Disclaimer: Messrs Potter & Riddle are the intellectual property of JK Rowling. Later on, I intend to sell Riddle's diary; proceeds will be used to purchase at least the aforementioned characters.

This was once again, as with Repairable Damage, written for the lovely Lillyleaf101.


Lips. Cheeks. Eyes. Hair.

Cherry. Peach. Cigarette. Chocolate milk.

Hmm.

Heaven promised by cherry lips, peachy cheeks set on a backdrop of creamy skin, cigarette smouldering eyes, and milky smooth chocolate hair.

Bold. Beautiful. Divine. Delicious.

The inspiration of poets and the despair of painters.

EXTREME. DESIRE.

A hot lick up the spine, an earlobe caught between porcelain teeth...

"FUCK."

He blanched. Inwardly. And then mentally cursed his highly amused, scarred, sexy—sexily scarred—professor. And later, in the privacy of a secluded corner of the common room and under the guise of hand-serving a detention, he would crucio Avery for even suggesting that he play Word Association during Defence Against the Dark Arts ("Because you're always staring ahead; it's as though you're not listening. But you're Tom Riddle. You don't need to listen anyway."). And also because no one giggled at Tom Ri—

A note fell on his lap. It opened by itself.

Later, Tom. Let's finish this lesson first. HP

He turned to Avery, "Remind me to thank you later, Avery," and then proceeded to pay attention to the man in front of class.

Wand. Sizeable wand. Later. Mine.

Oh yes, he was going to thank Avery much, much later by means of a lengthy crucio. Because no one giggled at Tom Riddle. Especially not a hot, bothered, flustered, and ravenous Tom Riddle.