UTTERLY DELICIOUS

Voldemort was inexplicably being driven mad. Had he a thread of hair on his head it would have been torn out in the raging, clawing agony that had spread though his mind. It was not physical pain. Oh no…it was love: seeping into him like a burning fire, consuming his hatred and determination for worlds end.

This was not the first time either. But by far the most painful to date. It began just over three months ago, on the thirty first of July, the wretched Potter boy's birthday. It was a hazy vision, for sure. He suspected Dumbledore had him practicing occulmancy for now it was that rare he could weed into the child's mind for information. But the primal sensation of lust burst forth stronger than he himself had felt it in his prime. He had been able to ignore it well enough. He was the Dark Lord for Mordred's sake. Voldemort had no use for childish urges, like lust. That energy was better used for more productive purposes.

Yet around the same time next week, it came again. The was very little difference, but it was as though the feeling was just the slightest bit stronger.

Within a month and a half of these weekly bursts of sensation, the scene had changed. no longer was he in blurry white haze during these strange outbursts, but in a blurry red haze. He assumed it was because of the color of the Gryffindor dormitories. Not that it truly mattered. No. What mattered was the fact that by now, the Potter boy's lusty excursions were beginning to physically affect him. Him! Lord Voldemort was sexually aroused via Harry Bloody Fucking Potter! His only very small comfort was that it was not his own lust, but the child's. He took it as a new bit of motivation to destroy the boy faster.

However, that ended three days after said epiphany, when the cycle was broken and Potter relived himself earlier than expected. But he still refused to acknowledge his own arousal. As the months went by, Potter did his business on a more and more frequent basis, until it was not just nightly, but repetitive and unceasing throughout half of the night, every night. As it was, the visions were becoming gradually clearer. He could now make out most of the details in the room, including, to his own disgust, a full and graphic view of the boys ministrations to himself.

Lord Voldemort could have handled this quite well, had the feelings of lust remained just that, lust. But the Fates were a trio of cruel, sadistic cunts. During the last week, love had been added to the mix.

And so he lay there, writhing on his normally comfortable bed, and visions would flash through his mind as the putrid teenage mind of Harry Potter invented graphic scenes of homosexual ruts with some faceless pale character. Whomever this man was, he could not be human. Perhaps vampiric or even veela. That would make them so much easier to find and kill…maybe even in front of the boys own eyes if luck was on his side. Oh, how he would relish in the fallen expression on his face. To watch his …ugh…love… for the man be crushed into despair, then denial, then even hatred….beautiful, delicious hatred.

Yes….indeed, he would have to investigate further…something to take his mind away from that deplorable emotion.

Potter's mind was already open, so when he slipped in almost completely, it was effortless. Slowly the only thing to differentiate his own thoughts from potters was the intent.

In unison, as if potter was Voldemort puppet master, they both skimmed their fingertips in light circular motions around their right nipple. They hissed, softly and sweetly in parseltongue, as if to a beloved partner and trailed their unoccupied hand over the hills and valleys of the lightly developed abdominals that adorned their stomachs, just before reaching down to cup their ball sacks with a playful squeeze.

Voldemort sneered and disconnected from his body completely, after making sure it had rearranged to a less….awkward position. With only a thread of his aura remaining connected to his restored body, he slipped from the outer realms of the boys mind and delved straight into the fantasy, watching it from an observers point of view.

It was quite amusing, actually. This particular fantasy was in the Hogwarts dungeons, it seemed; and Potter was a prisoner.

Tears long dried, has left streaks down his angry, defiant face as he struggled against the shackles that bound his forearms together against his back, and the chained collar that held forced him to kneel uncomfortably, bent over almost as if in a forced bow. His lips were cracked and stained with dried blood, which actually made up for half of the grime that covered his nude and shivering form. Apparently he had been beaten quite severely prior to the beginning of this "story". And if the pale, clamminess of his skin weren't a big enough deterrent, the glaze in his eyes stated quite clearly that he was starving and possibly dying of thirst.

Voldemort wasn't sure to be pleased by this rather beautiful picture, or disturbed by it. If the boy had sexual fantasies about being bound and starved, he may have to find a new way to destroy him before his inevitable death.

He decided to go with his first choice. It was nice seeing Potter in so much agony. Though, he had to wonder, did the child have enough imagination to actually "feel" the pain his mental self would have actually been in?

He slipped into first person for only a moment, out of sheer curiosity and pulled back with an expression that showed no small amount of surprise.

He had most definitely imagined the agony. It had been almost more than he himself could bare. How odd. Was Potter a masochist.

"It has been six months Potter."

Voldemort turned his head to see that familiar faceless figure, suddenly standing at the doorway, in a flowing robe that had been tied at the hips. Harry looked up, not quite seeing him through his unfocused eyes as he slipped his arms out, the upper portion of the robe folding over the sash, revealing a lithe, but perhaps sickly looking torso. Potter sure had odd tastes.

"And yet you do not break…"

He wondered for a moment if this was worth it all. Clearly there would be sexual situations to come within moments, that much was evident from the knowledge of an invisible leer from the faceless being. He could practically smell the impending rape.

He debated weather or not to stay and hope the figure acquired a face at any time, or leave and wait for a name to be called.

He should have left when the dream Potter nodded forlornly when the man offered him a "drink" to quench his thirst, with a wand pointed threateningly at him should he try and refuse. He wanted nothing more than to leave when Potters eyes rolled back as the large manhood was forced into his throat. And even when the boy struggled to keep sucking, his cheeks caved in, as his throat visibly stretched around the mans length with every forceful thrust, Voldemort found himself absolutely appalled and disgusted by the fact that not only was he lusting for this filthy activity, but he loved whomever he was picturing.

Yet…he could not look away. Not when tears rolled down those clammy cheeks along with a consistent mantra of whimpering and sobbing. Not when the figure grasped a handful of those messy locks and proceeded to fuck Potter's throat with enough force to drive a nail into wood, all the while whispering dirty, filthy things to his victim.

Though…when the man backhanded the boy's face, sending him sprawling on the ground and trembling with gut wrenching sobs…the Dark Lord admitted to himself that he rather liked that part.

But he could not understand his own lack of willpower when every ounce of his own sense urged him to leave, especially the moment when Potter was lifted back up by his hair and was forced to continue at a brutal and very painful looking pace until he gagged once more, this time on an extensive load of semen, some of which spilled from his lips when he refused to swallow.

Potter attempted to pull away, but the cock was forced back in.

"Swallow or drown."

At that, Voldemort could no longer handle this fantasy. As much as he wanted to deny it longer than he had already, he could no more lie to himself about the now, painful erection he felt throbbing against his leg. With a rather loud snarl of self disgust, he began to slip out and settled for "sitting" across the room from Potter and listen for a name. The things he did for world domination…he would need extensive therapy after this. And proper Dark Lords did not need therapy. Blasted scar headed brat!

He did his best to look away from Potter as the petulant child continued his disgusting routine. Judging from the amount of semen on his hands and torso, he had come to orgasm at least twice so far.

"Insatiable adolescent…." he mumbled under his breath. It went on for what seemed like hours, and probably had been, until the boy finally allowed himself more than quickened breath.

"…Merlin…sh-shi-ah!" his voice was low and controlled, but it was enough to catch Voldemort attention. The boy was absolutely covered in his own essence and the Dark Lord searched his mind for any evidence of such stamina being possible. If he did this every night…

He sat there, mesmerized at the lewd expression. He truly wondered what sort of man could cause such…feelings in the boy. He had never seen anyone in Potter's life who remotely resembled the figure in his dreams. Perhaps it was simply a generic masculine figure?

No. there was nothing generic about it…and a dime a dozen fantasy man would not inspire the reeking stench of love.

"d-don't…s-stop…now…To-" Red eyes snapped up to attention, he had said someone's name, and he had been so wrapped up in his thoughts he had missed it!

Rage boiled over within him and he dove back into Potters dream. He would learn the name of the man and he would slaughter him before the boys eyes. Potter would be painted with the blood of his loved one if it took a lifetime of nights as ridiculous as this!

He reigned in his newly acquired sense of lust before it could affect him and the dream came into focus. Harry was no longer bound to the floor but was bent over, his face smashed into the floor by a spidery hand as he was fucked brutally from behind. The figure was in much better focus now, and had an infinite amount of detail compared to the fantasy…but the face was hidden in the crook of Potters neck, which was bleeding from multiple bite wounds…as was a great portion of the rest of him…ugh…including his nether regions.

How disgusting….

How deranged….

…mmnnhhfuck….how utterly delicious….

It was against his principles…and completely hypocritical…but, Voldemort just…couldn't quite help himself….

He reached down and took his manhood in hand, not bothering with softness, and jerked it up and down the entirety of his cock with long suppressed vigor. His eyes were fixed on Harry. The way his eyes seemed to beg in ways his voice could not manage through his loud and high pitched cries for "More!" and "Deeper!" and "Holy mother of Merlin! …ahhh yes! Hit it again!" left nothing unsaid. And when his tongue repeatedly darted out, licking his lips as if preparing for something about to plunge into his widely opened mouth, Voldemort wanted to, but did not dare imagine himself accepting that silent invitation.

That was a line he was not ready to cross.

On and on it went, and sooner rather than later, his task of…what was his task again?….he must have forgotten it…

'Was it so important if I was able to forget so easilyyyyooooh yes, Potter, lift your arse for him….that's a good lad…'

He was all but ready to burst, now. Potter was currently on his back, bent so sharply that his own cock was in his face.

Voldemort, at some point had gotten close enough to the pair that should he have wanted too he could have reached out and touched them. The sight of the figures length disappearing into Potters tightly stretched arse was so clear he could see the glistening wetness that made those delicious sounds. He could see the sheen of sweat that had formed on both of their bodies, and the movement of muscles under their skin. Puffs of hot air floated from Harry's parted lips, now lightly spattered with his own pre as it dripped from his cock.

So close…

Voldemort tore his eyes away, still not quite ready to end the first physically pleasurable experience he had, had in decades. And his eyes landed on the chest of the other man, it was pale, lightly muscled, but skeletal at the same time…how oddly familiar…in his daze, his eyes traveled slowly up the neck and stopped. He was unsure now that he wanted to see this…it may ruin it for him…but…was there not another reason he was here?

His greater instincts were screaming at him like sirens.

'DO. NOT. LOOK. UP!' ….but he could not resist the temptation…

"Who do you belong to brat?" a lipless mouth grunted as it spread into a sinister, strained but affectionate grin. Red eyes glowed with lust and something…unfamiliar, as the lids drooped down into a bedroom gaze.

Voldemort froze stiff and everything seemed to pull away from him but his shock. He watched as emerald green eyes squeezed shut as his entire body shook with the force of the cock inside him, and he screamed.

"T-TOMMMM!"

Voldemort's eyes snapped open as he was forced back into his body by the sheer magnitude of emotion, and not a split second later, he arched off of his bed with such a loud gasp it transcended into a moan and came violently.

Several moments went by, and he laid there feeling as if he were drowning. The feeling was only unpleasant in the fact that he could not quite pinpoint its name. Yet it was so recognizable in its unrecognizability.

He would have scolded himself for using nonexistent words, had he not been so immersed. He was an intelligent man….not a fool who invented words when he could not find the correct ones.

Yes. And now that he knew Potters secret there was work to be done. He knew his weakness…and also exactly how to trap the Potter child.

He chuckled lightly…

Harry Potter…beyond all reason and logic, (he began to snicker) had inadvertently transformed his own lust for the Great Lord Voldemort (He could no longer help himself, and burst into maniacal shrieking laughter.) into love…

Voldemort forced himself to calm down. It would not do to become to…excited over this…after all he had planning to do.

Dumbledore's power of love….heh…perhaps there was something to it after all…

How disgusting….

How deranged….

….heheheh…how utterly delicious….

i would like some input of weather or not i should continue this as a three shot, or just leave it as is. im thinking of leaving it this way and letting you guys use ur immaginations. but then i would LOVE to make this a three shot as well...so many wonderfully evil ideas swimming about in my sick demented mind 3

so tell me what u think in the reviews. i LOVE constructive critisizm too. so if u didnt like something let me know^^. just be nice?