Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Debauched	By : Saya Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Voldemort Views: 15170 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the property of J.K.Rowling and etc, and I make no money out of this.

Chapter List
- 1-Debauched
- 1
Debauched.

Crimson eyes watched the boy moving hypnotically amongst the sea of limbs, sweat and debauchery. The young dancer was of average height of 5’6, with lithe muscles moving under the pale skin, and dark brown hair, the color of chocolate that just barely touched his slender shoulders.

The watchful eyes roamed the moving figure, giving special attention to the swaying hips that called to him like a siren to the lonely fisher at sea with the way they swayed in rhythm with the slow, seductive beat. The youth was wearing a black shirt, loose on his frame, but not hiding that which it hid under its fabric with the way the top 3 buttons were unbuttoned. His eyes, warmed by the rising lust in his veins, burned their way to the legs, clad in tight black leather...

The red eyes, burning with sinful promise of debauchery narrowed further, as he saw the youth turn towards him, piercing him with fiery emerald eyes, and his grip on the railing tightened as the boy stretched his lips in a slow curling smirk, eyes all soft and full of promise. He felt his lips part slightly, as the youth tilted his head slightly backwards and to the side, still watching him with eyes of finest emeralds, glinting in the low light, and he observed as the youth moved his hands, skimming up the sides, then chest, then that slender long neck, until those long thin arms stretched into the air, moving and flowing and calling.

The siren, for that’s what the boy must have been, started to move towards him, swaying his leather clad hips in a manner so sensual that it made his throat dry and his palms sweat. He could feel the call, that magnetic pull that first led him into this place in the first place. The siren’s magic, so sweet and dark, the eyes so full of promise of carnal pleasures... He could feel it reaching deep into him, calling him, seducing him... It was breathtaking.

The boy was so close now, the distance between them growing with each passing breath between his parted lips. He could feel his heartbeat increase with each step that brought the siren closer to him. The rising hunger gnawing at his insides, craving, demanding, and as the boy moved closer still, his senses caught the scent of his magic, clinging to the boys’ skin. The scent of his blood, the scent of him... He felt his lips curl.

Ah, such a sweet and innocent scent of vanilla, clinging still to the youth whose eyes spoke of all but innocence. Seduced.

Oh yes...come closer little siren...come and let me feast...

The youth finally having reached him, pressed himself closer, until there was no air separating them. He felt the heat and tremble of that delectable body. Felt the frantic beat of the heart, the rush of the blood pumping through those veins, felt the desire begging fulfilment.

Yesss...

His red eyes were hooded with satisfaction as he struck and grabbed that soft looking hair, and gently, yet firmly, he tilted that head backwards.

“Name?”

“Harry.” Just a breath, amongst the sea of writhing, crying flesh.

He bent down and nuzzled that pale, long neck, breathing in the sweet scent of the boy, magic and blood.

‘Ah...such innocence...and all mine’, he thought as he kissed and licked his way up the column of that tempting flesh. The moan, spilling from the boys’ lips sharpening his senses.

“You are mine, Harry”, he whispered as he tightened his grip on the boys’ waist and sunk his fangs and pulled in that sweet, sweet ambrosia hungrily.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The room was dark, but the darkness was not the suffocating kind, for the dying embers in the fireplace cast soft shadows, bathing the floor and walls with its soft whispery caresses. The air was spicy with thick, sweet aromas of the moving and writhing bodies. And the air was rich with sound; the soft crackling of the dying embers, and the whispers of the silk sheets against the hot writhing flesh, the velvety moans, mewls and whimpers falling from wet lips.

He lifted his head; eyes hot and burning, lips wet and parted, and his breath hot against the begging body spread out beneath him. Please... His lips curled in a cruel smile. ‘Yes,’ he thought, ‘beg me.’

“Beg for me, my sweet Harry.”

“Please...have mercy!”

Mercy! Ah...such an amusing little creature. Mercy. From him? No such thing...

He moved, until his whole body was hovering over the lithe little siren spread out beneath him like an offering to a god.

“Beg me more”, he whispered as he nudged his fangs against the silken soft pale chest of the whimpering boy.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The pale canvas beneath him was littered with tiny trails of blood, painting a map of tantalizing promise of treasure. He moved his hips ever so slowly, drawing out soft cries of pleasure from the youth beneath him as easily as he earlier drew his blood and magic.

Such a fine specimen.

And all his...

And as he continued the slow torturous pace he licked the trickling trails of blood.

Not a drop would be wasted.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________

He let himself sink even deeper into the burning flesh, as he gripped the dark hair in his one palm, and pushed the fine waist down onto the scalding sheets with the other.

Yesss...

He could finally smell that bittersweet scent of tears, spilling down the flushed cheeks, dripping upon those trembling red lips. He gripped the hair tighter, bringing forth yet another moan, and pulled the boy up and towards him, twisting the head. And he ate at those lips, swallowing the breathy whimpers of surrender, as his tongue chased after those salty drops.

Thrusting.

Twisting.

Writhing.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The boy was writhing in his lap, moving his hips as sensually and seductively as he did on that dance floor. So weak with pleasure. The head was cradled on his shoulder, the wet parted lips caressing his neck, the soft, pleading whispers against bathing his ear.

He moved his hands, gripping the hot, quivering flesh of the inner thighs, as he pushed the trembling body closer to him, and fangs sinking once again hungrily and taking.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The morning sun was spilling through the gap of the curtains, so thoughtfully drawn to ease the sleep of the boy sprawled amongst the cooling sheets. The singing of the birds chasing away the lingering of the nighty shadows.

Muffled voices moving closer reached the ears of the exhausted youth. A groan spilling through parched lips. Muscles protesting the mere thought of movement.

“Harry, come down for breakfast!”

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Keep it as a One Shot?
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Debauched