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.
It was sweet. It was soft. It was virginal.
Tom had always been known for his calmness that was bordering on aloofness; as a matter of fact, he did not wail upon his exit from his mother's womb, seemingly opting to stare ahead through the haze of birthing liquid with a disinterested expression on his brow. Today, however, as he lay trapped between the dewy grass that cushioned their fall and an armful of Harry, he felt a wave of panic rise as his particular brand of calmness abandoned him. He began to sputter indignantly, all while his tutee gazed at him with a serene look on his young face and a brightness in his eyes that rivalled the princely halo that warm morning sunshine cast on his dark head.
"It doesn't matter."
Tom paused. "Pardon?"
"It doesn't matter; my godfather knows." A sigh, light and somehow musical, followed by the crushing of leaves as Harry moved to free his arm that lay between them. "He knows that I adore you, because I can't quite keep my thoughts—and now my hands—to myself."
Tom almost moaned at the confession, at the feel of pianist fingers skimming over the skin on his neck... as well as at the knee that innocently bumped against his inner thigh.
"If you must concern yourself with something, let it be this."
And Harry kissed him again on his lips, then his cheeks, his eyelids, and his forehead, all in that same sweet, soft, virginal manner. It made him feel warm and sun-kissed. He absolutely loved it.