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Tom Riddle was sick of that old man. He stuck his nose into things that were none of his concern. How dare he stand there and question Tom, as if Tom were not the best student this bloody school has seen in centuries!
Standing there, asking Tom if there was anything he wished to tell the white-bearded bastard. Tom wished he could march back up those stairs and slit Dumbledore's throat. He would relish seeing the professor gag on his own blood, begging for help. He could imagine it so clearly that the corridors before him faded away.
Tom could cut Dumbledore's throat to the bone and feel the hardness against his blade; he could cut through the bone with his special dagger, slicing the old man's head clean off. Just the thought had his vision vibrating.
But, of course, he couldn't do this. He had an image to keep up, a future that he must secure—and he can't do that if he is thrown into Azkaban before he graduates.
A sudden rage crawled steadily through him, igniting each one of his nerves with hatred—hatred for that stupid professor, for the limited time each human gets, and for the dullness that has surrounded him for his entire life.
This was the story of his life, though. Not a day has passed since Tom was born that he hasn't felt a profound emptiness. The emptiness follows him every day. It hurts, and it aches inside of him—like a balloon filling with water, begging to burst, but never reaching the cusp.
Luckily, Tom has found certain things that reduce this feeling inside him. Dark magic, for one. He could harness the natural hatred of his being into the darkest kind of sorcery, and with each cast, the magic infects him, calming him while slowly ripping him apart.
At this moment, walking through the darkened corridors, Tom wished he could cast some unforgivable curse. It was an itch he felt deep within. He needed the release. He needed to channel his hate into something.
By the time he entered the Slytherin Common Room, that feeling had amplified tenfold. When he first arrived at Hogwarts, the ancient stones and green tapestries of the common room were enough to calm him, but not anymore. As he gets older, the things that used to fulfill him get duller and duller, while the empty void in his soul gets hungrier and hungrier.
It was late on a school night, but his knights were still awake, filling up the two tiny couches by the fire. They all looked happy and content. That was until they saw Tom. Six heads turned towards him as he walked through the doorway. Generally, when he got into one of these moods, his knights knew not to bother him, lest he take his anger out on one of them.
Tonight, however, he felt different. The tension inside him was more than just anger. There was a deep sense of need. A feeling of gluttony.
Instead of retreating to his dorm, he made his way over to the fire. Scanning the faces that were staring at him warily. He saw Mulciber, Nott, Lestrange, Black, Avery, and… Abraxas. Brax. His first friend, his most loyal follower.
Brax was always there for him; he was the only one Tom felt he could confide in. Tom's second-worst fear was seeming weak in the eyes of those who decided to follow him, with his first being death, of course. Abraxas never made Tom feel weak; on the contrary, Tom felt the strongest when he was with Brax.
Realizing that he was standing in front of them all menacingly, he walked to the edge of the couch where Brax was sitting and squeezed in. It was a tight fit, as it was a loveseat only meant for two people, and two wizards were already sitting there. An empty armchair rested just to the right of the sofa, one he could've had to himself, but he chose the cramped seat regardless.
It didn't matter. He knew his knights wouldn't question him.
Once the boys saw that Tom was no threat to them that night, they continued their conversation.
Avery cleared his throat. "Well, as I was saying," he said with a wide grin. "Walburga was basically begging for it. I mean, on her knees, literally begging!"
Orion Black, who was sitting on the other side of Abraxas, shifted uncomfortably. "Come on, man, that's my cousin."
A laugh burst out of Avery, who was seated on the sofa across from them. "I hate to say it, but you're going to have to get used to the nasty Walburga stories sooner or later! She'll be your wife one day!"
Black arose from his seat, clearly enraged. "It is not official, and it won't happen. Actually, I would appreciate it if you could stop bringing up my hypothetical incestuous marriage at every opportunity!"
"Mate," Rosier spoke up. "Your parents have signed the papers. That's as official as it gets."
This worked Orion up even more, causing him to storm off in the direction of their dorm. "It won't fucking happen!" He yelled, slamming the heavy door behind him.
A beat of silence passed between the group before they all broke out in laughter. "Well," Lestrange giggled. "Someone must be on their period with all those bloody emotions."
"Damn right," Mulciber said. "I would be howling at the moon if I were promised to Walburga Black. She is a goddess in human form."
"So, I assume you lot want to hear the rest?" Avery asked.
"Yes!" Mulciber, Lestrange, and Nott said in unison.
Tom and Abraxas stayed quiet.
They were still pressed together quite tightly, despite Orion's departure, leaving room for Brax to scoot over if he so wished. It was strange that Tom didn't mind. Usually, he valued his personal space more than anything, but he chalked it up to it being Malfoy. He was always lenient when it came to Malfoy.
"This was right after dinner—you all know how energetic I get after dinner—I had been escorting her back to the common room like a proper gentleman. Before we even made it to the entrance, she had made up some excuse to pull me into a broom closet. I can't even remember what pathetic reason she gave; I was too excited!"
Tom had endured a lot of these types of stories from each one of his friends, even Brax, at one point or another. He didn't mind listening to them, as they could come in handy one day. He had a small theory that instead of channeling his anger into nefarious spells, he could channel it into some sexual act.
He had never tested it out. It's not as if he particularly wanted a logical reason not to cast dark spells as often. He loved doing that. It was a part of him.
Sometimes he felt a little spiral of heat light up his lower stomach at the stories his followers told. He didn't know what to do with the feeling—well, that was a lie. He knew how to jerk off, but he wouldn't do it. It was just another way for his body to gain control over his rational thoughts, and he wouldn't let that happen. He would only do it if it furthered his plans.
But… maybe if it were with someone, he would allow it. Just maybe.
It was true that his lack of sexual experience could come back around and bite him. Not knowing how to do something is a huge disadvantage in the grand scheme of things. So, maybe he would do it once, to broaden his knowledge.
Sex, in itself, was a powerful tool that Tom could utilize to get what he wanted in the future. He wasn't above using it. It would be stupid to exclude that from his potential actions, considering how attractive everybody in this school thought he was.
"Before I knew it, she had sunk to her knees with this cheeky little smile on her face…" Avery trailed off, seemingly reminiscing on the moment.
"You are so bloody lucky, mate," Mulciber said with a wild grin.
"Don't leave us hanging, Avery. Continue!" Nott said.
Lestrange, Nott, and Mulciber all leaned forward, practically on the edge of their seats in anticipation. Tom was also interested in hearing how this story played out, seeing as he did find Walburga quite pretty, but he was nowhere near as excited as the bunch of idiots he called 'friends.'
"She told me she had never done anything of the sort before, but, bloody hell, I could've sworn she was an expert. The way she unbuttoned my trousers and pulled my cock out—I swear she was a pro." Avery cleared his throat and readjusted his sitting position before continuing. "Before she even put her mouth on me, she stroked me up and down—for quite a while, actually. Had to think about my grandma to keep from… well, you know.
"But, then, she opened up her pretty, little lips and took my whole prick in her mouth, if you could believe it! No other girl I've shagged has come anywhere close to making me come that damn fast—and I doubt any will!"
Avery went on to describe, in disturbing detail, every single thing he thought and felt during the whole ordeal. It got to a point where Tom considered telling him to stop because this was surely crossing some boundaries. Still, it was worth listening to if Tom got to hear more about Walburga's (apparently) amazing head-giving skills.
A weight shifted against his left leg, and he suddenly remembered how close Abraxas was to him. They hadn't said a word to each other since Tom squeezed in beside him, and they didn't need to. There was almost an air of understanding between them at all times. But, even so, their thighs were pressed together, and Tom could feel the warmth of Brax's leg through his pants.
It was… something.
He didn't know how to describe it; all he could say was that there was something oddly intimate about sitting so near to each other while listening to their friend's very thorough recounting of his most recent sexual venture.
Abraxas must've realized that Tom had let his attention shift from Avery and onto him because he shifted his knee a little. Not away, but closer. Brax bumped his knee against Tom slightly and let it rest there.
"I would give my firstborn child to get a handjob from Walburga," someone—Tom wasn't paying attention to them anymore—said.
A handjob.
That was interesting. Tom had heard the term before from his uncommonly lewd friends, but he had never really considered it. It was just like jerking off, wasn't it? Except, instead of giving in to bodily desires, you had someone else do it for you. Very interesting.
Tom's eyes shifted to Abraxas's hand that was resting in his lap, and he tried to convince himself that he was looking at it for another reason—something completely unrelated to the current handjob topic of conversation—but his tired mind couldn't come up with an excuse.
Brax's long fingers were just inches away from Tom's hand, which rested in his own lap… and Tom's cock. Malfoy's hand was as pale as porcelain and looked just as breakable, but he knew it wasn't. His friend was strong, and he surely had a strong grip…
A fire lit within Tom's stomach. A familiar fire that he had been putting off—
"I would've gone for a round two if good ol' Dumbledore hadn't found us. I was mortified, but not more mortified than poor Walburga. She almost passed out from—well, I don't know—embarrassment or something," Avery scoffed.
Damn it. Tom had almost forgotten about Dumbledore and the strong fucking urge he had to decapitate that man and his whole fucking family, if the old bastard had any, that is.
The fire of arousal that had lit in his stomach so suddenly quickly turned into a different kind of fire, a familiar one, filled with unbridled rage. The urge to do something bad was building in his blood, and Tom was itching to cast some dark curse.
Maybe he was an addict, maybe he inherited this craziness from his inbred family, or maybe he was just born wrong. Tom didn't know why he was so different, but he did know that he had to do something to quell the rising flames within himself, lest he burst.
Without realizing it, he began to bounce his leg. It was a small gesture, something that helped the pressure within him dissipate slightly while he figured out what to fucking do. It was something so insignificant, so common among the anxious teenage students of Hogwarts, that no one paid it any mind.
But that statement wasn't true anymore, because a big, pale hand set itself on his knee, weighing it down and causing Tom to cease the bouncing immediately, whipping his head in Brax's direction.
There was a worried expression on Abraxas's face. Something no one else would pick up on, but Tom could. He could see it in the slight downward tilt of his lips and in his pinched-up eyebrows. It wasn't a look of worry for Tom's sake, but a worry that Brax had just done the wrong thing—crossed a boundary. He was waiting for his punishment, and yet, he didn't move his hand.
It was a risky move. One Brax knew Tom wouldn't tolerate from any of his other knights. Brax was testing the waters. Though his expression was one of worry, he didn't look at Tom. He kept his apparent focus on the lewdness still spilling from their friends' mouths.
He was giving Tom an option. Either he could lash out—like he typically would—or he could ignore it. Tom could keep listening to the stupidity of his followers, and they would be none the wiser that Malfoy had just done something.
The temptation to lash out was strong. He needed to relieve the fury. But Abraxas was beside him, thigh pressing against thigh, and Tom knew he couldn't stop this. Besides, Tom could tell that Brax was hoping he wouldn't be disciplined tonight, and an itching voice in the back of his head wanted to let Brax have the peace he desired—wanted him to feel like he could do this to Tom.
Turning ever-so-slightly to glance at Malfoy's face again, he saw a tint of red gracing his cheeks. He looked handsome, all flushed and worried.
That was… that was not right. That thought. Tom should not think such things about his friend, his male friend. Suddenly, he felt quite disgusted. Disgusted at this whole situation.
Here he was, the most powerful wizard in years, letting one of his followers touch his leg. Desiring to give one of his followers peace simply because he looked… handsome? Here he was, the Dark Lord of the Knights of Walpurgis, listening to one of his followers divulge his excursions.
Here he was, being a victim of his own greedy mind.
Tom jolted up, paying no mind to how Abraxas flinched, drawing his hand back immediately. His knights ceased their conversation and looked to him, frightened. Tom relished the way they all respected and feared him; it was what made a good leader. But, at this moment, he was sick of all of them, Brax most of all.
How dare he touch Tom as if he had the right? Tom was his superior, his lord. He should not have—
None of—
The fire was back and more brutal than ever. He couldn't be here right now, with all of his so-called friends, listening to their stupid stories. He couldn't, or he might literally kill them all. That was not a joke; he felt magic brewing in his core and seriously thought that if one more thing annoyed him, he would burst with unintentional magic and mass-murder the entire common room.
So, without saying a word, like he had all night, he turned and swiftly entered the seventh-year dorm room, closing the door and letting the darkness welcome him.
To the right, he saw Black's bed with the curtains drawn. Thank Merlin. If he walked in here and had to deal with the infuriating emotions of Orion Black, it wouldn't be unintentional magic that killed him; it would be the blade Tom keeps under his pillow.
Taking a deep, calming breath, he closed his eyes and tried to reopen them to a calmer self. Really, he was trying. Trying not to burst, trying to keep all the emotions underway. He was meant to be a lord. A lord didn't throw childish fits and storm away like a butt-hurt toddler.
Situating himself on his four-poster bed, he was just about to close the curtain and block out the world for the night when a little click sounded, and Abraxas came into the room.
Tom couldn't see his facial expressions in the dark, but from the way he walked, he could tell he was here with a purpose.
Abraxas slowed his pace when he reached Tom's bed and, without saying a word, motioned to Orion's bed across the room and then pointed back to Tom's. Immediately, Tom could tell that Brax had something private to say and wanted to hop into Tom's bed so they could silence their conversation.
Tom scooted over.
As he watched Malfoy slip out of his shoes and shuffle into his bed, he felt that strange sensation again, deep within his stomach. It was like a thousand raging fire ants were attacking him. It was different from the murderous rage he felt so often.
Brax closed the curtain on his side and then reached over Tom to close the other side, boxing them into a very private setting. Tom couldn't help but glance down to where the blonde's shirt had risen as he stretched across the bed. He could see toned, lean muscles and a few white hairs that led down, past his waistline.
Scolding himself for his inappropriate thoughts towards his best friend, he sat back against the headboard and waited for Brax to begin speaking.
"It was Dumbledore, wasn't it?" Abraxas said, casting a wandless silencing and scooting up to the headboard to sit snugly beside Tom. "It was he who got you riled up."
Tom scoffed at Abraxas's soft voice. "You climbed into my bed and cast a silencing charm… for that? To ask if Dumbledore has upset me?"
Brax stared plainly at him. "Yes."
"Well, you can forget it. Why don't you scurry off to your own bed and leave me to enjoy the peace and quiet?" Tom snarled out.
"Why did you come back late from your rounds?" Brax asked, ignoring Tom's words.
"What?"
"Did something happen that made you late? Was it Dumbledore? I mean, clearly, you were fine until you heard Avery say his name, so I can only assume something happened during your rounds that made you upset—more upset than usual."
What the fuck. When did Abraxas become a fucking detective? Or was he always like this? Did he always notice every little thing about Tom?
Tom thought he might as well break the news to Brax now, since it would be all over the school by first light.
"Myrtle Warren was found dead," he said with a straight face.
"Myrtle Warren was found dead," Brax echoed. "And it was… the basilisk that killed her, I presume?"
"Indeed. And bloody Dumbledore stood in front of me and—" Tom took a deep breath. "I can't explain it now, or I might fucking explode. You know how I get."
"Yes. Your… build-ups." The way Abraxas said this made Tom nervous. Brax was the only person Tom had ever told about the way he feels when he gets mad; he feels like he is going to either go crazy or die, or both. And now Brax had decided to label it. His own special name for a Tom-exclusive emotion.
Tom lets his head knock back into the headboard he was leaning against. "I've been trying to calm down. Without doing something I regret."
"I know, Tom. You're doing well."
Something about this sentence filled Tom with another emotion he couldn't quite place, but he knew he wanted it gone. He would do whatever it took to get these feelings to go away.
"I've actually been thinking about your build-ups," Abraxas continued. "I think I may have found a way to get you the release your body so longs for, without getting you a life sentence.
Shifting to face Malfoy, Tom noticed the gleam in the blond's face. It almost looked like mischief.
"And?" Tom asked, rather impatiently.
Suddenly, Brax was no longer sitting against the headboard but on his knees in front of Tom, with his whole body angled towards his lord.
"Promise you won't kill me?" Malfoy asked.
"I could never kill you, Brax," Tom answered honestly. Maybe a bit too honestly. He didn't want his right-hand man thinking he'd gone soft, so he kept his face neutral.
Brax only smiled at this and then took a deep breath before he moved his hand to rest on Tom's thigh once again. This time, it felt different. Like it meant… more.
"Is this… okay?"
Tom looked into his best friend's eyes and saw nervousness, as well as something else. An expression he had only seen when Brax was recalling some filthy story or other, just like Avery had been doing minutes before.
"Yes," Tom breathed out, curious to see where this was going.
Carefully, the hand Tom had been staring at earlier began to move up. The touch was so feather-light that he could barely feel it over his trousers, but he could see it. He could see the way his best friend's gentle hand traced the top of Tom's thighs, wandering higher until it reached his belt.
A soft hitch of breath sounded in the quiet room. "Well?" Tom asked breathlessly.
"T—this was as far as I got in my head. Or well, that's not true; my thoughts have been so much further, it's just—I've never—"
Tom silenced his friend, who was pathetically stumbling over his words, by sitting up on his own knees, matching the position Brax was in. Clearly, Malfoy was a little scared by his actions because he went to move his hand away, to shrink back, but Tom didn't allow this.
Tom moved his hand to grab onto Abraxas's, halting it in place on his waistline. And moving his head just narrowly closer to the blond boy, he whispered.
"Are you trying to get into my pants, Brax?"
A panicked look bloomed on Malfoy's face, his blue eyes widening. "N—no. Really, no, I was just trying to help you, Tom! It wasn't meant to be selfish or—or lewd!"
"My, my," Tom chuckled darkly, hand still gripping Brax's wrist, keeping him in place. "I've never seen you struggle with your words so much." Tom's free hand entered the conversation by running up Malfoy's arm, much like Malfoy's hand ran up Tom's leg. But his goal wasn't to find Brax's belt buckle; it was to find the short, blond hair at the back of his neck, and once he found it, he grabbed it, squeezing it in his hand roughly, forcing Brax's head to fall backward.
The boy inhaled sharply but did not protest. He allowed his head to be forced back, and he allowed Tom to inch his own head closer. Once Tom's mouth was centimeters away from Abraxas's ear, he breathed out and spoke.
"Do I fluster you?"
The effect of these words was instantaneous, even if Tom couldn't see them due to being tucked against Malfoy's neck. His breath had halted; his eyes had surely widened considerably—Tom wouldn't be surprised if his heart literally skipped a beat.
"Please, Tom. I'm sorry. Forgive me. I was presumptuous!" Brax was rushing through his words, "I just thought that since you didn't seem to mind Avery's conversation, maybe you wouldn't mind it being done to you. A release! I could give you that. I would give you that."
Tom didn't need convincing. He already wasn't opposed. He knew it was something his sick body wanted, and he was prepared to give in, but hearing this pathetic boy practically beg to do this for him was the icing on the cake.
Tom let go of Brax's soft hair and fell back against his bed, offering himself.
Malfoy looked shocked, probably still reeling from what Tom had done. But his expression had changed. Widened pupils, short and heavy breaths, and rosy cheeks. And surely—Tom lowered his gaze to Brax's crotch—yep. A noticeable bulge that was not there before Tom grabbed his hair.
It was laughable that the fearsome heir of the Malfoy line got turned on from his superior pulling his hair and whispering in his ear. It was… maybe a little validating. It made Tom feel powerful, which is exactly what he wanted to get out of this.
"You—" Malfoy mumbled. "You're sure?"
Tom scoffed. "Don't make me change my mind."
Brax scooted closer, and almost as if a switch flipped, the frightened look he had been sporting turned into something much more playful. "Thank you, my lord."
And that did it for Tom. Here was his incredibly handsome friend, who had so much social power in the wizarding world, who had so much potential, on his knees before him, calling him his lord.
Heat rose to Tom's face, and blood ran to Tom's cock.
An embarrassing thought formed in his head that Brax was only doing this to get on Tom's good side or to rise higher in his ranks. Tom wanted to address it before they went any further—and he was going to—but Brax wasn't even looking at him anymore; his eyes were turned down towards the growing erection in Tom's pants. It was maybe a little unsettling to have this much attention on his member when he had never even touched it himself.
He had shared a dorm with so many hormonal boys for years that he knew they touched themselves. He heard it in the dead of night when they thought everyone was asleep. When they didn't bother to silence their beds. He knew it was a normal function, but he still never participated. Not when he woke with morning wood, not when a girl would cross her pretty legs, causing her skirt to ride up, not when he heard the manly half-breaths, half-moans of his roommates taking their own pleasure. He never gave in, not once.
But now, this pretty boy was licking his lips, and he knew he wouldn't shut it down. No matter how many complex thoughts he had on the subject, Brax was unbuttoning his trousers, and Tom wasn't stopping him.
Tom lifted his hips to let Brax pull down his outer layer, leaving him in just his briefs.
"Holy shit, Tom," Brax laughed. "I knew you had something down here, but I never guessed it would be this…" He let his hand palm Tom over his underwear, eliciting a sharp breath from both of them.
"This what?" Tom struggled to voice, trying to get over the lovely, warm weight on top of his cock.
"Big."
Tom laughed a little, flattered by the compliment.
"Can I take it out, Tom?" Brax asked politely, looking down at him with puppy-dog eyes.
Tom could only nod because he wasn't in a laughing mood anymore. He was solely transfixed by the way Abraxas Malfoy was rubbing Tom's dick with one hand and his own dick with his other hand.
There was no way Brax was getting off on this. He hadn't even taken off Tom's briefs, and he was finding pleasure in it. Suddenly, Tom wanted to strip off every last layer of clothing ASAP just to see how Brax would handle it. Would he keep palming his own dick, or would he too strip down? Tom doesn't think he would mind seeing that.
Malfoy, being an apparent tease, slowly rolled down the waistband of Tom's underwear, revealing inch by inch what Tom had kept to himself for years. It was almost a foreign sight watching his hard cock come out, considering how Tom had always ignored it when it was in such a state.
Abraxas repositioned himself once Tom's dick was out in the open. He got off his knees and instead lay down on his stomach, right between Tom's legs.
Shit. If this wasn't the hottest damn thing Tom had ever seen, he didn't know what was. This boy, whom he had known for so long, had his face between his legs and was getting ready to touch his bare cock.
Curse his wicked, human body for wanting such vile things. Curse him for not protesting. Curse him for letting another man get this close.
But when Brax's beautiful blue eyes found Tom's brown ones, he shuddered from the weight of his gaze, forgetting his inner turmoil. Brax's lids were heavy, and his pupils were blown—even more than they had been minutes prior, if that was even possible.
"You have such a pretty dick, Tom," Abraxas smiled.
Tom wanted to bask in the compliment, but something threw him off. "What did you call me?"
"…Tom?"
"What should you call me?"
A bold smirk came across Malfoy's face, and Tom thought that it was rather brave for him to look so confident with a dick right beside his face.
"My lord," Brax breathed out, taking Tom's member in his hand for the first time.
The combination of his words and his big, warm hand was enough to make Tom drop his head back against the pillow. Is this what he had been missing out on? This visceral pleasure? If one measly squeeze from the hands of another were enough to make him feel so good, what would more feel like? What would it feel like to get the same treatment as Avery got from Walburga? Tom needed to know.
"Holy shit, Brax." He couldn't help but say. "You—please, more," was all he could get out before another wave of pleasure racked through him.
There was no way a single, unmoving grip could feel this good. Tom deduced it must be because he had neglected it for so long. That he had never felt this friction.
"Now who's stuttering?" Malfoy giggled. Tom wanted to respond; he wanted to tell him off, to tell him he couldn't speak to his lord like that, but then Brax shifted his hand, and Tom fell quiet.
Well, not really. His words were quieted for sure, but something else slipped out of his mouth. A sound. A stupid, pathetic, weak sound that Tom regretted but still couldn't stifle. How could he suppress his moans when lovely Abraxas was lying between his legs and stroking his cock?
Heat spread under his skin like wildfire, branching out from his groin to his legs and arms, up his neck, and down his fingers and toes. This was worse than his 'build-ups,' Tom thought. It was so much worse. It was so unfamiliar and disgusting. And it was so good.
Tom's hand went to grip the sheets. He needed something to anchor himself in this situation, or else he seriously thought he might fly away, might float up into space and lose himself in the stars.
It was all too much and not nearly enough. Brax kept his slow and steady pace, torturing Tom with his teasing.
"I can tell you've never been touched."
Opening his eyes and lifting his head up, Tom met Brax's gaze. He wanted to lie, to hold the high ground, but he couldn't possibly do anything to ruin this moment. "I didn't want to give in to it," Tom rasped.
Malfoy stopped his movements and sat his chin on Tom's thigh, looking up at him from under those long lashes that he could never help but stare at. The contrast between his blue eyes and pale skin, and the dark lashes made it impossible not to look at them.
"Surely you know it's normal. To take what you want. What you need."
Tom's hand came up to rest on top of Abraxas's head of blonde hair, causing Brax to lean into the touch. "It's disgusting. It's carnal and weak."
"Then what do you call this?" The unspoken ending of his sentence rang through the air. Then what do you call this? What do you call what we're doing right now?
"It's different," he refuted. "Doing it to myself is giving in to the fundamentally human part of me, but if you do it…" Tom trailed off, trying to justify the situation.
Without breaking eye contact, Brax lifted his head to let his cheek press up against Tom's cock, slowly rubbing his face along the side.
"I do it almost every night," Abraxas said. "Did you know that?"
Tom did know that. He heard it. Every night without fail, once their dormmates were asleep, he heard the mattress shift to his right, the heavy breathing, and the creaking bedframe. He had heard everyone in that damn room jerk off before, but he only listened out for Brax.
The pressure of a warm hand wrapped back around his cock, and he hissed at the feeling. Malfoy was slowly rocking his hips back and forth as he stroked his lord, and Tom just knew he was trying to get some friction on his own member. Something about the fact that Brax was getting off on giving Tom pleasure made his cock throb.
"I try to be quiet, but sometimes I can't help it." Brax was stroking Tom's dick faster now, and Tom could barely keep his eyes open, but he fought. If he missed the sight of this pretty boy rocking his hips against his mattress while getting him off, he would never forgive himself.
"Sometimes," he panted, "I want to be heard."
Tom couldn't take this anymore. The filthiness of this situation, the filthiness of the words—he just couldn't take it.
"How hard are you, Brax?"
"I'm so hard, my lord," the blond boy cooed. "Grinding against your bed isn't enough."
"Who even permitted you to do that? You are here to pleasure me, remember?"
Brax halted his movements. "S—sorry, my lord. I got caught up—"
"Get up here," Tom ordered.
Fear flooded blue eyes, but he didn't move.
"Get. Up. Here."
Scurrying to his knees, Malfoy rose. His eyes were pointed down, ashamed, knowing that the bulge in his trousers was now on full display.
"How much does this turn you on, Abraxas?" Tom asked the bashful boy.
Brax sniffed. "So much, my lord.
"Do you like men?"
"I—"
Silence.
"Well? Answer your lord."
"I think about you the way I should think about girls."
Fuck. That is exactly the type of shit Tom wants to hear. His follower is so undyingly loyal to him that it transcends the bounds of sexuality. Fucking perfect.
"And when you say you want to be heard?"
Malfoy shifted slightly, clearly trying to relieve some of the pressure of his incredibly erect cock. "I want you to hear me, my lord."
Tom groaned, threw his head back against the headboard, and simultaneously grabbed onto Abaraxas's hips, pulling him into his lap. "You are so loyal to me, Abraxas. Do you think about me when you get yourself off?"
"Yes," he said, pushing his hips down to grind against Tom's, making Tom shiver.
Tom had his hands on Brax's hips, moving them slightly, trying to grind Brax down more. "How long?" He didn't have to specify what exactly he was asking about; Malfoy just seemed to know.
"I first did it to the thought of you in fourth year. I felt so guilty about it, but I still did it, and I haven't thought of anyone else since."
By this point, Abraxas had found a good pace and was rocking himself back and forth faster now. The pressure felt fucking amazing, and having Brax on top of him was even better. But Tom wanted more—needed more.
"Take yours out."
This seemed to be exactly what Malfoy was waiting to hear, because he eagerly unbuttoned his tight trousers and pulled his red, throbbing cock out. It was slick with precum and clearly in need of some attention.
In this quiet room, the very same room where the heirs of the most powerful families in England slept, two boys had their painfully hard members exposed to one another. This would surely ruin both of their reputations, but they paid no mind to that thought right now.
The only thing worse than the homosexual act they were performing was that Tom didn't know where to go from here. He was so used to knowing everything about everything, but now he was clueless. He knew what a man and a woman were meant to do together, but a man and a man?
"Don't worry, my lord. Relax. I'll make you feel good. I'll help you find your release."
This was something that would have worried Normal Tom. Someone telling him they will do all the work? Someone telling him what to do? It was all preposterous, but Brax was finally taking his hardness back into his hand, and he couldn't protest any longer.
Brax's grip sent ripples of pleasure through him, tingling that deep part of him that needed a release. As he built Tom's pleasure, Tom's eyes were fixed on where he was building his own. His left hand was working up his large cock in a frenzied motion. Tom guessed he had never jerked off with his non-dominant hand.
It doesn't matter, though. Tom should be glad he's giving him pleasure with his stronger hand. His loyal soldier, Abraxas, always puts his lord first. But a feeling nags at him. One to be in control.
Impulsively, Tom grabs Brax's left hand and pushes it away from his dick. And Brax, being the knight he is, doesn't let the sudden movement stop him from stroking Tom. He doesn't even question it, just keeps staring into Tom's soul—or what's left of it.
Even though it's wrong, even though it could damage his respectability, Tom lets his dominant hand reach out to grip Abraxas. This halts his movement. His eyes, which were previously drowned in heavy-lidded pleasure, were now wide in shock.
"Don't stop," was all Tom said, and Brax obeyed immediately.
Together they rubbed each other's dicks, occasionally rutting into each other's hands. Brax was a whining mess and kept getting whinier the longer Tom jerked him.
The noises the blond boy was making were starting to affect Tom. It was like listening to the most heavenly of music. And the fact that he was the one pulling those sounds out of his friend… Fuck, Tom was so fucked.
Tom wants to strip completely. To shred off his clothes that were now sticking to his body, to do the same to the boy sitting in his lap—to feel his skin, Merlin—but he couldn't bear to stop what was happening for one moment. Though he had never masturbated before, he knew that something was building, and he would not stop it for the life of him.
Tom couldn't decide where he wanted to look. For starters, he could stare at Brax's beautiful cock that he was currently jerking off, or he could look towards his best friend's face. Reluctantly, Tom let his eyes wander upwards and was in awe of what he was seeing.
Blue eyes closed, alluring eyelashes resting charmingly on crimson cheeks, red lips parted, brows pulled together. This was the face of someone drowning in pleasure. Distraught, Tom thought he didn't look any different. He could feel the heat under his skin and could hear the heavy breaths coming from his own mouth. Damn it, if this wasn't the best thing that had ever happened to him.
"My lord—please…"
"I love to see you beg, Brax," Tom choked out. "What do you want?"
"Just—don't stop," Abraxas whined.
"The same goes for you."
The blond boy could only nod before losing himself in the pleasure once again.
Tom desperately wanted to savor this experience for fear of it never happening again, but his sick human greed only wanted to chase the release—and he let it.
They had both been reduced to moaning, frantic messes when Brax finally spoke again.
"Tom! I'm going to—" These words were all he could get out of his mouth before his legs began to jolt and spurts of cum landed all over Tom's own dick and stomach, too. Brax kept stroking Tom, using his seed as a lubricant.
Feeling the new, easy way Brax's hand was able to glide over Tom's cock was enough to bring him over the edge as well, clutching his silk sheets—without caring about the cum that was definitely covering his hand and being smeared over his bedspread.
When they came to their senses, their chests were both heaving up and down, sweat was dripping from their brows, and their hands and cocks were sticky and white.
Malfoy had a concerned look on his face, but still mustered up the confidence to ask, "Did that help? Was that the release you needed?"
Tom reached into his body, trying to find the coil of anger and pure rage that usually resided there, but found nothing. He couldn't even conjure up what it had felt like.
"I feel… relieved," was all Tom could say. He was unsure of how to proceed. Was this what he had been missing all of these years?
Abraxas smiled, eyelids still heavy and hands still covered in both of their cum.
"You called me 'Tom.'"
"What?"
"When you… finished. I told you to call me 'my lord,' and you called me 'Tom.'"
Suddenly, Abraxas looked very vulnerable—like he was about to apologize. Tom didn't give him the chance to.
"Remember it for next time."
"Yes, my lord."