Dark Lord's Pet

Sign on the Door

Voldemort

That brat was the cheekiest little wizard he'd ever met. He'd continued the punishment after the first time the younger man came because knew he'd be more sensitized. This, in the general course of things as he'd found, generally led to overstimulation, and made even light touches feel powerful.

One would expect this would overload Harry's pain tolerance (or, as it would be more accurate to say, pleasure) and actually turn the punishment into a punishment. 

That's not how it worked out though. Faster than he'd've believed possible, the boy had recovered, starting panting out swears and curses aimed at him through moans, and had cum again. 

That should not have happened, and the brat damn sure shouldn't have been able to call him a 'dirty-minded asshole even more warped than Nagini, who at least had the excuse of being a snake' through a lot of gasping, and, admittedly, quite slurred.

He'd went for a third round, but Harry still didn't reach the boundary where pain began to actually feel like pain, and instead just passed out. The third round had been more interesting though, as Harry seemed to recall he could use magical curses as well, and Voldemort found himself shielding from tickling hexes, bleeding charms, bruise hexes, cutting curses, and, in a fit of creative inspiration on Harry's part, even the killing curse. Voldemort had definitely gotten a workout after that last one came charging at him.

The damn problem was that he'd been aroused by Harry's fighting back and the attractive shade of red his curvy bottom had turned. Voldemort was certain it would bruise, and hoped the little devil wasn't able to sit down for a month. 

Maybe when he woke up, Voldemort would set him on the treadmill at nine miles per hour and make him do the entire damn hour and a half that was the machines limit. Then he'd do those pushups, crunches, and jumping jacks Voldemort had sentenced him to.

He really hoped the little monster would suffer.

Quickly, he cast a cleaning charm, disliking the mess that intercourse generated, though it'd been entirely one-sided.

Harry was still on suicide watch, Voldemort hadn't forgotten the blood analysis results of earlier that day, and he wasn't going to let his little imbecile die before they'd gotten back at Dumbledore and Harry's relatives were in Azkaban. Perhaps the younger Dursley would be sent to a muggle juvenile hall though, being sixteen and not of age in either the wizarding or muggle systems.

With a sigh, Voldemort stroked the sweaty black locks thickly matted to Harry's forehead and picked up the sleeping wizard. He wasn't heavy, too slender for that, but he was a much more solid presence in his arms than before.

He took the younger male into the bathroom, set the tub running, and set him down as the water filled quickly.

Cleaning charms never quite did the trick when it came to one's body, and he didn't want Harry to wake up uncomfortable. Sliding into the large tub behind the wizard, the porcelain fixture expanded to fit the pair of them easily.

He used lemon and pine scented soap for himself, a bar that was spelled to be the least offensive (though was branded as most pleasant) odor to the wearer. He quickly cleaned himself off with brisk movement before turning his attention to Harry. 

As the soap altered to fit Harry, the faint scent of strawberries permeated the air. It was delicate, and fit Harry surprisingly well considering how much of a menace he was. He didn't linger over cleaning the brat, a comatose body holding no interest for him, but he did wash Harry's hair.

There was so much of it, and Voldemort liked the sensation of the shampoo in the thick locks. The smaller body before him shifted a little, a small sigh emerging, and he froze his ministrations. Harry just settled into a slightly different position though, not waking. He continued with the shampoo, missing the days when he himself used it.

Once finished, he briskly dried the body, emptied the tub, slipped the wizard into a pair of loose black sweatpants transfigured from the towel, and tucked him beneath the covers of the bed. He definitely did not kiss Harry's forehead or rearrange the position of his limbs to make him more comfortable. After all, that would've been foolish. He didn't do it. Nope. Definitely not.

Upon returning to the bathroom, he took a shower and 'eased his own tension' as it were before returning to the bed to sleep beside Harry. A small sign on the door of the bedroom flipped over, written in parstlescript from saying ~Nagini if you come in you'll become a pair of boots, your fangs necklace charms, and your venom used in potions~ to read ~come in if you wish, I won't kill you at this moment.~ it was just so that if Harry woke up early, someone more responsible than the brat would make sure he didn't succeed in offing himself before breakfast.

Voldemort fell asleep easily, clad in boxers as per his norm, and firmly on his side of the bed.

It wasn't clear who moved first in their sleep, likely both, as within thirty minutes, the two wizards were fitted securely together in the center of the mattress, the larger cradling the smaller's body to his chest, breaths coming steadily, and neither having any dreams. 

After all, what would they need dreams for?

A certain nosy snake entered the room, not because the sign had flipped over, but because the noise had stopped and she wanted to ensure both her people were in one piece, or at least had enough of them left to continue functioning. 

Idly, she hissed, ~I wonder when Master is going to try to make hatchlings, or if the young one will beat him too it. Either way, I can extort the both of them for rats to keep how they truly feel about each other a secret.~ a snakey laugh emerged from her throat, and she slithered onto the warm bed, the two bodies shifting to make room for her between them.