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“I'm waiting for the day,” Tom murmurs softly, teeth delicately nibbling at his earlobe. “I will bury myself in you, reaching inside all your crevices, selfishly taking my pleasure in you, Harry. Until you're moaning and crying and still deny you the release you'll so desperately crave in return.”
“Nghhn,” Harry responds fluently to the dark timbre of the threat.
“Don't worry for now, though,” Tom carries on, and his mouth moving wetly on his neck, pressing languid kisses to his pale throat, “because right now, I'll make you come on my cock as many times as it takes for you to forget anything to exist beyond my body and yours. Wouldn't you enjoy that?”
Harry's muffled protests fade into the softness of the pillows. Tom laughs and shifts back, denting both the sides of the mattress around his waist.
“Why do you torture me like this,” Harry protests breathily, looking over his shoulder to see dark brown eyes peering back at him intently. “Fuck me already.”
"Oh, glad to know you've not developed a speaking disorder, after all," Tom mocks, and contrary to Harry's wishes, withdraws completely, frustratingly pulling his fingers away from his arse, heedless of the disappointed whimper that follows when Harry feels the absence.
"Seems like I've finally found the ultimate solution to quieting that cheeky mouth of yours. Wish I'd figured this out earlier, but hindsight is twenty-twenty." Tom is pulling down his trousers, and Harry sits up, very interested which Tom notices immediately and smirks.
“As if I’d let you touch me months ago,” Harry retorts, though his cock is begging for attention and disagrees. His hand automatically moves to rub himself, but Tom sends a mild stinging hex his way. “Ouch- that hurt," Harry casually comments and continues his previous thoughts. "And I didn’t know the trick to getting you to stop being such a brooding smartass was to - Godric.”
He’s seen Tom's body before, stolen glances in the dorm bathroom when getting ready in the mornings, and he’s felt Tom's interested cock, the couple of times they’ve rutted against each other these past days, but that was it. So getting to see him naked with his beautiful cock hard and leaking for Harry is doing unspeakable things to his insides.
Tom cocks, cocks - why does no one appreciate Harry’s puns? – his head. “Godric?” he echoes, as if confused why that particular founder's name was on his tongue... which fair, Harry should be more careful.
"What? Do you want me to curse your ancestor's name during all the impure wickedness instead?" That shutter's Tom's expressions and he shakes his head.
For some time, he is satisfied by just lying there and watching the hanging thing in front of him with wide eyes when Tom calls, “Harry," and Harry unwillingly drags his eyes away from that lovely dick to look at the face instead. A furrow is starting to appear between Tom's eyebrows. “Is it too much... too big to…?”
Tom must have misunderstood his staring. For all his genius, the prefect could be too dense sometimes.
Harry smiles fondly and bends forward to grab Tom's hand, tugging him toward the bed. Tom comes willingly. “Don't flatter yourself Riddle, I want it and I can take it,” he quips and lays down again on his front this time, wriggling his arse in Tom's face teasingly. “Come on, big boy. Let's put your worry to test."
Tom puts a firm hand on his left arse cheek and Harry stills. “Behave yourself. I genuinely don’t want to hurt you - too much.”
His guts coil with heat in response to the words.
"I'm asking for it though," he muttered, hoping Tom would finally catch on. Glancing back, he locked eyes with him, trying to convey the message with a torrid gaze. "Tom, I want you to ruin me."
Tom makes a soft, desperate noise in his throat, and then he’s moving, finally, crashing their lips together in a bruising kiss.
Harry shifts slightly beneath Tom, angling himself for a deeper kiss, but a hand entwines in his hair – the knowing look in Tom's eyes when he discovered Harry's fondness for having his hair tugged during their relatively mild escapades in the broom closets, Merlin – and secures his face against the pillows.
He can hear Tom slicking his cock with a muttered spell without his wand – because he is nothing if not the best at magic, the showoff.
“You can clutch the bedstead,” Tom says with a smirk, in a tone like it’s a suggestion but it’s obviously a command.
He's large, thick far beyond the breadth of his fingers combined, radiating heat that envelops him from within, an exquisite stretch that feels just right.
Harry makes an inaudible gurgling noise and tries to hump, wanting the friction inside his entrance.
He doesn’t go slowly this time. But there’s no way his hips are snapping forward with his full strength, Harry's seen what the heir of Slytherin can do in a duel – how much stamina he has – be it in the past or future, but it’s rough and it’s fast and it makes Harry jerk forward with every thrust. The slick drag inside him is perfect, wringing sounds from him that Tom will mock him about forever.
"Harry," Tom whispers, his voice gravelly and soft, perhaps even... affectionate?
“Yes?,” Harry rhetorics coarsely. His knuckles were pale, one tightly gripping the headboard while the other clenching the sheets, creasing them in a way which would've surely led him prone to Tom's ire if he were anyone else.
And it hits him, the taller boy might actually keep talking to him while they fuck, which causes so many butterflies to fill his stomach.
“Look so good, split open by my cock,” Tom praises and Harry chokes out a desperate sound. He’s leaking against his stomach and the sheets below, untouched. “Like you were made for this,” Tom whispers in his ear, and then he’s biting his neck and Harry keens.
“You can- faster-” he grits out between pounding thrusts. He expects a protest, some sort of scepticism, but instead Tom's hips just pick up speed and it’s so good, so good, so good.
“Yess,” Harry hisses. He reaches back with the hand he’d already abandoned the headboard with, grasping for Tom. His fingers glide over Tom’s shoulder before finding purchase on his bicep, digging his wand calloused fingers into the muscle.
“Taking it so well,” Tom says, and he sounds absolutely lecherous. Harry’s a live wire, every muscle tensed with pleasure, and suddenly he’s so close.
"Not going to last,” he warns.
“Come for me, like this, untouched,” Tom commands against the nob at the top of his spine, and then he bites him there and Harry is coming, maybe harder than he ever has before.
Tom’s hips stutter as Harry clenches around him, and it’s all he can do to grit out, “Don’t you dare stop,” as the waves of pleasure roll over him. Tom fucks him through it beautifully, once he knows Harry wants it, hard and fast as before, and follows him soon after.
Harry collapses onto the bed, unable to keep himself up anymore, too dazed to care that he’s laying in a puddle of his own cum. Tom is stroking his hair; Harry hums in satisfaction.
“You can let go of the headboard,” Tom says softly.
Harry didn’t even realize he was still holding on. His fingers feel stiff when he lets go.
And then Tom, the absolute bastard, says, “Good boy.”
The sound Harry makes is indecent, even compared to the other sounds Tom's been wringing from his lips this night. He feels Tom smile against his neck, probably mentally filing that one away to tease him for later, when he’s not still…
He can feel Tom still inside him, buried deep, and if he’d softened after coming he’s hard again immediately.
“You-” he starts, before an aftershock rolls through him and he forgets how to speak. “Magically enhanced stamina?” he manages with a vague gesture of his recently freed hand.
“Hmm,” Tom acknowledges vaguely which could mean both yes and no. Harry licks his lips.
“How long can you do this for?”
“I suppose we will have to see for ourselves,” he answers.
“Please.” Harry rolls his hips, but doesn’t if he’s telling Tom to please stop or please continue.
There’s a pause. Tom is very still inside of him. “You’re going to have to be more specific, Harry,” the git croons, likely knowing his current dilemma.
Harry takes a deep breath to steady himself, trying to figure out how to speak in full sentences again. Or even think properly in full sentences again.
“You can keep fucking me,” Harry decides, and he doesn’t have to look at Tom to know what his face is doing, he’s seen the same vague shape of the expression on him plenty of times before, especially after winning an argument with him. Smug.
“Hmm,” the bastard intones against his back, as if he’s not already decided.
Then after a few seconds, Tom starts rocking his hips in and out of him, slower than the rapid pace he’d set moments before, but no less rhythmic, almost methodical.
“I meant what I said,” he says, almost conversationally, as Harry’s body lights up beneath him. “About taking you apart slowly. I thought I would have to deny myself, to avoid overwhelming you too soon. But I wouldn’t have to, would I?” he says amusedly, and Harry shakes his head.
He’s floating, just letting waves of pleasure, just this side of too much, wash over him. “No,” Tom continues. “You’d let me keep going, even after you were spent. You’d beg for it, wouldn’t you?”
Harry whines in agreement. He’s too far gone, right now. Logic doesn’t exist in his dictionary as long as Tom’s cock is in his hole. The other boy’s hands are moving over his body, stroking his back, his sides. He seems like he knows what his words are doing to him, the way they make Harry’s body thrum with excitement.
“Salazar, you really are made for this,” Tom breathes, sounding almost… awed. Like Harry’s apparent insatiable appetite is the best news imaginable. He strokes Harry’s hair again, then his hand settles at the back of his neck, and Tom leans low over him. His weight pushes Harry into the mattress, pinning him there, his soft cock trapped beneath him, the sheets almost too rough on his sensitive skin.
“Does that excite you?” Tom is whispering again, lips and breath teasing the shell of his ear. “The idea of me taking my pleasure, irrespective of your needs?”
Harry whimpers.
“Of being ussed by me,” he hisses. “Like that’ss all you’re for?”
Harry doesn’t reply, which makes Tom spank him hard against his right cheek causing him to yelp. “Answer me, when I ask you something.”
Harry whines out an assertive. Distantly, Harry admonished himself for losing his control and guard around Tom Riddle like this.
“Tom…if – if it becomes too much, I’ll snap my fingers thrice. Stop then?”
Tom goes rigid for a second before nodding. “Like we’re duelling,” Tom says and Harry laughs.
“Like we’re duelling,” he echoes.
Tom kisses him between the shoulder blades and hums against his skin, and Harry sinks into the pillows with a sigh.
Tom fucks him slowly and then Harry turns his head. “I’m almost ready to go again,” he finishes.
“Well,” Tom replies, thinking, his long pale fingers brushing Harry’s hardening length, the lightest touch making him squirm beneath him. “In that case…”
It sounds like he’s going to start moving again, and that sounds wonderful, but Tom pulls out of him instead, and Harry makes a noise of abandonment.
“You slimy oaf,” Harry objects. He doesn’t have time to protest further because Tom is rolling him onto his back, and then he’s kissing him deeply, and the moan Harry makes against his lips makes the twat chuckle. Tom pulls back from the kiss and looks down at him with wide-blown, hazel eyes.
“Oh,” Harry breathes. Tom smiles, then hooks his hand under one of Harry’s knees, lifting it so one leg is raised up. “Oh,” he says again. Harry decides to show him how flexible he is by extending the leg and resting his ankle on Tom’s far shoulder, practically bent in two.
“Oh,” it’s Tom’s turn to say. “I knew you were this flexible, Evans…” he’s distracted, slicking himself up as though he needs it, as though Harry isn’t loose and slick for him already.
He's distracted, so he doesn’t see Harry’s face twisting slightly at the mention of that surname.
If Harry wasn’t so lust-crazed right now, he’d realise how stupid he was being lying there.
Saving the timeline, his arse.
Literally his arse, because then Tom pushes in, the change in angle drives him directly across Harry’s prostate. The feeling is electric, shooting up his spine and making him whimper. Tom is smirking again.
“Feeling good, Harry?”
“Fuck,” Harry agrees.
Tom begins to move then, and oh, it’s perfect, it’s so much, it’s too much, it’s just enough. It must have taken all his self control to stop as long as he had, Harry realizes, because now that he’s moving it’s clear Tom’s close. The rhythmic slap of his hips becomes a little more erratic as he gets lost in his pleasure.
“That’s it,” Harry coos, because that’s payback for all the talking Tom did earlier. “That’s it, Tom. Come for me.”
And Tom does.
Harry bears down on him as Tom comes, knows from the way Tom’s hand flexes around his ankle that it’s tight, that he likes it. Tom’s hips stop, buried deep, as he spills into him. Harry feels full. And sticky. He’s going to want a bath later. For now, he can’t imagine anything that could entice him to move from Tom’s arms.
More aware this time, not coming down from his own orgasm, Harry feels Tom soften inside him. Harry is fully hard now, his length bumping against his belly, smearing more pre-cum on his stomach. He kisses the side of Tom’s face until the man opens his eyes, grins at him, and kisses him tenderly on the lips.
And then not so tenderly.
And then, oh, he can feel it now, shit but Tom’s getting hard again. Fire twists in his belly at the thought. He did that. Made Tom come, twice, and then get hard a third time just from an – admittedly filthy – kiss.
Tom is rocking into him when Harry takes control, rolling them over. He’s straddling Tom, who’s laid out on his back, looking up at him with shock. Harry knows he couldn’t have done that if Tom didn’t want it though, if Tom didn’t let himself be flipped, but satisfaction coils in his belly nonetheless.
Harry leans forward, hands on Tom’s shoulders, and he begins to ride him. He bounces himself on Tom’s – perfect, amazing, enormous – dick, relishing the burn as it slides half-way out before he slams it back into him again. Tom’s dirty talk seems to have run dry, for a moment – a pity, but really the fact he talks at all during sex is such a (shockingly) pleasant surprise that Harry can’t complain – and he’s making little, punched-out noises. Harry tries to memorize every soft sound he pulls from Tom’s lips.
His thighs are tired from riding of a different sort, and soon he stops bouncing quite so vigorously, opting instead to roll his hips against Tom’s, relishing in the feeling of him shifting inside of him. This seems to suit Tom just fine, if the way he’s looking up at Harry is any indication.
“You’re beautiful like this, Harry. Absolutely gorgeous,” Tom says, his voice rougher than Harry’s ever heard it, and the sound goes straight to his cock.
“Excuse you, I look – hnn - beautiful all the time,” he says, but there’s no bite to it. He reaches up one hand to fist himself, but Tom growls low in his throat and pushes his hand away.
Harry is about to protest when Tom wraps his hand around him himself and oh, that’s okay then.
“Someday,” Harry remarks, determined to repay Tom for the wonderful, nasty things he’d whispered to him earlier. “when we’re somewhere out of prying eyes, out of school,” he adds, because he knows Tom won’t go for it if they aren’t. Tom grunts. “I’m going to tie you to the headboard and ride you until your stamina runs out.” A smile twists his lips at the look in Tom’s now coppery brown eyes. “Would you like that, huh Riddle?”
Tom was silently watching him for some time, making him unsettled with the weight of that gaze but then he grinned with all his teeth and responded with, “I’m glad to know you’re finally considering our future together, Harry.”
Implication of just what Harry had said moments ago trickle down his spine like icy splinters, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
Implication of what it meant that Harry had said that.
Tom must realise how still Harry had gone, because he strokes him with his soft hands that are almost too much for Harry’s already oversensitive body, but he’s careful not to go too hard.
“Forget everything right now, Harry. Just let yourself feel just this moment.”
That makes sense to him, so Harry matches that pace, eyes screwed shut, fingers digging into the meat of Tom’s chest. He chases the magical feeling he gets when Tom hits just the right spot inside him, chases his own pleasure, delights in the way Tom’s body responds beneath him. The sounds they’re both making are truly obscene, but it was far too late to start worrying about being overheard. Instead, Harry begs Tom to let him hear him, and Tom complies.
“Close,” Harry breathes, picking up the pace, and Tom’s thumb sweeps over the head of his cock. Harry bites his lip, nods a little. “Yes, just like that. Yes. Yes.” He comes hard, all over Tom’s chest, spilling over his beautiful abs. Tom strokes him through it until Harry is completely spent, soft and batting his hand away with a whimper.
Tom doesn't let Harry's completion hinder his own pleasure-chasing though. He splays his palms and fingers over Harry’s waist and flips their positions once again. Harry squeaks shamelessly when he realises he's suddenly pinned underneath Tom's body again. Tom, still sheathed by Harry's warm insides, atleast doesn't laugh this time, the geezer. Reddish brown eyes are searching his face, looking for something. Harry thinks he knows what he needs, and nods slightly.
Sure now that this is what Harry wants, Tom keeps fucking him. He gently gathers Harry’s wrists in one of his hands and presses them into the pillow above him. Harry tips his head back and sobs.
“So beautiful,” Tom whispers, kissing the column of his neck, and it’s all Harry can do to hold on. “So perfect. For me. Mine."
Harry is soft and pliant beneath Tom, too tired to contribute (or even think) much, drifting in that soft, fuzzy place he goes. Almost distantly, he’s aware of Tom kissing his neck, biting him where he knows he’ll have bruises tomorrow. It’s so much, the sweet pain on top of the ache inside him – no riding for him tomorrow; hells, he’ll be lucky if he can walk in the morning – and the slick slide, the sound of his heart racing in his ears, the hand firm and comforting over his wrists. Distantly he’s also aware that he’s crying.
“That’s it,” Tom murmurs. “That’s it. Let go for me.” He kisses Harry’s wet cheeks. His – has he mentioned it’s enormous? – cock drags across Harry’s prostate, too perfect, and it’s too much and Harry comes again, dry, so hard it hurts. He’s about to start pushing Tom away, overwhelmed now by sensation, when Tom groans and spills into him.
Tom pulls out and falls onto the bed beside him. Harry can’t move for a moment, completely limp, feeling more fucked out.
“Good?” Tom asks, mostly teasing, but there’s a hint of something else in his voice. Harry makes sure to turn his head toward him, to look him in the face as he smiles and pants.
“Yeah,” he breathes. “Fuck.”
“That is the idea,” Tom teases, but he sounds at least half as raw as Harry feels.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” Harry jokes, rolling over and draping himself across Tom’s chest. Tom accommodates him, one long arm wrapping around his shoulders, and Harry’s surprised to find himself trembling. He feels so small in Tom’s arms.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Tom asks. “That was intense for your first time.”
Harry closes his eyes and nods, face buried in Tom’s chest. “I’m perfect,” he mumbles. Then thinks about it and opens his eyes. “How did you know it’s my first time?”
Tom laughs. “I have my ways to know.” What a prat.
“Need a bath,” Harry grumbles. Tom strokes his hair, gently sliding them out of his eyes and forehead, with the hand not wrapped around his shoulders.
“Sure,” he concedes. “But not yet. Let’s just lay here for a bit.” A tender kiss is pressed against his forehead, over his scar. “Rest, first.”
Harry shivers. “Don’t touch the scar!”
Tom hums. “You still haven’t told me how you got it, by the way.”
Harry makes an annoyed sound and turns around to sleep. “None of your business,” he mumbles and goes to sleep.
In his sleep, he doesn't hear Tom whisper, "It is my business, darling. I just need to find out why."