Double Stuffed

Words: 6,780
Pairing: Tom Riddle/Harry Potter/Cedric Diggory
Beta: LittleMissSketch
Warnings: Crying? Oh and age difference

As soon as Harry entered the apartment, he headed for the bedroom. The clock on the bedside table read 4:19 - Tom would arrive soon, and Harry would need to be ready and waiting in about half an hour. He stripped in a hurry, leaving clothes carelessly on the thick carpeting. Tom would probably scold him for that if he ever saw, but Harry could think of little else but the evening ahead. The clothes could always be tidied up later.

The shower was done within minutes, and before long Harry was walking out of the bathroom naked and wet. Opening the wardrobe as he rubbed his hair dry with one hand, he reached for a large box on the top shelf and pulled it out carefully. Inside lay a variety of collars in all sorts of shapes, colours and sizes - posture collars, pet collars and other such, most of them made of smooth, thick leather. His fingers ran over the options as if he was considering them, but Harry had been told by Tom which to wear, just like he'd been told exactly how to finger himself open, and what time Tom would be arriving by.

He slipped the leather over his neck. It was tough, it's shape wider than most of Harry's collars and dark in colour, but it was by far his favourite. He liked it when Tom had to kiss and bite around the edge of it, leaving a pale strip of unbruised skin around his neck to contrast with the marks left behind. He liked the way the ache of Tom's bites spread along his skin, even to where the red wasn't visible, but most of all he liked the way it looked like he was still collared after, like Tom had somehow made him his outside of their play.

His eyes slid to the clock again - 4:31. Leaving the collar on the bed he stood up and pushed the box back into its place, shutting the wardrobe with a decisive click. Hurriedly he tidied the room, folding his clothes and opening the door wide, just as Tom had asked.

In the bedside drawer he found a bottle of lube, open, which he set beside him before he let himself drop to his knees beside the bed. He bent over and then slid further, until his cheek was pressed into the rug and his arse was in the air. His breath came in soft gasps as he wet his fingers and pushed one into his arse hole.

The room felt cold. He knew it wasn't, but even so the slightest draft from the open door chilled his bare skin, and as Harry worked himself slowly open he wondered what it might be like for somebody to walk past the open door and see him, his knees wide and his fingers as deep as they'd go inside his own body. He added more lube until he felt wet, wide open and slick, until he felt like Tom could walk in, unzip his trousers and just slide right in.

His cock hind hard between his legs already. Harry didn't touch it. Instead he pushed and twisted, trying almost unconsciously to touch his own prostate. He knew he couldn't, not in this position, but nevertheless a part of him wanted-

But his gaze fell upon the click again, and he realised it was time. An involuntary whimper left him as he forced himself to stop, to straighten back up onto his knees. He felt so wide open, so loose, and Tom wasn't even home. How could he stand the wait that came? His left hand grasped at his tight wrist behind his back almost as if to prevent him from shoving his fingers back inside himself. He breathed in, out, speed his own mind down, and he bowed his head to wait.

It was quiet. At first, Harry could hear nothing but his own breath, but as it calmed and slowed he found he could hear the birds outside the window, chirping in the afternoon sun. He could hear the cars passing by, the revving engines, the occasional pedestrian chatting as they happened by the front door. His mind sank into the world around him like it was a warm bath, until he felt so separate from himself that he could barely feel the chill of his skin.

His knees started to feel tender - he was sure they had gone pink from the weight of his entire body, small indents impressed into skin from the rug beneath him, and his nape ached with the uncomfortable position of his head. It felt almost distant, like it was happening to another person, and it was with the same distance that Harry wondered how long it had been. Shouldn't Tom have gotten off work?

Had he lied to Harry about what time he'd be home?

It wouldn't have been the first time - Tom often liked to throw Harry off in many different ways, and staying later or showing up earlier than expected was just one more way to play with him. It didn't matter either - Tom would know if Harry had moved, if he'd deviated in any way from the routine he'd set out for Harry. He always did, somehow, just by looking at Harry's face as he asked - as if some habit of his or even the look in his eyes would tell Tom if he sought to deceive him.

It sometimes frightened Harry how transparent he must be to Tom, how utterly unable he was to lie to Tom, but at the same time it felt oddly comforting. He would never have to worry about anything - not whether Tom would he mad, or whether he'd be disappointed, or even whether to tell Tom at all - because Tom would find out whatever Harry was hiding either way. It felt like that removed the responsibility from Harry's shoulders. It felt like that meant he was free from the need to ever decide.

It seemed like forever before he heard the key on the lock, the front door opening. He heard Tom's footsteps, his fancy shoes clacking sharply against the wood flooring of the entranceway as he entered. He heard him turning, presumably to lock the door behind him, but then-

Was that a second set of footsteps? He felt terribly hot all of a sudden, as if someone had dumped boiling water down his back. He wondered, briefly, if he'd imagined it, but as the door closed he heard the low murmuring of Tom speaking, and the distinct reply of another person.

His stomach dropped, and he began to tremble. Had Tom forgotten about today, brought home a dinner guests from work as he occasionally did? It would be odd if he had - Tom was the sort to always plan these evenings meticulously around their busy schedules. He'd even reminded Harry this very morning of their plans, so that he wouldn't stay overtime again accidentally as he was wont to do. His memory was impeccable - he couldn't possibly have forgotten.

And yet, as Harry kneeled merely one floor up, he heard the unmistakable sound of the kettle switching on.

Tom had brought home a guest.

He panicked for a long moment, the feeling oddly hazy and yet sharp at the same time. Should he get up, he wondered as he remained still. Should he get dressed, go downstairs, greet their guest? Perhaps he'd mistaken the day, or perhaps Tom had, surprisingly, forgotten. It was unlikely, yes, but then again Tom was human - it wasn't impossible for it to have slipped his mind.

He debated staying versus abandoning his position. Surely Tom would have realised that Harry was home by now; his shoes were on the shoes rack in the entrance hall, his keys on the hook by the door, his coat on the hanger by the stairs. What if he called Harry to come downstairs? What if he was, at this very moment, wondering why Harry hadn't shown up to say hello to his guest?

On the other hand, perhaps this was just a minor wrench in Tom's plans - a colleague who'd taken the liberty of inviting himself over for an 'important conversation' - it had happened before, though rarely, because Tom was good at deflecting that kind of attention. And even when somebody managed to force their way along, Tom usually got rid of them within minutes. Harry ought only to be patient. No doubt Tom would be disappointed if he panicked so easily and moved from his position.

No, he'd wait. Tom knew what he was doing, and it wasn't as if his guest would come upstairs for any reason. It was fine - Harry would wait here, like he'd been asked to, and if Tom called him down there was no reason he couldn't dress in a hurry and pretend he'd been in the bathroom or something.

With his brief moment of anxiety over with, Harry once again settled into a calm. He tried to focus on the way his fingers felt around his wrist, or the smallest, most imperceptible shivers of his shoulders, but he couldn't help his attention from drifting towards the quiet conversation in the sitting room.

It was impossible to make out words no matter how Harry tried - it seemed the door had been shut because all he could only hear was incomprehensible mumbling. Tom seemed perfectly at ease, his voice slow and calm. The stranger seemed much warmer, laughing much more readily. Harry wondered what they spoke of, imagined up little nonsense scenarios in his head, and became so lost in the familiar timbre and pitch of Tom's voice that he almost didn't realise when the sitting room door opened.

Tom fell silent. He began his slow walk up the stairs, his every step a thud in Harry's mind, and Harry tensed expectantly. With his head bowed he couldn't see the door, but he knew the distance from the bedroom to the landing, and anticipated the moment Tom's eyes would fall upon his naked figure with relish.

There was silence. He trembled as Tom came to a standstill somewhere behind him, the man's presence like a weight on his back. It was times like this, he thought, that he remembered how much older this man was, how much more experienced. He squeezed his eyes shut as the seconds dragged in, eyes blinking open to focus on the unmarked skin of his thighs. He imagined they'd gone paler with the cold, then wondered if he'd imagined that.

The room seemed to grow larger the longer Tom stood still. His breathing was the only sound in Harry's ears, his own so quiet he may as well not be breathing at all. He tried to judge the distance between their bodies when suddenly, Tom ran his finger along the bottom edge of his collar.

He gasped - he couldn't help it. His eyes shut again as Tom stepped closer, so close Harry felt like he could feel the brush of his sleeve, the warmth from his body along his back. Tom kept his silence, as his hand roamed the shape of his collar, the curve of his nape, the way it blended into the line of his shoulders. His thumb found the bone at the top of his spine - a little bump under his skin, and pressed. He pressed, harder, harder, and then moved away so quickly that it for like a ghost still pushed at his skin there, trying to crawl under his very skin.

"Oh sweetheart," he said, and his voice seemed like the roaring of a waterfall in Harry's ears. "You've done well."

Harry's breath shuddered in his chest but he didn't reply. He didn't need to. Tom clicked his fingers thoughtfully and then made his way around, slowly, until he sat on the bed before Harry with his legs spread wide. Harry couldn't help but look at the swelling between his legs, Tom's erection prominent even through his slacks. His elbows rested causally on his thighs, his hands loose and casual, and Harry felt the overwhelming desire to lean forward and put his mouth on Tom. Distantly, he realised his own cock was hardening, but he felt a little lost in the fantasy of Tom's dick, entwined with the memory of some past tryst.

He knew what it would look like too, what it would feel like. He'd memorised the taste of it, heavy on his tongue, the shape of it pressing down his throat until he couldn't breathe. 'It would be so easy', he wanted to say. 'Let me suck you', he wanted to beg.

But he didn't. Tom pushed his face up until Harry was looking up at him, his smug face, his eyes dark with lust and mirth. "You're such a slut," Tom breathed. "I don't even have to do anything - you drive yourself mad without any help."

His fingers tightened on Harry's chin, and then slid around his head to curl into his hair in a sudden shift of softness. "Go on then," he said, as if he were a benevolent king bestowing some sort of twisted mercy upon his subject. And when Harry didn't move, he pulled his head closer harshly, until Harry's nose pushed into the bulge between his legs.

"Go on," he repeated. His voice was much more forceful now, much less generous. "I don't want to have to tell you again."

His hands rushed to open Tom's fly and reach inside, his mouth already wet with hunger. Tom was warm and thick in his hand, his cock pink and flushed and ready for Harry. He pulled it out gently, and before he could even take it all the way out his tongue was licking at the underside. He moaned, almost unconsciously, and moved forward desperately to mouth at the head.

Above him, Tom laughed. His hand tightened in Harry's hair but he did not stop him, instead scratching softly at Harry's scalp. It made him want to melt, the feeling was so good, but when torn between Tom's hand and his cock, well. There was no competition, really.

He pushed down, licking and sucking at the head of Tom's cock before taking in a little more, steadily, until he was about halfway down. He kept himself there for a long moment, his lips tightening around Tom's shaft, before he let himself rise back up.

Tom sighed, his legs spreading eagerly as he melted into Harry, into the sensation of his mouth. Harry felt warmth blooming in his chest at his lover's obvious pleasure and pushed down again, this time taking in more. His mouth was wet around Tom's cock, greedy for it, and Tom knew. He brushed the hair out of Harry's face, mouth wide and eyes wider, and thrust his cock up into Harry's mouth.

Harry choked, hands flying straight to strong thighs, but Tom didn't let up. His pressed his dick into Harry's mouth until it was at Harry's throat, until his mouth was wrapped around the very base and his nose pushed into thick, wiry hair. His throat convulsed around Tom's cock until he felt bruised and tender inside. He wondered what it would be like if Tom came right now, straight down his throat. There would be no swallowing or spitting - only taking what he was given like a good boy. Harry would have that choice taken away from him. The idea of it made him want it more, made his lips move desperately around the shape of Tom's erection like he could squeeze his orgasm out of him.

He let himself be held there, and when Tom was satisfied with his lack of protest he dragged him back up like he was a toy and not a person. Like he was born to be used by Tom, to bring him pleasure on his own terms. His mouth hung open, his lips undoubtedly red and slick. Tom rubbed his thumb gently along the bottom lip, and then lead his dick to rest against his tongue once more.

"Keep your mouth open," he said, his voice huskier now. He ran the tip along his tongue, around his mouth, like he was painting Harry's mouth with his presence. His cock was still slick with Harry saliva, and he couldn't help but wonder if it felt as cold as Harry's back. He wondered if Tom was going to fuck his mouth properly.

He didn't. Instead, he pulled at Harry's hair until he was forced to stand, and then told him to get onto the bed. "Hands and knees, dear," he elaborated when Harry sat down next to him. "You know how I like you best."

Then he left. Harry heard him rummaging around in the closet, felt as the bed dipped under his weight once more. His hand, when it fell between his shoulder blades, was a shock that made his shoulders rise up. Tom merely pushed until his chest touched the bedding, and then - in one smooth, effortless movement, grabbed his hands to meet behind his back. Tom wrapped the smooth silk around his wrists with an ease that came only from experience, and then left him lying there. Alone.

His face was pressed against his pillow so that Harry had to move his head to one side to breathe. He pulled at the knot purely out of habit. As usual, it held fast.

The stairs creaked under Tom's weight. He wondered what the older man was going to do, and it was with a sudden shock that he remembered the stranger that had come home with Tom. Was he still there? Had he ever even left? He cast his mind back, trying to remember Tom leading the man out, but the space where that should've been was blank. Had Harry really become so lost in Tom that he'd forgotten the stranger sitting, waiting downstairs whilst he sucked Tom's cock?

He tensed more and more with every thought that passed through his mind. With the way the bed was placed, his back was facing the doorway. And as he heard Tom make his way back up to the first floor, accompanied by a second person, he became increasingly aware of how the first thing this man would see was his arse, slicked open and pushed high, ready to be fucked. It made him tremble, the thought that some stranger would see him so vulnerable, so open, and that this voyeurism would be by Tom's own hand. A confusing feeling for sure - he wasn't entirely certain as to whether he felt more ashamed, or more proud that Tom thought him good enough to show off, impressive enough to share.

The man entered the room and inhaled sharply, audibly. Tom laughed low in his throat, and murmured "isn't he as beautiful as I promised?" He walked straight over the Harry, pulling his legs apart demonstratingly and pushing a thumb into his arse without warning. Harry cried out, and the stranger laughed as if confronted with something he found very pleasing.

"Indeed you did, Mr Riddle," he admitted. His voice was softer than Tom's, like it was used to kinder words, but also ruthless in the way Tom's profession required. Harry heard him walk over to the bed, sit down beside him and bend over until his shadow fell over Harry's face. "I should have known you'd never disappoint me," he added, as if the closer view had cemented his favourable opinion.

Tom chuckled, pleased. He sat himself behind Harry, his crotch pushing at Harry's arse. Harry realised he was still clothed - that both of them were probably clothed, and that he was completely naked in comparison. A small part of him wanted them to fuck him like that.

Instead, he tried to turn his head to look at the stranger. He was wearing slacks and an office shirt, just like Tom usually did, but his blazer was missing and his tie loose enough to slip over his head without effort. Harry couldn't quite see his face, but he could tell the man had dark hair that curled around his face prettily.

He was distracted by the sound of Tom taking off his shirt, and flushed when he realised he'd been eyeing a man other than his lover in front of his lover. Of course, the circumstances were rather odd, but nonetheless the realisation that he'd been checking out another person so shamelessly while Tom watched on made him want to hide his face.

"Oh Harry," Tom said, as if he knew exactly what Harry was thinking. "Did you think I'd ever let someone undeserving see you like this?" And then, "introduce yourself then."

For a second Harry thought Tom was talking to him, and even opened his mouth to reply, but then the man was pulling his cock out of his pants and pressing it just between his lips, saying "hello" like they were meeting over coffee, like he wasn't spread naked in front of a stranger like a whore.

The man paused a second, as if looking to Tom for permission, before he began gently pushing in and out of Harry's mouth. "I'm Cedric," he said, fucking his mouth slowly, never pushing in more than a few inches. "But you, sweet boy, can call me Mr Diggory."

And then he let Harry rest his cheek on his thigh, mouth full of cock, and stroked his cheek like he was a pet. "We ought to respect our elders, after all."

Tom agreed. "Yes," he said, "he's always such a darling. Let's me do anything I'd ever want, isn't that right Harry?"

Cedric pulled Harry away so that he could nod, his mouth feeling surprisingly empty. "Yes sir," he answered. He surprised himself with how hoarse it was. Tom seemed pleased, and rewarded him by pressing the tip of his dick to Harry's arse.

"I suppose that you'd like me to fuck you now," he purred. "One dick's not enough, is it?" He pushed in some, pressing inside just enough to make him whine at the stretch.

"Tom," he moaned, and realised his mistake when Tom pulled back out to slap his arse hard. He cried out at the sting, Mr Diggory's dick pressed to his mouth, and said "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please fuck me sir."

Tom bent over him until his chest pressed against every part of Harry's back. "I don't think you want it badly enough, Harry," he whispered. In a flurry of movement he pulled Harry up, sitting him over his dick but not on it so that it pressed along the line of his arse. Mr Diggory moved to take off his shirt, revealing beautiful golden skin over hard muscle, and when Tom pulled Harry's legs to spread over his own, he realised his lover had stripped his own off too whilst he'd been distracted.

He slid his erection along the cleft of Harry's arse with purpose, teasing him. "I know you like a dick in your mouth Harry," he was saying, "I know you like sucking cock more than perhaps anything. But I don't think you deserve it." He beckoned at Mr Diggory to come closer until his chest was pressed against Harry's own, until they both surrounded him like a vice, blocking off escape, until there was nothing in the world except them pressed against him.

"I think I'd rather see you stuffed, anyway." Tom's voice was dark with promise, with wicked intentions. Harry's breath stuttered in his chest, and he groped back desperately for Tom, his hands reaching despite being tied up. He managed a hold on Tom's bicep, tenuous and weak but comforting. Grounding. Tom pressed his nose into his neck, just above the line if his collar, and pulled his legs up and apart to reveal his hole to Mr Diggory's eyes.

He'd never felt so exposed before - not really. Mr Diggory took advantage of his position easily and without shame. "Well, if you insist," he laughed, as if Harry had offered himself up on a platter, and for a split second Harry thought that he probably laughed like that in the office as well. The image made him oddly flustered, that he could see Mr Diggory in public laughing the same laugh he did when he sat between Harry's legs.

Mr Diggory dragged the tip of his dick down Harry's hole, and when Harry tried to push forward eagerly Tom held him still. "You'll get what you are given," he said, a command. "Not an inch more."

And then, pressing his lips to Harry's ear like it was a secret, he whispered, "and not an inch less."

Mr Diggory didn't fuck him. Instead, Tom pushed in without preamble, thrusting in all the way until Harry sat, full with Tom's cock. He cried out, his eyes wide, and Mr Diggory laughed when his eyes burned.

"I bet you've taken that and more," he said. "You won't get any sympathy from me, not even if you blink your pretty eyes at me like that." His mouth was suddenly closer, close enough that their lips touched when he spoke. A part of Harry wanted to fall forward and kiss him - after all, Mr Diggory had very pretty lips, but Tom's teeth dug into his nape like he was some kind of animal, and Harry knew a warning when he felt it.

"Cedric, dear friend," Tom called, his voice sharp. "Won't you help Harry?"

Mr Diggory's smile became a little more fixed, a little less real. His hands, when they curled about his hips, were less than kind, and Harry was sure he'd have bruises there by the morning. He didn't reply, but lifted Harry up slowly, steadily - like he was a doll and not a fully grown adult. He lifted him up, until only the head of Tom's dick remained pushing his arse open, and then fucked him down.

He whined loudly, wanting more of the burn, the weight of Tom inside him, the mouth on his skin. He wanted Tom to leave marks all over him, so that tomorrow not an inch of his naked body remained unsullied. Cedric pulled him up again, fucking him down faster and harder until they were both panting, their mouths close together, their eyes locked onto one another's.

He felt himself rising, his arse tightening around Tom's dick like a vice. He was going to come, he just needed one more push, one more brush of his cock against Mr Diggory's stomach but-

Tom's hands fell over Mr Diggory's and stopped his movement, so completely that Harry remained frozen where he was halfway down Tom's cock. "I promised you more, didn't I?" Tom let go again, and though Harry tried to fall back down, Cedric remained frozen where he'd been left. His dick curved, hard and angry and drooling, up towards his stomach. It was beautiful, and Harry wanted it back in his mouth but he knew, as Tom spread him open again, that he wasn't going to get it. He knew, even as he refused to admit it, what Tom's plans for the afternoon were.

Mr Diggory pressed closer, and his cock pushed at Harry's already full hole. Harry's breath caught in his chest, uncertain whether he was afraid or eager or just reluctant. He already felt so full, his hole so stretched - how could he take any more without just ripping in two? How could he possibly fit a second, rather sizable dick inside himself without tearing?

And yet there was an odd hunger inside him, an empty, wretched mouth greedy for more. He wanted to be wrecked, wanted to feel like he'd been taken apart and put back together the way Tom wanted him to be, the way he'd been intended for. He wanted to ache for days and days afterwards, to be reminded with every step of the way that Tom had shared him, and yet still owned him as completely as he owned his own breaths.

So when Mr Diggory pushed inside, stretching him impossibly, making him feel like he'd shatter, he begged for more. He pushed his head into the space between Tom's shoulder and neck and bared his own in the process, showing off his collar as he pleaded "more, more, fuck me harder, oh I'm so full of you." He pushed his heels into Mr Diggory's back, and sobbed overwhelmed cries into Tom's skin.

It hurt deliciously. Tom grinned into his hair, pleased, and then kissed Harry full on the mouth for it. "I knew you could take it," he said, his voice oddly breathy. Harry thrilled at the thought that he too might be overwhelmed, that Harry was making him sound that way.

And then Mr Diggory slipped all the way in, his erection pressing tightly against Tom's inside the clenching of his body, and Tom said "you're perfect, my sweet boy," and he said "I've never known a slut as hungry for cock as you are."

His eyes were wet with tears and they kept coming, his chest aching from the way he couldn't breathe properly, his stomach so full it felt like he'd burst with the weight inside him. Mr Diggory fucked into him slowly, shallow thrusts that made Tom hiss in pleasure and made Harry's arse twinge, and when his shoulders shook and Harry realised he was wailing.

Mr Diggory's eyes were wide, a surprisingly naked amazement in them. His thumbs wiped at the tears on Harry's skin softly, like they were doing from gold, and he made to lick at the wetness. His tongue was pink, his eyes warm, but even as Harry watched with an odd anticipation, Tom's fingers wrapped around Mr Diggory's wrist slowly. From the way Mr Diggory's eyes darkened , the way his mouth turned at the corners, Harry knew Tom wasn't looking away. He pulled Mr Diggory's hand towards himself, over Harry's shoulder - and even as Harry watched with hooded eyes - licked at the skin there.

Mr Diggory's hips gave an involuntary thrust as he did. Harry could see why - nobody could resist Tom like this, his lips wet and his hair tousled. Not even someone like Mr Diggory, who most likely held a sort of detached, polite respect for Tom but no fondness. Tom had that effect on people, after all. He was handsome, beautiful, and not even his enemies could resist him when he smiled at them just so. He was magnetic even as he was cruel, objectively careless, his stare dispassionate as he judged those around him coldly.

And yet, nobody except for him had ever seen his Tom like this - lips red from biting them, cock hard and slick and eager for Harry. Nobody had ever seen the way he closed his eyes when he came, the way his voice went all rough when he fucked, the filth that spewed out of his mouth when Harry pleased him - nobody but Harry, and yet this man was not only allowed to watch, he was allowed to make that happen. He was allowed to push his cock tight against Tom's, make him shudder with every thrust, make eyes at him and watch him come undone. It should make Harry jealous, he thought. It should make him want Mr Diggory gone.

And yet, as Harry watched Mr Diggory's mouth fall open, as he watched the man's hand tremble in Tom's grasp, he felt oddly proud. He felt pleased, watching the effect that Tom had on his co-worker, like it proved something. Like the idea of Mr Diggory knowing exactly what he would be missing was gratifying.

He leant forward and pushed his mouth into Mr Diggory's.

He kissed beautifully, Harry thought, perhaps as if to match his beautiful mouth. He licked into Harry's mouth and pushed against Harry's tongue, and moved his lips like it was an art form. Harry imagined he could kiss Mr Diggory lazily, for hours without tiring. The thought was unbearably domestic, romantic, and it made Harry flush with shameful want.

He couldn't think about this now.

Tom's grip tightened around his waist, his nails sharp on sensitive skin, but he didn't stop Harry. Instead he bit at Harry's neck, painting a line along the bottom of his collar like it was a stencil. He began moving, steady, his hips pumping in and out of Harry, but though he couldn't reach like before the sheer fullness, the pressure and friction, made Harry cry out into Mr Diggory's mouth.

He laughed, and began moving as well. It felt messy, like it didn't matter so much how they moved except that they moved, that the pushed themselves as deep as they could into Harry like it was some kind of competition. Harry felt like they'd imprint themselves into his body, together, so that he'd never again be able to forget what it was like to be stuffed to the brim.

He ached with the pressure, his limbs loose and wide and his face a mess of tears and flushed skin and bruised lips. He leaned back and mouthed at Tom's jaw, at the soft skin just under the bone, pushing himself down like he'd die if Tom didn't give it to him right now. "Oh please sir," he whined softly, sweetly, like he knew Tom liked. "Oh give it to me," because he knew he'd only be allowed to come after Tom had. Instead, Tom grabbed his collar from the back, pushing his fingers between leather and skin until it was tight around the front of his throat, until his breathing became shallower.

Tom fucked him harder, Mr Diggory moving in tandem, leaving Harry to gasp until he felt his vision going dark. His body felt like it was on hyper alert, like he could feel every inch of dick as it dragged against his insides. His body throbbed in every place Tom had scratched him, every place his teeth had pushed marks into his skin, and he felt dizzy with the delicious, burning ache of it. Distantly, he realised that his face was wet with tears anew, that his mouth and chin were wet with spit, but he couldn't focus on anything but the intense pressure inside his head. His eyes rolled back in his head, his mouth open desperately for oxygen, and then Tom let go.

The sudden rush of air felt like an abrupt sort of freedom, like he hadn't quite realised how heavy the weight on his throat had gotten. He gulped at it greedily, and when his eyes adjusted to the sunlight in the room he saw Mr Diggory, smiling widely - almost gleefully.

"Never done that before, Riddle?" he asked, never slowing the movement of his hips. Harry was just his insides were battered by now. He was sure his cock must be turning purple from lack of touch.

Tom moved his head just so, making it so that Harry's brow would push into the side if his neck. "Just so, Diggory," he replied. "I think I might try it more often, explore it properly sometime." And then, turning his head so that his chin pushed into Harry remembered, said, "what do you think?"

Harry tilted his neck, pressed soft and desperate kissed into Tom's collarbone like they were offerings, like they were little prayers. "Please," me mumbled, then louder, "please."

And well, Tom was a man after all, weak to Harry's wet, teary eyes and his desperate voice begging for his seed. He fucked into Harry harder, until it felt like he was just a ragdoll being moved as Tom pleased. Mr Diggory sped up too, and when Tom came the man growled - surprisingly aggressive - and moved him off their dicks to bend Harry over Tom's thigh.

Then he pushed in again, his every thrust slick with Tom's come, the sound of his fucking so very filthy that Harry wanted to cry again. "You're so loose," Tom laughed, and petted him softly like his words weren't meant to be sharp, merely truthful. Like he couldn't help if Harry was a little tart. "I wonder how my friend here is even supposed to get off with you so used."

Harry whined, his mouth opening around the skin of Tom's thigh and sucking, biting, as if it were a twisted comfort of some sort. Tom laughed again, even as Mr Diggory became more eager to reach his orgasm. "What's the use of you, if you can't even help my friends lose a little steam?" he asked. "You're so sloppy, darling, such a mess. How do you suppose to get him off?"

And Harry tried to clench, tried to tighten around Mr Diggory, but he felt so loose, so open, that it felt like he'd never be able to forget it.

He felt so very messy, Tom's come dripping out of him with every thrust of Mr Diggory's hips. He sped up until Harry was letting out a constant "uh, uh, uh" with every thrust, and yet still he couldn't come.

Eventually, frustrated with being so close, Mr Diggory pulled out and wrapped his fingers around his own cock, his hand moving furiously. Harry barely had time to look back, confused, before Mr Diggory was coming all over his back.

He wanked himself even through his own orgasm, painting Harry's hips and arse and upper thighs for several long moments before he was finally done. All Harry could think of was how attractive he looked with red high in his cheeks.

Mr Diggory smiled at him, rather hazily, and leaned back into the pillows somewhere behind him. Tom also relaxed, looking for all the world like he was done. His eyes began to close, and his hand slowed where it petted Harry's hair.

Had they forgotten about him? He waited for Tom to give him permission to come, to reach down and touch him - just once, just enough to let him come, but no. The man just lay there, looking for all the world like he was done for the evening.

Harry couldn't help it. He sat up, pushed his cheek into Tom's shoulder, and whined.

Immediately, Tom's lips widened in a wicked smirk, as if he'd been waiting for Harry to give in. One eye slipped open teasingly, and then the other, so that Tom was looking at him lazily. "If you want to get off, my darling boy, you'll need to do it yourself." He gestured at his thigh magnanimously, as if he was doing Harry an honour. "I suppose I can let you use my leg."

And what a beautiful leg it was, perfectly muscled, hard and thick. Even as he grew older, Tom had worked to maintain his strength and abilities. The result was a thigh that Harry could easily straddle, his cock pushing against the soft skin and hard muscle deliciously.

He thrust, his hips sliding a little uncomfortably until he was pushing hard, the friction heavenly against this poor cock. He fucked himself against Tom's thigh like a dog in heat, and when he felt himself starting to come he dared to press a kiss into the corner of Tom's lazy smirk.

His lover wrapped a strong, warm hand around his left hip, his thumb moving in circles, and Harry came all over his thigh with every muscle straining.

Immediately after, Harry fell against Tom's shoulder, and it was in this sleepy daze that he felt himself being cleaned up, his collar slipped of his neck and his arms untied easily. Tom lay him down and let him curl close, tucked between two warm bodies of men both older and bigger than him. He remembered thinking, vaguely, that it was surprising Mr Diggory was allowed to stay. Tom didn't seem the sort to let a temporary partner stay, though of course he couldn't say this with any certainty - this was, after all, their first encounter of the sort.

And yet Mr Diggory was in their bed, his arms around Harry and his hand pushed between Tom's arm and side, and Harry imagine what it might be like to wake up to Mr Diggory tomorrow. He wondered what it might be like to wake up to Mr Diggory after that, again and again. He wondered what it might be like to have dinner sometime, the three of them, and he found he rather liked the idea of that.