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本帖最后由 FANTASIA. 于 2022-7-23 15:57 编辑
author：driftingsea
interlinkage：https://nightalk.life/works/40123671
Summary:
Tom has a small problem. Judging by the way his breath catches in his chest as he stares down at the boy between his legs, it might be developing into a slightly larger one.
So Tom concocts a plan.
Step One: Get Harry to go to Hogsmeade with him. (Through force, if necessary.)
Step Two: Convince him Tom is trustworthy.
Step Three: Fuck him.
He laments the effort this is going to take, the way he could use this time to continue networking at the Ministry for his eventual take-over, but he needs to get the other boy out of his system. Tom hopes that by seeing Harry in his most vulnerable state he’ll finally be able to stop thinking about him non-stop.
Notes:
idk lol...alternatively titled fuck me if u can but there ended up being a lot more plot than i intended...
Tom has a small problem. Judging by the way his breath catches in his chest as he stares down at the boy between his legs, it might be developing into a slightly larger one.
Harry looks up at Tom from where he’s kneeled in between his spread legs, as Tom leans against the wall of the Room of Requirement. His cheeks are flushed slightly and his lips are plush and red. Swollen, almost. The corner of his mouth lifts slightly in a lazy smile, and he goes back to placing a line of open mouth, biting kisses along Tom’s hip bone. Harry finishes tucking Tom back into his slacks, and leans back on his heels. He runs a hand through his hair, tugging on the tangled curls in a mimicry of Tom’s actions earlier.
His green eyes glitter up at Tom as he smiles properly this time. “That was fun,” he says, voice pleasant and steady. Like Tom wasn’t choking him with his cock just moments before. He feels a flash of hot, irrational anger. He wants to own Harry, make him his completely.
Harry’s already getting to his feet, brushing out the wrinkles from his pants and tightening the tie around his neck. He’s slinging his bag over his shoulder, about to head out the door before Tom manages to come to his senses. He lunges forward, grabbing Harry by the forearm. “Where are you going?” he demands.
Harry raises his eyebrows, turning his head to look at Tom over his shoulder. Except for the flush high in his cheeks and the redness of his mouth, he looks almost untouched. Certainly not what Tom had in mind when he’d ambushed the other boy. “Class,” he says, slowly, like he’s worried Tom wouldn’t follow his words.
Tom frowns, anger surging inside of him. His grip around Harry’s forearm tightens. “C’mon, Riddle,” Harry sighs, raising his hand to pry Tom’s fingers away. Tom lets himself be moved. His arms hang limply by his side. “Potions?”
This time, when he moves towards the door, Tom doesn’t stop him. “Next time, I’m going to fuck you,” Tom says, his voice sharp, when Harry has his hand on the doorknob.
The other boy pauses, hand on the handle. He doesn’t turn to face Tom. When he speaks, Tom can hear the laughter in his voice. “Sure, Riddle,” he says. “Next time.”
The door swings closed behind him, and Tom is left alone in the Room of Requirement. There’s a sinking feeling in his stomach, one he’s not used to feeling. Disappointment. Yes, he thinks, as he gathers his things. Harry Potter is turning into a large problem.
It’s not like Tom hadn’t been aware of Harry throughout the years of Hogwarts. He made it his mission to know of anyone and everyone who could help his cause. Harry, as the sole heir of the Potter family, was a person of interest to Tom, especially seeing as he’d broken the Potter tradition of being sorted into Gryffindor when he ended up in Slytherin during the Sorting. Tom had tried to make Harry one of his followers, but was quickly and easily rebuffed by the other boy on multiple occasions.
After the third time Harry had rolled his eyes at Tom’s orders to fall behind him during their first year, he’d gone to intimidation tactics. Harry wasn’t the first Pureblood heir that Tom’d had to threaten, but he was by far the most interesting. Harry’d just blinked his wide, green eyes at Tom, nodding like he was listening to Tom’s threats of imminent pain and humiliation and whatever else it was he had said. Then, the following night, Tom’d woken up in bed to spiders crawling all over him. He’d only just barely managed to hold in his shout of fear, and fumed all through breakfast as he’d been forced to listen to Harry talk in excited detail about how much he liked spiders to Draco Malfoy until it was time to go to class.
Of course, Tom considered retaliation, but there was part of him that grudgingly admired Harry’s bravo. And he certainly didn’t want a repeat of the event. It wasn’t like Harry was trying to challenge his rule, after all. Tom would let it slide, for now. If Harry had ever made a move to rule Slytherin, the way Tom had, maybe it would have been different. To this day, Tom’s still not sure how Harry managed it.
So Harry Potter went his way in Slytherin. He wasn’t a social outcast by any means, in fact, he was rather popular throughout the school. His Quidditch prowess and friendly smile made him well-loved by the general school body.
Maybe that’s what kept Tom’s attention on him, however faint. Harry was one of the few rivals he had for the school’s love and devotion. And part of him wanted Harry to submit under him, in a way the other boy had flat-out refused to do for years.
As they aged, Tom tried and failed to ignore Harry. He found himself admiring the lean lines of his body, the solid muscle from playing Quidditch. The way his hands wrapped around his wand, and the slope of his neck. The confident way that Harry held himself, like he knew his place in the world and there was nothing that could change that.
Tom would wake up in the middle of the night, hard and straining against his boxers, unable the flash of Harry’s green eyes out of his mind. The swell of humiliation that overtook him as he palmed at his dick, imagining Harry in front of him, while the other boy was sleeping just a few feet away, stayed with Tom for weeks after the incident.
He wondered if Harry could tell, after. His eyes were always sharp and perceptive, and they lingered on Tom longer than was socially acceptable at times. But Harry never approached him first, never said more than he needed to. He practically acted like Tom didn’t exist. It drove him crazy.
He wanted– no, he needed Harry. Needed him to pay attention to Tom, needed him to want Tom the way he wanted Harry. He needed to own him. When Tom was still living in that filthy Muggle orphanage, he’d steal shiny trinkets and treasured belongings. He’d tuck them away into a box in his closet. A part of him delighted in knowing that he owned something which once brought another person joy. Although he’d long moved onto bigger endeavors, his goals focusing more on Wizarding society as a whole and how he could influence it rather than stealing baubles, a childish part of him wanted to steal Harry’s attention and affection away. Tuck it deep inside of him somewhere no one else could touch it.
Just for Tom.
He managed to hold out until the beginning of their seventh year. But earlier that day, Tom saw Ginerva Weasley hanging off Harry’s arm on the way back from the Quidditch Pitch and he lost his composure.
He was pacing the seventh floor corridor imagining painful ways to murder the Weasley girl when Harry came down the hallway. He gave Tom a friendly smile as he went past, but that was all it was. Friendly, slightly vacant eyes that moved over Tom without giving him a second thought.
Tom hated him.
He moved forward, grabbed Harry’s arm and dragged him through a door and into the Room of Requirement. Which, embarrassingly, had formed itself into a love den of sorts, with a four poster bed in the middle of the room and lit candles scattered throughout.
Harry looked at him, seemingly waiting for an explanation. His gaze was assessing, moving over Tom’s face in one sweep. “Finally decided to get revenge?” He asked, after a beat in which Tom is trying to sort out his next move.
Tom reeled back. Revenge? It took him half a second to determine that Harry must be talking about the spider incident. He was almost giddy at the knowledge that Harry remembered him. Pathetic, a voice inside his head whispered. It was half a second long enough for Harry to grow amused. He leaned back against the door, seemingly at ease even with Tom pressing him against the door.
“Something else then?” He gave Tom a teasing smile. Tom frowned at him.
He nudged Harry’s legs apart with his knee, pressing his thigh between them. Tom held Harry in place with a tight grip around his waist, grinding his leg up.
Harry’s head fell back against the wall as he looked over Tom again, re-appraising him. “You could have just asked me to Hogsmeade,” he said with a smile.
“Do you ever shut up?” Tom hissed, starting to fumble with Harry’s tie. Even with the immediate irritation from Harry’s mouthiness, he couldn’t deny the embers of lust starting to burn in his veins now that he had Harry under his hands.
The corners of Harry’s mouth turned up again. Tom wondered if he was always smiling. He noted it as something to investigate. After. He was still fumbling with Harry’s tie when the other boy swatted his hands away. He pushed Tom back a step, and Tom was about to reach for his wand to Obliviate the other boy to forget the whole ordeal rather than deal with rejection when Harry dropped to his knees.
Tom froze. Harry looked up at him, still smiling. “Maybe you’ll like shutting me up.” He palmed Tom’s cock through his pants. He was embarrassingly half-hard already. Harry unzipped his slacks, mouthing over his cock through his underwear. The wet heat of his mouth had Tom fisting a handful of Harry’s dark curls. The other boy hissed slightly at the way Tom tugged on his hair, but he didn’t pull away.
Tom stared down at him, wondering if he was in over his head.
It’s not until the third time that Tom starts to get suspicious. To his great displeasure, he still hasn’t fucked Harry. Hasn’t even been able to kiss him, much less get a hand in his pants. The second time, he doesn’t think much of it. He ambushes Harry in the corridor a few days after Harry blew him, dragging him into a broom cupboard this time. Harry laughs again, slides his hand down Tom’s trousers and wraps his fingers around Tom’s dick before he can get two words in.
Tom comes that way, forehead pressed against the door, one hand tangled in Harry’s curls, the other gripping his shirt. Harry lets him stay there for a moment after, before gently pushing him away. He grins at Tom again, always infuriatingly happy, and pats his cheek with the hand he just had wrapped around Tom’s cock.
Tom grimaces, jerking his face away and Harry laughs out loud, sliding out the door before Tom can even think of reciprocating.
The next time, Tom plans their encounter carefully. He knows after careful observation, mostly consisting of having his followers trail Harry around the school, that the other boy gets the password to the Prefect’s bathroom from Hermione Granger, the Gryffindor Head Girl. He also learns that Harry likes to take his baths in the middle of the night. So it’s not hard to come up behind Harry after he’s gotten out of the bath, towel wrapped around his waist, and press him up against the wall.
Tom presses his face to Harry’s shoulder, biting down harder than he means to. He can’t help himself from sliding his hands up the defined planes of Harry’s stomach.
“Riddle,” Harry says, turning his head towards Tom. He doesn’t sound surprised. “I’m surprised it took you this long to track me here.”
Tom frowns. He places one hand on Harry's hip to keep him against the wall where he wants him. “I told you already,” he says, “I want to fuck you.”
Harry huffs out a laugh. He runs a hand through the hair at the back of Tom’s head, where it’s trimmed short and neat. His fingers scratch along his skull. His other hand pets up Tom’s side, underneath his shirt. Tom moves even closer, placing open mouth kisses along his neck. He sucks harder than he needs to, wanting to leave a lasting mark of this moment.
A swell of terrible possessiveness rises inside of him. He wants to leave a collar of bruises around Harry’s neck, so he knows who he belongs to.
And isn’t that concerning, the voice inside his head whispers. When did he start belonging to you?
“Let me fuck you,” he commands, mouth moving against Harry’s neck. He tastes clean and his skin is warm.
He can feel the way Harry inhales slightly. “Not here,” he murmurs, hand still carding through Tom’s hair. Pressed this close, Tom can feel the poke of Harry’s erection against his hip. He smiles, smug, against the line of Harry’s neck. Of course the other boy wants him too. Tom knows he’s considered attractive, and has used the fact to his own gain often. There’s not much a friendly smile and some light flirting can’t get accomplished. But even so... Harry doesn’t seem swayed.
“I’ll get you off again,” Harry says, his voice low, his nails running up and down Tom’s side. He gives no indication of detecting Tom’s train of thought. Tom stops, pushing away from Harry so he can look at him properly.
“What is your problem?” he snaps. He’s sure his eyes are flashing scarlet, one side effect of the Dark magics he’s been studying.
Harry blinks up at him, eyes wide. He’s not wearing his glasses, Tom notes. His fingers itch to trace the shape of his eyes. It makes him look younger. “Nothing?” Harry says, but it sounds like a question rather than an answer. “You’re the one who ambushed me. Again, I might add.”
“Do you not want this?” Tom asks, offended. “Don’t make me out to be some kind of predator.”
Harry rolls his eyes. Tom bites back the curse that rises to the tip of his tongue at the disrespect. “Fine,” he says, pushing away from Harry completely. Even through Tom’s irritation, he can’t help the way his eyes fall to the slope of his neck, the way his arousal is evident through the towel covering him up. “This isn’t over.”
He leaves before Harry can do something like laugh at him.
“Report,” Tom says, a few nights later. He’s bored, flicking absently through a book of Dark spells that Draco Malfoy’s father had given him for Yule a few years prior.
He barely bothers to look up as his followers begin to report on the workings of the castle over the previous weeks. His mind is focused on other things – his NEWTS, the position at the Ministry he’s aiming to achieve once he graduates, Harry Potter.
His eyes narrow as the boy crosses his mind. He snaps his book shut, straightening in his seat. Theodore Nott trails off in the middle of his sentence, some nonsense about Dumbledore and the Ministry. “Harry Potter,” he says.
Malfoy, sitting across from Tom, immediately frowns. “What did he do?” He moves as if to pull out his wand. “I’ll go show him his place right now.”
Tom waves his hand in the air dismissively. “What does he do? Who does he talk to?” His followers are silent for a moment, so he lets his impatience show.
Malfoy sneers. “He doesn’t do anything. Plays Quidditch and hangs around those blood traitor Gryffindors.”
“Weasley and Granger?” Tom asks, curious. He guesses that he shouldn’t be surprised, considering how often he sees Harry around the Weasley boy. But thinking of that just makes Tom think of the Weasley girl and the way that she’s always hanging off Harry and that sours his mood rapidly.
He sinks back into his seat, and after a moment of silence, his followers go back to talking. Tom pays no mind to the wary looks they give him, mind racing as he tries to determine his next plan of action.
A few days later Tom finds Harry in the library, bent over an essay. He’s alone, finally. Tom had been trying to get him alone to no avail the past week. Harry was either with one of his friends from another House, or else frustratingly nowhere to be found. He would come to the Slytherin dorms long after everyone had gone to sleep and would be gone before the sun began to rise. It had made him begin to wonder if Harry hadn’t wanted Tom to find him in the first place, when this had all started.
But finally Tom is able to sit across from the other boy, just the two of them.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he states. Harry barely pauses his writing, slanting a gaze at Tom through his eyelashes and then looking back down. Tom waits a moment longer for Harry to acknowledge him before the thread of patience he’d been holding onto snaps. “Pay attention,” he hisses, almost slipping into Parseltongue.
Harry stops writing, his hand freezing over the parchment. Tom is paying close enough attention to him that he can see the way Harry inhales, his eyes fluttering shut for a half a second. The moment is over almost as soon as it began, and Harry sets his quill aside, looking up at Tom. He gives Tom his undivided attention for what Tom realizes might be the first time. His eyes are fathomless pools, green as the Killing Curse.
Tom wishes he could keep them, keep Harry’s attention and gaze locked on him for all of eternity.
“What do you want, Riddle?” Harry asks. “Your little friends keep bugging Ron and Hermione, and they want you to cut it out.”
Tom thinks this is the longest conversation they’ve had. He raises his chin in a challenge. “You know what I want,” he says.
Harry leans back in his chair, his head falling to the side as he considers Tom. Even as his mouth curls in a lazy smile, his eyes are sharp and appraising. Tom wants to know what he’s thinking, wants to break him open and see how Harry Potter works inside.
“What is this?” Harry asks finally. He doesn’t need to gesture between them for Tom to understand his question. “To you.”
Tom keeps his face carefully blank. Faced with Harry’s sharp eyes, he finds himself wanting to keep his cards to his chest even more carefully than usual. “What about you?” he retorts, avoiding the question. “You won’t even let me kiss you.”
A smile cracks Harry’s serious facade. Tom can already see the cheery gates build back up around Harry, closing off his thoughts. Between one blink and the next, his gaze softens and fractures, and it’s like his intense focus on Tom has dissipated. His grin is wide and sunny, and the skin around his eyes crinkles.
He looks harmless. Normal. Boring.
Tom wants to shatter those walls. Make it so Harry can never hide from him again. He wonders how the other boy managed to go so long avoiding suspicion.
“I told you,” he says to Tom. “You should ask me to Hogsmeade first.” He pauses, his smile slipping a little. “I’m not going to be a conquest.”
Tom keeps his composure, not moving. Under the table, he clenches one fist. When he doesn’t say anything further, Harry shrugs and picks up his quill. He turns back to his essay, a silent dismissal. Tom sits there for a moment longer before admitting defeat and standing. When he looks over his shoulder, back at Harry, the other boy is sitting with his head hanging, quill loose in his hand.
Tom feels hungry, a sharp cavernous hole in his stomach where he wants to devour Harry.
So Tom concocts a plan.
Step One: Get Harry to go to Hogsmeade with him. (Through force, if necessary.)
Step Two: Convince him Tom is trustworthy.
Step Three: Fuck him.
He laments the effort this is going to take, the way he could use this time to continue networking at the Ministry for his eventual take-over, but he needs to get the other boy out of his system. Tom hopes that by seeing Harry in his most vulnerable state he’ll finally be able to stop thinking about him non-stop.
Tom sets his plan into effect starting the next morning. He knows Harry usually takes his breakfast at the Gryffindor table, much to the ire of his Housemates. Sure enough, Harry is sitting in the middle of the table, Weasleys on both sides and Granger across from him. Tom makes his way over to the table.
The Great Hall falls quiet as Tom approaches the Gryffindor table. He can hear the hushed whispers run through the room as his path is noted. When Tom is within earshot of the table, he can hear the way Weasley is telling some crude joke about a vampire and a witch walking into a bar. Harry says something quietly and the people around him burst into raucous laughter.
Tom stops in front of the Gryffindor table, marveling at the way Harry’s mouth has turned up in a secret little smile at the reaction, even as he stares down at his breakfast. Weasley stops laughing abruptly when he sees Tom. He doesn’t miss the way the red-headed boy jabs an elbow at Harry.
The focus of Tom’s interest looks up, not appearing surprised to see Tom standing by the Gryffindor. “‘Lo, Riddle,” he says brightly, giving Tom one of his sunniest smiles.
“What are you doing all the way over here?” Weasley sneers, his ears turning a red to match his hair. Granger turns her head, looking at Tom over her shoulder with a frown on her face.
“Harry,” Tom says, ignoring them completely. The other boy leans his head to the side, a pleasant look on his face. “Go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend.”
There, he thinks. He asked him to Hogsmeade. Now maybe he’d let Tom get in his pants.
There’s a beat of silence as Tom’s audience processes the words. Then uproar, as Weasley starts protesting loudly and angrily. Tom watches with growing fury as Harry ducks his head, hand coming up to cover what Tom knows is laughter.
His hand moves towards where his wand is strapped to his arm under his robes. If this was all some play by Harry to humiliate Tom he’ll show him his place witnesses be damned Harry Potter should know better than anyone to think Tom would allow–
“Sure,” Harry says, stopping Tom’s murderous thoughts in their tracks. “This weekend?”
He’s looking up at Tom again, that small secret smile playing on his mouth. He looks satisfied, a little smug, leaning over his plate and his eyes firmly on Tom’s face, despite the loud protests of Weasley to his side. Tom beings to think that Harry might be playing with him still. He jerks his head in a nod, hoping his calm facade isn’t slipping.
“Great,” Harry says, still smiling. “I’ll see you then.” And then he goes back to his breakfast in a clear dismissal.
Tom turns on his heel, walking back to the Slytherin table while several emotions war inside of him. On one hand, he’s pleased that Harry had agreed. But his initial reaction had been... less than pleasant. No matter, he thinks to himself. Soon, he’ll fuck Harry and get this whole mess out of his way.
The week passes rather quickly and then it’s Saturday and Tom is coming out of the Slytherin dungeons when he sees Harry waiting for him by the stairs in the entryway. He’s talking to a couple of fourth years who Tom vaguely recognizes. They’re half-bloods, on the Quidditch team. One of them sees Tom coming up behind them and blanches, tugging on his friend’s arm. Harry turns, likely to see what the commotion is, and his face lights up when he sees Tom.
Tom feels a flash of warm possesiveness at the expression. He wants to be the only person Harry looks at with such joy.
Harry looks back at the fourth-years with amusement. He waves them away, with a “Don’t forget, practice starts at 5:30 tomorrow. In the morning, not afternoon.” and then turns to Tom. “Shall we?”
Tom inclines his head, and leads the way out of the castle. Harry follows behind him, his hands shoved into his pockets. The weather is starting to become colder, and Harry is dressed in a thick green jumper, one that matches the color of his eyes almost perfectly.
“I like your jumper,” Tom says, laying the charm on thick. He’s no stranger to flirting in order to get things to go his way.
A delighted look crosses Harry’s face and he looks down at his sweater. “Thanks,” he says cheerily. “Mrs. Weasley knitted it for me the first Christmas I spent with them.”
Tom’s mouth twists slightly down in distaste. He’ll have to get Harry something to replace the jumper than, something that reminds him of Tom. Harry laughs at whatever he sees on Tom’s face and continues down the path to Hogsmeade.
They’ve left the castle later than most of the other students, and miss the rush. The path is quiet, and Tom is content to walk in silence. He can’t help himself from stealing glances of Harry’s face, however, hungrily drinking in the way his cheeks turn pink from the wind and the way his eyelashes are dark and long, just barely brushing against the slope of his cheeks.
“I’m sorry for laughing,” Harry says, breaking the silence. Tom wonders at the train of his thoughts. “I wasn’t laughing at you.”
Tom tilts his head. “What were you laughing at, then?” He remembers the pulse of cold fury that filled him at Harry’s reaction. “I thought you had wanted me to ask you to Hogsmeade first.”
Harry’s not looking at Tom, but the corner of his mouth pulls up in a smile as he thinks something over. “Just the way you said it,” he says finally. “Like I was another one of your followers and you were commanding me to go to Hogsmeade on pain of death. Not really what I was picturing when I said to ask me.”
He looks at Tom then, eyes bright. Tom holds his gaze, mind racing. He frowns, then. “I don’t ask people to do things,” he says.
Harry looks away first, biting back another smile. “I know,” he says, laughter in his voice. “I know that, it’s just–”
He stops talking, as Tom reaches out and grabs his chin with one hand. They stop walking, and Tom reels him closer, gripping his wrist in the other hand. He moves Harry’s head to the side with the grip on his chin. Harry lets him, going pliant in his grasp. He stares at Tom with open curiosity, his eyes shining in the sun. “What is it?” he whispers, corners of his mouth starting to pull up in a smile.
Tom narrows his eyes, moving his fingers to spread out over the side of Harry’s face. He traces the corner of Harry’s mouth with his thumb, moving it along the shape of his upper lip. Harry’s mouth parts slightly, and Tom can feel the warmth of his breath against his palm. He rests his thumb on the middle divot of Harry’s bottom lip. Harry darts his tongue out just so slightly, a hot press against Tom’s finger.
Tom feels a warmth grow in his stomach. Harry is so obedient under his hands. He presses harder against Harry’s mouth for a moment before releasing him. Ignoring the sharp twisting feeling of arousal in his stomach, he smiles pleasantly at Harry, who’s blinking at him. “You smile so much,” he says. “I want to feel the shape of it.”
He resumes walking towards Hogsmeade, leaving Harry standing still behind him.
The other boy catches up with him quickly, the tops of his ears pink. Tom feels a tight press in his chest at the sight, doesn’t bother to hide his smugness as they make it closer to the village. Harry doesn’t say anything, keeping his hands shoved in his pockets. It’s only once they reach Hogsmeade that he speaks up again. He shows Tom the way to a small teahouse, not Madam Puddifoot’s, for which Tom is grateful.
The owner greets Harry with a warm smile and shows him to a small table in the corner of the restaurant without being prompted. Harry sits with his back to the wall, gesturing for Tom to join him. The owner reappears almost immediately after they’ve sat, with a pot of tea and two slightly-chipped lavender tea cups.
“Thank you Sarah,” Harry says, giving the older woman a warm smile. And then she’s gone and it’s just Tom and Harry. Harry pours himself a cup of tea, stirring in milk after. “You’re not thirsty?” he asks Tom, gesturing towards his empty cup.
Tom leans over the table on his forearms. He stares at Harry intently. Harry looks up at him, takes a sip of his tea. “Go ahead,” he sighs, but he doesn’t sound upset.
“What are your ambitions in life?” Tom asks, his voice low. He’s curious what makes Harry tick. What drives him forward each day. Sure, Tom’s seen the ruthlessness inside Harry at times, most notably with the incident during their first year, but he doesn’t quite grasp how Harry ended up in Slytherin.
Harry ducks his head, hiding a laugh into his tea. “Well,” he starts. “I want to graduate top of my class. Then I want to join Puddlemere United as a Seeker and play with them until I’m captain.”
Tom frowns, not bothering to hide his disdain at Harry’s words. “You can’t be serious,” he says. “Quidditch?”
“What’s wrong with Quidditch?” Harry asks, teasing. He grins at the look on Tom’s face. “Well,” he says, putting down his cup. “After I’m replaced by the newer generation of players, I’ll take over my family’s Wizengamot seat.” He shrugs, looking vaguely annoyed. “Politics aren’t really my thing.”
Tom leans forward even further. He’s never seen that look on Harry’s face before. He wants to know what caused it. “Why not?” he asks. “You’re very likable, Harry,” he says. “You could probably get away with anything. Do anything you wanted.”
The space between Harry’s eyebrows furrows. He shakes his head sharply. “No,” he says, and it’s as close to snapping as Tom’s heard from him. He wonders how far he could push Harry before he lost his composure and tucks that thought away for further examination. “I’m not going to manipulate people like that.”
Tom sits back in his seat, disappointed. “That is not very Slytherin of you, Harry,” he says, his tongue curling around Harry’s name like a blessing.
Something in his words causes the bleak expression on Harry’s face to shatter and he leans back as well, his mouth turning up into a now-familiar smile. “Sorry to disappoint,” he apologizes, not sounding sorry at all. “The hat must have made a mistake.”
Although Harry frames it as a joke, his mouth turned up and his eyes crinkling, Tom can hear the truth tucked into his words. He wonders who in Harry’s life made him feel like he doesn’t belong. Tom hopes they’re dead already, because he’s more than ready to hunt them down after seeing the tension in the line of Harry’s shoulders.
“What about you?” Harry asks suddenly. “What are your ambitions?”
Tom could laugh, honestly. But Harry is looking at him, so earnest and sweet, that he humors him. “Minister of Magic, eventually,” he says. “Ten years. I’m going to be the youngest one ever elected.”
He waits for Harry to smile or laugh at that, the way he does with everything, but it never comes. Harry just watches him steadily, something horrible and knowing in his eyes. “I know you’ll be able to,” he says finally, his voice low.
“Will you vote for me?” Tom dares.
Harry’s mouth turns up at the corners, and he coughs out a laugh. “Depends,” he says, but the way he looks at Tom contradicts his answer.
On the way back to Hogwarts, Harry pulls Tom aside, just before they leave Hogsmeade. He pushes Tom against one of the buildings. “Hey,” he says. “Thank you for inviting me.”
He places two fingers under Tom’s chin and pulls him close, pressing a short, chaste kiss to his mouth. It’s brief, lasting maybe a second or two, before he pulls away. This close, Tom can see the flecks of gold in Harry’s eyes. He sees the pink of Harry’s cheeks and the thick black of his eyelashes.
With a hiss, Tom grabs Harry’s jumper and pulls him closer. He fists a hand in Harry’s curls tilting his head so he can get a better angle and kisses him properly. Harry keeps his mouth closed for a moment, even as Tom parts his lips, but after a moment he inhales.
Then he’s kissing Tom back, mouth open, hands sliding into his hair. Harry tastes a little bitter, like the tea he was drinking, and something minty. One of his legs slides between Tom’s, and he’s half-hard already, just from the slick heat of Harry’s mouth on his.
Then–
A sharp pain at the base of his scalp as Harry wrenches his head back. “Tom,” he says, and.
The sound of his name in Harry’s voice nearly has him fighting Harry’s hold on his neck. “Tom,” Harry says again, sounding amused and strict and disciplined. “Be good.”
He bristles at the words, but is soothed when Harry leans in to kiss him again. Slower now, and Harry takes the time to map Tom’s mouth with his tongue. Tom flexes his fingers against Harry’s scalp, trying to tempt him. But Harry pulls away again, a little smug look on his face that Tom’s never seen before. “Not here.”
Tom nearly growls. “You’re mine,” he hisses in Parseltongue, frustration and lust clouding his mind. Harry laughs, pressing his face into Tom’s shoulder.
Harry is proving to be a much larger problem than Tom anticipated.
Things start to become a little more complicated the next few weeks. The first instance of this happens when Tom runs into a crying Hermione Granger in the Prefect’s bathroom. She’s wiping at her cheeks in front of the mirror, her eyes bloodshot and her hair frizzing. She meets Tom’s eyes in the mirror, and whirls around to point at him with accusations.
“You-!” she shouts, her voice wobbling. “You-you-keep away from Harry. Hear me?” Her hands are trembling and when Tom steps closer, he can see the faint smudge of something under her nails.
“What happened.” His voice comes out flat and monotone, even in his own ears. There’s a roaring sound in his ears as dread fills him.
“Your bloody sycophants put Harry in the Hospital Wing!” she shrieks, clenching her hands into fists. “It’s a miracle he didn’t- that he didn’t-” her voice breaks and she presses a fist over her mouth, clearly about to burst into a fresh round of tears.
Tom stares at her, watching her cry without feeling anything for a long moment. He can barely hear her sobs over the roaring in his ears. He’s full of a cold fury, something that’s icy in his veins, promising pain and torment to whoever is responsible.
Then he turns on his heel and heads to the Hospital Wing.
On the short walk there, Tom is bracing himself for the worst. He can’t stop picturing Harry lifeless on the bed, skin as pale as the sheets. The image makes him feel vaguely nauseous.
He stops in front of the doors to the Hospital Wing, heart beating in his mouth. Tom takes one deep breath before pushing into the Wing.
Only to find Harry, sitting upright in a bed towards the middle of the room, playing chess with a young man Tom doesn’t recognize.
In a daze, Tom makes his way towards the pair. Harry is chattering cheerfully, something about Quidditch statistics and his tryouts for Puddlemere United. He accidentally knocks over a chess piece and Tom can hear the figure complain loudly. Harry just laughs and laughs, throwing his head back.
The motion allows Tom to see the way Harry is bandaged, probably head to toe in white gauze. As Harry moves, dark red bleeds through the bandages on his neck, and Harry winces. His hand comes up to cover the spot, and that’s when he sees Tom.
His face lights up in a brilliant smile, one that nearly knocks Tom over with the force of it. “Tom!” he shouts, and the man sitting across from him turns at the sound. Tom is faced with the full force of the man’s glare, eyes silver and narrowed.
“Tom Riddle?” the young man asks, and Harry nods, beaming. The man turns back to Harry in a clear dismissal and half-stands. He pulls Harry’s hand away from his neck, frowning at what he sees. “Would you please stop moving? You’re going to send me into an early grave.”
Harry’s smile falls quicker than Tom’s ever seen, and he moves slightly to frown at the man. “Don’t joke about that,” he says quietly, leaning back against his pillows. The chess board sits abandoned between them.
Tom moves forwards, taking advantage of the young man’s distraction to sit in the empy chair at Harry’s bedside.
“Tom,” Harry says, turning wide, guiless eyes onto him. Merlin, he must be drugged to high heavens. “Tell Sirius he’s not allowed to joke about dying.”
The man–Sirius–rolls his eyes, regarding Tom with a look close to a sneer. “Sirius Black?” Tom hedges.
“Mmmh,” Harry agrees, settling deeper into his pillows. He flops his hand on top of Tom’s. His fingers are so bandaged he can’t bend them properly to hold Tom’s hand. But Tom places his free hand on top, gently sandwhiching Harry’s fingers.
Harry smiles slightly, a small gentle expression. “My Sirius,” he says, his words starting to slur. “Takes care of me.”
A lightning bolt of hot jealousy strikes Tom. He wants to be the one, the only one, who looks after Harry. When he meets Harry’s eyes again, the other boy is watching him with a muted expression. He looks sad almost. Tom leans in, presses a slow, close mouthed kiss to the corner of Harry’s lips. “Get some sleep,” he says. “We’ll talk more when you wake up.”
Harry’s eyes are already sliding shut and his breathing evens out within seconds. The skin under his eyes looks dark and bruised and Tom wonders what’s been causing him to lose sleep.
“They cornered him,” Black says, abrupt. His voice, although quiet, sounds loud in the silence of the Hospital Wing.
Tom turns to him, eyebrows raised. The other man is looking at Harry with a dark expression on his face. “Surrounded him and then cursed him while his back was turned.” His face twists into something vicious. “It’s a miracle he lived. One of them must have gotten scared and came to get Madam Pomfrey. If he had waited even a moment longer, Harry probably would have bled out. Even now, if he moves too much, the magic stitching him back together could give out and the curse would have a second foot-hold.”
Black scoffs, tossing his head back in a wolfish motion. “They’re all with Dumbledore now,” he says, and there’s a distinct note of disdain in his voice. “I’m sure they will receive a very strict telling off and several weeks of detention and that’ll be the end of it.”
By the look on his face, Tom can tell exactly how Black feels about that ‘punishment’.
He takes a moment to think back on what he knows about Sirius Black.
The other man had been locked away in Azkaban when he was 22 and rotted there for the next ten years. Supposedly, he’d been locked away for murdering the Potters, a shock to the Wizarding community considering the way he’d been inseparable from James Potter during their time at Hogwarts. During Tom and Harry’s first year, the man had somehow managed to escape the prison, and made his way to Hogwarts.
Tom’s not entirely sure what happened then, as the whole incident had been treated with utmost secrecy, and Harry himself had never spoken of it as far as Tom knows. But from what Draco, his nosiest follower, was able to discover it happened something like this. Apparently Harry had been living with his Muggle relatives after the death of his parents. Sirius Black, after escaping from Azkaban, had cornered Harry at one point, and some event occurred in which the true killer of Harry’s parents had been discovered. Harry had then gone on to plead Black’s case in front of Dumbledore and the rest of the Wizengamot, leading to all charges being dropped against the other man and all titles being restored to him.
(“My father was present at the retrial,” Draco tells Tom, very seriously. They are sitting at Tom’s end of the Slytherin table during breakfast. Harry Potter is sitting several seats down them and most likely can hear every word Malfoy utters. “Apparently Potter insisted on coming in and speaking himself.”
He pauses, looking very excited. Tom bites back his irritation. He simply stares at Malfoy until the other boy continues. “So, he comes in, holding Black’s hand. He gets up on the podium and starts to tell the Wizengamot about how Black never received a fair trial, because Dumbledore had told the public that he was the only one who had knowledge of the Potter’s wards. Then, apparently, Potter was forced to live with his magic-hating Muggle relatives. But the real culprit was another friend of the Potters. He was jealous about Potter’s promotion at the Ministry or some nonsense like that. Get this, Riddle.” Malfoy lowers his voice. “He cried.”
Tom looks down the table to where Harry is sitting. The other boy is buttering his toast, a half-smile on his face. Tom inwardly shudders, remembering the feeling of hundreds of spider legs crawling over him in his sleep, and turns back to Malfoy.
“Cried?” he asks. It’s hard for him to picture Harry Potter crying, with his ever-present smile and bright green eyes.
Malfoy nods, looking pleased that he’s finally interested Tom enough to earn a response. “Said that he wanted to live with Black and that he believed in his innocence and that he wanted justice for him. It was very moving, apparently.”)
“Who.” Tom asks. He knows already, from what Granger told him, from Black’s reaction seeing him.
Black laughs, a sharp barking sound. Tom supposes that’s all the answer he needs really. He pushes to his feet, taking care not to disturb Harry and strides out of the Hospital Wing. His magic pulses with the beat of his heart, itching in his fingers.
Tom finds Malfoy easily enough. The other boy is sitting on the steps outside of the castle, his head in his hands, fingers clenched in his hair. His hands are stained red, and even from this short distance Tom can see the way his face and hair are smeared with blood.
Harry’s blood.
He’s moving quicker without noticing, and by the time Malfoy turns his head up it’s too late. Tom is on him, pulling him to his feet with ruthless efficiency. He slams Malfoy against the side of the castle, pressing one arm against his chest and neck. This close, he can see the way Malfoy’s eyes are bloodshot, his cheeks wet.
“Tom,” he gasps wetly. “I didn’t know I swear we were just going to scare him a little and then–”
“Shut up,” Tom hisses, jabbing his wand into the soft part of Draco’s throat. His anger sharpens his senses. He feels like he can sense every part of his surroundings. His mind is carefully dissecting three different ways he could kill Malfoy here and dispose of his body. He sucks in a shallow breath, pressing his wand more firmly into Malfoy’s neck. “Do you really think you have earned the right to refer to me by my name?”
Tom can feel the way Malfoy swallows against his way. He shakes his head in a slow motion. “I apologize,” he whispers, hoarse. “My Lord.” He closes his eyes, bowing his head in submission as much as he can with his compromised position.
“You will tell me what happened. Quickly. If you forget anything, or lie to me, it will be the last time you speak.” He presses even harder against Draco’s neck, cutting off his air for a brief moment. Tom usually prefers using magic to incite compliance, but there’s something to be said for the outlet that physical force can offer.
Malfoy opens his eyes, raising one shaking hand to wipe at his eyes. He looks miserable, his white hair stained red at the roots, a smudge of blood high on his cheek, like he wiped at his face without realizing the mess of his hands.
“Potter roughed up Carrow and Lestrange a couple days ago,” Draco says, his voice thick. “Found them cursing a couple of second-years who got in their way. Ravenclaws. I don’t know.” He looks down. “Merlin.”
Tom shakes him. “Focus,” he snaps, letting his anger cool his voice. He’s holding onto his composure by a thread.
“I don’t know,” Malfoy swears. “They said he sent a couple of curses their way, reported them to Granger. They lost 50 House points each and Flitwick gave them a couple weeks of detention. We were just going to show him a lesson. Scare him so he wouldn’t get in our way again.” Draco stops again. He swears. “Me and Nott were in front of him and the others were going to come up and grab him while he was distracted. I didn’t know they were going to– going to–” his voice breaks.
Tom stares at him, something horrible raging inside of him. He feels the same way he did when he stared down his filthy Muggle father for the first time this past summer. “You got Pomfrey.” He’s stating what he’s sure is true.
Draco nods as much as he can, miserable. “He was going to die. Making these horrible noises until he was just gasping on the floor. His blood was– there was so much blood I couldn’t–” he yelps in pain as Tom presses his wand too hard against his neck for a moment, losing himself.
Tom steps back, turns away from Malfoy to try and collect the shambles of his composure. “Good, Draco,” he says. His voice sounds calm, nothing at all of the storm inside of him. “You did well. Clearly I need to start paying more attention to what my subordinates get up to in their free time.”
He leaves Malfoy against the wall of the castle. He doesn’t look back to see the way Draco slides down the wall, pressing his face against bloody hands.
Harry is released from the Hospital Wing five days later. By day three, he’d begun terrorizing Madam Pomfrey in an effort to be released earlier, and Tom’d taken to doing his essays by Harry’s bed in an attempt to keep his eye on him.
Harry’s near brush with death had frightened Tom more than he wanted to let on. He can barely stand to let Harry out of his sight, the fear of his injuries becoming worse without warning haunting him in the time they spend apart.
“Tom,” Harry tells him, the night before he’s released. “You need to calm down.”
Tom had been pretending to work on his Potions essay, but had quickly given up in favor of checking Harry’s bandages for the fifth time that night. Harry had long since stopped bleeding at any movement, but he’s still moving slowly. “I am calm,” he says, haughty.
Harry raises his eyebrows. “You’ve barely touched your essay. I know it’s due tomorrow. Snape won’t give you an extension even if you are his favorite student.”
Tom waves his hand in the air. “Harry,” he says, serious. “You almost died.”
“You don’t have to remind me,” Harry smiles at him. He looks fond, so fond. Tom takes special pleasure in the knowledge that he might be the only person Harry looks at with that expression. Especially now that Sirius Black is gone, called back to London on House Black business.
Tom takes a deep breath and sets aside his Potions essay for good. “Harry,” he says again. “It was very unpleasant for me. When I thought you were going to die. Humor me.”
Harry’s smile softens. He raises his hand, cupping Tom’s cheek. “I’m going to be okay,” he promises. “It doesn’t even hurt anymore.”
“If you’re just saying that...” Tom trails off, his voice a threat. He pauses. There’s a lump in his throat. “I won’t ever let anyone hurt you again,” he swears. His voice has gone quiet, but he puts as much of his intent and magic into the words that he can.
Harry tilts his head, regarding Tom with a pensive expression. “I know,” he reasures. He takes Tom’s hand and pulls him closer. “Tom,” he says, his voice quiet. “I was scared.”
The admission hangs in the air between them.
Harry blows out a long breath of air. His eyes unfocus as he seems to consider something. Tom grips Harry’s hand as tight as he can, still mindful of the pristine bandages.
“You have to promise you won’t get mad,” Harry says finally.
Tom just stares at Harry steadily. “Harry,” he sighs. “You know I can’t.”
Harry doesn’t look away. Like he’s waiting for Tom. “Fine,” he snaps. “Whatever you’re going to say, I promise I won’t.. I won’t kill anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
The smile that cracks Harry’s pensive expression is brilliant. “Wonderful,” he says, cheery. “Well, as you probably know, I grew up with Muggles.” Harry’s free hand picks at a loose thread on his blanket, the only sign that he’s not at ease as he appears. “They didn’t exactly...care for me.”
“How.”
Harry gives a brittle smile. “Well, for the first ten years I lived with them, my room was tne cupboard under the stairs.”
Tom’s hand curls into a fist on the bed. Harry doesn’t seem to notice. “After Carrow cursed me, all I could think about was the Dursleys for some reason. I wondered if they would be sad to hear of my death. If anyone would even bother telling them. I guess Dumbledore probably would. He’s the one who placed me there, you know. But I thought they would probably be happy I was gone. I was always a threat. I was going to mess up their perfect family if anyone found out how much of a freak I was. Well, if I bled out in the halls of that freak magic school, I guess I would have deserved it.”
“Enough.”
The sound of Tom’s voice seems to break Harry out of his thoughts. Tom regrets promising that he wouldn’t kill Harry’s relatives. There’s a broken look on Harry’s face, like he’s trying to collect all the pieces of himself. “That’s enough, Harry,” he says.
“Ah, well,” Harry says, sinking down into his pillows. “I guess what’s done is done.”
(Carrow twitches so wonderfully under Tom’s wand. The rest of his followers stand ringed around the Room of Requirement, heads bowed as Lestrange kneels beside his crying friend. Tom lifts his wand off Carrow and lazily turns it onto Lestrange. The boy immediately crumples beside his friend, choked screams echoing through the room.
Tom lets a smile slip over his face, his eyes flashing red.
“No one touches Harry Potter,” he says, his voice low, cutting through the sound of Lestrange’s screams. “Understand?”)
Harry drops down next to Tom. He’s sitting out by the lake, researching Horcruxes. He’d already decided back in his fifth year that splitting his soul in two was something even he didn’t want to dip into, but it never hurt to have a back up plan.
“Hi,” Harry says, turning towards Tom and smiling. “Are you busy?”
Tom shuts his book, tossing it to the side. He turns to face Harry. “Of course not.”
Harry laughs, curling a hand around Tom’s thigh. “Come here,” he says, pulling at Tom. He goes willingly, rolling over the other boy until Harry is laying underneath him. They’re far enough away from the school that Tom isn’t worried about anyone walking up on them. Harry fists a hand in Tom’s hair, pulling him down to kiss him sloppily.
His mouth misses Tom’s, landing on the corner of his jaw and Tom can feel the way his mouth turns into a smile. Tom slides a leg between Harry’s, groaning at the way Harry shamelessly grinds down onto his thigh. He moves to kiss Harry properly, licking at the seam of his lip. He shivers at the feeling of Harry’s hands running up under his shirt, nails scratching down the planes of his stomach.
Harry falls back to the ground, mouth open and letting Tom take control of the kiss. The gentle press of his tongue against Tom’s, the wet heat of his mouth, the steady hardening of Harry’s cock againt Tom’s leg.
“Mmh,” Harry murmurs, while Tom starts tracing a line of biting kisses down Harry’s throat. “Tom, wait,” he pants. Tom bites down, a little harder than necessary, to convey his displeasure at that idea. “I wanted to ask you something.”
Tom gives a kitten lick to the patch of skin he’d been worrying between his teeth. “Later, Harry,” he says, exasperated, lips moving against the skin of Harry’s neck. “Let me take care of you, okay?”
Harry doesn’t say anything further, falling back and letting Tom continue his path. Tom is finally able to press bruises against Harry’s neck, the way he’d wanted to when they’d first begun whatever was now between them. He frees one hand, slides it to the top of Harry’s jeans and slips the first button open.
When Harry doesn’t protest, Tom continues. He unzips Harry’s jeans, managing to slide his hand into his boxers, gets a hand around his dick, strokes once. The slide is a little dry, so he pulls his hand back, spits in his palm. Harry watches him with hooded eyes. When Tom wraps his hand around Harry’s cock again, the other boy’s head falls back, his mouth falling open in a silent exhale.
Tom resumes his path around Harry’s neck, leaving enough marks that Harry will be unable to hide them all. He slowly strokes Harry’s cock, grip firm but not tight, the smear of precum slicking the way.
Tom pulls away from Harry’s neck, satisfied with his work, starting to pick up the speed of the pull of his hand as he fists Harry’s cock. He watches at the other boy pants under his touch. “Tom,” he says, reaching for him. “Tom, please,” and Tom obliges, leaning down to kiss him. He picks up the pace of his hand, watching with facination as Harry becomes unravelled beneath him.
Harry’s mouth opens, his eyes closed as he comes, shooting into Tom’s palm. Tom laughs lowly, not even paying mind to the way his own cock strains in his pants. “So gorgeous,” he says, placing a kiss on Harry’s jaw.
He pulls his hand out of Harry’s pants, grimacing at the feeling of come on his hand, but pauses, thoughtful. He tilts his hand, considering, then grips Harry’s jaw with his free hand.
Harry opens his eyes, staring at Tom. Slowly, Tom slides two of his fingers into Harry’s mouth. Harry’s tongue presses against his fingers, sliding between them, cleaning his own cum off of Tom’s finger. The slide of his tongue against Tom’s fingers, the hot suction of his mouth almost makes Tom come in his pants. He offers Harry the rest of his hand once his fingers are clean and Harry obediently cleans his own cum off, licking the rest off with vigor.
“So perfect for me,” Tom says once Harry is finished, his voice thick with arousal. “Never letting you go.”
Harry reaches towards Tom’s cock, but Tom grabs his hand. “It’s fine,” he says. “Think of it as repayment.”
Harry laughs then. Tom rolls off of him, laying beside him. Harry turns, throwing one arm across Tom’s chest, tucking his face into the crook of Tom’s neck.
Some time has passed before Tom remembers Harry wanted to ask him something. He nudges the other boy. “Harry,” he says. “What did you want to say? Earlier.”
Harry groans, mumbling something incomprehensible. Tom jabs at him with his elbow until the other boy rolls over.
“Harry.”
“Mmmh,” Harry groans. “Sirius invited you to spend Yule with us. Let me nap.”
Knowing that Harry is asleep and no one is around, Tom allows himself to smile.
“You’re sure this is okay?” Tom asks Harry. The other boy rolls his eyes and hoists his bag higher on his shoulder.
“Would you quit asking already? Sirius told me himself. Would I lie to you?”
Tom’s about to retort when the sound of Black’s voice echoes through the air. Harry’s face breaks out into a wide smile. His hand shoots up in the air, waving a hand. Sirius emerges through the crowd, a matching smile on his face. He throws his arms around Harry, tugging him into a tight hug. “There you are, Prongslet,” Sirius says, ruffling Harry’s hair. “Nice to see you not covered in bandages for once.”
Harry laughs, shoving at Sirius. His face is the most open that Tom thinks he’s ever seen. “Stop that,” Harry says. He turns to Tom. “This is Sirius, my godfather. I don’t know if I properly introduced you two, the last time.”
Tom eyes Harry’s godfather. “We’ve met.”
Sirius returns his considering look with a smile. One that’s not as fake as Tom was expecting. “‘Lo, Tom,” he says. “C’mon, let’s get you two out of the crowd.”
Sirius apparates them to the Black ancestral home in London. He leaves them be, telling Harry to be down for dinner in a couple of hours.
“I have to go set out some fires at the Ministry,” Sirius shouts over his shoulder as he heads out the door. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
The door shuts behind him, leaving Harry and Tom alone in the entryway. Harry turns to grin at Tom. “He says he hates his job. Clearly not.”
They head up to Harry’s room on the top floor of the house. When Harry opens the door, Tom is struck by how Harry the whole place feels. There are Quidditch posters hanging off the walls, players from Puddlemere United waving at them, and the bed in the center of the room has sheets in Slytherin colors. There’s a picture on the bedside table of a couple holding a baby. Tom can tell the two are Harry’s parents. He looks remarkably like them.
“Come here,” he says. Harry steps into the circle of his arms, and Tom kisses him, gentle at first and then hungry. He always wants more of Harry, almost wants to swallow him whole so no one else can have him. “Want to fuck you,” he murmurs against Harry’s mouth.
The other boy laughs, hot puffs of air against Tom’s face. “Okay,” he agrees, finally, easily, like he’s been waiting for this moment. “If you’re sure.”
Tom reels back, surprised at the answer. Half of him had been expecting Harry to say no again. But he’s certainly not going to argue, especially when Harry is so pliant in his hands.
He walks Harry back towards the bed, hands roaming under his shirt. Harry’s stomach is toned from Quidditch, and the muscles in his stomach jump under Tom’s curious fingers. “You’re so pretty,” Tom murmurs, pushing Harry onto the bed.
And he really is. Pink mouth, wide green eyes, his dark hair in a halo around his head.
“Take off your clothes,” Harry commands, and Tom does. He throws his shirt to the side, kicking off his jeans. Harry sits up, peeling his boxers off. Tom’s cock bobs forward, now that it’s not constrained by the fabric of his underwear, and Harry wets his lips. He leans forward, taking the tip of Tom’s cock into his mouth, running his tongue along the underside.
Tom grips the back of his head, running his hands through the dark curls. He pulls Harry forward on his cock, inhaling deeply as Harry swallows around him. “So perfect for me,” he murmurs. “Meant to take my cock like this.”
Harry makes a whining sound at Tom’s words, pulling back. Tom lets him go, watches as drool slides away from the pink of Harry’s mouth. He slides one thumb across Harry’s cheek, collecting his spit, then sucking the finger into his mouth. Harry watches him, his pupils blown out. “Tom,” he groans, pulling him forward. “Please.”
With steady hands, Tom pulls off Harry’s shirt and makes quick work of his pants. He pulls Harry’s underwear down his legs, tossing it to the side and watches with hungry eyes as Harry’s cock is set free. Tom leans forward, licking a stripe along the underside of Harry’s dick. He tastes clean, a little bit warm. He comes up with a pop, pushing Harry onto his back.
One hand finds the firm skin of Harry’s ass, and Tom slides his fingers into Harry’s mouth. Harry laves at his fingers with his tongue, hollowing his cheeks and sucking. Tom curses, sliding his fingers out of Harry’s mouth. He’s achingly hard, but he manages to take his time, fingering Harry open. He casts a wordless charm, lubing Harry’s hole.
Tom scissors his fingers, finding Harry’s prostate and watching with fascination as the other boy writhes underneath him. “Tom,” he begs again, his voice hoarse. “Tom, stop teasing.”
He removes his fingers, gripping Harry’s hip with tight strength. He moves the head of his cock to Harry’s hole, thrusting in with one motion. Harry keens, hands settling on Tom’s shoulders as he bottoms out. Tom pants, his mind full of how it feels. Harry is clenching around him, hot and tight and Tom almost loses his control.
He pulls out, shallowly thrusts back in. Adjusts his position, so the head of his cock brushes against Harry’s prostate. Watches as his face twitches, pleasure making his mouth drop open. Tom leans forward, kisses him, fucking into him. Harry runs his nails down Tom’s back, Tom sucks a dark bruise into his throat. Takes Harry’s cock in his hand. Strokes him with the pace that his hips are thrusting into Harry.
“So perfect for me,” he murmurs again. “My Harry. Mine. You’re mine.” He can’t stop himself. “Say it.”
Harry moans. “Yeah, Tom,” he pants. “All yours. Just for you.”
At that, Tom’s hips stutter, he loses his rhythm. He fucks into Harry, balls slapping against his ass, chasing his own release. Harry takes over his hand, stroking up and down his cock. Tom barely has a warning before his orgasm hits him. He pulls out, cock shooting cum across Harry’s chest. Harry comes just moments after him with a low groan.
Tom collapses on top of Harry, not minding the cum that smears across his own chest. He traps Harry against the bed.
“Never letting you go,” he whispers into Harry’s hair.
When his strength mostly returns, he flicks his wrist, casting a wordless cleaning charm that scours both of them. Harry’s got his arms and legs wrapped around Tom, hugging him close. He shifts, but Harry makes a grumbling sound of complaint, holding him tighter. The slide of their cocks against each other has renewed interest blooming in Tom’s stomach, but he discards the feeling for a moment as he tries to extricate himself from Harry’s hold.
“Harry,” he sighs, pushing himself up. The other boy pouts, bottom lip sticking out. It’s a ridiculous expression. “Let me up,” he says.
“Fine,” Harry sighs, releasing his hold and flopping all of this limbs on the bed. “But don’t go anywhere yet.”
Tom laughs, smiling down at Harry with fondness blooming in his chest.
The four of them gather around the tree on Christmas morning. Tom, Harry, Sirius and Regulus Black. Regulus insisted on making them all tea, going on and on about tradition.
“Reggie loves taking care of others,” Sirius tells Tom, very seriously, while Harry and Regulus are bickering over what to serve with the tea in the background. “Just you wait. You’ll be part of the family in no time.”
Harry comes up then, settling a hand along Tom’s shoulders. “Time for presents?” he asks hopefully.
Sirius rolls his eyes, a fond smile crossing his face. “All right, you brat. Sit, sit. Regulus, come over here. It’s time to spoil our little prince.”
Warmth spreads through Tom as he watches the smile that spreads across Harry’s face. At first, he’d been jealous of Sirius. Had wanted to covet the love that Harry had for his godfather. But now he can’t imagine himself holding a grudge anything that brought Harry happiness.
“Here,” Harry says, handing a box to Tom, breaking him out of his thoughts. “For you.”
Tom looks at Harry, his eyebrows raised, but he accepts the gift. With steady hands, he carefully unties the ribbon around the box. It’s a jewelry box, and when he opens it, he can’t the soft exhale he lets out.
“Do you like it?” Harry sounds worried. Silly boy, Tom thinks, as he looks up at Harry. “I did some research, I know the Gaunts were related to Slytherin very distantly, and I thought you’d like to have something related to your family. If you don’t like it–”
Tom cuts him off with a kiss, curling his hand around Harry’s neck. Sirius whoops in the background, and Regulus starts to complain about kissing before breakfast, but Tom ignores them. He pulls away, looking Harry in the eye. “Put it on?”
Harry beams, his eyes lighting up. He takes the box from Tom and with steady fingers, fastens the clasp around Tom’s neck. Slytherin’s locket falls around Tom’s neck with a heavy weight, one Tom will treasure. He looks back at Harry. “How does it look?” he teases.
Harry tilts his head, eyes considering. “Perfect,” he says. Tom smiles, pulls Harry in to lean again.
Yes, he thinks. Harry isn’t going to be a problem any longer.
Notes:
*harry's long term crush Tom Riddle corners him and shows interest in him*
harry: oh my god what do i do ... play hard to get right
thank you for reading!!! thinking of writing a partner piece to this that shows some of harry's pov but we'll see what happens (=^_^=)
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发表于 2022-7-23 15:36
