If Paths Diverge

Chapter 34

Harry Apparated back to his flat; drunk, sore, and filthy. He fell against the wall, closing his eyes and taking a moment to let the world settle.

Bed.

But first, a shower. He could feel where the trail of come had meandered down the back of his legs under his trousers.

Gross. The dude had been good-looking enough, but a stranger's bodily fluids drying on his skin always made him squeamish.

He staggered to the shower and turned it on. While it heated up, he undressed, wincing each time he touched a bite mark or a bruise. Gavin had been quite keen to follow his request for rough treatment.

And it had helped. He could breathe deeply again. He touched the hickey on his throat and pushed it with his fingers, savouring the pain.

Once naked, he climbed under the water, letting it wash away his evening.

It had been fun. Gavin had been obliging and Harry's knees still hurt from where the other man had made him kneel on the pavement for so long, sucking his cock.

You look irresistible like this.

Harry forced the words away, refusing to think about Voldemort, to feel guilty. There was nothing there for him. He'd been a fool and now he had to try and forget about how perfect they had been together. How Voldemort had always made him feel safe and understood and treasured.

Even when he'd been getting beaten until his arse was black and bleeding.

It had been what he had wanted. What he'd always searched for. His other partners tended to humour his masochism, taking direction well and playing the role as best they could.

But Voldemort.

He was a natural.

Harry groaned, thumping his head back against the tile, letting it take some of his weight, as he grabbed the dildo he'd taken to keeping in the shower now, and brought it to his still-tender hole.

Voldemort had always dominated without discussion, without convincing. He didn't pester him with concern while he throttled him, asking is this okay? and forcing Harry out of his euphoria. He just took. He took everything and then demanded more.

Harry pretended that Voldemort was here with him now. He quickly pushed aside the despair at that impossibility before it could wake him from his fantasy. Real Voldemort had no place here right now. The Voldemort in his mind loved him, wanted to love him. But the Dark Lord didn't play nicely with his toys.

Harry imagined Voldemort slapping his face and he moved his head with the force of the blow, crying out as he pushed the dildo into his body. Merlin, yes.

"Take me, Master," Harry begged shamelessly, spreading himself open for that tall, imposing body.

He fucked himself with one hand and began to fist the erection that always came when he thought about Voldemort. No matter how it hurt to think of him, no matter how hard he tried not to, his body knew what it wanted.

Fuck, Voldemort was lifting him off of his feet, pushing him against the wall and thrusting into him, claiming him, his vicious fingers biting into Harry's skin.

Take it, Potter. Harry heard the words Voldemort would say, and he tried to obey as he slammed the dildo deeply into his own body, wishing it was bigger, hotter, wishing he was not an active participant here and instead just a hole for the Dark Lord to use.

He needed more, Voldemort would give him more. He reached down and pinched his nipples, having to let go of his cock for a second. He squeezed them as hard as he could, but it wasn't the same. The Dark Lord would be merciless, acknowledging Harry's limits and then shoving right past them.