Tom puffed on a cigarette as he poured over ancient scrolls that depicted horrific spells. He had taken to torturing people in the alleyway near his flat. His goal was to create another Jack the Ripper-esque scare in London.
The door to his study opened and the honey-haired popstar poked his head through the crack.
"Tom?" he asked quietly, aware that when his lover was in business mode there was a chance that things could get ugly if he were disrupted.
"My little bumblebee," the Dark Lord replied through gritted teeth. "What is it?"
The popstar hesitated before he said, "We need to talk."
Great, Tom thought to himself. The little bastard probably wants to complain about how I'm never around and that-
"About what?" Voldemort asked in the most polite manner that he could manage.
Lord Voldemort grunted and stubbed out his cigarette in an ornate crystal ashtray that he had stolen from some rich broad up the way. He stood up and motioned for the singer to come in. After his lover took a seat in one of the plush emerald chairs near the fireplace, Tom sat across from him and stared him down.
"So, uh…" the singer hesitated. "I think I'm pregnant."
Tom stared. He was no doctor but he was damn sure that men did not get pregnant. How the bloody hell was that possible? The only way it could be close to possible is if it were impossible.
"Darling," Voldemort said carefully. "You're fucking daft. There is no way in hell that you could possibly be pregnant. You're just fat."
"I AM NOT FAT!" the singer shrieked, standing up. "I THINK I'M PREGNANT WITH YOUR CHILD!"
"I can't have children," Tom muttered. The guy was way past infertile at his age. The fact that he looked twenty did not mean that his organs thought he was. "And men can't get pregnant."
The singer kicked over the chair that he had been sitting in as he lunged at Tom. The latter grabbed onto the singer and clamped his hand around his neck, nearly strangling him.
"Shut up," Tom hissed. "You have no idea what I'm capable of."
The singer attempted to kick the Dark Lord in his special place as he struggled to breathe.
"Now," Tom said lightly as he let go of the popstar. "We're going to play nicely."
Voldemort was starting to regret his decision to allow the popstar into his life. He was growing bored with it and was very close to getting rid of it for good. His earlier infatuation died almost as quickly as his erection the other night.