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A Call to Service	By : Siberian Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male Views: 1842 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I wrote this story soley for entertainment. No profit is being made and all rights belong to whoever is associated with the books and movies for Harry Potter and the characters. I don’t know their names, but I’m sure they know who they are.

Chapter List
- 1-A Call to Service
- 1
A Call to Service
By: Siberian
Status: 1/1
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Voldemort/Ron Weasley
Prompt: Double Agent, Throne, Courtship- Written for the Porn Battle XIII - Lucky Thirteen
Rating: Mature
Summary: Being called to take on a difficult task can test even the strongest of individuals. Sometimes it changes your life for the better, sometimes for the worse. And sometimes the line is too blurred to tell the difference.
Disclaimer: I wrote this story solely for entertainment. No profit is being made and all rights belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. and their affiliates. As well as anyone involved in the book series and the making of the film series.
Notes: This is written from Ron’s POV and contains mention of 'The Order of the Phoenix'. It’s actually my first story in the Harry Potter fandom. I’ve had several ideas for this fandom for awhile but this ended up being the first to be completed. I hope it sounds true to character. I still need to read all of the books.
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He walked into the dark room slowly. It wasn’t so dark that he couldn’t see but even if it was it wouldn’t have mattered. He’d been in this room so many times that he would have been able to navigate it without his sight. This place was many things. It was a meeting place, a torture chamber but most importantly it’s where certain truths had been revealed. He’d been broken in this room, remade into something he didn’t recognize. What was supposed to have been a sacrifice had instead become the darkest of rewards. A noise sounded behind him then and he turned to face the door.
It opened slowly, admitting two dark figures. His eyes connected with that of his Lords’, the gaze not falling away even when the other man came to a stop. “Leave us.” The soft words were not spoken to him but to the man trailing along just behind the Dark Lord’s form. He knew this to be true because he had been summoned here. When he was summoned there was always cause. “But my Lord….what about..” The connection of their gazes was lost then when his Lord turned sharply to his sycophant. “I said leave us!” At the yell the second man cowered in fear, his hands rising in silent placation.
“Yes, my Lord.” Without another word, he turned on his heel to scurry out of the room. He watched the pathetic man mildly, not really caring about the scene he was witnessing. It was only feeling the intense gaze of his Lord once more focused on him that brought his attention back to where it needed to be. Approaching the other man slowly he stopped just inches in front of him before falling to his knees in a low bow. “My Lord, you have requested my company.” It had been strange to talk so formally at first but he’d quickly fallen into the practice.
The ability also became easier the longer he was around Voldemort’s strong presence. A surprisingly gentle hand cupped his jaw, using the slightest of pressure to tip back his head. “What have I told you my dear? You need not bow.” He knew this to be true but he did anyway. It was a way to show his respect, his devotion. The hand left him then, skimming lightly over his skin in its withdrawal. “Come.” At the command he rose to his feet following his master as he made his way to the ornate throne. It was a strange piece of craftsmanship, made of pieces of twisted metal that intertwined together. The surface of the metal didn’t shine but remained a dull black making it almost blend into the wall against which it rested.
It was only the deep red of the chairs cushions that made it visible at all. He stood stationary as his Lord sat down on the throne slowly. For a time all Voldemort did was stare at him, the fingers of his right hand slowly gliding over his smooth ridge of a bottom lip. Eventually he spoke, his fingers moving away to gesture vaguely in his direction. “Do you like the gift?” He lifted his hand to touch the gold pendant resting against his chest. It had been gifted to him this morning when he’d been forced to take breakfast alone. Although the other man would never admit to it, he knew it was an apology as surely as it was a bauble to woo.
“Yes, it’s lovely.” He left his fingers run over the metal of the chain lightly, his fingertips sliding down to run over the engraved surface. A slight motion of the Dark Lords’ hand beckoned him closer. He came to a stop before the throne, climbing onto his master’s lap when he read the silent desire in the limpid eyes. As soon as he settled, two hands came to rest on his upper thighs. They stroked over the light fabric covering his legs slowly, the fingers massaging on occasion.
“Now you bear my mark without it being seared into your flesh. I still have not decided where the dark mark will be placed on your body. Although others must see it, I find myself wanting to brand you in a place only my eyes will see. Tell me Ron, do you find that incredibly selfish?” He leaned slightly into the hand that pressed against his cheek. “No, what I want is far more selfish.” As he thought it might, the question intrigued his Lord. “Oh and what is that?” The hand tightened minutely on his face. It didn’t use enough pressure to hurt him but it made it clear that ignoring the question wasn’t an option. “Tell me what you desire.”
He felt a spike of pleasure at the other man’s desire to please him. “I want everyone to know that I belong to you. I want to be able to go anywhere and have everyone know that I’m Lord Voldemort’s consort.” Lifting his hands he settled them on his Lord’s chest, lightly feeling the contours of his body through the black robe. “I want everyone to know that you chose me. To know, that you could have had anyone and it’s me you chose.” The hand loosened its grip, falling away from his face to pluck up the necklace. “Now they will know. I do not give such trinkets to anyone. All of the gifts I have given to you are a declaration of my devotion…”
The necklace was dropped a second later, the hand shooting out to tangle painfully in his hair. With the handhold Voldemort had in his hair, he was forced to arch his neck back to ease the straining of his muscles. “And of my possession of you. There will be no one else for either of us. When I am whole again, when this world has fallen to me, you will remain by my side; a kept treasure who will know only pleasure and the sweet ache of pain. You will worry nothing of the world but only remain focused on pleasing me.” The hand loosened until the fingers were lightly stroking through his hair.
“As you do now.” He tipped his head back to its natural angle now that the hard grip was gone. After a few seconds of the gentle petting, the hand once more dropped down to lift up the necklace. “The color gold agrees with you. It highlights the paleness of your skin…” The fingers released their hold slowly of the necklace, skimming lightly along the exposed edge of his collarbone. When his Lord continued his voice was just above a whisper. “And the fire of your hair.” The fingers then tugged against the wide low collar of the loose shirt. “Take this off.” He didn’t comment just lifted his hands to comply.
Although the look in his lover’s eyes told him the other man was feeling impatient, he still unbuttoned the Silk shirt slowly. His master enjoyed the teasing as much as the inevitable claiming. When the shirt was open he let it slide off of his shoulders to fall somewhere behind them on the floor. Two cold hands settled at the top of his chest. As they made their way downward leisurely he shivered as much from the touch as from the lack of warmth. The body he was straddling was rebuilding itself. This transition didn’t leave much room for warmth.
It didn’t leave much room for anything that looked even remotely human. The parlor of his Lord’s skin was an unnatural white, the hands that touched him dark with their own inner decay. Still he felt himself shivering in arousal at the touches, his own skin heating the overly smooth flesh of the reassembling man. One day he knew The Order would call on him to betray his Lord and he would do whatever they asked. He had been sent here by them to gather information. As expected he was accepted easily enough, the Dark Lord only too happy to believe that he’d become tired of living in Harry’s shadow.
It was true he could feel that way sometimes but it never would have driven him to such a heinous betrayal. Thankfully he’d played his part well enough that Voldemort had believed the story he’d been fed. Well that is, after a few rounds of the Cruciatus Curse. It hadn’t been pleasant but it had also been expected. What he hadn’t expected though was being chosen as Voldemort’s consort. At first the thought had sickened him, so much so in fact that he’d vomited the first night he’d returned to his quarters. Even now the thought still sickened him to a degree but the desire he felt far outweighed the nausea.
This tryst he was having was a slap in the face to everyone he loved, he’d known that the moment his feelings had started to change. Still it had quickly become obvious to him that he wasn’t just some body to warm Voldemort’s bed. He had become so much more than that. The Dark Lord showered him with gifts, with his often sensually brutal attention and most importantly with his praise. For the first time in his life, he was the center of attention. There were no pre-set goals to achieve and no best friend to overshadow him. It was just him, just Ron. And for the first time in his life he felt like that was enough.
He knew why it had started. The Dark Lord had been fascinated with the idea of having something else to hold over Harry. It was something The Order had known he’d try to do, at least in some fashion and he had walked into this knowing that. Shortly after their first union though, he’d been called on again. He’d gone with weighted steps, hoping he would be denied the pleasure he’d felt the last time. Doing his best as he’d made his way there to forget that his virginity had been taken by his enemy. The hope he had to not enjoy the act had quickly been distinguished and he’d found himself writhing under Voldemort within minutes.
Slowly with each additional summoning his feelings had started to change. As much as he knew feeling this way was wrong, he’d started to feel affection for his dark master. He didn’t call it love. That was far too dangerous to admit even if it was just to himself but he couldn’t deny there was affection. It was unavoidable to deny it when he could remember gentle touches in the dark. The whisper soft caress of cold fingers running over his sweat soaked skin, feeling the press of a ridge of skin against his temple, his hair moving with a gentle outward breath that was just shy of foul.
In truth, it was everything he’d ever wanted. It was just wrapped up in a package so loathsome he could hardly meet his own gaze in the mirror. A string of a spell being whispered suddenly caught his attention. Whenever the Dark Lord was speaking at all it was a good idea to pay attention. The words had barely been spoken when he felt a wash of pleasure move through his body. His eyes slowly closed as he convulsed in Voldemort’s lap. A small moan fell from his mouth, his eyes trying to open again with a flutter. There was a deep chuckle, and then the words came again.
The timber of Voldemort’s voice was stronger this time, the words drawn out slowly. When the pleasure came again, he shouted at its intensity. His head fell back, his hips jerked forward and he could feel his member swelling into full hardness. A hand settled in his hair, lifting his head the next moment. He forced his eyes open just in time to see Voldemort leaning in for a kiss. Falling forward he met his lover willingly, pressing his lips eagerly to the barely formed mouth. As they kissed he lifted his arms to wrap them around his lover’s strong shoulders only to moan into the kiss a second later.
The hands had started to pet down his chest, one of them settling to torment his right nipple. More words filtered into his mouth through the kiss. Even as his nipple was pulled on roughly, more pleasure washed through his limbs. This time it was almost painful, the sensation seeming to crash into his body. He pulled away from the kiss, his eyes rolling up into the back of his head and his body shuddering so hard he almost bit his own tongue. Pulling his eyes open again, he gave his Lord a desperate look. In response Voldemort chuckled, the fingers of his hand sliding down to tug at the waistline of his pants.
“I think perhaps it is time we remove these.” He gave a little moan in agreement, his hips wiggling eagerly. Another chuckle fell from Voldemort’s lips before a spell made the material vanish. He had just breathed out at the lack of restriction when he felt a hand wrap around his member. The sensitive skin was given two rough strokes before his master spoke again. “Open my robes.” Without hesitation he moved to comply. He only opened the material enough to reveal Voldemort’s groin. The other man never revealed his body in full.
According to his lover, that was something to be saved for his full restoration. What was revealed though was still different than one would expect. The member that stretched up toward him was still shaped like that of a man but the skin on it was so white it was almost translucent. When his lover became overly excited, he could see veins under its surface. Unlike a normal man though, the veins could move position almost as if Voldemort’s body was constantly adjusting. The main difference he could see though was that there wasn’t a pronounced scrotum.
He could see a small indentation where one should be but it wasn’t actually present. This didn’t mean that his Lord couldn’t orgasm; he had already shown that he could. What it did mean though was that he wasn’t flooded with the other man’s come. At first he’d been grateful for that but now he craved it. He knew he could never have it. It would mean the end of the world if he did but he still couldn’t help wishing to be filled completely by the other man. Fascinated as always by this small portion of his lover’s body; he gently stroked over the skin smiling lightly as it jerked in his grip.
His grip faltered, his head tipping back again as another spell suddenly had his body slick with moisture. Quickly getting the hint, he maneuvered until he could take the thick member into his body. The invasion was a slow one, Voldemort’s hands stroking over his thighs in silent encouragement. Almost as soon as he’d settled, he moved his legs until his feet were flat on the deep red cushion. Pushing down in the next moment, he started to move in his lover’s lap. He lost himself in the up and down motions, his tongue flicking out randomly to wet his lips. It felt so good, so mind numbingly wonderfully good.
The hands on his thighs slid up to his hips only to tighten a moment later in a hard grip. He stilled, quivering as he was pressed even harder against Voldemort’s hips. Instinctively he squeezed down wanting to feel every inch of the erection buried so deep. A second later he found himself flipped over onto his back. He was pressed heavily into the throne’s backing now, his legs splayed wide over its armrests. A scream broke free from his lips when his lover thrust forward hard. The other man was half-standing half-kneeling now and was using the leverage to his advantage.
The thrusts came hard and quick, the thick erection slamming into his body. Within seconds he was arching with a wail, his come splattering between them in thick stripes. A few more thrusts later and his lover stilled. The member inside of him swelling to almost unbelievable thickness before Voldemort slumped lightly against his body. They stayed stationary for a time just breathing deeply. A whisper of a kiss landed on the shell of his ear. He closed his eyes with his pain. When the time came he’d betray Voldemort but he wasn’t quite sure he wouldn’t destroy himself in the process.
The End
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A Call to Service