Author's Note: Oh dear. So much to do, so little time to do it in. I won't lie to you all. I almost lost interest in writing this, and while I never quit, when my interest wanes, I tend to rush things. My inspiration to go on comes from Jewels Amongst Stones by Eschient. I don't know if he or she reads this, but on the rare chance that he or she does, I want to toss out a thank you. I'm excited for your story to continue as well, and I wish you the best with your writer's block!
Warnings: Slash, non-Slash (Hetero), Abuse, AU, anything else I don't consider worth warning you over…
Disclaimer: Hmm… Yeah, I got nothin'.
Immediately after getting back, Harry went into his room and stripped, changing into sweat pants and a loose T-shirt. When he emerged from his room, Tom had already done the same and seated himself on the couch, a tumbler of scotch sitting idly in his hand. Red-brown orbs met flaming green and a roguish grin stretched across perfect lips. Harry rolled his eyes but didn't bother fighting the urge to smile back.
"I take it you enjoyed yourself?" Green eyes narrowed and the smile gained a dangerous glint. Tom wanted to preen about how well his planning had worked out.
"It was an… experience." Just enough emphasis on 'experience' so that it could be taken either positively or negatively. Just enough relaxation in his posture to seem nonchalant about the entire ordeal.
"You know you've never been able to lie to me." It wasn't a question, and Tom clearly looked amused at his attempt. Harry shrugged.
"The way I figure it, if I don't stroke your ego you'll just do it yourself, so why exert the effort?" Harry knew that Tom liked the phrase 'stroke you ego' and used that to his advantage. Tom sipped from his tumbler before setting it gently down on the table beside him. His sinfully long legs moved, tensed, and flexed to hold his weight as he stood, continuing to do so as he moved slowly towards Harry: a predator in every sense of the word.
"Keep it up. A few more of these dates and you'll be more than willing to stroke whatever I want you to stroke." Harry's smile fell slightly before gaining a challenging edge.
"And what makes you think I want to go on another date with you?" Harry didn't want to think about other dates. The day wasn't over yet, and tomorrow wasn't in existence. He didn't want to have to think about turning Tom down until he absolutely had to.
"My reservation at Longhorn Steakhouse tomorrow night." He had already planned for Harry's agreement. The green eyed boy's smile disappeared completely.
"I'm going out with Severus tomorrow. You know that." And Tom's smile followed Harry's.
"What?" Probably the least articulate thing Tom had ever said, but Harry couldn't bring himself to laugh at it.
"Tom, I already told you—" Tom interrupted Harry with a snarl.
"Don't pull this shit. You enjoyed our date! Why would you—" Harry interrupted Tom right back.
"So? This doesn't change anything. It isn't hard to go out and have fun for a couple of hours. Having a relationship though? That's hard. And you're just not cut out for it." He really wasn't. Tom was rough, crass, manipulative, and he would never stop being at odds with Harry. But Harry had a quick temper, a sharp tongue, and preferred constantly being challenged to a peaceful life. Tom wasn't cut out for a regular, healthy relationship, but neither was Harry, which was probably why this moment hurt so much.
The ball was over, and there wasn't even a glass slipper to remember it by. He had to let the prince go.
"I don't have to be cut out for a relationship. I'm cut out for you!" Harry almost choked at his boss' words. How long had he wanted to be told something like that?
"Yeah?" Harry felt no pride at keeping his voice from cracking. "Well, maybe I'm not cut out for you." He almost felt as though he was looking at his body from the outside-in, wanting to flinch from the coldness of his own voice. But if he let anything other than rejection into his voice, Tom would know. He'd see through Harry's lies in a split second, and his tactics would change from anger, which Harry could work with, to sweet words and gentle caresses, which Harry would crumble under.
Red-brown eyes stared at Harry, searching for a lie of any form, but just as it seemed Harry was better at lying when absolutely necessary, Tom was worse at catching the lies when distressed.
"You don't mean that." Tom's voice was harsh, but for once it was Harry who spotted the sliver of unsureness behind it, and Harry clung to that as he moved to turn away, not intending to respond. Tom grabbed his bicep and turned him back around. "Stop fucking walking away from me!" Harry had never heard Tom shout before, and if emotions hadn't been running high before, they certainly were now.
Harry punched his boss right across his perfectly high cheek bones. Tom's grip on his arms only tightened, and Tom returned the blow with just as much, if not more force, at the same time letting his arm go and sending Harry sprawling to the floor. Harry was quick to react, leg shooting out to ram into Tom's shin and knocking the other man off balance just long enough for Harry to spring to his feet and slam a fist into Tom's abdomen. Well, he tried, but Tom's hand curled around Harry's wrist before he could inflict the full force of the blow and jerked it to the side, just barely not spraining it. Harry felt himself being flipped around before his front was slammed against the wall, arm twisted painfully behind his back.
Riddle pressed himself fully against Harry, hard-on full and ready and hiding none of the other man's intentions. Harry's left elbow swung back and caught the mob boss in the throat, the older man's surprise giving him just enough wiggle room to get free, swing around, and shove his foot against Riddle's chest. The other male stumbled backwards, still catching his breath from the last blow. Harry moved to run to the weight room, looking to gain ground, but Riddle was faster, foot digging into the back of Harry's knee and sending him back to the ground. Riddle was pinning down Harry a second later, his heavily muscled and just plain heavy body giving Harry no leeway for movement. Nails dug into Harry's wrists as they were pinned above his head and Riddle's other hand shoving Harry's face into the carpet, an almost unnecessary amount of force being put into his restraint. Almost because if there was any less, Harry may have found a way out of it.
"Fucking damn it, Riddle!" Harry would have said more, but Riddle maneuvered his face so that he was basically eating and breathing carpet. Hot breath washed over Harry's ear along with a dark chuckle.
"So I'm Riddle again, am I?" Harry stopped breathing for a moment as more force was applied to his head, but it ended quickly. "And here I thought I was the sadist. Do you enjoy drawing me close just to toss me away again? Do you like seeing me actually trying to stabilize something between us, all the while laughing at me behind my back with your God damned professor? Or is he Severus now that I'm Riddle?" Harry hadn't expected this confrontation to go well, but this hadn't exactly been on his agenda, either. Why not though, he wasn't sure.
Tom Riddle was a murderer. He tortured and used and tossed people away without batting a lash. Double crossing, seducing, and back stabbing were all in a night's work. Harry knew full and well that his boss was violent, so it couldn't be that he was surprised. He couldn't even claim to be disgusted or offended by this turn of events. Violence had always been a major part of Harry's life, and in some sick, twisted way, this was a turn-on. Maybe because, against all odds, against every single fact he was being presented with, Harry still felt safe. It was stupid and illogical; he knew that, too. Riddle might rough him up, but he would only give it as good as he got it, if not a little worse.
Stable, healthy, and peaceful would never describe their relationship, and with tonight, neither of them would ever get the chance to fully appreciate that. Harry dragged his face across the carpet to free his airways, in the back of his mind knowing that Riddle was allowing him to make even such a simple movement and simultaneously making sure that he had a hard time doing it. A light cough eased Harry's lungs as he glared at the wall, unsure whether he disliked Riddle or himself more at that moment.
"It's over, Riddle." What was over? He honestly wasn't sure. They didn't really have anything between them to end. No emotional attachments. No bonding ties. Nothing to tie them together after Riddle accepts his rejection.
Riddle's weight abruptly left Harry, and there was a rough curse, a jingling of keys, and the sound of the door slamming within the next few seconds.
Harry turned his face back into the carpet.
Tom didn't return that night or any point during the next day. Harry didn't bother going to class, not in the mood to explain his new bruises. Work was out of the question because if Riddle wanted to be avoided after what Harry had done, the younger male had no right to intrude. The man had said he wouldn't give up if the date went badly, but if everything had gone according to plan and Harry still crushed his hopes? Hopes made it seem so much worse than it was. Riddle just wanted to fuck him.
Until he found out who Harry really was. Then he would be disgusted and leave. Then Harry would have given up his body, heart, and anything else the other man asked for, and Tom would turn away without a scratch. He would put so much on the line, and if history had anything to say about it, he would lose it all.
Harry forced himself to literally roll out of bed, catching myself on the floor and, after a moment of contemplation, dropping the rest of the way. Honestly, he didn't want to go meet Snape, but what choice did he have? If he didn't go, Tom would know the truth, and then Harry would be trapped. Sighing, Harry picked himself up off the floor and dragged his tired body to the shower. He had barely gotten any sleep, and the sleep he had gotten was restless.
After his mostly pointless shower, Harry applied cover-up to his scar, considering applying it to his bruises as well but deciding that it would be too suspicious. Besides, he deserved them if not for what he said than for hitting Tom in the first place. He slipped on date-worthy clothes, nothing too form-fitting or good looking, like he had done for his date the night before, but he still looked fairly nice. He even ran his hands through his hair once or twice before giving up. Without glancing in the mirror, Harry walked out of the apartment, leaving it empty behind him.
Snape arrived directly on time, as he always did, and Harry climbed easily into the black Honda Accord. It didn't shine like Tom's cars, and it was nowhere near flashy, (probably a good 6 or seven years old) but it was well taken care of. Harry could appreciate that.
"What happened?" Harry blinked at his professor, mind taking a minute to catch onto what Snape was referring to.
"I got into a fight. It's nothing to worry about." Harry flashed his best smile, and though it was clear that Snape wasn't fully convinced, he didn't press onwards.
"I found a really nice Greek restaurant that I thought you would like. They have the best gyros I've ever eaten." He sounded genuinely pleased about this, and Harry hated that he couldn't share in that simple pleasure. The place was, in fact, nice. It wasn't a far cry from being called homey without losing its business feel. The food was good. Not the best Harry had ever tried, but Harry had always been a hard man to impress. They talked about class, and Snape elaborated on his personal life, letting Harry in on the fact that he was Draco's godfather. Harry spoke vaguely about being an orphan and how he was just happy to work towards a better life now. Snape was easy to talk to. He was kind and attentive. That same attentiveness was what started the next conversation.
"There's someone else, isn't there?" Harry's eyes snapped up from his half empty plate to meet Snape's; the man's soft, lightly bitter words sounding much louder than they were.
"I don't know what you—" Snape scoffed lightly, setting his fork down and pinning Harry with a harsh stare.
"He gave you those bruises, didn't he?" Domestic abuse. Snape didn't know just how well Harry could defend himself. The bitterness was nearly gone, replaced by gentleness that made Harry want to laugh. Someone legitimately cared about him, and Harry was too focused on the fucking murderer that he had just rejected to care.
"If it makes a difference, I hit him first." Snape's eyebrows rose at the confession, and, apparently, yes, it did make a difference.
"Why?" Harry could always respond with because he grabbed me but that wouldn't be the complete truth.
"Because he doesn't actually care about me, and I want him to." Harry himself was shocked at the truth in his words. He did want Tom to care about him. It really didn't have to be love. Love took time. But if he could just have romantic feelings for Harry… If he could care.
"You love him." It wasn't a question. Green eyes widened.
"I don't…" Snape sighed before Harry could finish his sentence, hand reaching across the table to grip Harry's comfortingly.
"You don't have to force yourself to have feelings for me. You're only just now getting out of a relationship. I can wait." Snape's smile had never seemed more human, and Harry found himself smiling back, their conversation becoming much easier from there out. They chatted until the restaurant shooed them away, Snape waving off Harry's attempts to pay for his share, and when he slid into Snape's vehicle again, he felt much more comfortable. The drive was spent in a comfortable silence; Harry maneuvering his body to hug his professor when the Honda was put in park. Almost surprisingly, Snape returned the light hug, and Harry felt much lighter as he unlocked the door to Tom's house and listened to the car drive away.
"What's so great about him?" Tom stood from his place at the kitchen table and sauntered towards Harry, all the grace of a panther in his steps. A very violent panther. As soon as he got close enough, Harry's senses were assaulted with scotch and black suede and chocolate. Oh, and did Harry mention scotch? Because there was a lot of that.
"You're drunk." Except he didn't look or sound drunk. Tom sneered at the suggestion, as though it was ridiculous that he could be affected by something as petty as alcohol.
"You think you're so fucking smart, don't you? Get the financial stability from me and the emotional support from him. Tell me, are you two fucking? Did you give it up the minute he said he loved you?" Tom was mocking him, and Harry stiffened.
"I never asked for you to—" Tom steamrolled whatever Harry wanted to say.
"You didn't have to. Because you're so bloody untouchable that you entice every man and woman within a fifty foot radius. I've always been the center of people's attention. They want to please me; to get on my good side. They see whatever I want them to see. You looked through me though, and you made me want you until it felt like hot knives were twisted inside of me, and then you left. It's not like you ever said that you wanted to be with me. You constantly told me otherwise, but the way you looked at me—" Tom slammed his hand against the wall beside Harry's head as Harry glanced away. "Look at me." The words were no louder or softer than the rest of the monologue; than his usual tone of voice. Harry met Tom's eyes.
When red-brown met emerald again, Tom wanted nothing more than to rewind and figure out what had went wrong the night before. Everything had went beautifully, and Harry had fit in his arms well enough to have been made to for them. Much like the night they had stayed together, Tom hadn't wanted to let go. But this time Harry had pulled away, and it pissed Tom off to no end. He had went out and downed some scotch with Rodolphus and Sirius, never more unhappy with his almost inhuman alcohol tolerance. They had known something was wrong, as Tom never had more than a shot or two throughout the day, but they didn't say anything. They knew him too well. He could have used them as an emotional outlet, yes, but that wasn't how Tom worked. If there was a problem in Tom's life, he got rid of it.
The problem here was that Harry was the fucking problem and Tom didn't fucking want to get rid of him.
"You look at me like the sun rises and sets in my eyes; don't try to deny it. You love me, and you're just too much of a fucking pussy to start something between us because you're too damn scared." Tom had been going out on a limb, hoping against everything that he was correct because that would be just about the only way he could convince Harry to stay. He didn't have to love Harry; Harry just had to love him, and then Tom could play along. Harry flinched slightly at the words, eyes darkening, and Tom felt something feral rise up and howl inside of him.
He was right.
"It doesn't matter. You can never love me." No, he couldn't.
"Says whom?" Everyone. All the time.
"You. Me. Everyone." So? They could still be happy together. Whatever happy was.
"But I could." Tom gripped Harry's jaw, forcing their eyes to stay connected as the younger man tried to look away. Harry's demeanor suddenly turned offensive, his teeth baring in anger and denial. God, Tom loved it when Harry was angry.
"No, you couldn't! You aren't like the rest of us, damn it! You're a sociopathic, narcissistic asshole who uses people whenever it's best for you and then tosses them away like they're nothing! Just what makes you think you're so fucking capable of playing human for once?" Harry had already put Tom in a box and tossed away the key. He didn't care about Tom's defense or how Tom was being effected. He just wanted to get out and be done with it all. Done with Tom.
Crimson-chocolate orbs flashed, and Tom saw red, all efforts of keeping his composure gone in an instant.
"Because I fucking love you, God damn it!" The air stilled along with the two men, neither completely sure what had just went down. Tom didn't—
But he did. It made sense. Why Harry was able to get under his skin so easily; why he was so fascinated with the younger male; why he was so willing to hand Harry whatever he wanted; why Harry was able to make him act as though he had grown a fucking conscience, at least when the matter concerned Harry. Tom had never been good at discerning the few emotions he had, especially when they weren't a variation of anger, want, or pleasure. It wasn't that he was going crazy, like it felt. He was just in love.
In love with the self-conscious, soft-hearted, hot tempered, lying, secret keeping, oblivious bitch who could single-handedly get on every single nerve Tom owned. Said bitch broke the silence.
"You don't…" Harry couldn't even finish the sentence. Tom was torn between snarling at the younger man's cowardice and smirking because the game was suddenly in the bag, and he was back in control. He went with a slow, devious smirk.
"You want proof?" Harry stared blankly at Tom, clearly unsure of what to say, and Tom took that as a yes. He reached into the pants pocket of his loose-fitting jeans and pulled out something that green eyes immediately recognized.
"That's—" Tom's smirk grew as he waved the piece of metal in front of Harry's face, rolling it over his fingers once before slipping onto his right ring finger.
"My birthday present. It hasn't left my person since you gave it to me, even sitting on my bedside table when I sleep." The plain-looking, cheap, pathetic ring that Tom wouldn't have given as a gift if someone had paid him to. Except what was cheap to Tom had been a lot for Harry. Harry, who had went out with Tom specifically in mind and searched for something that maybe, just maybe, Tom would like. What to get the man who had everything? Something he would never think of getting himself.
"I couldn't figure out why you gave it to me. At first, I thought it was because you were trying to get into my good graces. You wanted to be noticed, and you thought giving me a birthday present was the way to do it." Harry opened his mouth to protest that fact, and Tom chuckled darkly, leaning in to nip at the sensitive skin under Harry's ear opposite the hand on the wall holding him in place. "I know. I know. You just wanted me to have a good day. You're too kind to watch someone struggle and not reach out." He nipped harder, drawing both blood and a light whimper, before he licked at the newly made wound. "When you reached out, you touched me. I just didn't know it. If I was a lesser man, I would have tossed your pretty little gift away and moved on. Luckily for you, I," Tom kissed the wound one last time, "am," he moved up to place kisses on Harry's jaw, loving the way it trembled beneath his touch, "God."
And then Tom claimed Harry's lips, too.
Harry was hesitant to kiss Tom, unable to believe this was really happening. Tom wasn't capable of love. He had said so himself. He had pointed out time and time again what he was and wasn't capable of providing for Harry. Love had never been on the capable list. So, why would he change his tune now? He wasn't one to spout sonnets just to sleep with someone. So…
Tom became more aggressive in his kiss, biting Harry's bottom lip harshly enough to make him bleed and eliciting a sharp gasp. Tom's tongue immediately made its way inside of Harry's mouth, taking the tangy, metallic taste of his own blood with it. The mix of blood, strong whiskey and a hint of chocolate had Harry, much to his embarrassment, immediately moaning. He would like to say that he tried to fight for dominance and that he refused Tom's advances with an iron will, but the truth was that he all but melted under Tom's fierce kiss. And when Tom's fingers slipped up under his shirt, tracing his scars in the same way he had seemingly a lifetime ago, Harry leaned in. In another minute, Tom pulled back a few millimeters for air, and only then did Harry push him away, hands curled tightly into Tom's shirt and arms bent at the elbows, as though unsure as to whether or not he wanted to push him the rest of the way or pull him even closer.
"We can't do this. You don't—I don't…" But Harry didn't know what he was trying to say. His mind was foggy from the recent events, and Tom was doing exactly as Harry had feared he would.
"You can't back out now. You can't say you aren't feeling what I feel; that you haven't felt it day in and day out ever since our first kiss in the elevator, right after you tried to quit." Right after he had tried to quit; after Tom had pulled a background check on him. Tom forced Harry more fully against the wall, his stiff member pressing harshly against Harry's abdomen as fingers traced and retraced Harry's scars. Tom's lips descended again, this time gently over the bruise on Harry's right jaw and lower cheek. Harry turned his head again, this time fully pushing the larger body away and freeing his hands. Sure, it only gave him six or seven inches of room, but it was more than nothing.
"You don't understand, Tom. You don't know who I am." He didn't know. If he knew than he would back away.
"But I will. In time, I'll know more about you than you do. Every inch, every gram, every molecule of your mind, body, and soul will be laid out for me to see, for me to own." Tom moved to close the space between them again, and Harry knew that if he managed to do it, there would be no stopping whatever would happen next. He had to end this now; to repel Tom once and for all or be lost to the blazing fire between them. His hand reached up and, before he could think about it, rubbed roughly against his forehead. It only lasted for a few seconds, but that appeared to be enough as the hand moved from beside his head to latch onto his wrist, moving his hand over to where Tom's hand had been moments before and leaving it there. Tom's long, elegant fingers threaded themselves into Harry's hair, his thumb rubbing back and forth to clear off the rest of the concealer. Without warning, the hand in his hair tugged Harry's face skywards, and the hand paused on his hip tightened into a bruising grip. Harry prepared himself for the final dismissal that he had been running from for so long.
"That…" Tom breathed the word as he got closer to Harry, leaving no room between their bodies and less than an inch between their lips, his eyes riveted on the haunting mark carved into Harry's skin, "is so fucking hot." Harry tensed at the words, not believing what he had just heard, and watched as perfect lips stretched into a predatory grin. "Harry James Potter; The Boy Who Lived…" Crimson-chocolate orbs moved from the scar to wide emeralds.
"I—" Harry wasn't sure what he was going to say, but it appeared not to matter as Tom chuckled, his voice alarmingly pleased.
"You'll never get away from me now." Tom kissed him, hungrier than before, more possessive than before. One hand tugged and pulled at windswept black locks while the other pushed much farther under the shirt, pressing and caressing wherever it could. The hand moved far enough up to twist a nipple, and Harry cried out in surprise, his own hands reaching up to clasp around Tom's neck without his approval. Tom re-angled his head to gain better access to Harry's mouth, drinking in his moans. Harry tugged at the hairs at the base of Tom's neck in a plea for air, but the other man, as per usual, ignored him, only delving deeper, as though there was an unexplored part of Harry's mouth that he had missed. Harry responded in turn, his hands going higher, into the thicker locks of Tom's hair, and crudely yanking.
Tom's head was forced back, a sadistic grin on his face, and Harry felt like they were going in slow motion as he watched a thread of saliva between them break. In the next moment, both of Tom's hands were at the hem of Harry's shirt, and then the younger of the two was half naked. Tom's mouth was back after that, nipping and sucking at Harry's jawline before working down his neck, pausing at the jugular to make a mark. That had to be his only purpose, as Harry only felt pain as the other man bit harshly down, only bothering to lick the blood away before moving on. The next time he paused, it was at the small, circular scar on the juncture of Harry's left shoulder. He licked at it, kissed it, and blew cold air on the warmed area of skin, "Cigarette burn."
The kisses continued down, Tom's hand moving from Harry's hair down to his waist as he pinned the younger man against the wall. His lips fluttered over a pert nipple, and Harry could feel it hardening under Tom's touch. Harry bit back a moan, and then Tom opened his mouth, tongue flicking out to taste the bud. Harry's breath hitched, turning quickly into the moan he had been holding back as the mob boss bit down on the nub and tugged lightly before taking it into his mouth. Harry's grip on Tom's hair shifted, tightening again, this time trying to pull him even closer. He could feel the man smirk against his skin before, despite all of Harry's efforts, pulling away. It didn't appear to matter much, though, as Tom only moved to the other nipple, his body moving to kneel on one knee, thumbs rubbing circles on Harry's hips.
Then he left Harry's nipples and moved to the long, diagonal scar running across Harry's abdomen. It was one of Tom's favorite two scars to trace, along with the long, straight one running up his right side. He nipped and sucked along the damaged skin, long canines running lightly over it. Harry hadn't known his scars were so sensitive until he had met Tom. One hand, sure that Harry wasn't going to try and escape again, moved up to trace along the straight scar, nails scraping lightly over the raised skin. Harry felt the teeth dig into his skin, and he lightly wondered if one could leave a mark over skin that was already scarred.
"Where did you get this?" Tom seemed completely unperturbed by the situation, his voice not the slightest bit unsteady, while Harry had to catch his breath to answer.
"D-Dementors. Thirteen." He hoped that Tom would be able to discern that Harry was attempting to relay his age at the time, but there was no way he could talk in complete sentences. Apparently, it didn't matter as Tom hummed against Harry's skin, seeming to understand. His fingers ran up the side-scar one last time before going down and staying down, fingertips slipping into the fabric of Harry's pants. Harry's body tensed without his consent.
"Freak! This is all you'll ever be good for!" Harry opened his eyes as Tom's lips left his abdomen, red-brown eyes looking up at Harry through thick lashes. It was at that exact moment that Harry knew it didn't matter what he said now. As far as the older man was concerned, he had filled all of Harry's requirements, and now there was no reason to turn back. Harry was going to lose his virginity within the hour. Surprisingly, it was anticipation, not fear, that welled up within him.
Tom felt something roar within him at the apology. Little Harry: so innocent, so sweet, so Tom's. Without breaking eye contact, Tom placed another feather-light kiss on Harry's abdomen, fingertips moving back out of the fabric and maneuvering so that they were cupping the base of Harry's deliciously firm ass. Then, in one swift motion, he moved to his feet, pulling Harry up with him. Harry took only seconds to catch on, his tones legs wrapping themselves around Tom's waist without question and consequently grinding aforementioned ass against Tom's member. Harry made a small noise of surprise, and Tom smirked, fully aware that Harry only had the lightest of ideas as to just how close they would soon be.
He had never been happier for his height, long legs only taking seven strides to get to his room. Tom kicked his door open, only sparing a moment's thought over the fact that he was going to have to get it fixed, before moving his left hand to the back of Harry's knee and the right up to Harry's hands clasped behind his neck. He easily detached the younger man's grip and tossed the lithe body on the bed, stepping back to admire his work directly after.
Tom had never taken anyone into his room before; his house, yes, but never his bedroom. If he had, Tom was sure that none of them would look nearly as delectable as Harry did now. He took time to admire the green-eyed man while his hands moved to unbutton his shirt, noting the way Harry's eyes stayed glued to his movements; to his chest. Sex incarnateis what people had called Tom, but they clearly hadn't seen Harry.
Of course they haven't. You're the only one who's ever seen him like this. A possessive voice in the back of Tom's head gleefully decreed. Or ever will.
Harry's lips were bruised and wet, right jaw and lower cheek lightly bruised from the previous night's scuffle, and there was a prominent mark on the middle of Harry's neck, directly above the jugular. The way his lips had been claimed would fade throughout the night, the way Tom had broken the skin blending with the bruises of their fight, but he wouldn't be able to cover the hickey on his neck. People would know that Harry was his. Then again, Harry knew how to work concealer with the best of them. Brown-red eyes moved to look at the now prominent scar on Harry's forehead. He was willing to bet that Harry had no idea how attractive it was that he had managed to fly under the radar when the entire fucking world was looking for him.
Dark kiss marks trailed all the way down Harry's chest, nipples peaking in the cold air, silently begging Tom to lavish them with more attention. Oh, how he would love to do so, but there were more important, more fun things to focus on at the moment. The cigarette burn with the unknown source and the diagonal scar that the Dementors (Tom would deal with them later) had given Harry had both been thoroughly 'checked over,' and Harry's jeans were tented with an obvious erection. His legs looked almost too long, and Tom knew that they wrapped wonderfully well around his waist.
Tom undid the last button on his shirt, allowing the cloth to slide off of his arms and silently hit the ground. Knowing that there wasn't likely to be time later, he went ahead and undid his jeans as well, the thick material dropping to the ground with his boxers soon following. Tom inhaled lightly at the cool air hitting his engorged cock, eyes trained on Harry's reaction. The man's eyes were trained on Tom's member, wide and mesmerized, almost as though he had been waiting for this to happen. His jaw slackened ever so slightly, shoulders and abdomen tensing in anticipation. Tom's next breath was much shakier than the first, filled with swiftly crumbling self-restraint. Harry sat up, abs flexing, eyes unwavering, and tore the last of Tom's self-control down with two easy syllables.
"Come here." It wasn't a request. Harry, whose only experience in the sexual field was with Tom, himself, was trying to take control. Apparently, Tom took too long to respond as Harry's eyes rose from Tom's dick to his eyes. "Well?" He was innocent, not afraid. Not of Tom, anyhow. So, Tom, a very dominant, domineering male, grinned as he obeyed the order.
"Yes, sir." Long legs took two steps to stand in front of Harry, cock standing at full attention for the man in front of him. Harry glanced up again, his unsureness lost to his competitive nature, before taking Tom into his mouth. He threaded his hands into soft black locks as Harry's head bobbed up and down, every couple of moves allowing Tom's dick to leave his mouth completely so that he could simply lick it. Calloused hands moved up and down at the base, and when Harry moved to take Tom again, the mob boss didn't bother to stop the urge to shove Harry's head down, forcing him to choke slightly on Tom's member. He pulled back an inch or two only to lightly thrust back into the warm cavern. Not enough to harm him, only force him deeper.
Harry grunted in discomfort, the vibrations sending pleasure racing up Tom's spine, but he was too proud to lose the unspoken challenge. Tom continued his slow, shallow thrusts for another two or three minutes before simultaneously pulling Harry's head back and stepping away. The saliva connecting Harry's mouth and Tom's dick was enticing, and lust darkened emeralds to a forest green, silently asking Tom what was going on. Harry wanted to take control of what he could do, but he wasn't about to pretend he knew what he was doing when he didn't. Not here.
Tom pulled him up for a deep kiss, enjoying tasting himself on Harry's lips, biting already swollen lips again before letting the younger man go and moving to pull a small bottle out of his bedside table. Harry stared at it, knowing what it meant, and, after Tom raised his brows to question more 'Do you need a minute' than 'Are you sure you're ready for this,' Harry nodded. The younger male stood, not bothering to wait for Tom to come to him, and kicked off his shoes and socks and wriggled out of his trousers. Tom paused to stare at the younger man. His legs were toned, leading up to an equally toned ass and a full erection. No, Tom hadn't gotten to actually view Harry's ass yet, but he had felt it enough to know. Tom spread some of the lubricant on his fingers and tossed the still open bottle on the bed nearby.
He expected Harry to nervously look at him and eventually spread his legs. There was no need to fight over who would be entering whom, as they both know who would win. Instead, Harry immediately moved himself to an open position, at the same time moving himself forward to take Tom into his mouth again. Tom supposed the younger man needed something to take his mind off of what was about to happen, but if nothing else, he had expected Harry to want to receive pleasure to ease the pain, not give it.
Until he remembered Harry's hero-complex. Then it all made sense. Harry was the type of guy to get off simply from getting the man he loved off. And he loved Tom.
Tom hand slid down Harry's member, collecting pre-cum along with the lube, before circling Harry's tense entrance once. Twice. Three times. He pressed two fingers into Harry to the knuckle.
"You haven't said it yet." Tom pulled the fingers out and thrust them back inside again. Harry made a noise around Tom's cock, probably in question, and Tom thrust both his fingers and his cock deeper into Harry. "Tell me you love me." He loved Harry. Harry loved him. But Tom needed to hear it now. Harry grunted again, nothing that sounded remotely like the words Tom wanted to hear, and Tom added a third finger. He scissored his fingers while moving them, and as soon as Harry basically yanked himself off of Tom, a loud moan spilling heedlessly from his lips, Tom knew he was ready. He didn't waste time between removing his fingers and lathering his cock in the rest of the lubricant. Strong hands ran up Harry's torso one more time, ghosting over beautiful scars before flipping the smaller body over and forcing strong hips upwards. Tom re-spread Harry's legs, moving to kneel in the bed behind the man, one hand holding Harry tightly at the waist, palm over the comforting feeling of one of Harry's scars, the other sliding up Harry's back.
There were three scars on Harry's back as well: one of which he was intimately acquainted with (I must not tell lies.), one jagged, crescent mark the size of Tom's palm was halfway down the left side of Harry's back, and a final, long, sharp line that Tom knew for a fact was from a whip. One day soon, he would know the stories behind all of them.
When Tom's hand reached Harry's shoulder, Tom's body followed, his torso lining up perfectly with Harry's back. Then, Tom thrust the head of his cock into Harry, knowing that the widest part was usually the roughest. Harry didn't cry out, though the tenseness of his body showed how much he had wanted to, and Tom had to stop himself from simply pushing in the rest of the way. If Harry wasn't a virgin, he probably would have. With this being Harry's first time, however, if Tom wanted to have sex with him again anytime soon, and he certainly did, he needed to wait for the other man to adjust. Tom's hand rubbed soothing circles on Harry's side, his lips pressing gentle kisses across broad shoulders and paying special attention to the back of a suntanned neck. Harry relaxed into Tom's touch within minutes.
"Tell me." He eased in another inch. Two. Three. Harry tensed again, though not nearly as badly, and Tom kept going deeper.
"Tom, I can't—" but Tom was only halfway in, and he wasn't about to stop. He pushed in farther, only pausing for a few moments to soothe Harry once more, and eventually finding himself fully sheathed inside of Harry's hot, tight tunnel.
"You feel…" He felt better than anyone else Tom had ever taken or had. Tom took his time pulling out and thrusting back in again, praying to some unknown entity (himself, maybe) that the feeling wouldn't end. On the third thrust, he angled himself the way he felt his fingers had been, and on the torturously slow fourth thrust, Harry was arching up against him. A satisfied smirk lit Tom's face in a way that would have most men taking a step back, and then Tom set a much faster pace.
"T-Tom!" Tom reached around to fondle Harry, beginning to make new hickeys along the younger's back.
"Tell me you love me." Harry was a faithful, loyal creature. If he loved Tom, he would be tied to him. There would be no running away.
"I- I lov—nnngghh!" He trailed off into a loud moan, and Tom thrust harder, torn between displeasure at the lack of admittance and pleasure at the feeling created by their combined bodies. Deciding there was plenty of time, Tom slowed his pace to slow, lazy thrusts.
"Tell me, Harry. Tell me now." He rammed his cock against Harry's prostate, eliciting something between a moan and a whimper.
"I love… God, I love you!" Tom allowed the confession to wash over him, his possessiveness ruling not a moment later that it wasn't enough.
"Again." He put pressure in all the right places, biting down on Harry's sweaty skin, and thrusting at the exact right time, right place.
"I love you!" No, that wasn't enough either.
"Again." Tom's hands switched places, right hand threading into Harry's hair and pulling his head back at an awkward angle for a kiss. Crimson-brown eyes flashed as their lips separated, focusing in on the silver band around his finger. "With my name this time." He had to hear it.
"Tom, I—" Harry gasped, tightening around Tom, who upped his pace again, and Tom's left hand (he was never more thankful for being ambidextrous) tightened around the base of Harry's member, stopping his orgasm.
"My full name." Tom's thrusts were quick and hard, hitting Harry's prostate directly every time.
"T-Tom, I lov—Tom Marvolo Riddle, I fucking love you, now let me cum!" The words were angry, rushed, demanding, and made Tom feel alive. He let go of Harry's cock, allowing the younger man to find release and milking Tom's own cock on the sudden, extreme tightness of Harry's rocking orgasm, another minute of rapid thrusting along with the noises Harry made pushing Tom over the edge. He rode out his orgasm inside of Harry, biting down on the younger man's shoulder juncture hard enough to draw blood; a lot of it.
Tom drank it in, and only when he was sure that his orgasm had completely finished did Tom fully pull out of the body beneath him, holding himself up with one hand as he quickly flipped Harry over. He maneuvered to hold himself up on his forearms, hands tangling themselves in mussed up black locks as Tom smashed their lips together. Cheap coffee, fresh hazelnut, semen, and blood all mingled together to make a taste that could only be described as Harry Potter. Tongues and teeth clashed in a fight for dominance that Tom knew he would win, and when Tom pulled away again, he could feel arousal stirring in his stomach once more. The older man stood, cock half-hard between his legs.
"Think you're capable of a second round in the shower?" They had to get in the shower to clean up, and Tom was going to take Harry again once they were in there either way, but he figured it was polite to ask. Harry stared at him for a moment before smirking and sanding up, barely flinching when he put weight on his newly used body and not even seeming to notice the white-tinted-pink substance trickling down between his thighs.
"Just try and keep up."