Author's Note: This is fabulous. I don't care who hates it. It's fabulous.
Warnings: Slash, non-Slash (Hetero), Abuse, AU, anything else I don't consider worth warning you over…
The Dursleys. Tom had tracked Dudley to his parents' house with minimal effort. A quaint little house on Privet Drive that was almost irritatingly normal had Tom's full attention for all of a few minutes before he turned to get back in his car and leave. Harry may have wanted to seek out Dudley, but the boy would no doubt steer clear of his aunt and uncle. It was the same as his reasoning for not running to Sirius.
"You! Where is he?" Tom turned his head to look at the source of the words, offhandedly noting the desperation and panic sinking deeply into blue eyes.
"And why should I tell you?" Tom wasn't exactly in the mood to play games (unless those games got blood on his hands), but it was better to bluff than reveal an empty hand.
"Because I'm his family!" At that, Tom's carefully blank expression morphed swiftly into a harsh sneer.
"Family? You? No, Sirius is his family. Diggory is his family. Remus was his family. You're just a little boy who thinks that standing up to that oaf you call a father makes up for years of torment and abuse." Tom watched Dudley cringe with a sick sense of pleasure, wanting nothing more than to break the younger man down until he knew only self-loathing and pain, simultaneously knowing that he just didn't have the time. Which was probably for the best. Tom was angry, and when he got angry his blood-lust knew no bounds. When he got Harry back, he would have a hard enough time convincing the man that he hadn't exposed the whole Boy-Who-Lived thing. He didn't need to be explaining why Harry's cousin was a mess of negative emotions along with that.
"I've called the police!" Dudley's mother was looking at Tom through the barely opened door, phone held in front of her as though it could offer some sort of protection. As though anything could really protect her from him. Tom turned fully around, a grin both seductive and malicious enough to frighten the devil curling at his lips.
"Did you now?" They were starting this. They were throwing dry wood into a raging inferno.
"Y-yes! I only called you an intruder, but if you don't step away from my D-D-Dudders right now, I'll tell them what you've done! You'll get taken away!" Taken away? With the amount of anger in Tom's blood, someone actually challenging him would only lead to a messier kill; much like his younger days. Tom took smooth, confident steps towards the house and therefore both her and Dudley. The sirens sounding in the background did nothing to ease the fear gathering in Petunia's eyes. He was mere feet away from Dudley when the car pulled up, lights flashing.
"Mom…" There was a warning in Dudley's tone, but Tom was unsure whether she was being warned to tell the police to leave or to run for the woods.
"That's him! The one in the suit; he's t-the intruder!" She waved the phone in Tom's direction, and Tom, with a feral grin, tilted his head back and to the left to look at the two officers who had gotten out of the car, both with weapons at the ready. Tom ran his eyes over them once before chuckling and turning back towards the too-normal house.
"Ma'am, are you sure about this?" The voice was a rough baritone, and Tom heard footsteps progressing towards him.
"Y-yes. Why are you putting your guns away? He's dangerous!" Dangerous?
Such a tame word.
"Ma'am, I'm Officer Dolohov and this is Officer Macnair. We're here to talk to you about an intruder?" Dudley looked between Dolohov and Tom, eyes narrowing in confusion.
"He—He's right there! Him! That horrible man in the suit! He—He's not just an intruder! He shot my husband! My poor Vernon, he…" She trailed off, clearly not sure what to do as the officers came to a stop just behind Tom on either side.
"I'm sorry, Ma'am, but…" Macnair put a hand on Tom's shoulder before continuing on, "I just don't think Mr. Riddle here would do something like that." He had a casual grin that bade well only for people on his side, and Tom turned his head to look at the policeman.
"You know, maybe she called you out of guilt. I've heard rumors of another child growing up in this household, but none of the neighbors have seen him in years. In fact, there aren't any school or medical records for him, despite supposedly living here for over a decade. Word on the grapevine is that there may have even been abuse." Tom put an almost teasing inflection in his voice at the word 'abuse.' Macnair's eyebrows raised nearly into his hairline.
"Really? Now that's something to investigate. Hey, Dolohov, we have anything to do today?" Dolohov stepped forward to be next to Tom, Macnair's hand falling from the taller male's shoulder at the same time.
"Not that I can recall, no." And Tom drank in the realization in Petunia Dursley's eyes for a good few seconds before turning away, no longer caring what happened to them. He had wasted enough time. Tom spun on his heels to stride back to his forest green Tesla Model S Sedan. He had bought it with Harry in mind, both because it matched the young man's eyes and because he had wanted Tom's previous vehicle, but what had made him grin while handing over the pocket change it had cost now had Tom baring his teeth. Harry was his.
His to protect.
His to harm.
His to own.
His to love.
His to kill.
He started the car, its engine's roar drowning out whatever Dudley was yelling to him. It didn't matter. He didn't care.
If someone had taken any of those rights away from him? If Harry had run to Snape first, and the professor had killed him…
Tom would have the so called Half-blood Prince begging for death before he even got started.
When Tom parked in front of Diggory Incorporated, his rage had only managed to morph and focus. The longer this chase went on, the more harm Tom was liable to cause.
He walked into the large, ritzy building as though he owned the place, and people gave him stares to match. It was the correct reaction, as, if the whim struck him, he really could own it. Did that matter to him? Not in the slightest.
"May I help you?" Naturally blonde lashes fluttered in Tom's direction. He barely spared her a glance before walking past her and getting into the elevator. "Sir! Sir, you can't—" the doors closed, preventing him from hearing anymore of her protests. Can't. Tom hated that word. He had eradicated it from the world around him as quickly as he could. The elevators made a quiet 'ding' at every floor, and Tom's agitation upped a step with every repetition of the light noise. When he reached the fiftieth floor, Diggory was already waiting for him.
"Where is he?" The question let Tom know exactly what he didn't want to. "I flew straight here as soon as I heard the news. I thought Harry would come to me, but obviously he didn't. I called Dudley, and he isn't there, either, and that means he has to be with you." Has to be. Should be. Wasn't.
Tom frowned. That meant Harry had gone to Snape, who would be quite a bit harder to track down than these two idiots had been. Unless…
Nearly crimson orbs studied the heir for a moment.
"Where's your master computer?" He could hack from a laptop or even his phone, but it would be fastest and easiest with their master system. Diggory correctly interpreted that as Tom having no idea where Harry was and, after only a moment, gave a stiff nod. The man beside of him immediately began advising against it.
"Sir, we have no idea who this ruffian-" it had been a long time since Tom had been called a ruffian; a long time since any of his three-thousand dollar suits had a reason to become so disheveled- "is! If we just allow him access to our entire database willy-nilly than there's no telling what he could—" Diggory interrupted the man with a firm glare.
"Did I ask for your opinion?" It was cold; completely outside of Diggory's usual personality.
"Well?" Tom's impatience grew by the second.
"It's this way." No warnings not to try anything funny. No suspicious looks. Diggory was operating as though Tom had a gun to his head. He was so worried for Harry's safety that he was willing to give up literally anything to save him. It was pathetic. When faced with an impossible decision, the only proper response was to turn the tables on whoever dared to threaten. Laying down and taking it? That would only invite more people to come along and take what they wanted. Tom would use this irritation as an opportunity. No one would dare to take what was his again. If they were smart, they wouldn't even look in his direction.
Tom strode over to the computer started typing. Diggory made a move to give him the password but stopped short when he found that their security had already been breached. Child's play.
Numbers and letters flew across the screen almost faster than they could appear. Police records. House payments. School records.
None of it mattered to Snape. He wouldn't take Harry to his own home. It would be too obvious. Keeping him at the school was more likely, but Snape most likely planned on returning to his usual life after this incident was over, so it also wasn't ideal. After all of the trouble the teacher had went through to hide his past, he wasn't likely to abandon what he had envisioned as his future any time soon. So, nothing of Snape's. But Harry didn't own anything, either. He had been moving from one apartment to another ever since leaving Lupin's. And Snape, even if he knew about the Dursleys, wouldn't dare bring harm to members of Lily's family. He wouldn't use an undisclosed location, either, as he wouldn't be able to control every variable. That only left one place.
A devilish smirk tugged at the edge of Tom's lips, so filled with malice that he could feel Diggory stiffen beside of him. Revenge was one thing that Tom held true talent for. It honed his instincts like nothing else.
"Did you… find something?" The sequence on the screen clearly made no sense to Diggory. Tom straightened to his full height, expression never faltering. It was time to go. "Wait a second, you'll bring him back safely, right?" Tom didn't spare the boy a glance. What he did with Harry was his business. "Hey! I asked you a question!" Diggory was commanding in his own right, but that tone only served to grate on Tom's nerves. Without pausing, Tom gripped Diggory by his throat and slammed him against the wall. The boy's feet kicked, trying desperately to find the ground. It was to no avail.
"Listen because I'll only say this once: I don't tolerate disrespect. The only reason there's still breath in your pathetic lungs is because I don't feel like listening to Harry bitching over your death. Don't make the mistake of assuming that will save you a second time." His hand tightened around the convulsing flesh in a last warning before allowing Diggory to fall to the floor. He walked out of the room and back to the elevator with easy strides. All that was left to do was corner his prey.
When Tom arrived at the late Potter's home, he didn't bother with picking the lock, instead choosing to simply kick the door off of its hinges. After shutting the door behind him, he stepped over the bodies of the two women within, careful not to get blood on his shoes. Snape immediately appeared in the next doorway, a gun in his hands.
"My, my. That's a rude welcoming." His voice had become the sweetest of venoms. Time had sharpened his anger into a focused rage that would only serve in his favor. And to decimate those who opposed him, but they were really the same thing. Obsidian orbs narrowed.
"…Riddle?" It had been a long time since they had last met, but Tom supposed he was a hard man to forget.
"I assumed you would be here as soon as I saw that Potter's identity had been revealed. So predictable." Snape glared at him, clearly unwilling to just believe the story but also knowing no other way Tom could have found him so quickly.
"What do you want?" Snape didn't shoot, but he didn't lower his weapon, either. Maybe he knew that Tom could get his weapon out and have him dead before being hit? Tom didn't personally care.
"Nothing special. I just want to make sure you don't fuck up his demise again and somehow incriminate me." Tom was casual. He had everything exactly how he wanted it. Snape sneered but, unable to afford risking Tom's anger or drawing attention to the house before he was finished, lowered his weapon. A wolf's grin slipped through his—well, he could never exactly pass for a sheep, but whatever nice-ish mask he held. Snape's gaze became warier, but the only move he made was to turn and go back in the direction he came from. Tom followed him, but when Harry came into view, tied up in a dank basement, and Snape stepped into the open, Tom chose to stay in the shadows.
Neither man spoke while they waited. Snape because… Tom didn't care why he was silent. Tom because he was too busy taking in Harry's form. The younger male's chest was slowing raising up and down, which was the most important thing here. He didn't look any worse for wear, meaning Snape had only captured him thus far. Tom's worry vanished, but that only left more room for his rage.
Slowly, green eyes opened, confusion, fear, and irritation flashing quickly through his orbs. He opened his mouth slowly, as if to say something, but only ended up revealing cloth stuffed into his mouth. A Harry that couldn't speak? The idea was just as appealing as it was unappealing. Tom supposed he would only truly be able to appreciate it if he could control when those taunting lips opened and closed.
"I suppose you're curious as to why I've taken you. Though I don't know if I should tell you. You've been truly detestable in the way you've treated me these last few months." What an incredibly bitter man. "Not that I'm incredibly surprised, what with who your father is. Tell me, did you find it funny to hear me speaking of your father while I poured my heart out to you?" Snape reached out to Harry and pulled him up by his ropes, the other hand reaching into his mouth and removing the gag. Tom nearly snapped Snape's neck. He was touching what belonged to Tom. "No matter. We have time to correct your less than desirable personality traits. Consider it something akin to detention." Snape allowed Harry to drop harshly to the floor.
Harry was Tom's to correct.
"Fucking bastard! You won't get away with this!" Harry was correct on that point.
"Why not? I have before." Because Tom was his opponent this time, and no one escaped Tom.
"You're a damn psycho, you hear me? You killed my parents, and now you think that—" Snape interrupted Harry almost casually.
"Parent. You don't honestly think that I would ever lay a hand on Lily, do you?" Snape turned his eyes to meet Tom's. "No, that was my subordinate." Still so condescending, despite Tom's obvious advantage, "Although I can't completely blame him; he tried to spare her, but she absolutely refused to move out of the line of fire. Insisted on protecting you." Snape's eyes turned back to Harry, anger burning in them, fists curling so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. "It was your fault, really." And then, in the midst of a situation where basically everything and everyone had turned against him, the boy did something so completely Harry that Tom couldn't stop the fond crook of his lips. Harry huffed and rolled his eyes, no doubt succeeding in pissing Snape off even more.
"How is it my fault that you and your subordinate are insane?" Tom's first thought was that of Harry apologizing once he realized who he was speaking of, but reality got in the way of that pleasant begging session to let Tom know that Harry would say it to his face just as easily. "Where the bloody hell are we, anyway?" Snape stared down his nose at Harry, giving a disapproving 'tut' before looing around, and Tom idly wondered if Harry was trying to irritate his father's murderer.
"You don't recognize your first home?" Harry stilled at Snape's words, bringing attention to the fact that he had been (barely) moving in the first place, and Tom tilted his head to the side. What was Harry up to? "We're going to do it right this time, Harry. This is going to end where it began all those years ago." Green eyes moved back to meet Snape's.
"What are you waiting for?" The question was, much like everything Harry did, a challenge. An innocently curious challenge, as Harry probably only wanted to know, but his tone and general personality made it seem like he was daring Snape to try it. Tom chose that as his point to step in.
"Come now, Harry. You don't seriously think that royalty works alone, do you?" Snape would assume that Tom was referring to his status as the Half-Blood Prince, but Harry would get the true reference. And the way forest green eyes widened, torn somewhere between anger, confusion, and despair, made Tom's blood sing. Harry's body was taut with fighting through his fight-or-flight response, no doubt frustrated beyond belief at Tom's appearance. He counted Tom as his enemy now, whatever trust they had shattered, and while that made part of Tom want to snarl for Harry's stupidity, it made another part of him proud. Blind faith and unfailing trust in a person was stupidity, even if – especially if – the person was Tom. He could betray better than the best of them. There was no surety that he wouldn't turn on Harry one day. He wasn't in love with an idiot. A naïve dreamer, maybe, but not an idiot. It was better to be prepared than happy.
Not that Harry could have been prepared for this exact event. Truthfully, Tom hadn't thought over the day he had shot Harry's mother since his wound had healed. Now though, staring into those brilliant green eyes, Tom remembered. And finally, finally, he understood how Snape could have been so enthralled with Lily. Those eyes… rebellious, fierce, and unwilling to show how much bitterness and pain this (what Harry considered) betrayal had caused; were utterly captivating.
"Riddle." Harry's voice didn't crack, but it wavered, pain buried deep beneath the anger and shame. Severus glanced between them, and the humor that the two man who killed his parents were the ones vying for his attention didn't escape Tom's notice.
"You two know each other?" 'Outside of your initial meeting' went unsaid, and Tom easily ignored Snape's general existence. Harry held no such intentions.
"Apparently not." Tom's eyes never strayed from Harry, and he couldn't stop the dark smirk from taking his lips. Harry was still under the impression that he could estrange himself from Tom, one way or another. He didn't realize that not even death would stand in the way of Tom getting what he wanted. Harry, possibly in response to his expression, bean to struggle. His movements were harsh and hurried, and Tom watched panic war with a calculating need to survive. "You know, you'd think one of the first things to come up when you found out is the fact that you helped kill my parents." Tom paused at Harry's words, honestly considering them. He supposed it would have been the first thing to pop into most people's minds, but all Tom had been able to think was that the entire world was looking for Harry, and Harry belonged to him. The information had upped his possessiveness to a new level, but what had landed Harry in such a position in the first place hadn't mattered enough to spark neuronal movement. He had killed so many people, after all. What was one bullet when he was thirteen?
Tom gave Harry an unconcerned shrug.
"It slipped my mind." For the slightest moment, Harry paused in his struggles, and Tom knew that Harry hated that he was telling the truth.
"How, exactly, do you know each other?" Snape demanded the attention in the room. Tom denied him that. Harry, however, had an almost immediate change in demeanor. It lasted only a flicker of a moment, but Tom would recognize that determined hope anywhere. Harry experienced it nearly every time they fought, which was around ten to twelve times a day or more (usually more). The boy had a plan.
"We fucked." Tom narrowed his eyes at the way Harry had revealed what was between them. While there were points in time where what they had been doing could be called nothing more than fucking, Harry was far too sentimental to label it as nothing more than that. Even Tom would put a more expressive tag on what they had, and he consistently looked down upon romanticisms. That left the phrasing as a part of whatever scheme Harry had cooked up, but Tom couldn't quite figure out what he was aiming at. "Right after I left our date with you, actually." Ah. There it was. Snape was quick to anger, and the harsher his anger got, the more likely he was to slip up. Lightly, Tom wondered if Harry had figured out if Tom was on his side yet or if this was just a last-ditch plan with hopes that Tom wouldn't interfere.
"You're his lover?" Snape's words were quiet and filled with betrayed rage, immediately adding a dose of challenge to Tom's already arrogant posture. Before Snape could turn that rage on Tom, Harry spoke again.
"Lover is an intense word." The words were meant to be casually scathing, and perhaps they sounded like that to Snape, but Tom saw the nearly nonexistent pause between Harry's mouth opening and him actually speaking, and he heard the slightest waver on the word 'lover.' It may as well have been another of their arguments, and Tom equated the words with 'I love you.' "We were just friends with benefits. Not even friends, really. And the benefits weren't all that great, either, but hey. When your only other suitor is a chemistry professor, you do what you have to." Tom immediately thought of just how many benefits Harry had reaped from their relationship and was quickly forced to school his expression back into neutrality.
Harry scooted backwards, and Snape took steps to follow his motions, knife glinting against the dim lights. Tom immediately moved forwards as well, his fingers wrapping tightly around Snape's (frankly scrawny) wrist and stopping the idiot from marking what belonged to Tom. If he was holding on a small bit tighter than necessary, Snape didn't show it. If he was Harry, he may have gotten points for that. As is, it only served to sharpen Tom's malicious intent.
"You may get the satisfaction of choosing when he dies," lies; that right belonged only to Tom, "but I'm the only one who will mark him." Tom's voice was firm and dangerous, daring Snape to see just who held the power in this arrangement. Snape, after a moment, made one of his few truly smart decisions and released his hold on the weapon, allowing Tom to move his grip from Snape's wrist to the handle of the knife. He twirled it idly in his fingers as he turned back to face Harry, whose eyes darkened considerably. So, he really was hoping to scape by on the luck of not facing Tom until Snape was out of the way. How cute.
Tom strode closer, taking in his prey. They really would have to try bondage sometime.
Once Tom was within reach, Harry maneuvered so that one of his legs was free (losing his shoe in the process) and so that he was standing against the wall. Without a moment's pause, he kicked a foot out, and while Tom's first instinct was to stop the blow and second instinct was to hit move the knife so that the idiot wouldn't do Snape's job for him and hurt himself, Tom forced his body still to allow Harry his escape. The knife flew out of Tom's grasp, leaving a splash of blood across Tom's hand in its place. The force of his kick spun him into a second kick that was strong enough to cause pain to bloom in Tom's chest but never would have been enough to trip him up. Tom took two steps backwards anyhow, enjoying the triumphant grin that spread across delicious lips in response. Harry made a run for the exit almost simultaneously with his foot returning to the ground, but Tom didn't allow him to get far. Surely Harry wasn't stupid enough to think Tom would actually let him escape.
Tom grasped the ropes that tied Harry's torso and tossed the younger man over to where the knife had been thrown earlier. He loved that Harry was nowhere near as light as he looked. Harry's posture changed as soon as he realized (to some extent, at least) what was going on, but Tom didn't get to look for long as Snape stepped between them, expression molded into a scowl.
"I was kind enough to allow you to see the end of what you helped start all those years ago, but I won't allow you to ruin all of my hard work." Snape looked at Tom from foot to head as though he was nothing more than filth before turning around to face Harry instead. "You're still the same sloppy, impulsive child as before." The fury that had been contained and sharpened into a fine weapon before lost its form, soaking into every molecule of his being. He moved on instinct, taking the closest non-immediately lethal weapon at hand (his tie) and quickly wrapping it around Snape's throat, loving the feeling of the body struggling for breath against him as he pulled upwards. Loving the feel of Snape's life draining away and the power to save him belong solely to Tom. Not that he had any urge to spare his miserable existence. Snape would pay dearly for touching Harry.
"I was never sloppy." No, everything had always been planned carefully out. He couldn't afford any mistakes in his ride to power. Nails moved from the cloth constricting Snape's airways to trying to hit Tom, and the mob boss felt his excitement spike as the blows landed, knowing that this was the peak of the struggle. The pain served as a reminder that he was both alive and on top. Just as so many times before, the blows lessened, and the ones that did hit were weaker; pathetic. Snape's life could end in the next few seconds, and all would be righted.
His grip on the tie loosened to nothing without warning, swinging the material to tie back to its rightful place around his own neck. "Your place has always been at my feet, Severus. Don't forget that." Yes, he wanted to stain his hands with more blood, but, at least for this moment, Harry's needs came before his own, and Harry would need closure. For the first time, the older man was willing to hand his prey over to someone else. Was there any greater way to express his love?
Tom thought not.
Snape looked pitiful, bowing and panting at his feet, but Tom barely paid him heed. By this point, he was nothing more than an eyesore, leaving Tom's fingers nearly twitching to finish the job. Snape got to his feet, all irritation at Tom redirected towards Harry, who scrambled to his feet. And then the green eyed boy captured Tom's full attention by squaring his shoulders and becoming every bit the man that had shot Bellatrix. He stood tall, determined to let nothing get to him, looking almost as though he was the one keeping them hostage and that they were just wasting his time. He looked strong and fierce and invincible and beautiful and—
"Looks like there's a reason he's a Lord and you're a Prince. I thought you were prouder than that, Snivellus."
And he almost literally took Tom's breath away.
"A Lord? Is that one of your sick fantasies? To be dominated?" Snape pulled a gun from his waistband. "Because I can do that." And then he pulled the trigger, and millions of scenarios, both of Harry's death and how many different ways he could slaughter Snape, ran through Tom's mind. Harry appeared to be one step ahead, however, as he dove into a roll. It started out perfectly before hitching, and Tom knew that his lover had been hit, but Harry didn't appear to care as he broke free and used the knife to mangle Snape's shooting hand. The gun fell to the floor as Harry moved to punch Snape across the face, forcing the professor to stumble backwards until he hit the wall. Harry maneuvered the knife so that the tip of the blade was pressed against Snape's abdomen, and Tom watched eagerly, wanting so badly for his plan to finish smoothly. Then Harry hesitated.
And Tom gave him the extra shove he needed to complete his vengeance. He pressed himself against Harry's back and wrapped his hands around Harry's own. Snape's eyes moved upwards, relief clear even in Tom's peripheral vision, but all Tom could see was the beautiful young man in his arms. And then he propelled the knife forward, feeling how easily it sliced through Snape's soft, fleshy body, unable to hold back a throaty groan at the knowledge that everything had gone his way. Harry tensed, but Tom's only response was to draw the knife in Harry's hand back and slammed it forward again. Snape coughed, blood splattering onto Tom's arms, and Tom went for the vital organs next, ignoring Harry's horrified struggles and Snape's weak grip on his wrists. Harry was flipped and pinned against the wall before Snape's convulsing body could hit the ground.
Harry glared at Tom, fear hiding somewhere beneath the bravery but refusing to show itself, and Tom knew that if he ended Harry's life here and now, the last thing he would see flash through emerald orbs would be that gorgeous defiance. Tom slammed their lips together, unwilling to stop until he had drawn blood from those perfect lips and delved into the most taunting mouth in the world.
Only when Harry's struggles became nothing (not for lack of resistance but lack of air) did Tom pull back.
"I love you." He loved Harry. Truly.
"You're a fucking psycho!" A grin tipped the edges of Tom's lips at the accusation, and this time he kissed Harry until the boy passed out.
Harry paced around the room as Tom sat in a familiar position between the exit and the rest of the house, casually looking over a book as he waited for his lover to calm down.
"And we are not dating, you hear me? You killed my parents—" Tom interrupted Harry's rant as he flipped the page of his book.
"Parent." He had only killed Lily.
"Whatever. You helped kill my parents," fair enough, "lied to me," of course, "kept the fact that my chemistry professor was your partner to yourself," it hadn't seemed relevant, "sold Draco to Zabini-" Tom cut him off there.
"He sold you out. Besides, Zabini will treat him well. If it wasn't for you, I'd have killed him." But Harry just steamrolled on.
"-and a whole list of other things that I'm positive you aren't telling me! Why the fuck would you think that I would want to have any sort of relations with you at all?" He was especially forceful today, which was a definite turn-on.
"We don't have to jump back into being a couple;" though they would continue to be exclusive, "I'm fine with just being sex friends for now." Tom watched Harry from beneath his lashes as he spoke. Harry's chest moved up and down almost roughly, body in a defensive position as he prepared to fight back should Tom try and attack. A cornered animal in nearly every sense of the phrase.
"I'm moving out." As though Tom would allow something so ridiculous. "Move." Tom tilted his head up to fully focus on Harry at the harsh snarl of a word, marking his place in his book and setting it to the side before rising from his chair.
"You know I can't resist you when you use that tone." Harry opened his mouth to shout something else, but Tom was quicker, wrapping his arms around Harry's waist and pulling the other male close. Enjoying how tense Harry got and how much strength he had to put into restraining Harry fully. "Besides, you aren't actually angry about that." Green eyes looked at him in disbelief. "You knew who I was when you fell in love with me. You know that we weren't connected when your parents died, and you aren't petty enough to hold a grudge when it was really nothing personal." Harry didn't back down, but there was something in his eyes that said Tom was right. His body lost its tenseness as he reached some sort of agreement with his conscious, and Tom loosened his hold. Harry would get over this. And if not, he still had the Dursley's life-sentence up his sleeve. "I'll allow this break-up to occur, but you won't leave me. Not now." He leaned down to kiss Harry's neck. "Not ever."
Harry proceeded to punch him in the gut hard enough that Tom actually lost his breath.
"Then watch me use up your resources from the other side of the house because even if I can't escape you," Harry's voice was low and threatening in Tom's ear, "I won't be getting back together with you." And then he stormed off. Back to his room.
Tom chuckled as he caught his breath, slowly moving back to his chair and using the pain in his stomach as a reminder that Harry was alive and that he had won. He heard the door reopen and Harry shout, "And I sure as hell won't ever sleep with you again, either!" before it slammed closed once more. A self-satisfied smile tipped Tom's lips that, in a certain light, may have looked loving.
He had heard that one before.