Work Text:
Voldemort leaves a meeting to go work in his library. He’s sitting on an chaise lounge, reading through a pile of amendments. His Harry enters the room with a tray of tea, collar round his neck, floral lace nightie ending above his knees.
How he loves to distract him. Voldemort keeps his eyes on the work, flipping the page. Harry makes the tea as his master likes it, two sugars, and served by Harry, kneeling in front of him, hands cupped around the tea until Voldemort takes it.
In his peripheral vision Voldemort can see Harry’s bare shoulders, the triangle of skin below the collar of his slave, his chosen one. He continues reading, pushing Harry’s patience, starts to see him rock against the heel of his foot.
He can hear Harry’s heart beat faster out of need. Without looking Voldemort grabs the tea, and Harry whimpers at the touch of their hands.
He continues waiting for a moment more, taking pleasure in Harry’s desperation. Harry’s hands drop to his lap, helpless to letting his fingers trail along the lace, needing to be touched.
“So desperate for it, aren’t you? Well, if you want it so bad you’d better start taking it.” Harry looks up and sees Voldemort turning on the lounge, setting his tea to the ground.
Harry takes the permission and settles on the couch, reaching under the papers He insists on still reading to unclasp his trousers. He likes to put Harry on display, but when it’s just them he plays as if Harry is unimportant, just a toy.
Voldemort lifts for his trousers and pants to be pulled down, his cocks half hard for his slave. Harry licks one into his mouth, grasping the other, working them into full hardness.
Harry holds onto the back of the lounge for support as he straddles the man. Voldemort provides no attention, leaned back onto a pillow, reading in the air.
Harry directs the cocks to his cunt, slipping in one and sinking down onto it. The other he grips and pulls at as his lifts himself and seeks his pleasure.
He wants to be filled, wants to pull Voldemort away from his work and make him pay attention make him cum, and make him cave in to diving those teeth into Harry’s neck, his shoulder.
Harry lifts himself so both tips are at his entrance and he holds them as he works himself down in little dips.
His cunt stretched from when Voldemort had fucked him in his chains that morning in front of all his followers. When Harry had begged him to slow down. But now not even being sore was going to stop him from searching this out.
The library fills with squelching and Harry’s wanton moans, circling down and landing against Voldemorts lap. Harry holds onto the couch for purchase and fingers himself, finding his cocklet, rubbing and pulling at it as he falls onto Voldemorts cocks.
He pants and whines, needing to adjust into his feet rather than knees to change the angle, get in deeper. Harry moans, so full, on the edge.
He changes speed, pulls himself nearly all the way off, feeling his wetness fall against his thighs, and he plunges himself back down, he screams in pleasure and is in his last few moments.
He rubs at his cocklet, so close. Voldemort watches as Harry writhes, eyes closed, releasing a beauty of moans he’d never get while the boy is chained.
“Enough,” Voldemort says, and Harry rises, watching as the cocks emerge red, wet, and twitching. Harry’s cunt pulses as he resumes his duties, falling to his knees on the floor, and bending over Voldemort’s cocks, mouth wide, tongue extended.