Ladies and gents, welcome to frecleface's very first smut! Now, as mentioned in the summary, this is pretty long so please do be patient.

Also, any form of feedback is greatly appreciated. It can be a comment, a thought, an overall review, your reactions to reading this, a constructive critique, anything! I'm open to anything!

Anyway, hope you enjoy it!

Why was it that whenever Quirrell's work days were extra tedious and frustrating, the headmaster assembled a meeting with the teachers? And why did these meetings always have to be extra-long and stupidly dragged when his days were especially bad? Why? Did his colleagues just know that he was annoyed and wanted to get home as soon as possible?

Groaning in annoyance, Quirrell lamely rested his face in his hand, barely even paying attention to what was going on around him. Somebody was talking about something involving the school budget or whatever, but Quirrell simply did not care what they were discussing. Instead, he looked out the window and stared at the evening sky. Just looking at all the different colors in the clouds reminded him of how late it was getting. How long would this damn meeting take?

He decided that if he wasn't going to take part in the discussions anyway, he might as well let his mind wander. Still staring out the window, he thought of getting out of this stupid school and just go home already. At least he would meet somebody he cared about there. Somebody to hold, to caress, to talk to about his bad day, to cuddle, to love…

Quirrell sighed as he started picturing all the things he could do with Voldemort once he got home from work. Voldemort would definitely be able to relieve Quirrell from some of the stress and frustration he had been feeling today. Quirrell knew perfectly well that he should have been used to it by now – they had been together for well over a year – but imagining Voldemort being close to him still sent shivers down Quirrell's spine.

He leaned forward on the table some more and envisioned Voldemort being ready for him at home, preferably missing his presence. Of course, Quirrell knew that Voldemort wasn't big on emotions, but just thinking about him being all loving and welcoming after a hard day at work was so soothing. He sighed again, realizing just how much he longed for his partner.

"Come on. You know it's more than just that," a voice in the back of Quirrell's head teased, making him blush instantly. Well, it was sort of true. He didn't just want Voldemort to be close to him; he wanted to touch him all over and feel his cool body pressed against his own—

"No, you idiot. Stop pretending you don't know what it is you really want," the voice rang again. Well, okay, that was kind of true too. Quirrell did want more than just that. He wanted to tackle Voldemort down somewhere and just go completely wild—

"Quirinus Quirrell. Stop kidding yourself."

"Okay, fine!" Quirrell thought back to the voice. "So I'm super horny and I basically wanna fuck his brains out! There! Are you happy now?" He blushed madly at the thought, but he couldn't help it. It was true; part of the reason why he was so frustrated was because he was always so tired from work that he hadn't gotten any in weeks.

"That's the spirit," the voice rang back. "So… what'dya wanna do with him? I know you don't want him to be in charge tonight…"

Despite knowing that the other teachers would see it, Quirrell shook his head. No way in hell was Voldemort going to be in control. He would want to, of course, but Quirrell was determined that this night was going to be one of his. He grinned stupidly at the thought, and it wasn't until he remembered that there were people in the same room that he wiped it off his face.

"Mmm, now you're talkin'," the voice… moaned? "You get your turn way too seldom, man. You need this more than you think. I'm telling you…"

Quirrell gulped and stretched the collar of his shirt. "It sure is getting pretty hot in this room," he thought suddenly. He fanned his face, trying to cover up how he was feeling right now, and thanking wizard god that he was sitting down at a table. His pants were getting a little too tight for comfort.

"Oh my," the voice teased. "Quirrell, you know I was just getting you to realize the truth, right? That you want it? I just wanted you to stop fooling yourself – I'm not saying you should do it."

"Yeah? Well I am. I'm doing it," Quirrell thought back, grinning again. "The moment I get home, I'm gonna give Voldy a hell of a ride…"

"Quirinus, what are your thoughts about this?" somebody suddenly said, snapping Quirrell out of his internal battle.

"I'd do him," was the first impulsive thing that came out of his mouth. Once he realized what he had said (everybody was looking at him in an odd way now; some snickered), he quickly paled and tried to cover it up. "Haa, I mean, uh- I just- um, I would, uhh…" He swallowed and chuckled awkwardly. "I'm sorry, what are we talking about?"

Quirrell slammed his car door closed and plumped down in the driver's seat, his face in his hands. What on earth was he thinking? And in front of all those teachers too! He ran his hands down his face, stretching the skin downwards as he groaned. He really should have watched himself. Now all his colleagues probably knew what his plans for tonight were – or had at least made assumptions.

He turned the car on and drove out of the parking lot, glad that the meeting was over, but still very flustered because of his little outburst. He took deep breaths as he drove on to the main road, trying to calm himself down. As expected, the little voice in the back of his head simply would not let him relax.

"Hey, man, don't get this the wrong way. I'm just sayin', you really need to start things sometimes. Ya know: be demanding, be the boss, be dominant!"

Quirrell shivered at that thought, and bit his lip nervously. He really liked the thought of being in control for once. Squirming a bit as he drove, Quirrell tried to get his hormones together – to no avail, of course. There was no denying it anymore. He was horny as shit.

"I like where this is goin'," the voice went on, sounding deeper than before. "Seriously, though, you gotta start picturing him in some really vulnerable position – that'll be so hot!"

"Oh Rowling!" Quirrell cried as he felt himself harden even more at the thought of having Voldemort beneath him. They had done it that way before, of course, but still the mere thought was driving him crazy. He was actually sweating now.

All this thinking was taking away his concentration from driving, so he barely managed to swerve from incoming cars that he almost crashed into half of the time. His head was pounding, and for some reason, his eyesight was getting blurry. He simply could not get the image of being in complete control of Voldemort out of his head – even if he knew it shouldn't turn him on this much.

"Seriously? You think this isn't worth getting turned on for?" the voice in his head said. "Dude, just being able to say that you'll be in control of Voldemort should be good enough material for a long, hot wank."

Quirrell shook his head in an attempt to fight back the voice. Even if what it was saying was true, he didn't need somebody telling him about it. Yeah, he knew it was basically his subconscious, but it was still awkward to hear it in his head.

"Hey man, you can't deny that it's gonna feel really fuckin' good," the voice persisted, making Quirrell harden even more. It really didn't want him to get over this, did it? "Besides, you've been feeling really stressed lately. You need some relief, know what I mean?"

"Yes! I know! Alright?" Quirrell exclaimed out loud. He tightened his grasp on the steering wheel, noticing just how fast he was breathing now. His heart raced in his chest, his palms were sweaty, and oh gosh why did his pants have to be so tight?

"Man, how long 'till you get home? You're dying over there!"

There was no point in hiding it anymore. Quirrell was basically ready to go now, and no matter how much he tried not to think about it, all that popped into his head were images of Voldemort being held down somehow… Tied down, maybe? Quirrell felt another shiver go down his spine. Why? Why did this turn him on so much?

"Because it's hot, dammit! Get your shit together!"

Nope. Quirrell couldn't deny it any longer. He absolutely had to get some ass tonight.

Even before pulling up in the driveway, Quirrell's driving had become very shaky and timid, and he was genuinely thankful for the fact that he had not been pulled over for alleged drunk driving or anything. Still, he was pretty much drunk – drunk on hormones that were driving him completely crazy.

Once he stepped out of the car and looked up at the black night sky, he realized that it was probably getting pretty late, so Voldemort would probably be sprawled over the couch or something. Well, no matter. Quirrell had to have him tonight – he hadto. He decided that he didn't give a rat's ass what time it was, and awkwardly started walking towards the house. Every inch of him was severely stiff now, and when he thought about it, he was glad that it was so late and dark. He didn't have to worry about anyone noticing his obvious erection.

He took slow steps, each stiffer than the next, making him feel like he had turned into concrete or something. His entire body was trembling, and for once in his life, Quirrell knew that it had nothing to do with nerves whatsoever. He licked his lips as he approached the door, hoping with all his heart that Voldemort was still awake. With a shaking hand, Quirrell reached for the door handle and turned it slowly.

"Breathe in, breathe out…" he thought as he opened the door completely and walked inside, his motions still very stiff. As he had a closer look inside, he saw, to his surprise, that the lights were still on in the kitchen and living room. He shivered in excitement. Goody, that meant Voldemort was still awake!

Quirrell was still standing in the doorway, taking off his jacket, when he saw the beautiful sight he had craved for the entire night. Voldemort was standing by the kitchen sink, doing the dishes. Even if he was just wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt (an unreasonably tight one at that), he still managed to set Quirrell's entire body on fire.

Feeling a sudden chill, Quirrell realized that the front door was still open, so he kicked it, slamming it closed. The sound made Voldemort look up from what he was doing, and he turned around to see what the commotion was about. He grinned sweetly when he saw that Quirrell had come home; the moment Quirrell saw that, he melted completely.

"Finally!" Voldemort exclaimed as he started walking towards his partner. "I thought you'd never get home. What kept you?"

"Work," Quirrell anxiously replied back through almost-gritted teeth. He was quite honestly so stiff that he felt like somebody had used petrificus totalus on him.

Voldemort rolled his eyes and groaned. "Ugh, figures. That damn muggle school of yours always has some problems." It was only at that point that he noticed how tense Quirrell was. He looked him up and down and then raised an eyebrow. "What's with you? Are you cold? 'Cause I can get you a blanket or someth—"

He couldn't even finish the sentence because as soon as he had given Quirrell that odd look, Quirrell had absolutely snapped. He practically threw himself on Voldemort, pinning him against the nearest wall, and smothered his face with kisses. His hands fondled about Voldemort's upper body, who simply gasped in shock at the sudden closeness. Without even thinking about it, Quirrell grabbed Voldemort's hands and slammed them against the wall as well, intensifying the kiss more and more.

Suddenly, Voldemort let out a resistant moan and backed away, gasping for breath. Quirrell reluctantly stopped, but still held Voldemort's hands tight. "Whoa, Quirrell! What was that about?" he exclaimed as he panted slightly.

Quirrell frowned a bit, and then grinned mischievously. "I have had a very long, hard day," he said in the deepest, seductive voice he could.

Voldemort gave out a nervous laugh, and Quirrell noticed that he was sweating a little. "Heh, so… what? Gonna make it even harder?" He smirked sheepishly, clearly awestruck by Quirrell's intensity.

"Oh, you have no idea…" Quirrell growled as he dove into Voldemort's mouth again. He knew he should be calmer, but he simply could not help himself. Hearing Voldemort moan into his kisses made his entire body shiver with anticipation, and he was anxious to get further as soon as possible. He pressed his body closer to Voldemort's, still stretching their arms away from their torsos.

Finally parting from Voldemort's lips, Quirrell steadily moved his kisses from his face and to his neck. He released one hand to cup Voldemort's jaw as he proceeded to suck on his neck, feeling every inch of him tremble as Voldemort used his free hand to stroke his back. Quirrell then freed his other hand and gently motioned it down Voldemort's chest and then his side. As he sucked more vigorously, Quirrell's hand kept going lower until he reached Voldemort's behind and squeezed it, pushing his body even harder against the wall. Voldemort responded by lifting one of his legs and wrapping it around Quirrell's waist; he was clearly beginning to like having Quirrell in control like this.

Quirrell now felt that he could use seeing more of Voldemort's body, so for a brief moment, he stopped sucking on his neck and slid his hands up Voldemort's shirt. Voldemort's well-toned muscles were always a thrill to touch, especially when he could feel the goose bumps forming on Voldemort's skin. At the precise moment, Voldemort lifted his arms so Quirrell could successfully take off his shirt. He threw it across the apartment and wrapped his arms around Voldemort, gently tracing his fingertips down his back as he continued to suck on his neck. The frustrated groans coming from his partner's mouth hardened him instantly, and he slid one hand down to his bottom once more.

Without even thinking, Quirrell motioned his hand towards Voldemort's most sensitive area. Voldemort jolted slightly at the touch, and he tightened his hold around Quirrell. Quirrell himself became even more excited as he noticed that Voldemort was clutching on his shirt, pulling it upwards. Smirking, he let him take it off, and then pulled Voldemort's face towards his own and locked him in another passionate kiss, one hand still fondling with Voldemort's junk.

"Mm…" Quirrell moaned seductively before parting again, and then whispered: "you should wear sweats more often." He then started gently nibbling on Voldemort's earlobe, to which Voldemort responded by panting slightly. He was clearly ready to go, and Quirrell's suspicions were confirmed when Voldemort reached downwards to unbutton Quirrell's pants. His anticipation made it difficult for him to actually work the mechanics, and he grunted in frustration again.

"Who designs these goddamn things?" he grumbled, making Quirrell laugh a bit through his nose. Voldemort having difficulty getting his partner's pants off while wearing sweats himself made everything almost too easy for Quirrell. As Voldemort kept struggling with his button and zipper, Quirrell moved his fondling hand upwards slightly and then tugged on the waistband of his sweats. Voldemort reluctantly lowered his leg, and Quirrell was free to pull the sweats down completely, still marveling the fact that his partner did not seem to be able to undo his button and zipper. Voldemort then suddenly let out an extremely annoyed grunt and put his hands on Quirrell's shoulders.

"Okay, that's it!" he exclaimed and pushed Quirrell backwards, almost knocking them both over. Quirrell moved backwards, staggering as Voldemort aggressively shoved them towards the living room sofa, while somehow managing to kiss him at the same time. As arousing as this all was, Quirrell was not surprised enough to give into this sudden change of control. So before they managed to reach the sofa, Quirrell skidded to a halt, grabbed Voldemort's shoulders, and pushed him away slightly, resulting in a rather disappointed look from Voldemort.

"Whoa, what do you think you're doing?" Quirrell said with raised eyebrows.

"I'm moving this little session to the sofa to fuck you, what does it look like?" Voldemort replied, sounding just as surprised as he looked. He obviously had not expected Quirrell to back out like this.

Quirrell gave out a nasty little laugh. "Ohoho no, you're not," he said and grabbed Voldemort's forearms and turned them around on the spot, so that now he was the one pushing them towards the sofa. "This time, you bottom."

Right as he finished the last word, he had pushed Voldemort onto one of the sofa's armrests, causing him to fall right into it. Quirrell then climbed on top of him, tightening his grasp so he wouldn't get away just yet. Voldemort simply grinned and cocked an eyebrow.

"Oh, reeeaaaally?" he dragged teasingly just before Quirrell was about to kiss him again, and then struggled about to free his arms a little, before grabbing Quirrell's sides. With a yelp, Quirrell felt a rush of adrenaline as Voldemort rolled them down to the floor. The roles had reversed once again, and Voldemort now had Quirrell completely pinned down beneath him – he had grabbed his wrists on the way down, and was now somewhat sitting on his legs, preventing any movement. He smirked and wiggled his eyebrows, obviously pleased with himself, before he started kissing Quirrell's neck.

Despite not really wanting to, Quirrell gave out a moan. He really did like having Voldemort in control, there was no denying that, and he absolutely loved the way he could send shivers down his spine by simply being so dominant. But this was his night, and there was no way he was going to let Voldemort take it from him. His eyes shot open as he found the strength to wriggle one hand out of Voldemort's grip, and used it to grab Voldemort's face, pushing his head away from his neck. The two of them stared at one another: Voldemort in half-shock at Quirrell's change of moods, and Quirrell with a lustful glare that could only be described as evil.

"I don't think you understand," he said, his voice deeper than he had intended. Voldemort gulped, shivering a bit. Quirrell then pulled Voldemort's face even closer to his own, his voice now practically a whisper. "I've been meaning to fuck you all day, and I swear to wizard god, I am going to make you scream."

Not even letting Voldemort react to what he had said, Quirrell shoved him away from his face, and Voldemort ended up in a sitting position. Quirrell practically jumped up from lying on the floor and stood up, approaching Voldemort at a speed that surprised even himself. He grabbed Voldemort's sides and pulled him up as well, so they were both standing up again. Quirrell then enveloped Voldemort into a kiss as he pulled him closer – he could feel their hearts beat rapidly in their bare chests.

As they both kept moaning into the intensity of the kiss, Quirrell traced his fingertips down Voldemort's chest and stomach, taking in every solitary detail of his ripped body. Voldemort arched his back a bit, giving Quirrell the impression that he was allowed to go all the way. With one swift movement, Quirrell shoved his hand down Voldemort's wizard shorts to feel his arousal. Voldemort moaned loudly and slid down a bit, but Quirrell's hold on him with his other hand was hard enough to prevent him from falling to the floor again.

Voldemort parted away from Quirrell's lips, apparently not able to hold in his moans any longer. Quirrell used the opportunity to start half-kissing, half-biting his neck, his hand in Voldemort's shorts steadily moving at a slow enough pace that would leave his partner wanting more soon. Unintentionally, Quirrell began pushing Voldemort backwards towards their living room table. Voldemort seemed to get the idea instantly, because when they reached it, he hopped on top of it, leaving Quirrell standing above him.

Because he was still focusing on sucking on Voldemort's neck, Quirrell couldn't see what his partner did next, but was pleased to hear that he was throwing everything off the table that got in their way. He then felt Voldemort wrap his arms around his neck and shoulders, pulling him down towards him. Quirrell quickly obeyed, and started moving downwards. He put one knee on the table beside Voldemort to be able to lift himself up on it as well, and then stopped sucking on his partner's neck to look straight into his eyes. His hand was still going at a very slow pace, and Voldemort was still moaning gruffly beneath him.

Quirrell smirked once more, loving the sight before him. "Do I make myself clear?"

Voldemort closed his eyes, seemingly enjoying every single moment of this. "You have no idea how hot you are right now…" he sighed, digging his fingers into Quirrell's back as he quickened the pace a little.

With a deep chuckle, Quirrell just kept stroking, his thoughts purely focused on how submissive Voldemort was. And he absolutely loved it. He used his other hand to lower Voldemort's shorts, now getting a very firm grip and was free to move his hand as much as he wanted. Voldemort gasped and moaned in time to Quirrell's stroking, which was still slower than he would normally do it.

Suddenly, Voldemort let out the loudest and frustrated groan yet, and pulled Quirrell closer to him, glaring intensely into his eyes. "Dude, you are killing me!" he exclaimed as he arched his back a bit.

"Really, now?" Quirrell replied and grinned evilly. "And what do you want me to do about it?"

"Just- just… uggghhhhh!" Voldemort could barely get the words out of his mouth because of his own moaning. "Quirrell! Just jerk it faster, dammit!"

Quirrell felt tingles all over his body. Just hearing Voldemort beg like that assured him that he had claimed his territory, and because of that, he felt he should at least make it good for him. He steadily moved his hand faster, firmly grabbing everything Voldemort had to offer. Voldemort in turn released his grip on Quirrell's shoulders and slammed his hands on the table, clutching the edges of it while breathing through gritted teeth. He kept moaning loudly, which made Quirrell sort of wish he had actually succeeded in undoing his pants – they were getting tighter with each passing second.

Suddenly, as Quirrell noticed that Voldemort was panting faster and faster, something clicked in his mind. For a moment back there, Voldemort had wanted to take his night away. That was just not acceptable. He didn't know why, but there was something inside him that made him want to do something nasty. He sped up even more, making Voldemort twist and turn beneath him, his pants and moans becoming even hastier. Voldemort scrunched his face, his knuckles turning white from holding on to the table edges.

"Qu- Quirrell! You're gonna make me—" Voldemort exclaimed, immediately and unwillingly putting Quirrell's semi-evil plan into action. As Voldemort's breathing became so fast that it seemed like he would faint any second, Quirrell stopped stroking and let go, leaving his partner hanging.

Voldemort stopped huffing straightaway and propped himself up on his elbows, frowning. He did not look pleased with this. "Hey! What the fuck was that for?" he shouted angrily and the still-grinning Quirrell. "What, you're just not gonna finish?"

"Serves you right for trying to steal my night," Quirrell said and folded his arms, satisfied with how well his plan had worked.

"Oh yeah?" Voldemort said, still frowning. He then hopped off the table and, to Quirrell's complete surprise, dropped to his knees in front of him. Quirrell took a step backwards as Voldemort fumbled about his button and zipper once more, now actually able to undo both. Quirrell just stood there aghast, not really sure what to do. Before he knew it, both his pants and wizard shorts had been pulled down, leaving his rock-hard arousal exposed.

"You are so gonna pay," Voldemort said seductively as he gently started fondling Quirrell's testes.

The touch was enough to make Quirrell's eyes flutter, and he had to remind himself that the only reason this simple touch felt so good was because he had not been touched there in weeks. True, there was also the fact that Voldemort was brilliant with the handwork, but he decided that the other argument was probably the better reason.

It wasn't until Voldemort grabbed him entirely and started stroking him that Quirrell realized that, no, it wasn't the hiatus that was making him feel this way. It was Voldemort. Hot damn did that man know what he was doing down there. With every stroke, every little movement, every touch, Quirrell couldn't help but moan loudly. He put his hand on top of Voldemort's head and stroked his slicked-back hair, still simply enjoying the jerking and not really thinking about anything else at the moment. Even his previous thoughts of losing his night were completely gone as Voldemort kept going.

Quirrell then jolted back as he felt a soft, wet movement on his tip. Oh goodness, Voldemort really knew what he was doing down there! Shivers ran through Quirrell's entire body as Voldemort's tongue kept swirling about, but nothing could prepare him for what came next. In a flash, Voldemort squeezed his behind with one hand, kept on stroking with the other, and then put his mouth around Quirrell's head. It all happened so fast that Quirrell could barely react to any of it, and instead felt everything simultaneously, making it all much better for him. He groaned with pleasure at feeling Voldemort's warm, moist mouth on him, and did so even louder when Voldemort started sucking efficiently.

Backing up against the sofa – the nearest thing he could back up against – Quirrell relaxed his body a bit, feeling so good that he simply could not believe he had forgotten how damn good Voldemort was at this. He moved him in and out steadily, using his tongue to touch everything he could with his mouth, and still keeping one hand in place, rubbing as much as he could. As Voldemort kept sucking harder, Quirrell realized that the sounds coming out of his mouth were starting to sound inhuman, and he let out a loud moan before deciding to properly let his partner know how amazing he felt.

"You- are- You're too good!" he half-sighed, and felt Voldemort laugh a bit, indicating that he liked the compliment. He then kept going at a much faster pace, making Quirrell feel like he could peak at any moment. His eyes started fluttering again, and just when he thought it couldn't get any better, Voldemort succeeded in deep-throating him, now sucking even harder than before.

Quirrell couldn't keep himself upright any longer, and slumped down to the floor, careful to not lose Voldemort's mouth on him – not that he would want to at this point, anyway. He felt his chest rising and dropping with each pant as Voldemort just kept going, with seemingly no intention of stopping any time soon. Quirrell squinted and clenched his fists, unable to hold it anymore.

"Voldy! I- I can't—" he exclaimed as Voldemort's sucking became almost too good for him to handle. He had barely let go of the last word when he felt Voldemort stop instantly. No longer did Quirrell feel Voldemort's hand or his mouth down there. Voldemort then stood up again and folded his arms in a similar fashion Quirrell had done earlier.

Quirrell frowned at his partner and stood up as well, though a bit shakily since he had just been about to orgasm. "Dude! What are you doing?"

Voldemort shrugged all-knowingly and smirked. "Oops!" he teased and chuckled a bit.

"You're seriously not going back down there?" Quirrell said annoyingly, still frowning.

"Hah!" Voldy exclaimed, taking Quirrell by surprise yet again. "After what you did to me?" He batted his hand in a sassy way. "Please! Think of it as revenge," he added and grinned evilly. He then promptly turned on the spot and hopped back on the table, legs crossed and arms folded, and looking as though he was certain he had won.

Quirrell growled angrily and mentally slapped himself for not having expected that. Of course Voldemort wouldn't just let him leave him hanging like that without paying back somehow. Still, they weren't tied; Voldemort had done two things tonight while Quirrell had only done one. He had to even the score somehow, but it had to be in a way that Voldemort wouldn't be able to pay back. As an idea formed in his mind, Quirrell's frown vanished immediately, and he grinned at Voldemort. He threw his pants off and shoved them to the side, then strolled towards the kitchen with a very mischievous look on his face.

Voldemort looked on, and when he spoke, Quirrell could tell just by the tone of his voice that he was worried that sex would be out of the question. "Hey, where are you going?"

Ignoring Voldemort for now, Quirrell opened the freezer, and was not disappointed when he saw that it did indeed have what he was looking for. He grabbed the tray and took some of its contents out, putting them in his hand.

"What are you doing in there?" Voldemort's voice came from the living room, still sounding somewhat worried.

Quirrell closed the freezer and put one hand behind his back, using the other to twirl the newly acquired ice cubes around in his palm. He walked back into the living room, taking slow steps so he could emphasize just how serious he was about his new plan. "You know the funny thing about revenge?" he began as he approached Voldemort, who now had a horrified expression on his face. As Quirrell came in closer, Voldemort backed slightly; his eyes were still open wide, and he was now practically lying down on the table. Quirrell stood in front of him once again and bent downwards, closing in on his partner's face. "It's best served cold."

"Oh shit…" was the last thing Voldemort managed to say before Quirrell dropped the ice cubes on his chest. He winced and looked as though he was about to brush them off in a heartbeat, but Quirrell saw to it that that didn't happen. He grabbed Voldemort's wrists and pinned them down on the table, trapping him underneath him. Voldemort kept panting through gritted teeth, and started shivering because of the cold.

"Oh no, you don't," Quirrell said, still grinning, as he started swirling his tongue around on Voldemort's neck.

Voldemort kept shivering and panting, goose bumps starting to form on his skin as the ice cubes moved around, leaving wet trails on his muscles. "You are s- so fucking evil, do you know that?" he hissed through his still gritted teeth.

"Says the Dark Lord," Quirrell replied as he propped himself up again, releasing one hand to gently play with one of the ice cubes on Voldemort's chest. "And hey, I learned from the best," he added as he moved it around in circles and twirls, feeling Voldemort shiver still as the ice melted on him. Quirrell motioned the ice cube towards one of Voldemort's nipples and swirled it around. Voldemort gasped and moaned shakily, still not using his free hand to stop his partner from doing this.

Feeling that Voldemort was distracted enough because of the cold, Quirrell released his other hand and slowly trailed it down his partner's side. He reached his behind, but then decided that it was time to get prepared, so he went all the way, gently rubbing Voldemort's sphincter with his fingertip in a circular motion. Voldemort jolted a bit at the touch, giving out a startled moan as Quirrell kept going with both hands.

There was something about seeing Voldemort squirm that made Quirrell feel even more excited than before. He kept tracing the ice cubes on Voldemort's chest and stomach as a way of distracting him from what he was doing down below. Voldemort himself seemed torn between wanting to shove the ice cubes off, and begging for Quirrell to do something else down there. He didn't do anything, though, and just kept lying there shivering, moaning through gritted teeth.

As Quirrell noticed that the one ice cube he had been tracing was slowly melting away, he promptly switched hands, now using his cool, wet one to prepare Voldemort for insertion. He circled one finger around some more, and then stuck it inside, making Voldemort arch his back a bit. Quirrell used his other hand to trace another ice cube around Voldemort's now wet stomach as he moved his one finger in and out. The cold moisture made it a little easier for him than it would have under other circumstances, and once he felt that Voldemort was used to the single finger, he added another, resulting in another startled gasp. Quirrell didn't plan on going very deep just yet; he wanted Voldemort to get used to having something inside him as much as possible before doing anything drastic. He may have been excited, but he was still Quirrell, and he didn't really want to hurt his partner.

Another ice cube melted completely, and so Quirrell switched hands again, using the newly-applied moisture on his other hand to finger Voldemort some more. In his mind, he was very happy with himself for having thought of the whole ice cube thing – they were really helping him right now. Voldemort kept on wincing and moaning beneath Quirrell, further proving to him that he was doing things correctly. With each melting ice cube, Quirrell switched hands, adding more movement with each one. Once he added a third finger – to which Voldemort reacted by clenching his fists and biting his lip – he decided to start moving more inwards.

All the ice cubes had melted now, leaving Voldemort's chest and stomach cool and wet, but he seemed pleased enough not to care about the coldness anymore. He simply relaxed his body and focused on Quirrell's fingering. Quirrell himself inched deeper inside of Voldemort, trying to find his prostate to at least make all of this preparation good for him. He hit something in there, and judged by Voldemort's reaction (groaning and panting loudly, clenching his fists even more) that he had found the right place.

"Sweet fuck, how are you so- UGH! How are you so good at this?" Voldemort exclaimed as Quirrell kept hitting that one spot inside of him.

Quirrell put one knee on the table, leaned forward as close as he could, and whispered: "I take notes."

Voldemort kept on twisting and turning as Quirrell climbed on top of him on the table, now able to kiss him properly again. The softness was amazing, and for a split second, Quirrell almost forgot to keep moving his fingers. It was only when Voldemort lightly bit on his tongue that he recalled what he had been doing, and continued stretching him. Voldemort moaned into the kiss, and because Quirrell knew exactly how he felt (what with being used to the same thing being done to him), he did so as well. He could feel Voldemort gradually getting adjusted, but still kept going because he simply loved seeing his partner so satisfied.

After about half a minute, though, Quirrell backed from the kiss, because simply had to ask. "Well, Voldy?"

"Shit, man," Voldemort replied, panting, "I'm ready."

Quirrell got goose bumps at hearing Voldemort say that, and stood up from the table. Voldemort, still lying on it, was trembling slightly, but seemed excited enough to not look scared. Quirrell observed his partner, absolutely loving the sight before him, before parting his legs a bit. He then grabbed a hold of his own arousal to make everything easier, and started pushing just his head inside. Voldemort squirmed a bit beneath him, biting his lip and clutching the edges of the table once more. Quirrell knew he should take his precious time for this to let Voldemort adjust to the penetration, but he could barely wait. He instead slowly went in deeper, allowing his partner to get the idea of what was about to come.

Panting a little bit with every movement, Voldemort wrinkled his face again as Quirrell kept going. Once he was all the way in, he relaxed, but was still panting. Quirrell then bent over and brushed some of Voldemort's hair back, looking him right in the eyes as he did so – even though Voldemort's were still half-closed from focusing on getting used to everything. Despite himself, Quirrell found the entire situation so arousing that he couldn't wait for it any longer.

"I'm just gonna warn you right now, okay?" he said in a much deeper whisper than he had intended; Voldemort nodded. "I'm gonna start slow, but once you get used to it, it's gonna get much faster."

Voldemort's eyes shot open, and he glared lustfully at his partner. "Then you'd better fucking do it, because I want it."

Again, just hearing those words coming out of Voldemort's mouth made Quirrell even more excited than he already was. He nodded accordingly and propped himself up again, deciding that Voldemort must have been ready for some movement. He slowly, gently, moved in and out, still trying to be careful enough not to hurt Voldemort. He closed his eyes, chin up, as he focused on only letting Voldemort adjust. As much as he wanted to make this ride wilder, he had really meant it when he had said that it would start out slow. He quickened the pace just a tiny bit – it was hardly noticeable, but Quirrell still wanted to gradually go faster bit by bit. Voldemort groaned at the movement, releasing his grip on the table slightly.

"Quirrell!" he moaned as he gave out another loud sigh that Quirrell hoped meant that it felt good. "Fucking do it!"

Hearing Voldemort beg for it was the last straw. Quirrell grabbed Voldemort's thighs and wrapped his legs around his waist, allowing him to do things properly. Voldemort shivered beneath him as he pushed deeper and deeper, and Quirrell was certain that this was it – it was time to go.

Quirrell positioned himself in front of Voldemort, holding on to his thighs as he prepared to start thrusting. As promised, he kept going at a slower pace, but the speed quickened much faster than he had initially intended. This felt too good to be taking too much time. Voldemort was so tight and being inside of him felt more amazing than Quirrell dared to think about. Before he knew it, he was slamming into Voldemort like there was no tomorrow. He knew he should have been more patient, but he couldn't stand holding it off anymore. Having Voldemort on the table like this, his legs wrapped around his waist, was almost too hot an image for him to stand.

Quirrell's eyes started fluttering again as his mind started taking in just how fucking good this felt. He could have peaked at any moment now, simply because he was actually on top for once. But he really owed it to both himself and to his partner to make this session as long-lasting as possible. Voldemort moved one hand towards his own crotch as everything became much wilder, trying to get some friction on his own erection while having Quirrell inside. He closed his eyes and groaned loudly, obviously feeling much better than he had expected.

Feeling sweat starting to sprinkle on his forehead, Quirrell went even faster. Sweet candy-coated Rowling, this felt good! So good, in fact, that Quirrell forgot for a moment that he was also pleasing another person. He just kept going and going, faster and harder with each passing second. He panted and groaned in time to his thrusting, squeezing Voldemort's thighs as it all just became better and better.

Voldemort threw his head back as the ramming got harder; panting so fast that for a second, Quirrell was actually worried that he might be hyperventilating. He gave out a loud groan that was almost loud enough to pass as a scream, which made Quirrell do the exact same thing. Quirrell went deeper and deeper with each thrust, surprising even himself that he hadn't peaked yet. Just as he was about to hit Voldemort's prostate, Quirrell's mind clicked again, and he slowed down, gradually stopping. Voldemort in return looked up at him in confusion.

"Why'd you stop?" he panted, rubbing some sweat off his forehead and smacking his now dry lips.

"I just got an idea," Quirrell replied as he slowly pulled out. He signaled Voldemort to sit up, and then pointed at the sofa, wiggling his eyebrows.

Voldemort, now sitting upright, gaped open-mouthed at the sofa, but the surprise in his face made him look more interested than nervous. "You're kidding."

Quirrell grinned and shook his head. He then turned around and sat down on the sofa, spreading his legs a little. Looking back up at Voldemort with flirtatious eyes, Quirrell edged him to come over. "Go on. Sit on it."

"But Quirrell…" Voldemort timidly said as he climbed off the table. His posture was a little loose, but he managed to keep his balance. "I've, uh, never actually done that position before."

"What are you, me?" Quirrell said and cocked an eyebrow. "Man, you're really soft when you bottom." The moment he let the last word out of his mouth, Quirrell shook his head a bit. He hadn't intended on saying that out loud; in fact, he wasn't even sure why he thought it up. Was he trying to make Voldemort more willing?

Whatever the case, Quirrell's words seemed to have that exact effect on Voldemort, because he frowned instantly and hurriedly approached the sofa. "Oh, you did not just call me soft!" he exclaimed as he climbed on top of his partner and then inserted him. He clutched Quirrell's shoulders and squinted, biting his lip as he tried to relax and adjust again. When Quirrell was all the way in, Voldemort glared up at him, panting. "I'll show you soft!"

Voldemort tightened his clutch on Quirrell's shoulders, clawing into his skin, as he started moving. Quirrell grabbed his hips and grinned. There wasn't much he could do in terms of movement, so it was really all up to Voldemort. He tried to thrust upwards a bit anyway, and if Voldemort's moans and hisses were any indication, he was doing something right. Still, his own movement wasn't what made him feel good this time. No, it was the fact that Voldemort was clearly so eager to show him that he wasn't a "softie" that he was riding him with more energy than Quirrell had anticipated. He leaned his head back and groaned, squeezing Voldemort's flesh as he simply kept going at a very, very good speed for somebody who had never done this position before.

How the hell was Voldemort still going? If it was Quirrell, he would have collapsed by now from either pleasure or pain. Quirrell moved his hands downwards a bit and parted the way a little, and then slammed into Voldemort in rhythm to his riding, definitely hitting a good spot this time. Voldemort screamed and bent his back backwards in a way that was almost physically impossible, and Quirrell had to grab his back in order for him not to fall down.

"Whoa! Easy!" Quirrell exclaimed through his own panting as he kept a steady rhythm, careful not to hit that spot again for now. Voldemort relaxed and came in closer, sucking on Quirrell's neck as he kept moving, panting through his nose. Quirrell groaned and caressed his back, loving the closeness.

"Ugh, fine, you win. I'm soft…" Voldemort admitted angrily as he started biting where he had been sucking before. His fingernails dug even more violently into Quirrell's shoulders, and Quirrell was certain that he would have wounds or even scars in the morning. After a few seconds, Voldemort stopped biting and whispered right into Quirrell's ear, "But don't tell anybody, got it?"

Quirrell grinned and pushed Voldemort up so he could look straight at him. "Alright, I won't," he said and kissed his partner. "But you'd better make it a secret worth keeping."

"I think I can do that," Voldemort said seductively as he gradually started moving again, though not quite as vigorously as before. Quirrell didn't mind – as long as he could feel Voldemort's tight ass around him, he was satisfied. The slow rhythm was nothing to complain about, because now that Voldemort had relaxed a bit, it was much more comfortable for both of them. But still, for some reason, Quirrell quickly grew impatient with it. He wanted to hear Voldemort scream some more.

"So… Ready for more movement?" he said suggestively as he trailed his hands down Voldemort's sides.

"Thought you'd never ask," Voldemort replied with a grin as he started riding Quirrell once more. The two of them moaned in harmony as Voldemort sped up a little, Quirrell now taking part in it as well, thrusting upwards again. He felt himself hit that spot inside Voldemort again, which in turn made his partner speed up even more. The amount of pleasure Quirrell felt right now was indescribable, and he was barely capable of holding back his groans, letting them out more loudly than before.

Voldemort was starting to sweat and his panting got very shallow as he went even faster, making Quirrell think he was close to coming. With his eyes closed, he threw his head back and bit his lip, clawing even harder into Quirrell's shoulders.

"Don't- ever- tell- anybody!" he screamed, panting so hard that he could barely get the words out of his mouth.

"I won't! I won't!" Quirrell screamed back and squeezed Voldemort's flesh, moving along with his riding. "Holy crap, you're good!"

The intensity of everything was completely overwhelming, and Quirrell wondered just for how much longer he could last. Suddenly, taking him by complete surprise, Voldemort pulled Quirrell up towards him and started moving slower. As much as Quirrell liked having his partner so close to him, he was confused as to why Voldemort was suddenly decreasing his speed.

"Hey, wha- Why are you stopping?" he half-sighed, practically hearing his own heartbeat now.

Voldemort grabbed Quirrell's head and pulled him into a passionate kiss. His tongue dove inside Quirrell's mouth, moving at such a speed that he was barely able to make contact with it with his own. When they parted, Voldemort rested his forehead against Quirrell's and grinned. "Since we've pretty much established that I'm your bitch tonight, how's about you fuck me properly, huh?"

Getting the idea, Quirrell grinned at his partner as he started to calm down. "What'd you have in mind?" he asked, although he had formed an idea in his mind.

Grinning back, Voldemort slowly pulled Quirrell out of him, kissed him on the forehead, and then dropped down on all fours on the floor. Quirrell shivered in anticipation, knowing just what was in store for them. He got up from the sofa and positioned himself behind Voldemort, parting the way once again as he prepared to get back in. He pushed inside slowly, hearing Voldemort breathe fast as he went in deeper and deeper.

"Hey, just so you know," Quirrell said as he started moving out again. "We're finishing this now. Which means," he added as he rammed right back into Voldemort, resulting in a startled scream, "this is gonna be rough. Sure you can handle it?"

Quirrell heard Voldemort laugh flirtatiously as he pushed his body against Quirrell's, making his dick go even deeper. "Who cares? Just fuck me!"

Quirrell did not need to be told twice. He grabbed Voldemort's hips, pulled out, and then shoved into him as hard and fast as he dared, not even thinking about letting his partner adjust. Quirrell needed to go fast, this was what it was all about. He closed his eyes and moaned, simply enjoying the fact that he was top for once. He went in deeper and deeper, so forcefully that Voldemort's pleased groans now more resembled screams than anything else. Quirrell didn't even bother thinking about whether or not the screams meant that Voldemort was in pain or not. He just kept going and going, finally finding Voldemort's prostate in there. As he hit it again and again, Voldemort panted loudly beneath him, and now Quirrell was certain that the screams were indeed ones of pleasure.

"Ah! Faster, Quirrell!" he screamed, and Quirrell did just that. He tightened his grasp on Voldemort's hips, digging his fingernails into his skin. He reached a speed that felt extremely good, and everything seemed to be in a blur for him.

This was it. Quirrell was going so fast and felt so good that he barely even noticed that his legs were cramping up. He didn't care. He needed to finish. Soon enough, Voldemort announced his peak, and Quirrell pounded into him harder and faster than ever before. Quirrell's eyes started fluttering once again as he neared his finish as well, going so fast now that he wasn't even sure he was moving at all.

Finally, the entire living room echoed with their screams as they came at the same time, both shouting each other's names repeatedly. Quirrell's entire body trembled as he burst deep inside of Voldemort, the intensity of the entire session finally dawning on him. He pulled out slowly and then the two of them ultimately collapsed on the floor, panting like crazy. Quirrell was too pleased to even think about the mess they had probably caused, and so he just lay there and tried to cool off.

After a couple of seconds, he felt a familiar hand touch his chest. He turned his head, and smiled when he saw Voldemort grinning at him. He was sweaty, panting, his face was incredibly red, and his hair was a ruffled mess, but it was still the most beautiful thing Quirrell had ever seen. He touched Voldemort's hand with his own, feeling his own heartbeat underneath them both. Voldemort inched a bit closer and planted a small kiss on Quirrell's lips, and then smiled sweetly at him.

Suddenly, something clicked in Quirrell's head, and he gasped as his eyes opened wide. "Uh, Voldemort…" he began, his voice shaking a little. "What… just… happened?"

Voldemort let out a small laugh. "We fucked?" he replied simply. "Well, you fucked me, anyway."

Quirrell felt his heartbeat race again, although now it had nothing to do with sex. "I fucked you," he repeated. "Holy shit, I totally fucked you…" He looked up to the ceiling, a look of horror on his face. It was only now that he put together just how fierce he had been, how dominant. He had said things, thought things, done things that he didn't think he would ever do. And yet there he was, having just finished fucking Voldemort so hard that he surely wouldn't be able to stand upright for a long time.

"Yeah? So?" Voldemort said with a shrug. "Why's that so weird?"

Quirrell bit his free fist and then turned around to face Voldemort, and then just blurted everything out. "Omigosh dude I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to… A- Are you even okay? I mean holy shit, that was so rough! That was not me, I- I swear, it was the hormones! Oh wizard god I can't believe I said all those things a-and made you do this—"

"Quirrell! Quirrell!" Voldemort exclaimed, stopping Quirrell in his tracks. "What the hell are you on about? You were amazing, if a little out of character. And a little scary," he added and chuckled at Quirrell's terrified reaction. "But hey, I loved it. And, uh, judging by your screams back there, I'm gonna say you did too."

"But aren't you hurt? Can you even stand up?" Quirrell asked, genuinely worried.

"Well, I can barely move right now," Voldemort replied, "so I don't think I'll be standing up for the next couple of weeks or so."

"Shit, I'm sorry," Quirrell said and bit his fist again.

Voldemort cuddled closer to his partner, wrapping an arm around him and intertwining their legs. "Don't be, man," he said as he gave Quirrell another little kiss. "I may be so sore that you'll have to carry me to the bedroom, but it was totally worth it."

"Really? I wasn't too rough?" Quirrell said, now smiling.

"Sure you were!" Voldemort replied, and when Quirrell's smile faded a little, he chuckled. "But that doesn't mean it wasn't fucking good. I mean hey, I fuck you hard all the time, so…" He shrugged.

Quirrell rolled his eyes and grinned at Voldemort. "You're ridiculous."

"And you're a monster in bed," Voldemort said and pinched Quirrell on the side. "Or the living room. Or whatever."

"If you say so," Quirrell said and shrugged, and then kissed Voldemort lovingly on the lips. "So… what do we do now?"

"I have an idea," Voldemort said and wiggled his eyebrows, sending tingles down Quirrell's body and making him think that he was about to do something nasty. But instead, he lifted his legs so that he was almost lying on top of Quirrell, and wrapped his arms around his neck. "Now, Quirrell! Carry me to bed! And be sure to have oil or something on the nightstand, because I'm gonna need a backrub tomorrow."

Quirrell sighed and ruffled Voldemort's hair. "You're lucky I love you," he said as he struggled with standing up. He finally got up on his feet, and was now carrying Voldemort bridal style, feeling absolutely ludicrous.

"I know," Voldemort teased, and then hissed with pain. "But you're gonna have to hurry up, because my back is killing me!"

With another eye-roll, Quirrell kissed Voldemort's forehead and started walking towards their bedroom, deciding that he would just tidy up the living room the next day. His mind was still sort of spinning, but he knew that he was only because he was overwhelmed by what had just happened. He had totally just had sex in the living room, not even thinking about any consequences or anything. He decided right then and there that he would never again allow himself to get this worked up again. Thinking back at their session, Quirrell realized that his dominant self actually was pretty scary.

"Hey Quirrell…" Voldemort suddenly said in a muffled, sleepy voice, snapping Quirrell out of his thoughts.

"Yeah?"

"Remind me to let you be on top again sometime," Voldemort replied, and then after a small pause (in which Quirrell gave a little chuckle), added: "ya know, when I'm not so sore. Which would be in… two years or so."