![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
lysanatt.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
rarepair_shortsAuthor: ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
snapelike
Recipient:evening12
Title: The Shard in the Heart
Pairing: Harry/Lord Voldemort
Request: "After all is lost, why not follow your heart."
Rating: R
Word Count: 550
Author's Notes: Nods to H.C.
Summary: There is this splinter from a troll-mirror in his heart, a piece of evil and eternity.
The Shard in the Heart
Somehow it doesn't feel as strange or as appalling as it should have. Somehow it feels as if he has always been there. Inside him. So when he who will be his lord and master finally takes him, it is more like parts that finally come together to make a whole than the rape it could have been. His lord, too, has been broken, a part of him contained in Harry's own body. It is not violation. It is symbiosis.
It doesn't change the fact that defeat and submission have bitter tastes, no matter the coming together and the pain that turns into pleasure. It doesn't change the fact that freedom no longer holds any meaning. It doesn't make it feel better, this sweetening of ash and death and loss. Here, in the luxurious bedroom in the manor house that once belonged to the Malfoy family, Harry wakes up in the morning, telling himself that life still has something to offer. Now the manor is his, a gift from his lover. A prison from his lover.
He relishes, however, the warmth of the naked body that lies so close to him. He admires the slender, beautiful hand that lies so possessively on his chest, as if one cruel push could remove his heart and crush it. He has learnt to appreciate the beauty in cruelty, finding comfort in the inevitable.
It is this or death.
Perhaps death would be better? He knows he shouldn't think like that. It does him no good.
Behind him the Dark Lord's breathing pattern reveals that Lord Voldemort is awake.
'My Harry,' Lord Voldemort whispers and drags Harry down on his back, pressing his lipless mouth against Harry's full lips. Lord Voldemort kisses him twice. One kiss to thaw his frozen heart, the Dark Lord's tongue is burning hot in his mouth, waking Harry's desire. Harry becomes numb from the cold that surrounds him and he sighs from pleasure as his master climbs on top of him. A second kiss, deep and demanding, when Lord Voldemort takes him makes him forget about his life, the life he once had. There is just the Dark Lord and his possessive, violent desire that burns like ice and fire both. A furnace of omnivorous love.
On the peak of their pleasure Harry looks up into the red eyes he once feared. All he sees is a shadow of himself, a piece of him reflected in Lord Voldemort's eyes. They are one. They are each other. There can be no separation. When the Dark Lord moans deeply, groaning Harry's name, Harry no longer wants to be away from his lover. At least he is not being used. He is loved, and that is all that matters. A cold, distorted love reflected in a mirror of broken lives but love it is nevertheless. It is more than Harry ever had before.
There is this splinter from a troll-mirror in his heart, a piece of evil and eternity. A piece of the man he loves and fears. But this is not a fairytale. No one will cry by his chest and thaw his heart with her tears. No one will.
Harry's tears, too, has stopped.
He no longer wishes that he was able to cry.
snapelikeRecipient:
evening12Title: The Shard in the Heart
Pairing: Harry/Lord Voldemort
Request: "After all is lost, why not follow your heart."
Rating: R
Word Count: 550
Author's Notes: Nods to H.C.
Summary: There is this splinter from a troll-mirror in his heart, a piece of evil and eternity.
The Shard in the Heart
Somehow it doesn't feel as strange or as appalling as it should have. Somehow it feels as if he has always been there. Inside him. So when he who will be his lord and master finally takes him, it is more like parts that finally come together to make a whole than the rape it could have been. His lord, too, has been broken, a part of him contained in Harry's own body. It is not violation. It is symbiosis.
It doesn't change the fact that defeat and submission have bitter tastes, no matter the coming together and the pain that turns into pleasure. It doesn't change the fact that freedom no longer holds any meaning. It doesn't make it feel better, this sweetening of ash and death and loss. Here, in the luxurious bedroom in the manor house that once belonged to the Malfoy family, Harry wakes up in the morning, telling himself that life still has something to offer. Now the manor is his, a gift from his lover. A prison from his lover.
He relishes, however, the warmth of the naked body that lies so close to him. He admires the slender, beautiful hand that lies so possessively on his chest, as if one cruel push could remove his heart and crush it. He has learnt to appreciate the beauty in cruelty, finding comfort in the inevitable.
It is this or death.
Perhaps death would be better? He knows he shouldn't think like that. It does him no good.
Behind him the Dark Lord's breathing pattern reveals that Lord Voldemort is awake.
'My Harry,' Lord Voldemort whispers and drags Harry down on his back, pressing his lipless mouth against Harry's full lips. Lord Voldemort kisses him twice. One kiss to thaw his frozen heart, the Dark Lord's tongue is burning hot in his mouth, waking Harry's desire. Harry becomes numb from the cold that surrounds him and he sighs from pleasure as his master climbs on top of him. A second kiss, deep and demanding, when Lord Voldemort takes him makes him forget about his life, the life he once had. There is just the Dark Lord and his possessive, violent desire that burns like ice and fire both. A furnace of omnivorous love.
On the peak of their pleasure Harry looks up into the red eyes he once feared. All he sees is a shadow of himself, a piece of him reflected in Lord Voldemort's eyes. They are one. They are each other. There can be no separation. When the Dark Lord moans deeply, groaning Harry's name, Harry no longer wants to be away from his lover. At least he is not being used. He is loved, and that is all that matters. A cold, distorted love reflected in a mirror of broken lives but love it is nevertheless. It is more than Harry ever had before.
There is this splinter from a troll-mirror in his heart, a piece of evil and eternity. A piece of the man he loves and fears. But this is not a fairytale. No one will cry by his chest and thaw his heart with her tears. No one will.
Harry's tears, too, has stopped.
He no longer wishes that he was able to cry.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}