A/N: When Voldemort got a new body in the fourth book, it wasn't that snakelike thing, but his old body. The cute one, you know… ;D
Ah, and otherwise, Voldemorts birthday is December 31 1926, which means that he is 72 when my story takes place (autumn 1999), but don't worry – he took his body from its thirties. XD
And oh, I've gone for the swearing, wicked and sadistic Voldemort, rather than the aristocratic, eloquent and slightly mad one.

"Please tell me this, you fucking imbecile, how the hell did we end up in this… this damned situation!?"

Voldemort's words echoed in the cave-like room.

"Do you eat with that mouth?" he asked dryly.

"Shut the fuck up, Potter, or I'll kill you", Voldemort growled.

"As if you wasn't trying to do that already. Besides, what would you do? Bite my nose?" he asked mockingly.

With all the frightening battles between him and Voldemort he had imagined, this had never crossed his mind.

You know those cuff-like things you can see in some movies, the ones usually holding a prisoner to a wall? Well if you don't, it's practically handcuffs but thicker and built into a wall. And oh, you have them on your feet too, but enough of describing those damned things. They were stuck in them!

Him and Voldemort. And they didn't even get a set each! Noo, they had to share. Fucking face to face!

Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort were stuck in some stupid handcuffs, Voldemort with his back against the wall, and Harry facing it. Their faces – at the most – two inches apart, their noses bumping together every now and then.

He could practically feel the insanity grow in his mind.

He had just gone out on a perfectly normal destroying-Horcruxes-trip, when the dark lord himself and alone had decided to stop him.

It was just him and Voldemort alone in some kind of weird torture chamber/basement under the house of Voldemort's father.

As the battle begun, the traps in the room activated, and before they knew it they had been sucked into this weird imprisonment. The iron shackles had slammed shut around their wrists, ankles and waists, pressing them together, tightly.

Both had naturally lost their wands, but could see them lying safely out of reach on the floor.

Now, surely an hour later, his neck hurt form keeping it bent – to avoid accidentally kissing his arch-enemy – all the time.

"Voldemort, while we're just hanging around here, can't you tell me why you insist on starting a war?" he asked after a long silence.

"It hadn't been a war if you hadn't disturbed my plans", Voldemort pointed out.

"Oh, so you mean that we just should've let you take over the world, and then make us to your slaves?" he asked.

"Of course, it would have been a lot easier. And I wouldn't have made slaves out of you; I'm just going to kill all the muggles, mudbloods and half-bloods and then let you be. That way you can't change anything even if you made a successful revolt",

"You're a half-blood yourself for Christ's sake!" he cried

"And I think you just blew my eardrum, Potter", Voldemort said coolly.

"What!? Are that all you have to say? You are a half-blood, defend yourself!" he screamed. Voldemort made a face.

"Are you the racist now, Potter?" Voldemort teased.

A feeling of hopelessness started to grow between the insanity.

"Sweet mother of Merlin… I give up…"

"Please do so, in that case I won't be troubled by you anymore",

He just lifted his head and met Voldemort's eyes. The chocolate-brown hair hung in the hazel eyes. Voldemort's face was smooth and a bit pale, and long, dark lashes framed the – actually quite beautiful – eyes.

It was not the face of all things evil.

"You had a mother who loved you above everything, you look good and you're smart – when the hell did you decide you wanted to be a spiteful maniac?"

Voldemort raised his thin eyebrows.

"When the world decided to hate me."

"The world decided to hate you after you became a maniac!" he protested, "That can't be the reason!"

Voldemort glared at him. The glare was not really that frightening, mostly because they were so close to each other that the Dark Lord was all foggy.

"Why are you even talking to me, Potter? I hate you and you hate me, we should try to kill each other instead",

Only from Voldemort could such a suggestion be serious. Well, maybe Malfoy too, now that he come to think of it.

"Well, you could try and bite my neck, cover my mouth and nose in some… weird way, so I can't breathe, but otherwise there really isn't much you can do to kill me from this position. But maybe you can try to bore me to death, I'm sure you'd succeed. Eventually." he taunted and turned his head away from Voldemort again.

A dead silence followed. A long, dead silence. Or maybe it was just the fact that he was pinned to a wall with Voldemort in front of himself that made the time move slower.

Suddenly Voldemort obviously decided that it was time for another of his pointless escape-plans. The Dark Lord started to press his wrists against the clod iron. The only problem was that his wrists were between Voldemort's and the cuffs.

"Stop it, it hurts", he protested. And the next second he realized what he'd said. A vicious smile spread in Voldemort's face. Then he pressed even harder.

He tried to press back, but Voldemort had the wall behind him to support himself, he had nothing but iron around his waist.

It was a matter of seconds before he'd lost the feeling in his hands. His fingers felt heavy and swollen, and his wrist like they would be cut off any minute.

"Please, stop! What use will it make to just hurt me?! I won't die of this!" he tried to reason with the man.

Great, the world had gone insane! He was trying to reason with Lord Voldemort!

"No, but it's fun", ginned Voldemort.

Thankfully Voldemort's arms soon began to tremble with the effort to maintain the pressure. Then the pain suddenly started to ebb away as Voldemort gave up. His hands tingled as the blood returned, but then the Dark Lord abruptly bucked his hips forward, clearly with the intention of pressing him against the iron around his waist.

Obviously the man did not think before he acted.

Their hips collided forcefully. And then they both froze, his eyes and mouth wide open in a silent gasp, and Voldemort's gaze meeting his own.

What Voldemort had overlooked was the fact that the human anatomy prevented that their hips could collide whilst their groins didn't.

Or in other – more straightforward – words; Voldemorts cock was suddenly pressed against his own.

Long, very long, seconds ticked by.

Then Voldemort's hips retreated. He blushed and looked away.

Merlin, this was awkward!

Voldemort cleared his throat.

"That was not my intention, Potter", Voldemort admitted, as close to an apology you could ever come with the Dark Lord himself.

"I think I can see that myself, thank you!" he hissed.

Panic had somehow snuck its way into his chest, and for some reason this scared him more than anything Voldemort had done since they had got caught there. His heart pounded and his breathing was ragged.

His tongue slipped out to moisten his dry lips.

"For Merlin's sake Potter, calm down, I can feel your heart beating!" Voldemort said uneasily. The man obviously was more scared of him crying then pointing a wand at him. But the words didn't help.

"Damn, Potter, I'm not going to rape you!" Voldemort cried. His voice echoed in the room.

Everything went still. Hell, even his heart might have stopped! Suddenly the picture of him on his hands and knees with Voldemort pounding into him fought its way into his mind.

He swallowed uneasily.

"Now shut up, and don't cry!"

He did nothing. With no sense of time in the basement, it almost felt like the rest of the world had seized to exist. It didn't really help him stop his disobedient imagination from running wild, picturing him and Voldemort as the last humans on earth, all alone, with no one to ever disturb them…

"Speak", he said, and even startled himself.

"What?" Voldemort asked, surprised.

"Speak, of something, anything", he said. His thoughts had begun to wander so far it wasn't even fun anymore. He was in need of a distraction.

"Did you know that some frogs can puke up their stomach?" Voldemort said (asked... =I). That effectively distracted him.

"What!? Really?"

"Of course not, you dolt, I just made something up. Why was I even supposed to say something in the first place?" the Dark Lord wanted to know.

And that put his thoughts right back where he didn't want them.

"No reason, I was just bored", he lied.

It was silly, really. But, well... Voldemort did look quite good (after all, that was a known fact and a part in the man's history as evil). And they were quite close to each other. And he was, after all, quite gay.

With all those things considered, the image of him on his knees in front of Voldemort – doing things that was best left unsaid – still was all to… pleasing, and not by far enough repulsive to be appropriate.

"Potter, will you please tell me that you have something really big in your pocket?" Voldemort said in a somewhat controlled, somewhat high-pitched, voice. Underneath the emotions composed a lethal inferno.

He blushed crimson.

"Er… I have something really big in my pocket…?" he said questingly.

"WHY ARE YOU LYING TO ME!?" Voldemort yelled furiously. He was almost surprised that flames didn't burst out of the man.

"Because you told me so!" he answered desperately. Voldemort trembled, and for a second he almost thought that the man would manage to kill him with his wand on the floor and his hands tied up. It really wouldn't have surprised him.

But the only thing that came out of the Dark Lord was a shaky breath, which he blew out in his face.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay? But there isn't really much I can do about it now", he managed as a lame excuse. The fact that his body parts now pressed themselves against Voldemort was not helping his current situation.

"You're hanging face to face with me on a wall. It can't be all that hard to get that girl of yours out of your head. Heck, I can't even understand how you got her in there in the first place!" Voldemort said with a hint of panic in his voice.

"There isn't any girl…" he said quietly.

"I don't care if it's a horse, just stop fucking thinking about it!!"

"YOU'RE HANGING RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME, HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO FORGET THAT!?" he cried, without thinking at all.

For more than one awkward moment he and Voldemort just stared at each other. Then he turned his face away and stared at the ground.

When he – after a long, long time – turned his face back to take a peek at Voldemort, he found him still staring at his with disbelief in his eyes.

"Don't… look at me like that… You are quite handsome, and… well…" his voice failed him. His brain failed him. The only thing which didn't fail him was his cock, but it had betrayed him.

"Fuck you, Potter…" Voldemort growled.

Pictures with images that not should be known to any man started running wild in his head.

"No, no! For Merlin's sake, Potter, no! Not like that!"

Lord Voldemort was panicking.

"Make it go away!" the brown haired man demanded.

"How!?" he asked.

"Donkeys! Think of donkeys!"


"Yes, donkeys!"

"Why should I think of donkeys?"

"To make it go away!"

"Donkeys? Why would that help?"

"I don't know! Just think of them!"

That was when he felt something… interesting. He swallowed hard and stared into the other man's hazel eyes.

"I don't think I am the only one who should be thinking of donkeys…" he finally said after a short silence.

"Shut up, you hypocrite", Voldemort growled while a tint of pink colored his cheeks.

"And why do you… have a problem…?" he asked slowly.

"You have always been the cause to all my problems, why would this time be an exception?" Voldemort hissed dangerously.

"My, I almost feel flattered", he said and rolled his eyes. The only problem was that a tingling feeling had placed itself in his stomach at Voldemort's words.

"You started this, make it go away!" the Dark Lord craved, sounding like a spoiled child.

"You humped me, that's what started this!" he protested.

The man glared. Then, completely out of the blue – well, not completely, but it felt like it to him – Tom pressed his hips forward, again. Only this time he was fully aware of what he was doing.

A groan ripped its way out of his throat and he closed his eyes – partly from shame, partly from… other reasons.

"That is not going to make it disappear", he said through clenched teeth. Voldemort grinned.

"No, but it can probably make you hard enough for it to hurt", the man said. Then pushed forward again, so he didn't got a chance to answer.

He bit his lip to hold another moan back, but it slipped past anyway.

"Stop! Just stop, okay? It hurts now, so stop", he said. Unfortunately, it was the truth. Jeans and a hard-on had never been a good combination. He turned away and stared at the ground.

To his surprise Voldemort didn't protest or called him a liar.

For the first time since they had got here, he enjoyed the silence and didn't take it as boredom. He tried to focus on something to make the bugle in his trousers go away, but failed. Voldemort's warm chest was to close, the man's fingers brushed his palms every other second, and their erection was still mercilessly pressed together.

"I know how!" Voldemort suddenly burst.

"You know how…?" he asked, completely confused.

The next second Voldemort was kissing him. He pressed him backwards, his tongue forcing its way into his mouth, kissing him harshly. For a moment he was so deep in shock that he remained unresponsive. The next second he was kissing the Dark Lord back.

Who would have thought that the final battle between Lord Voldemort and Harry Potter would be fought with their tongues?

But so it did, and Harry won.

There was no tenderness in the kiss, and he had soon pressed Voldemort's head against the stone wall behind him.

Then, without the slightest warning, he fell backwards. With a soft THUD he landed on the ground. He had absolutely no chance to catch his breath before Voldemort landed heavily on him.

Before he even had managed to draw a shaky breath to fill his poor lounges, Voldemort was on his feet and held his wand pointing at him.

Instead of fear, a deep disappointment settled in his heart. And a bit of sulkiness. Now when Voldemort had gotten him hard, at least he could do something about it? Other then kill him of course.

"I've figured how to open the cuffs", Voldemort aid, still a bit out of breath since the kiss.

"No kidding", he muttered under his breath. Voldemort pretended not to notice.

"And how did we come out then, oh wise one?" he asked, sarcastic.

"Easy, the cuffs is hexed to sense the life that it's keeping", Voldemort explained, still pointing his wand at him. Well, both of them actually, if you know what I mean.

"And how does kissing me have something to do with that?" he asked, his voice dry. He just couldn't help feeling lured.

"We connected with each other, which confused it so it let us go", Voldemort said with fake patience."Do you understand now, or do you want me to write a book?"

He snorted and turned his head away.

"Just get on with killing me already", he said angrily. Fucking Voldemort and his killing-the-golden-boy-obsession. Harry wouldn't mind if the man had any other form of obsession in him, though.

His erection had almost vanished completely already – that happens when your partner suddenly changes his mind and decides to kill you instead of fuck you – but the need for Voldemort to continue to kiss him had not.

Suddenly one of Voldemort's pale, long-fingered hands gripped his collar and jerked him upwards. Then Voldemort cast a spell on him, grabbed his neck and pushed him face-first into the wall.

The next thing he knew was the highly unpleasant feeling of his ass been split in two. Er… well, more than it already was, then.

A scream escaped his lips and his head fell back at the unexpected feeling.

His brain – which had been prepared of not thinking anymore – slowly began to grasp the situation.

Voldemort had not killed him. He had made his clothes disappear. And now…







He had problems.

"'M'sorry, Potter…" Voldemort mumbled, his lips only an inch from his ear.

"What… nhg… did you do that for…?" he managed.

"Oh, you can't fool me, Potter, I know you want it…" Voldemort laughed softly and licked a wet line along his neck and almost all the way down to his collar bone.

His cock was quickly rising again, despite the pain.

He wasn't going to deny Voldemort's statement.

"That was not what I asked", he growled through clenched teeth. Voldemort's lips were still pressing against his skin, so he felt the smirk.

"I simply thought that it would be more fun to fuck you instead of kill you", Voldemort explained vaguely and a small shrug lifted his shoulders. "Don't you agree?"

With Voldemort's still-clothed body pressed against him, the pale hands roaming over his torso and the lips and teeth softly nibbling his neck he couldn't possibly protest.

"Yes…" he whispered barely audible, but Voldemort heard.

"Good boy…" Voldemort whispered back, and suddenly the hands traveled downwards until they both were wrapped firmly around his cock.

A sigh escaped his lips.

"I see that we don't mind the pain all that much now, do we?" Voldemort chuckled and squeezed a little.

He wanted to say that was because there wasn't any pain left, but his voice rebelled and decided that there were more important things to say.

"The… the spell you used on me…" was all he managed to get out, but obviously the Dark Lord understood because suddenly he had a naked Voldemort behind him. The thought made his cock twitch.

While Voldemorts right hand continued to slowly pump his erection, the left abandoned it and traveled up to his chest to toy with one of his nipples. With all that considered, plus that Voldemort's mouth still sucked on his neck, plus that his cock still was inside of him, it wasn't really strange that he didn't manage to hold back the moan that sneaked past his lips.


All of the man's small motions stopped abruptly.

If his head had been clear at the moment, he maybe had been a bit concerned, but now he just got irritated. Couldn't he just continue already?

Voldemort's right hand was the first to start moving, and the thumb gently stroked over his head.

"Tom, call me Tom. Everyone calls me Voldemort, I want you to call me Tom", Voldemort said.

He agreed by pressing himself even further down Tom's cock.

Now it was the other man's turn to moan. He smiled victoriously.

"I take that as it doesn't hurt anymore?" Tom said somewhat breathlessly.

He nodded.

"Good", Tom said, pulled almost completely out, and then thrusted back in. Hard.

He moaned quietly. He could already feel the orgasm building up.

Voldemort pinched his nipple and then his hand left his chest, only to land on his cheek, forcing him to turn his head in an awkward angle. Tom's mouth planted itself on his own, immediately gaining access when his tongue touched his bottom lip. This time he didn't fight for dominance, but simply let Tom take control. It felt nice to just give in, let somebody else take the lead for once.

Tom's skillful tongue explored every corner of his mouth as he continued to pump in and out of him and stroking his now leaking cock.

Just as he realized that he was going to come any second Tom hit something inside of him. That something made his tear his mouth away from Tom's and scream.

The older man smiled smugly behind him as he repeated the motion. Harry closed his eyes in pure passion and let his head drop back to rest on Tom's shoulder.

From that point it seemed that he just couldn't keep quiet, and his moans got higher and higher with each thrust. In and out, in and out, in a quickly increasing pace.

By pure stubbornness and the need to make the moment last he managed not to come six times, but the seventh thrust was simply too much.

"Tom!" he managed to get out as a breathy warning before he came.

The world went white and his knees turned to jelly, and even if he wasn't aware of it, Voldemort must have held him up. Somewhere in the background he could feel Tom come inside of him, moaning his name.

The thought put a smile on his face as he continued to come and come, seeming to last forever.

He collapsed against Toms warm chest as the world slowly returned to normal, though a little star-filled in the glorious afterglow.

Then suddenly Voldemort pulled out of him – the feeling of it making him growl a little – turned him around and pressing him against the wall, smearing his back with his own come.

"What?" he asked curiously. Tom made a quick motion with his wand and two big, black pieces of cloth appeared out of thin air, wrapping themselves around them, somewhat alike the chitons the Greeks used to wear.

"Let's make a deal, Potter", Tom said. He raised his eyebrows and bent his neck to look up at Tom.

"Okay, let's hear it?" he said and tilted his head a little.

"I'll give my deatheaters the order that the war is canceled and that they should quit all of our activities, if you agree to spend your nights at my place." Voldemort said.

"Every single night?" he asked, "I might as well live at your place", he said with a laugh.

A wicked smile spread over Tom's lips. He blushed and quickly changed subject.

"Do you promise to tell the ministry that there won't be a war?"

Tom rolled his eyes but nodded.

"But I won't tell them where I live or hand over myself to them or something like that",

"Of course not, I don't want to spend my nights in Azkaban", he smiled.

The first truly pleasant smile he had ever seen Tom make lifted the man's lips.

"Then I shall see you tonight, Potter, and every night after that."

And with that, Voldemort apparated from the dungeon with a small pop.

Mwahaha! A slightly different Harry/Voldemort. Or at least I'd like to think so. ;)

~A hundered thanks to my beta for this story, Akwon, you get a cookie...!~

Hope you liked it!