry grimaced as he pulled away, his lips flush with blood again, black ichor dripping down his chin. He fell against the bed, his thighs trembling as Voldemort continued to pulse inside him.
Harry was his, for eternity... just as Voldemort had planned.