Surprise! I wrote a second part! Told you I would eventually, it only took a year or two to finally gather the motivation for it :P Consider this an early Christmas present from me. It's a bit fluffy and OOC for both Tom and Voldemort but I don't even care, I'm stressed out over College stuff and need some fluffy writing in my life. Therefore here you go. I've no idea if I'll write any more of Cold Locket after this, so this could be the end of this story forever. I need sleep.
(Also beware that there's been a time skip and both of them feel feelings for each other oops ehehhe)
Tom lay stripped, naked, beneath Voldemort. He panted softly, the Dark Lord scraped his nails over his abdomen, creating light red marks to appear. Voldemort's other hand was curled around his cock, stroking him rhythmically as his nails created art upon Tom's chest.
How had they ended up like this again? Tom groaned as the thought passed through his head, the other near torturing him with his slow pace. After the first time they'd had sex while Harry had slept on the spare bed, somehow they had just fallen into that pattern.
By day, they'd work on reinventing the Ministry of Magic, by night, they would find new ways to explore each other. The odd paradox that they were, the present and the past meeting in a lustful clash, with Harry being the one to deal with any negative effects. Poor pet.
Voldemort growled and slapped him, focusing his attention back onto him. The man shifted, letting go of Tom's cock and lifting his legs to expose Tom's hole, already lubricated and stretched from their last fuck. This was the second round of the evening.
He slipped in with ease, growling lowly in satisfaction as Tom clenched around him, his arms above his head. It was an odd arrangement, that Tom should be so submissive to the other, after all, they were the same person, they both had the most dominant and possessive streaks that each other had ever known. But with Voldemort being fifty years older, knowing life in a way Tom would never experience, it seemed natural for Tom to submit to him.
Despite his age, Voldemort certainly did not lack stamina or strength, his magical, artificial body lending him many advantages. Sometimes Tom wondered what had happened to change his older self's perception of beauty and vanity, but then his attention was drawn to the man's devilish tongue invading his mouth, and he realised that it hadn't changed that much – Voldemort still loved the way his younger self looked, but he was also confident as hell in his new form.
The Dark Lord grunted, sweat visible on his skin, as he thrust into Tom quickly, powerfully. Both of them felt pleasure rolling through them in waves, as strange as their coupling was. As strange as it seemed for the Dark Lord to have shed his robes and engage in the act.
Tom remembered when they had first lain together, and the man had refused to remove his robes, so suspicious and full of fire all at once, not trusting Tom enough to see his chest exposed in case he might betray him, try to kill him and usurp his position.
Tom never would. He enjoyed the other's presence too much.
After being locked in the locket for many years, the mere sensory experience with Voldemort was more than enough to have him addicted to the man. Harry was their pet, only joining them in bed on special occasions or when they felt particularly sadistic. It brought them satisfaction to know that the light's once-saviour was now only their servant. Barely more than a house-cat.
The boy slept most of the day, only waking when Tom or Voldemort returned to their chambers. He ate meals with them, was permitted to read from a selection of books pre-approved by the lords, and had to keep the chambers clean, but other than that or to deal with matters of hygiene, he remained simple. Sleeping.
As he was now.
"Hush, you might awaken him." The dark lord whispered hotly against Tom's ear as he thrust in sharply, hitting Tom's prostate, holding his hips in a harsh grip, not bothering to let up in the slightest.
Voldemort was always like that, giving teasing comments about his younger self's lack of control in comparison to him and proceeding to make tom completely lose his mind in pleasure. The man smirked as Tom growled at him, fighting the impulse to writhe as toe-curling feelings of pleasure spread through him.
Voldemort's hand was around Tom's cock again, not teasing this time, his hand moved with a fast purpose, thrusting into him at the same time. His eyes were dark and intense as he watched Tom's face.
"Come for me, Thomas." The Dark Lord purred, squeezing Tom's member and biting into the flesh of his neck to mark him as Tom's pleasure reached a crescendo.
The pleasure became too much to resist, his eyes rolled back into his head, his hands pulled hard at their restraints as he came. His head was thrown back, neck arched beautifully, Voldemort's tongue lapping at each dark blemish as the younger man shuddered, the Lord's claim over him standing out sharply against his pale skin.
Soon after, he knew that Voldemort had come too as hot wetness filled him and the other stilled, a muffled grunt leaving the other's mouth. They lay together after, Voldemort still above him, but completely relaxed.
The moment was almost gentle, their breathing and heartbeats slowing until they were in sync, only Harry's soft breathing in the other bed nearby interrupted their noise.
Eventually, Voldemort shifted, grabbing his wand and casting a cleaning charm over the two of them, then he sat beside the younger man, leaning against the headboard, his hand resting on top of the bedside table, nails tapping it softly as he thought about their situation.
Tom sat up too, wincing slightly at the pain the action brought, and turned to Voldemort.
"How long are we going to keep doing this?" He asked, and the other man's tapping ceased as he turned to face him.
"How long do you want to do this for?" Voldemort responded after a while, his eyebrow raised.
"I'm not entirely unhappy with the thought of continuing our affair for quite a while yet." Tom confessed, his brow furrowing.
"But what of our followers? Of Potter?"
"They'll accept whatever we tell them and if we decide to tell them nothing, then that is how it shall be. You desired Potter to begin with, is the same still true? For now he is nothing more than a pet, a war trophy. Easily disposed of, but I'm not against keeping him." The Dark Lord mused.
"I did desire him, but that flame has dulled quite a bit now that..." Tom started, "Now that I've discovered submission with you." He finished quietly.
Voldemort smiled uncharacteristically and ran a hand through Tom's messy hair, he leaned forward and kissed him chastely, allowing his hand to linger on Tom's head for a moment before resting it on his lap instead.
"Potter can be kept until you get bored of him, and I'll keep you in my bed until you're bored of me." The man told him, pulling the covers over their bodies at last, settling down to face the other as Tom mirrored his sleeping position.
"Thank you." Tom whispered into the darkness.
Voldemort's warm hands found Tom's cold ones and pulled him closer.
"It's fine, now sleep."
And sleep they did.
So what did you think? Good? Bad? Weird? Let me know :)
Until next time, lovelies,