Author's Note: A bit of a warning, this edges on M rating. I don't think it quite qualifies, so I'm leaving it at T, but please message me if you feel it needs a higher rating. The guidelines on it are a little vague and I'm not 100% sure.
Tom let the festivities continue despite our retreat, and I could still hear them celebrating and dancing as we wove our way through the dark halls.
"I need to talk with you," I said looking up at him.
He nodded, but said nothing. When we arrived, he opened the door for me and I thanked him as I walked through. He closed the door behind him, and I watched as he took off his dress robe, and put it into the wardrobe. He took his time, and I waited anxiously, worried about how he would respond to my concerns. When he turned to look at me, I felt my stomach flop.
"I suggest you make this brief. I don't intend to spend my wedding night conversing," he said, looking at me expectantly.
"It's about that..." I said carefully, and watched his expression change.
"Milagros, I will have sex with my wife tonight," he said.
I blushed, "It's not that I don't want to, and I understand it's your marital right. It's just that… it's been awhile, and I don't have a lot of experience."
I could feel my eyes widen involuntarily as I internally begged him to not make a scene or laugh at me. I watched as comprehension fell over his features. His anger melted to reveal a raised eyebrow. He stared at me silently, and that silence made me nervous. What if he was judging me? What if he thought I was undesirable?
"It's not that there weren't willing partners," I added defensively, "I just don't particularly like having people touch me."
For a moment, all I could see in his expression was total solidarity and understanding. He knew exactly what I meant. I had seen him tense up from a simple handshake before. He broke eye contact and turned around and walked towards a cabinet. He opened it without saying a word and pulled out a bottle of firewhiskey. A wave of relief washed over me. If there was one thing I needed right now, it was a drink. He grabbed two glasses and wedged them between his fingers and shut the cabinet with his arm before making his way back to me. He extended his hand with the glasses towards me, and I grabbed one with a sincere thank you.
I had to ask, "I'm surprised you have had… relations recently. I don't remember you being particularly fond of physical contact either."
He opened the bottle and poured about two fingers of firewhiskey into my glass, "I am a man, Milagros. However, I'll grant you that most of the time, it's been used for some sort of materialistic or personal gain on my part."
When he put it like that, it was far easier for me to comprehend. It was a little strange to me that Tom was using sex to get what he wanted, almost like Cleopatra or the queens of old. However, Tom was attractive with his dark hair and eyes, and his presencethat captivated anyone and everyone around him. By far, the worst part about it was that he knew it, too, and he wasn't afraid to use it. If there was a woman with connections or something he wanted, I didn't doubt for a second how far he would go to get it.
I took a large sip of firewhiskey, hating the burn and taste of the alcohol, but desperate for its effects.
"How many, would you say?" I asked, simply out of curiosity.
"A gentleman never keeps count," he responded, smirking at me, "But I have never been hurt for company."
I stayed quiet, sipping more firewhiskey while becoming increasingly self-conscious about my lack of experience. I didn't know anything. I had very little idea of how to please a man, what he would like, or what there even was to try. It seemed so straight forward, but in my little experience, I had learned that it wasn't. I subconsciously began playing with glass. I think Tom took notice of my nerves and pulled out his wand. He pointed it at the fireplace and a fire began raging. He walked to the chairs in front and took a seat in one and waited patiently for me to sit in the other. I sat down and took a deep breath, allowing the warmth of the fire to relax my muscles.
Tom sipped his firewhiskey and spoke while looking in the fire, "You did well tonight, Milagros."
"Thank you, Tom," I said, finishing off my glass. He was quick to refill my glass for me, and I was grateful. I already felt more relaxed and I was eager to amplify this feeling.
"This is all still so unreal," I commented, "This morning seems like a lifetime ago."
"No part of this should feel new to you," he replied, but I saw his expression was anything but cold and harsh. His jaw was tense, and I knew his mind had gone back to how we were raised at Wool's, and even Hogwarts, all those years ago. We had been dragged around our whole lives. Of all the places we lived, very few were of our own accord.
"I suppose," I agreed.
"Unless someone fails me tomorrow, I should be able to spend the day helping you… get settled, I suppose," he said.
"I appreciate that," I said honestly and paused briefly before asking, "What do I do when you aren't here?"
"Milagros, I do not have the time to manage your life for you," he said.
I thought about it briefly, "I'm assuming you have a library. That'll hold me over until I find some way to make myself useful."
"There will be occasions- dinners, meetings, the like- where I will need you present. However, you will have more than enough notice, and you are welcome to do whatever else until then."
I took another sip, pleased to find that I could handle larger sips than before. That meant it was working, "Alright. I think I can handle that."
There was a pause and my gaze dropped to my glass as I thought of what my life here would be like. What did my life amount to now? Would I ever be able to live up to these monster expectations that were before me now? After a short while, I made the mistake of glancing at Tom, who was focused on the fire before sensing my movement. He looked at me and I was once more drawn in by the intensity of his gaze. His dilated pupils reflected the fire light and made my stomach flip. He slowly started to move closer to me and I could feel my palms start to sweat and my face get hot.
"Do you have favorites?" I blurted out.
He looked at me blankly and I scrambled to clarify, "Within your Death Eaters? Are there any I should take extra time and care to know?"
"Malfoy is one of the more useful ones in terms of monetary needs and status. Dolohov is probably the most competent, but that's not saying much. The rest are utterly useless and disappointing."
He finished his glass and put it on the table between us before looking at me in the eyes once more, "You're stalling, Milagros."
"What do you mean?" I asked, trying to ignore the heat on my cheeks.
"As much as I appreciate the weak attempt at interest," he said sarcastically, "I don't imagine you going out of your way to grab tea with Dolohov or Malfoy."
"Well, what do you expect of me?" I asked, letting some frustration into my voice, "Why am I here, Tom? I understand I'm supposed to be a figurehead, but do you really want those in your ranks to see their Dark Lady or whatever you want them to call me wandering aimlessly around the halls accomplishing nothing?"
He ran his hand through his hair and said nothing, as if this thought had never occurred to him before, "We will discuss this tomorrow."
He stood up and walked toward me, extending his hand. I grabbed it and stood up as well, my legs trembling slightly, but the firewhiskey clouding my thoughts just enough to stop my fears from getting the best of me. Tom was my husband now, and he had liberties and rights. This was normal, expected even, but the insecure part of me had to be sure that this was what he wanted. He jumped in just as quickly as I had. He had to have doubts.
"Tom," I started, "I don't want you thinking that I don't want this because I do, but I just want to acknowledge that there's still time. We could still get an annulment. You could tell your Death Eaters that I was a liar and my lineage is not worthy of- "
In the next second, my back was slammed against the wall, his hands were on my waist, and his face was inches from mine. I should have been afraid, the higher thinking part of my brain recognized that, but the rest of my body had an entirely different response. A shiver ran through me, but not from fear. His hands felt like they were burning holes in my dress, but not because his grip was too tight.
"Stalling," he muttered, bringing his nose and lips against my neck.
I could barely concentrate on any of the thoughts racing through my head. I was hyper aware of his lips, gently running up and down my neck, stopping for only slight pecks and to lightly scrape his teeth.
"Tom-" I started but couldn't remember where I wanted the sentence to go from there. I felt his hand slowly make its way up toward the zipper of my dress, and I felt so scandalous for wanting it to hurry. I put my hands around his neck to gently pull his face back and brought my lips to his. It began slowly, but the contact lit a fire in me that was growing hotter and hotter every minute, and suddenly I found myself pushing against the wall, trying to get even closer to him. He finally pulled down my zipper and as the dress fell, he broke the kiss to look down at me in my brassiere and slip. I thought I would feel self-conscious or nervous, but in the moment, I didn't care what he thought about my body, I just wanted him on me again. I grabbed him, and brought him close, feeling his smile against my lips as I began to kiss him again. He reached down, grabbing behind my thighs and lifted me so my legs were around his waist, my slip bunching up almost painfully on my hips. He pushed me against the cold wall again and kissed my exposed skin around my collarbone and down the valley between my breasts causing my back to arch against my will. He tossed me up slightly to get a better grip and walked me toward the bed, kissing me all the while.
Once we got to the bed, he practically fell forward, laying me down, and pressing his weight on me except for a hand by my head where he caught himself. I decided I liked this, having a powerful man on top of me. It made me feel safe and warm and privileged. He kissed me as his other hand ran up my side, feeling my curves, before reaching my breast and feeling it through the brassiere. I was surprised to hear myself moan. Half a second later, he pushed himself off me and I was a little taken aback by how strongly I wanted him back on top of me. I looked at him standing above me, removing his robes and clothes, his eyes never leaving mine, with a cocky smirk on his face- and I was certain I had never seen anything so handsome in my entire life. I waited impatiently as he removed his clothing piece by piece and kept all rational thoughts far from my mind.
When it was over, I laid there on my stomach, breathing heavy. It was a wonderful and different experience, and I decided that I would always be grateful that I got to experience it with Tom. Was it gentle? Not exactly. Was it tender and sweet? Absolutely not. But neither were we. It was a power struggle that never seemed to get boring. I learned that when I did something he liked, he would curse under his breath, something that Tom never did around women, and it drove me wild. It made me feel like the most experienced and attractive woman in the world, and despite the hair pulling and biting, there were times that proved there was a mutual respect underneath it all. If I so much as grimaced, he moved immediately; trying new positions and angles, watching carefully to see what I enjoyed. I felt like I was building towards something, and as much I wanted to get lost in the moment, I was intimidated. Everything was new and unexplored with him, and it put my previous lovers to shame. It was a kind of sensory overload. If the build up made such intense sensations and reactions, the zenith would have probably left me brain dead.
"Is it always like that for you?" I asked turning my head toward Tom.
"No, Milagros," he said, while looking at the ceiling. I took a second to admire his strong jaw line and the deep rise and fall of his lean chest. "It's never like that."
I felt like he couldn't have meant that in a positive way. After all, he had experience with multiple women who were probably very enthusiastic and knew things I didn't. I sighed, "It'll get better. I just need practice."
He turned his head toward me and I could see the slightest hint of angry confusion etched in his features, "You didn't enjoy yourself?"
I blinked and sat up slightly, propping my head up on my arm, "What? No, it was wonderful for me. I assumed you meant that it wasn't good for you."
He rolled over to face me, and his eyes looked my body up and down, settling for a few seconds on what I assumed were his favorite parts. Except for the slight dilation of his pupils, his expression was completely unreadable, and part of me was grateful for that. He brought a hand to my hip, and he watched it travel lightly to my thigh, stomach, and small of my back almost as if he had no control over it. The skin tingled where his hand lightly grazed my olive skin, and I watched him study me. It would have made me feel insecure, but I knew Tom's motives were clear and selfish, and strangely, that put me at ease. Tom would not be looking at my body if he didn't like what he saw, and Tom definitely would not be touching me if he didn't want to be touching me.
His words from earlier echoed in my mind, I am a man, Milagros, and for one of the few times in my life, I was seeing him as such. Here he was in front of me- not Lord Voldemort, but Tom Riddle Jr. desiring not power or knowledge or immortality, but a very primal and human need. Despite what he would like to believe, he was no more and no less of a man than anyone else walking on this earth.
His deep voice broke me out of my thought, "Do you have any idea how long I wanted this?"
His dark gaze flashed up to meet my confused expression. He clearly expected an answer.
"My body?" I asked stupidly.
He nodded, "In no way was I disappointed, Milagros."
I couldn't help the grin that erupted on my face. I immediately felt giddy and childish for the way my mind was reacting to his simple statement. I decided I needed to take a moment before I made a total fool of myself, so I grabbed his hand from where it resided on my hip and lifted it off me. I gave it a slight brush before letting go and leaving to get ready for bed. I needed a few minutes before going back to this reality that, for the last twenty four hours, seemed the furthest thing from real.