Tom hands Harry a small, white tuberose. Harry first tries to turn the
gift down, but Tom insists so nicely that he accepts.
As soon the green stalk touches his skin, it changes. It's still green, but now it's coiling up his arm and around his throat. The milky-cream flowers are teeth, poised to break the skin above his jugular.
Tom laughs and pushes his thumb to Harry's scar.
"You're foolish even in dreams, Harry." Tom blows cool air against his forehead, sending the fine black hairs scattering.
"One move and you're mine." Harry knows Tom is actually hissing these words in the secret tongue, and the loop around his neck tightens in understanding. The teeth are very close to drawing blood.
Tom moves to kiss Harry, softly on the lips while his hands wander and caress his body. He trails kisses over Harry's collar bones, his eyelids, his forehead.
Harry wonders why he's dreaming this, but he doesn't need to ask the question aloud. Tom answers for him. That's the beauty of dreams.
"You're dreaming this because your brain is making random patterns and connection while you sleep. This is just a combination and conglomeration of daily events. Remember the flowers you saw on your walk with Ginny? And how she mentioned the old diary so offhandedly? Remember the way Malfoy kissed you last night?"
Tom pauses to lick the inside of Harry's ear. "Or perhaps you really want to fuck me, plain and simple. We're quite alike, as I'm sure you know. Perhaps you want to fuck yourself, or a better version of yourself."
This is the point when Harry would scream, or whimper and shake. But he doesn't; he can still feel the sharp, venomous points twitch on his skin. He knows it's not a good idea to die in dreams, because you might never wake up.
"You might not wake up either way." Tom purrs against the skin at the back of Harry's neck. His feather-light hands slide down Harry's arms, fingertips barely grazing the surface before they center in front of him. Harry's breathing is pitched, and he's trying not to shake or thrust as tears spill down his cheeks. Tom doesn't care to kiss them away.
Tom stops abruptly, and lays one hand at Harry's throat, nail trailing from the hollow up to the snake. As his fingers wrap around the tail, it detaches from Harry's neck and is a tuberose again. Tom moves to in front of Harry and offers it again, all smiles.
Harry can't stop himself; he reaches a hand out and accepts. This time there's no coiling snake, though. The petals just fall off, like drifting snow to the stone floor. And Tom is gone.
A/n: http://www.petitpois.net/junk/junk01/f_tomharry.jpg
As soon the green stalk touches his skin, it changes. It's still green, but now it's coiling up his arm and around his throat. The milky-cream flowers are teeth, poised to break the skin above his jugular.
Tom laughs and pushes his thumb to Harry's scar.
"You're foolish even in dreams, Harry." Tom blows cool air against his forehead, sending the fine black hairs scattering.
"One move and you're mine." Harry knows Tom is actually hissing these words in the secret tongue, and the loop around his neck tightens in understanding. The teeth are very close to drawing blood.
Tom moves to kiss Harry, softly on the lips while his hands wander and caress his body. He trails kisses over Harry's collar bones, his eyelids, his forehead.
Harry wonders why he's dreaming this, but he doesn't need to ask the question aloud. Tom answers for him. That's the beauty of dreams.
"You're dreaming this because your brain is making random patterns and connection while you sleep. This is just a combination and conglomeration of daily events. Remember the flowers you saw on your walk with Ginny? And how she mentioned the old diary so offhandedly? Remember the way Malfoy kissed you last night?"
Tom pauses to lick the inside of Harry's ear. "Or perhaps you really want to fuck me, plain and simple. We're quite alike, as I'm sure you know. Perhaps you want to fuck yourself, or a better version of yourself."
This is the point when Harry would scream, or whimper and shake. But he doesn't; he can still feel the sharp, venomous points twitch on his skin. He knows it's not a good idea to die in dreams, because you might never wake up.
"You might not wake up either way." Tom purrs against the skin at the back of Harry's neck. His feather-light hands slide down Harry's arms, fingertips barely grazing the surface before they center in front of him. Harry's breathing is pitched, and he's trying not to shake or thrust as tears spill down his cheeks. Tom doesn't care to kiss them away.
Tom stops abruptly, and lays one hand at Harry's throat, nail trailing from the hollow up to the snake. As his fingers wrap around the tail, it detaches from Harry's neck and is a tuberose again. Tom moves to in front of Harry and offers it again, all smiles.
Harry can't stop himself; he reaches a hand out and accepts. This time there's no coiling snake, though. The petals just fall off, like drifting snow to the stone floor. And Tom is gone.
A/n: http://www.petitpois.net/junk/junk01/f_tomharry.jpg