Chapter Text
Tom was doing nothing, but Harry’s cock was straining in his pants anyways.
The sharp scratch of a quill was all that could be heard in the office, and with each stroke of ink a cold bead of sweat dripped down Harry’s spine to join the pool in the dip of his back. The backs of his thighs were pressed against the dull edge of Tom’s desk, and his fingers curled spasmodically from where they held onto the wood. His heart was hammering with dread and forbidden attraction.
Is there such thing as a paperwork kink? Because Harry was discovering it.
Harry’s molten gaze roved over Tom’s body as he skillfully annotated parchment, his tactful movements so mesmerizing that Harry couldn’t tear his eyes away. It was a miracle that Tom hadn’t called attention to his unabashed staring, and Harry knew it was only a matter of time before he was ridiculed for his attention.
Harry should leave.
Harry should really, really leave before he did something unforgivable.
Lily, his bright-eyed miracle child that he loved more than anything in the world, was waiting for him at home for the first time in weeks. While Harry would describe his post-marital relationship with Ginny as amicable, ever since he became Tom’s bodyguard a month ago she’s been frosting him out. While this bothered him, Harry couldn’t say he didn’t understand her reasoning. Tom was the largest dark power in the world, and most of his friends stopped buying the excuse that Harry was simply spending time with him to “monitor him” years ago. Tom had threatened Ginny on many occasions while they were still together—that’s a big part of why they got divorced—and she is set on making sure Lily never faces the same treatment.
Unfortunately for her, Lily happens to like danger.
It took weeks of constant nagging, but Lily eventually got her way. Ginny was far from happy about it.
“Make sure you spit his cock out of your mouth before you greet her at the floo,” Ginny sniped over firecall before sending Lily over, ducking away before he could respond. Harry kicked a chair so hard he broke his toe, and Lily’s aspirations to become a healer paid off that afternoon.
All this to say, Harry should be at home, spending quality time with his only daughter. His job was already dangerous enough. The last thing he needs is to get entangled with the Minister—but isn’t he already? The longer he stayed here, the more he proved Ginny was right to keep Lily from him if he was prioritizing his sick fantasies over her; he was failing her. Here Harry stood, propped against the desk like a needy whore, wishing Tom would reach out and take him.
Why did failing sound so good?
Harry was guilty of orchestrating a position where Tom was close enough to touch, so when Tom signed a document with a flourish, his elbow brushed against Harry’s thigh. Harry clenched around nothing.
He watched with rapt attention as Tom’s brow furrowed lightly, probably doing mental calculations, and there was a considering pout on his face that called Harry to flick his tongue out, wetting his dry lips. Tom had always been unfairly attractive—you’d have to be stupid not to notice it—but this whole month of check-ins has been torture. Seeing Tom in his element, powerful, confident, and clothed in the richest attire every week restarted the fire in him that Harry thought he’d wrangled into submission. Every time Harry visited, he ended up staying longer just to watch Tom work. Take today for example, their meeting ended an hour ago, yet Harry was still here, vibrating in the silence that was occasionally interrupted by a sly grumble about the Ministry’s stupidity.
Leaning forward—but never slouching—muttering parseltongue to himself as he cocked his head in intrigue, licking a letter with a swift tongue to seal it, all these things were irresistible. Harry’s eyes liked to observe the breadth of his shoulders when he donned his various Minister robes, but when Tom got comfortable there was a chance he would take his outer robe off, treating Harry to the lithe muscles rippling under his silken shirt. This was the state he was in now, and Harry thought about a spell that could hypothetically rip off all the buttons at once. Harry was so close he was blasted with a wave of the elder’s scent, something so masculine and spicy it was intoxicating. Harry wanted nothing more than to clamp a hand around Tom’s wrist on the table, interrupting his flow to do something very, very stupid.
“Something wrong?” Tom prompted mildly out of nowhere, not looking up from his desk.
Harry startled, making sure his untucked shirt was still draped properly to hide his embarrassing erection from sight, before realizing Tom was referring to his hand which was clamped on the edge of the table with a white knuckled grip. Harry immediately withdrew, but Tom snatched his hand for himself.
“Feeling troubled, darling?” Tom pressed a light kiss to the back of his hand, flitting his crimson eyes up at last—and gods above that look hit Harry with calculated lethality. Goosebumps erupted on his skin, and he quickly pulled away.
“If you keep grabbing me, then I will be,” Harry deflected with less bite than usual, rubbing his arm while his cheeks broadcasted every emotion he needed to hide. Why did Tom always feel the need to grab him?
“Are you finished?” Harry asked like Tom’s paperwork was the condition for him to stay.
“Not quite,” Tom answered, the crisp syllables twisting Harry’s insides. His sadistic mind decided now was the perfect time to picture what his voice would sound like an octave lower and interspersed with moans, and that was his cue to leave.
Harry cast a tempus charm, pretending to balk at the time.
“Shit—actually, I need to go. I just remembered Lily has a flying lesson at six.” Harry made to leave, but a hand slammed on the table next to his hip, caging him in.
“The same Lily that is afraid of heights?” Tom questioned, a prim eyebrow raised.
Harry forgot he told him that.
“She got over it.”
Tom hummed doubtfully.
They stared at each other for a moment until the tension was too much for Harry to bear.
“Well, if that’s all,” Harry huffed, staring pointedly at the hand that trapped him in. Tom didn’t remove it.
“No, that’s not all.”
Tom’s hand was more akin to a spider as it swiftly left the table to skate up Harry’s hip, catching the cloth of his shirt and pulling it up to inspect something. Harry was mortified to realize what he was doing, hastily readjusting himself, but it was too late to hide the evidence of his arousal.
“That wasn’t—that’s not—”
Tom chuckled darkly, swiveling in his chair. His knees bumped Harry’s legs as they passed, and they spread lazily as Tom sunk into the cushion like a wealthy king. He tapped the space in-between.
“Sit down,” he commanded.
Harry’s brain short circuited.
“…What?”
Tom smiled maliciously up at him, and Harry averted his gaze. It was pretty clear what Tom meant, but Harry would be damned if he didn’t try to interpret his words in a way that would preserve his sanity.
Harry strained out a laugh. “You want me to drag the couch over here?” Harry joked, gesturing vaguely to the couch on the other side of the room. Tom got a kick out of making his visitors stand (and later kneel) so of course there was no other chair here but his own. “That thing weights a ton, I don’t think I’m strong enough. I know you don’t fancy aging, but some of us have bad backs and…”
Harry trailed off, unable to continue when Tom was sitting there silently, letting him prattle on while his eyes leisurely undressed him. The silence rang on for an uncomfortable amount of time, and with each moment that Harry didn’t move, Tom’s smirk grew wider.
“Sit where you really want to.”
When it was clear that Harry wouldn’t follow that order without encouragement, Tom cut to the chase. He reached forwards abruptly and splayed a hand on Harry’s thigh, his thumb lightly brushing along his bulge. He then traveled further, delineating the outline of Harry’s dick with his slender fingers; not stroking, but the suggestion was too much. Harry drew in a breath, tensing, and his hands fell on Tom’s shoulders to support himself; to hold the object of his desire.
“Tom,” Harry gasped, “stop.”
Tom was unconvinced. “Why should I?” he questioned as he began to palm Harry’s dick in earnest. The muscles of Tom’s wide shoulders shifted as his hand constricted around Harry, and he stifled a moan.
“Because I don’t want this!” Harry protested, his hips arching forwards into Tom’s grip. Tom’s fingers slowed, and Harry growled, bucking to chase the friction.
Tom smiled serenely up at him, dragging a long, skeptical look from Harry’s stuttering hips to his flushed face. “Of course,” Tom uttered provokingly. His hand slipped down to squeeze his balls harshly, making Harry gasp and curl further until their foreheads were pressed together. The scent of him hit Harry all at once, and he wanted nothing more than to carve a hollow in his neck and reside there.
“Don’t think I didn’t notice your unabashed staring, the way your pretty throat flexed every so often like you were attempting to tamp down a moan?” Tom whispered roughly against his forehead. “You want this. Don’t fight it, Harry. It’s too late to stop now.”
Harry pursed his lips, unable to argue—or perhaps unwilling. Wasn’t that the truth? Harry had already been found out, so what was the point in stopping? He might as well see this through. A guilty flood of relief flowed through him at this revelation, and Harry shut the image of his friend’s horrified faces, of Ginny, of Lily out of his mind. It was too late for any of them.
Harry craved this. He could deal with the consequences later.
Harry unbuckled his belt. The Minister kissed Harry’s jaw with an approving brush of his lips before moving to his ear, breathing a hot command that made Harry shiver.
“Sit. Down.”
Harry listened.
He climbed onto Tom’s lap with the tentativeness of a fawn and the shame of a sinner.
Tom stripped him bare in no time, deftly unclipping the buckles of his uniform like he had done it many times before until Harry was completely naked in his lap. Tom smoothed his hands up Harry’s sides and locked them around his neck. He was still for a moment, staring.
“Gorgeous,” he whispered to himself like a prayer.
Tom then yanked him down and kissed Harry hard enough to have the man writhing in his lap in seconds. Tom nipped and sucked at his lips and tongue with insatiable greed, rutting upwards while he ground Harry against him with one strong hand.
“Nngh—This can’t happen again,” Harry insisted when they came up for air, even though he was the first to dive back in.
“Mmm,” Tom moan patronizingly in response, shoving his tongue between Harry’s teeth to shut him up. It wasn’t long before lube appeared from Merlin-knows-where, and Tom fingered him open diligently, hooking Harry on his fingers like a fish. Harry’s mouth was agape more often than not, which was a dangerous position to leave it in; Tom plugged it with a variation of things, his fingers being a favorite. Harry sucked and swirled his tongue around the digits like they were savory while he dragged his weeping cock against the Minister’s sleek clothing. It was completely obscene, and Harry wanted more.
Even though Tom’s desire for him was a well known secret, Harry was surprised that Tom seemed to genuinely be cherishing this moment, cataloguing every huff and sigh. He was gentle in a way he normally wasn’t, his wandering hands straying from the perfunctory task of getting them off to caress Harry’s cheeks, his nipples, his arms, like he was a soft creature he couldn’t help but touch. Harry wondered what it was about him that drove Tom to be so…sweet. It almost seemed genuine.
Tom watched him with rapt attention, responding to every grind with approval, and it wasn’t long until Harry’s confidence hit a peak. How could he not, when Tom was looking at him like that; like he was a delicacy to be savored?
Finally, after the ridiculously complicated pants buttons had been popped open (What good was six ornate buttons? Wasn’t two enough?) Harry spread himself over his cock. The Minister helped him, parting the plush flesh of his ass and sliding himself over his opening until the tip finally took. However, any more proved to be too much.
He was big, bigger than anything Harry had taken before. Of course he was—Tom Riddle just had to outperform in every aspect.
Harry blabbered, falling against Tom while he tried to adjust. “Shit, give me a minute.”
Tom’s eyes were scarlet and uncaring of his plight, animalistic desire turning his fingers into claws. The gentleness was smoked out by insatiable lust, and Harry could bet he would slam into him then and there if it wouldn’t mean staining his expensive pants with blood—although they already hosted smears of lube, so maybe Tom was being considerate for once.
Tom grit his teeth, clutching Harry tighter to hold himself back. He trailed an encouraging, shaking palm up Harry’s back. For some reason, Harry got a large hit of déjà vu.
“Come on, you can take more of me,” Tom entreated impatiently, distracting him by devouring Harry’s lips until their spit was interchangeable. “I know you can, you were made for this, made for me,” he said between kisses, each word an afterthought. Sibilant hisses of parseltongue followed, crooning sweet nothings. Tom’s tongue flicked into his mouth as it vibrated with the ancient language of the snakes, swirling with his own, and Harry gasped out a heady groan, sliding down. Tom hissed his approval.
Harry took inch after inch slowly, like syrup running down the notches of a tree, keening at the stretch. He found that focusing on other sensations helped; the slight taste of iron from where Tom ripped the skin of his lip, the feel of Tom’s body clothed in cold, silky robes against Harry’s bare chest, the heat of the elder man, the spicy scent of him. Before Harry knew it, he bottomed out.
Tom kissed the base of his throat, his heavy-lidded eyes looking up at him like he was divine. He uttered something incomprehensible in parseltongue, looking wrecked.
“What are you saying?” Harry implored, frustrated at his lack of understanding.
“Good boy.”
“Never mind,” Harry said, his cheeks aflame.
“My most precious treasure,” Tom goaded, kissing the corner of his mouth and thrusting lightly. “Sweetheart,” he murmured in the shell of his ear. Arms came to encircle his waist, holding Harry down as he canted into him, each thrust harder than the last. Harry’s arms were thrown haplessly around Tom’s neck as he whined in embarrassment at each endearment.
“Baby, Darling,” he purred into Harry’s ear, adorning him with kisses that were surprisingly sweet.
Harry tucked his legs ages ago to properly straddle Tom, and he allowed Tom to cradle his ass as he slid up and down, his back arched as his hips did most of the work. Tom met him half way, drawing bitten off moans from Harry’s lips as he hid his head in the crevice of Tom’s neck, humidifying the air there as he chased his burgeoning orgasm. His cheeks were burning with Tom’s flattery, and he refused to let the man see, to acknowledge that he loves this. Tom would only use it against him someday.
They needed to get this over with before something more incriminating happened. The guilt was a blur in the back of his mind, but it became sharper with each thought.
“Faster,” Harry begged, squeezing around him. Tom obliged, pumping into him like his life depended on it, sending shooting bolts of pleasure through Harry’s core. When that wasn’t enough, he lifted Harry off his lap with a snarl and slammed him onto the table, knocking over ink wells and papers. Neither of them cared.
Harry’s ankles crossed around Tom’s back as he pounded into him, pulling him closer.
“Beloved,” Tom said, his voice more grave than before. The endearments were obviously a tease at first, but as they got to the heart of things, they began to sound more like laden accusations. Harry moaned through it all. “My soul.”
Harry held Tom close, watching every flickering emotion on his face as he came undone within him. His pale cheeks were stained a ruddy red, and his once neat hair was in a complete disarray. Tom’s hips snapped, finding the perfect angle to abuse Harry’s prostate, and Harry could scream. A hand was on his cock, jerking in time with Tom’s thrusts, and any little shift could send him over the edge.
“My heart. My—"
Tom hissed something passionately in parseltongue. Something that could only be described as erotic dread coiled in Harry’s gut.
“Ahn—Say it!” Harry cried desperately, clawing down Tom’s back. He needed to hear the lie drip off his silver tongue.
Red and green met, pupils blown and lips parted.
“My love.”
Harry’s vision whited out as he came, clenching so hard that Tom’s cock nearly shot out of his asshole. That was enough to push Tom over the edge, and he fell with a hiccupping moan, biting down into the meat of Harry’s shoulder. They rode out the high until they couldn’t anymore, and Tom’s heavy limbs held him down after.
At first, Harry came back to his senses like a feather drifting down from the sky. But as Tom shifted, his cock still plugged within him, a spike of anxiety pierced his naval. Tom leaned in for an innocent kiss, but Harry pushed him away. Harry repositioned himself to where he sat upright on the edge, facing away from where Tom had collapsed back onto his chair, a smear of cum on his abdomen. Tom was watching him warily, resignedly.
Harry’s eyes were fixated on the half-full bottle of lube.
Harry knew.
He didn’t know how, but he knew.
“How many times have we done this before?”
Harry thought of Lily, of Sirius, of Ron and Hermione. How many times had he betrayed them? Just for Tom to use him, to practice cooing pretty words meant to seduce; trying to simulate organic love like a robot. There was no other explanation for what had just transpired—Tom couldn’t love. Harry’s mind was static, forcing a wave of calm over him. His magic buzzed underneath his skin.
My love, said the monster.
And Harry fell for it like the pathetic fool he was.
When Tom didn’t answer, Harry threw a heavy look over his shoulder, his own magic ripping into him, needling into his veins to hurt, to punish, to destroy him from the inside. Harry couldn’t take the weight of fraternizing with the devil. His guilt would eat him alive.
He didn’t even try to stop the obliviate that came from the tip of Tom’s wand.