Deal

6

Voldemort was mad.
He was so bloody angry.
He almost winced when the vase he'd thrown, shattered against the wall.
He stayed locked in his office since the previous night, no one allowed to enter.
Hell, he wanted to feel bad for how terrified Lucius looked when the man tried opening the door.
He wasn't met with a nice curse.
Voldemort was so bloody pissed off, he'd confessed to Potter, only to be left, wanting, needy, and humiliated.
Not too mention incredibly turned on.
Voldemort yelled, the only thing preventing anyone from knowing were the silencing wards he'd put up before hand.
He seethed, debating between wanting to rip Potter's throat out, or slamming the boy against a wall, devouring him and having his hand wrapped tightly around said throat.
He always had an unhealthy obsession with him.
What would you do if the person you wanted to kill was always the person you'd kill for?
Voldemort wanted nothing more than to peek into Potter's head, wondering why he was the way he was.
It wasn't as if Voldemort knew what he was doing either.
That damned kiss!
The boy had taken him by surprise, and left him wanting more.
The kiss was so heated, so delicious.
Harry tasted as brilliant as he looked.
Voldemort threw another breakable item against the wall.
He wanted to see Harry.
He wanted to slam the boy below him.
He wanted to taste those lips again, and again.
Savoring every single moment with the damned gryffindor everyone knew was a slytherin at heart.
He wanted to ravish the boy, making sure he'd come crawling back for more.
Voldemort hissed and stared at his desk.
The beautiful wood had all of his things neatly organized on it.
From his stupid paperwork, to even a picture of Harry.
Voldemort picked it up, looking at how the picture perfectly captured Harry's smile.
It had been a snowy day, around last year.
Voldemort kept it on his desk ever since.
Harry's cheeks were flushed from the cold, his nose slightly red as well.
His smile was bright, and snow was falling everywhere, almost making it seem as though Harry's hair was white with so much snow in it.
Voldemort smiled, but the smile quickly turned into a frown, frustrating the man.
Blast!
He'd wanted the boy for years!
He'd started liking Harry when they first struck their alliance.
Then over the years he'd supposed he'd learned to love the brat.
Voldemort put the picture down gently on his fireplaces mantle, carefully not to hurt his favorite picture of Harry.
He stared at Harry's lips in the picture, so perfectly pink and looking just ready to be devoured.
Voldemort had always been a little possessive over him, all of his followers could see it.
If any male touched him, Voldemort would send them daggers, later cursing them in private away from Harry and his knowledge.
He hated when people touched Harry, even though he only had to worry about the men.
Harry had been openly gay for a long time, and it wasn't as if Voldemort had stopped any of his own sexuality information from being talked about.
Everyone knew he liked men.
He'd wanted to run after Harry that night, but was so shocked into silence that he couldn't move.
Bloody fuck!
If he had another chance-
"I'd ruin him! Ruin him for anybody else! I'd make him feel so much pleasure he'd wouldn't be able to be fucked by anyone without thinking of me!"
Voldemort hissed and threw a chair against the wall, the wood breaking at the force.
He seethed and breathed heavily at the mere thought of anyone else touching what was his.
No Harry wasn't an object, but he was Tom's.
No matter what anyone else said.
Voldemort was so enraged he hadn't heard the door open, especially not hearing it locked before a pair of arms were around his waste.
He tensed hard.
He recognized the smell of broom polish, chocolate frogs, and cinnamon.
He knew who had their strong arms around him.
"Ruin me then, my lord."
It's safe to say, Voldemort's eyes almost went black with lust.