Author's Note: Hmmm… I'm going to dedicate this to Insanely-Yours96, Candy3314 and meghan moloney. Why? 'Tis my whim.
Warnings: Slash, non-Slash (Hetero), Abuse, AU, anything else I don't consider worth warning you over…
Disclaimer: I'm a pirate. I take what I want.
Tom wasn't happy. Why? Because Harry had said he would be out with his professor, his very eligible male professor, for an hour at most, and yet four hours later, Tom was still alone. He wasn't stupid enough to think that he wasn't jealous. Tom had felt the burning emotion many times as a child. Before, he had felt it because others had what he wanted. Now… Now, he wasn't sure.
The door opened. Nearly red eyes glared at the new opening.
"Have fun?" His voice was darker than usual, Tom knew. Harry pursed his lips, drawing Tom's eyes but not lessening his irritation.
"Yeah. I did." There was a pause as Harry took off his jacket and placed it on the coat rack by the door. "I'm seeing him again on Friday." Seeing. Not meeting. A low growl rumbled in Tom's chest.
"Are you doing this to make me jealous?" Harry didn't like to admit it, but he wasn't a stranger to manipulating people. Green eyes immediately narrowed.
"Are you really so self-centered as to think that I would string someone along just to get your attention?" The words were biting, and Tom curled his fingers into a fist. Harry was the only person he didn't have complete control around.
"You don't honestly expect me to believe you're interested in him." There was no question in Tom's voice. He could always tell when Harry was lying and the younger man knew it. Harry took a step toward Tom before stopping, apparently unwilling to play Tom's game to its fullest.
"I could grow to like him. He's nice and sincerely cares about me." Harry seemed sure about this, but Tom knew that he was missing something. It wasn't as though he didn't realize that he couldn't offer Harry genuine care. Tom was well aware of his limits. But he could make Harry feel like he cared. He could make Harry love him. Green eyes glared, emeralds burning brighter than any fire Tom had seen before. Unless…
"You care about me already though." Tom felt nearly shaken by his own words. Something about Harry caring specifically for him made an odd feeling well up in his chest. Even more so since he knew he was right. The way green eyes dilated and focused completely on Tom; the way full lips parted slightly as though to defend their owner- Tom knew he had hit the nail on the head.
"Like hell." Harry had never been able to lie to him. Not once.
"You do." Tom's voice was deep and smooth, enticing whoever dared to listen. By the light shiver Harry's body unconsciously gave, he was sure that Harry was no different. Slowly, as though approaching an easily frightened animal, Tom stood from his seat and made to move towards Harry, who predictably tensed. "It's obvious that you're interested in me. Why are you still resisting?" Not quite obvious, but there was no reason to let Harry know that. The tenseness turned aggressive, and Tom waited for what was sure to be something he wouldn't approve of.
"Because it's you we're talking about." Harry steeled himself, and Tom narrowed his eyes. "You don't care about me, Tom." Tom. The name had never sounded so sorrowful, and for the first time, Tom wished Harry had went back to using Riddle. "You won't ever care about me, and that's not good enough." Green stared intensely into red-brown. "I'm seeing him again on Friday. Go bother Draco or something." And then Harry walked away, shutting the door to his bedroom quietly behind him.
Tom stared at the door. Why did Harry always insist on doing things Tom didn't approve of? Harry liked him. Romantically. He was sure of that. So, what was the problem? Why, when all of his work was finally coming to fruition, was Harry choosing someone else? Tom felt like he was going to be sick. His body sank back into the couch, chin resting on his palm as he stared contemplatively at the wall.
What next?
(***Iridescent***)
Harry despised how much he had wanted to give in to his boss' advances. Too much. If it hadn't been for that comment—that damn, self-serving comment suggesting that Harry was lowly enough to manipulate another human being's deepest emotions for his own personal gain – he might have actually given in. It was ridiculous, and Harry hated himself for caring so much.
But he couldn't help it. Harry felt safe around Tom. Maybe it was because the other man completely overpowered him, and therefore anything that Harry couldn't handle, Tom could. Maybe it was because Tom didn't have an ulterior motive. He wanted Harry because he wanted Harry; nothing more or less. Harry leaned against the door as his stomach growled. All he had digested since lunch was coffee, and it wasn't good enough. Green eyes clenched shut as Harry tried to remember the better parts of the day. He and Snape really had gotten along fascinatingly well. And Harry was sure that if they kept at it for long enough, he could learn to like the other man. He could get over Tom.
Couldn't he?
Harry forwent his angry stomach and laid down in bed, not bothering to change or bathe, instead simply closing his eyes and going to sleep.
When he woke up the next morning, it was to the smell of pancakes, and Harry's brows furrowed as he unlocked his door and moved to the kitchen. Tom sat at the table, shirtless with low-riding pajama pants, drinking a glass of red wine which Harry hated to admit brought out his eyes. Long, elegant fingers reached out to push a plate of perfectly round, golden brown pancakes towards Harry.
"I can do the caring boyfriend thing, too." As always, Tom wasn't shy about his intentions, probably knowing that any lie would only push him further from his goal. Harry looked at the pancakes, and he was suddenly glad that they weren't out of some sense of love and care. He enjoyed not mirroring his aunt and uncle's relationship with their overdone show of love. He liked how straightforward everything was and that neither of them felt the need to put forth any more effort than they felt was necessary. There was no faux love in the air; only what they really felt.
Harry took a seat at the table.
"You're right." The words tasted terrible on Harry's tongue, and he tried to wash them down with a bite of pancake, which Harry hated to say tasted amazing. "I do like you." Tom's eyes dilated, and the smoldering look sent towards Harry got him hotter than he wanted to admit. "But I'm not going to give into you. You can't just expect me to become your play thing, and—" Tom quickly interrupted him.
"What I like about you is your insufferable defiance. No one ever goes against me, Harry. No one but you, and that makes me want to pin you down until your protests are moans and those sharp claws you keep using to push me away are buried just as deeply into my back as I am into you." Harry opened his mouth to object, but Tom kept going. "You affect me more deeply than anyone else I have ever encountered, and I want to rip you away from my being just as much as I want to pull you closer. I honestly don't care what you want or think about our relationship. You will be mine, Harry James Potter." There was so much truth – so much desire – so much conviction in Tom's voice that, for a full minute, Harry didn't doubt the words in the slightest.
"I don't want to be your play thing—"
"Then don't." Tom's words stopped Harry cold, and the other man leaned back in his seat, setting his empty wine glass down and folding his hands over his taught, muscular abs. "Don't be my play thing. Date me. Be my boyfriend." Harry blinked at the half-offer, half demand. Well, it wasn't the absolute rudest way he had been asked out… "I can provide you with everything you could ever want or need." Tom couldn't comprehend why Harry wouldn't be with him.
"You couldn't love me." Tom himself had counted out the possibility many, many months ago.
"Why do I need to? I accept you. I don't give a damn about your past, and I won't judge you for what you do in the future. Isn't that enough?" Suddenly, Harry realized that Tom was offering what the other man had always wanted. It wasn't about giving Harry what Harry needed. It was about giving him what Tom had always craved. He was offering the only thing he thought was worthwhile. Harry's heartbeat quickened, and he had to force himself to remember who was in front of him. Tom knew how he would perceive this. He was smart enough to manipulate Harry without trouble. There was no reason for Harry to believe that Tom had just randomly decided to pour his heart out.
But there was also no reason for him to lie. He knew that if he slipped up, Harry would be gone in an instant. Then again, it wasn't exactly 'pouring his heart out' as much as it was trying to rationalize with Harry.
"It's…" He wasn't asking Tom to love him. Just like him. People had to at least like each other to date. "I do like you, but we just wouldn't work, Tom." He had to see that. Red-brown eyes narrowed.
"If you won't date me, at least let me take you on a date. Any decision you make after that will be accepted." Harry stared at his boss.
"Really?" His voice was skeptic, and Tom's blank expression didn't change.
"No." Harry sighed. Of course the man wouldn't give up if things didn't go well.
"How much of that was actually true?" If Tom was willing to give up on that lie, maybe he would give up any others. Broad shoulders shrugged.
"Most of it." Tom was casual; sensual, and calm. Harry scoffed and leaned back in his own chair, picking up another pancake and taking a bite out of it in the process.
"Most of it?" He was calling Tom out on his lie, and the older man smirked, clearly pleased with the banter they had easily fallen back into.
"Enough of it." So, basically anywhere from a single word being a lie to every word but one being a lie. Harry shook his head. Surely he was a masochist for enjoying these conversations.
"Fine. One date." He could afford to skip school for a one day. This date would be the deciding factor. Whether or not he could get over Tom in a short amount of time. Whether or not they could remain friends without Harry falling farther for the awful man. Tom's perfectly straight, perfectly white, perfectly sharp teeth made themselves known, and Harry couldn't remember the last time he had seen either a more sinister or more seductive grin. Long legs brought Tom to a standing position, and Harry's eyes were drawn to a taught stomach and the beginnings of a pronounced 'V' which looked far more tempting than it probably should have.
The soft, low-riding pants looked far too easy to take off at that point, and Harry knew for a fact that Tom preferred to sleep without boxers. Green eyes trailed back up, not missing the wonderfully shaped muscles of Tom's abdomen or the way his nipples perked up slightly from the cold. Even more of those perfectly tantalizing teeth and eventually stunning crimson-chocolate met admiring emeralds, and Harry cocked a brow.
"I can look, can't I?" Just because Harry didn't want to touch the man didn't make him unattractive. Long legs brought Tom's tall form to Harry, and the older man leaned over so that he and Harry were nose-to-nose.
"You can touch, too, you know." Tom took Harry's hand in his own, leading it from the top of a broad shoulder down over a pert nipple, past rippled abs, and to a final stop with fingers dipping just beneath loose pajama pants. Harry took a moment to realize that his previous assumption was correct about Tom not having any boxers on before pulling his hand out of the suddenly light grasp. A deep chuckle reverberated through Tom's chest, warm breath ghosting over Harry's lips, and the older man easily pulled away to go get ready. Harry forced himself not to stare at the elder male as he stood to do the same.
When Harry put on his black muscle shirt with the forest green stripe down the left side and dark blue jeans, he would admit that he was dressing to impress. The jeans were loose-fitting enough as not to strain him and tight enough to accentuate his ass and legs. The shirt did just as its name suggested it would, making sure his muscles were clearly seen and making a show of the difference between his waist and torso. Sharp looking black tennis shoes (courtesy of Tom, actually, when he said that Harry's worn-down converse weren't good enough to step into his office) adorned his feet. His black hair looked even more windswept than usual, but there was nothing that Harry could do about that aspect of him. His scar was perfectly covered, and Harry smiled at his reflection before leaving the room.
As soon as he did, he turned to go down the hallway and stopped in his tracks. However nice he looked, he wasn't on the same level as Tom. The taller man had a blood red V-neck on that showed off black chest hairs and accentuated almost incredibly broad shoulders. While Harry's pants were a darker royal blue, Tom's pants were so dark a blue that they almost seemed black, and Tom's legs looked nearly endless. His hair was perfectly adjusted to fall around brown-red orbs which were brought out almost too well by his shirt, and Harry's libido wasn't sure whether he preferred this gorgeous, well-dressed Tom or the half-naked, easily undressable Tom.
"We could stay in, you know." Dress up just to stay indoors and rip each other's clothes off? Not the worst idea his flatmate had come up with, but still not something Harry was willing to go for.
"You backing out?" Harry was taunting him, and the older male smirked before grabbing his set of keys off of the table by the door. Harry followed Tom without comment, barely reacting when he opened the door to a sleek white corvette instead of his previous green mustang. Harry had long since gotten used to the man's need to change cars every two weeks or so. "You know, I actually really like this one." It was sleek, and the purr of the engine starting sent an undeniable thrill through Harry's veins. It wasn't like when Bellatrix was driving and Harry feared for his safety, the car's safety, and Tom's reaction. Now, it was safe and exhilarating, and if anything happened, Tom would take full responsibility. Now, it was electrifying.
"Want it?" The car peeled easily out of the long driveway and hummed beneath them, and Harry could have laughed at the incredulity of knowing that Tom was completely serious. In fact, he did laugh at it.
"No thanks. Wouldn't want you to have to put more than one car in your driveway at a time." When Tom decided he wanted a different car, he didn't keep the old one and start driving another; he discarded the previous one entirely.
"The garage has two places just in case I ever found a car particularly liked. You can use it until I find that car." He sounded casual, and Harry cracked an amused smirk, admiring the way that the wind whipped hair out of Tom's face and the way the aviators glinted in the sunlight.
"And when you find said car?" The aviators tilted towards Harry at the question, and Harry caught a glimpse of dangerously intelligent orbs before they disappeared again.
"You should be finished with this car by then. Borrow a different one." As though giving expensive sports cars away was nothing. Well, it probably wasn't anything for Tom, but even without the need to manage his money wisely, Tom knew the value of it.
"Again, thanks but no thanks." He wasn't about to take anything from Tom that he didn't have to. The car slowed to a stop, and Tom removed his aviators, hooking them easily to the rearview mirror as he took the key from the ignition. His hair fell perfectly back into place, looking nothing like Harry's own messy locks.
"Fine, but if you change your mind, it won't take much convincing for me to give it to you." Harry looked over the car's top to meet Riddle's lustful gaze, and he suddenly knew that it would probably be a win-win situation trying to get the car at a later date. Tom walked around the front of the sleek vehicle to stand in front of Harry, chest only inches away from Harry's own. "You could convince me now." His voice was sultry, and Harry rolled his eyes without thinking about it.
"Riddle." It was a warning, albeit a light one, and the man smirked, giving Harry the impression that the reprimand was what he was going for. The elder man held out a large, calloused hand.
"Shall we?" Harry brushed passed the offered hand to take a look at their surroundings. It was ten in the morning, and they were in a dank, broken down part of the city. It certainly wasn't the prissy, upscale place that Harry had been expecting Tom to attempt to impress him with, but it wasn't a turn-off either. In fact, Harry's curiosity was officially piqued.
"Where are we?" The neighborhood wasn't familiar to Harry. Buildings were practically falling apart, their once nice paint chipped and yellowed with boards covering broken windows. Some houses even had holes in the roofs. "It looks like this place has been condemned." Grass was either completely dead or overgrown, depending on the yard, and trash littered the streets. Tom stopped in front of the flattened remains of what must have been a rather large home but had been torn down long ago.
"It has been. I had it condemned as soon as I had enough power to." He kicked at an eroded piece of concrete. "This is the orphanage I grew up in." And suddenly Harry saw a lot more importance in their trip. This wreckage of a building was where Tom Marvolo Riddle had grown up, hating everyone around him and perfecting his persona so that he could successfully do as he pleased in the future. Getting into fights and tricking the world into thinking that he was the epitome of flawlessness. Green eyes traveled over the rubble to Tom.
"Are you appealing to my sympathetic side by taking me to the horror site of your childhood?" Well, Harry never thought he would say that.
"Yes." Tom unabashedly pointed out his intentions, and Harry turned back to the rubble.
"Good move." It was cunning, conniving, and working. Harry felt connected with Tom now more than ever, and looking over the ruins of Tom's childhood, he wanted nothing more than to sit down and learn more. Everything about Tom both infuriated and entranced Harry further. The man was absolutely brilliant at basically everything, undeniably handsome, and Harry felt (for whatever God forsaken reason) safe with him. At the same time, Tom was a narcissistic asshole who wanted to fuck Harry and adored getting on his nerves. There was no question that sometimes Tom purposefully instigated their arguments. In fact, quite a few times Harry had caught him doing things directly after finding out that they annoyed the younger male. There was no attempt at subtlety.
But maybe that was why Harry found him so attractive. The manipulative bastard was straightforward, as contradictive as it sounded. He kept Harry on his toes, and if he managed to manipulate Harry than it was Harry's own fault because Tom had made it clear that was what he was trying to do from the very beginning. A small sigh escaped Harry's lips.
"You know, I really don't like being wrong." A firm chest touched Harry's back, indicating just how close the other man was standing, before Tom responded.
"What were you wrong about?" Harry didn't lean back into the feather-light touch, knowing that it would be seen as consent to what was going on between them.
"Narcissistic asshole is my type." Harry could practically hear the wolfish grin that he was sure Tom was sporting. "I'm still not dating you though." And then Harry pulled away, leaving Tom and his childhood home behind. Tom's goal had been accomplished, and Harry liked the scene too much to stay. He didn't want to be here until Tom wanted him to know more. He didn't want to intrude on such a personal aspect just because Tom knew it would score him empathy points. The chuckle that followed Harry's statement was deep and rich, and Harry was fairly sure it was the first genuine laugh he had heard from the man. Ignoring the way that laugh brought the phoenixes in his tummy back to life, Harry got in the car. It was going to be a long day.
Tom slid easily into the driver's seat, his long legs bending to fit into the sleek vehicle in a way that really shouldn't have affected Harry. A smirk sat easily on his lips, and Harry looked contemplatively out the window passed Tom's head. He didn't bother questioning their next destination, knowing that the older man wouldn't tell him.
And when the car slid into a parking spot in front of a tall, ritzy looking building, Harry wasn't sure whether he was surprised or not. He had expected this from the beginning, yes, but Tom had seemed so insightful just minutes earlier.
"Stop judging and just enjoy yourself." Harry scowled at the order. Fine. If the man wanted to show off how rich he was, Harry wouldn't ruin his fun. He'd purposefully order the most expensive thing on the menu. In fact, he'd order the most expensive dessert, too. How much would Tom appreciate that?
…Apparently, Tom didn't care in the slightest. In fact, he seemed rather amused at Harry's poor attempt to spend too much and even more amused when the food Harry ordered turned out to be, much to Harry's displeasure, absolutely amazing. The steak was tender enough that he almost didn't need a knife, and if the sides got and more well-seasoned, Harry might have assumed an angel cooked it. And then the dessert! Harry would admit it: plan be damned, he didn't even look at the price. And the molten fudge cake with vanilla bean ice cream was more than worth it. It didn't help that their topic of conversation while eating was stimulating. Tom showed an impressive knowledge of government workings and lesser-known music genres alike.
While they were waiting on the check, Tom stood, giving Harry an expectant look. With a responding look of inquiry, Harry stood along with him, following Tom to a lesser populated part of the restaurant that looked almost like a…
"A museum?" There were impressive paintings and sculptures throughout the room, but Harry wasn't entirely sure why Tom wanted him to see this. He could admire art, yes, but it wasn't really his thing. Tom just kept walking, leading Harry to a small, dark room with a clearly marked "Exhibit Closed" sign. Harry tossed him an incredulous look.
"Come on." Tom easily slipped under the chain and sign, and Harry looked around to see that they were alone before whispering loudly at his date.
"Tom… Tom, what are you—Riddle!" Seeing that Tom wasn't stopping and if anyone walked in, he was going to look suspicious, Harry cursed and ducked under the sign himself.
The room had no lights on, and Harry looked around for his larger counterpart. Tom looked (discouragingly) good even in the dark, and Harry found himself remembering times when that firm body was pressed much too close to his own. As quickly and quietly as he could, Harry moved to stand beside of Tom, ready to voice his irritations. Unfortunately, he couldn't do that. Not with what Tom was trying to show him.
"Oh my God. Is that what I think it is?" Of course it was. Harry peered closer at the large painting of the large woman. Beneath the frame was the clear caption: The Fat Lady. It was the painting that guarded the Gryffindor Common Room in the Misadventures of Neville Longbottom. Harry was sure of it! He stared at the detail of the picture in near awe before turning to Tom. "Did you… did you do this for me?" Did he somehow find the picture and get it accepted onto the restaurant/museum's list so that he could show it to Harry now? Tom smirked idly.
"And I'm the conceited one?" As though the answer was a definite no. Harry stared at Tom.
It really would be easy to just give in. To let Tom have what he wanted. It would be easy to pretend that Tom really cared about him and that their relationship wasn't purely based on physical attraction. For as long as Harry held Tom's interest, he could pretend that their relationship was the real deal, and he could be happy. He could feel safe and useful and confident in himself and not-like-a-freak. It would be so incredibly easy.
But Harry knew he couldn't do that. He couldn't pretend for long because the truth would plague him until he acknowledged it and make everything all the worse. So, Harry decided on the only option he would be able to live with: He was going to finish his date with Tom. He was going to ignore the future for the rest of the day and enjoy this date as though they could actually have a future together. Tomorrow, he could figure out what to do about distancing himself from Tom. Today though…
Today.
Harry closed the two feet of space between them and pressed Tom against the wall, narrowly avoiding the long, tall table on the right side of them and the Fat Lady on their left.
"Yes, you are." Harry threaded his hand in Tom's hair and pulled the man down for a searing kiss. He continued breathlessly between kisses. "But I called you," Tom nipped none too gently at his bottom lip, "arrogant," Harry tilted his head farther to the right both to give Tom a better angle at his mouth and to get a better shot at Tom's, "not conceited." Tom flipped them, Harry's back tingling from the pain of slamming against the bricks, the feeling somehow intensifying the pleasure.
"I know." The words were whispered hotly, and Tom's hands moved from lightly massaging Harry's lower back beneath his shirt to tightly gripping where Harry's ass met his thighs. The grip was tight, and Harry knew he wouldn't be able to get out of it if he tried. A low moan slipped out of Harry's mouth without his consent, and Harry felt his groin pressing harshly against Tom's own. Their mutual arousal was unapologetic, at best, and Harry barely registered the sound of the chain at the entrance rattling. Luckily, Tom somehow kept his wits about him and moved quickly, practically picking Harry up and sliding them under the table, the only thing saving them from being discovered the long tapestry draped over the table.
On one hand, Harry new that Tom didn't care to be discovered and had hidden them purely for Harry's sake. They weren't supposed to be in the room in the first place, and if that wasn't embarrassing enough, Harry's hard-on wasn't likely to vanish at the drop of a hat. Especially with the way he was positioned provocatively on top of Tom, their nether regions pressed sharply against each other and chests nearly touching. On the other hand, how the hell was hiding under a table, hidden by a tapestry any better a situation than getting caught?
Two voices entered the room, both whispering.
"Now, we aren't supposed to be in here, obviously, but I knew you would like it. You're the first to see, you know. But remember, I'm only on break for fifteen minutes, so try not to linger too much." The woman's voice was giggly and secretive, and Harry's turned downwards in a snarl: the closest he could get to cursing without risk of being heard. And then Tom's grip on Harry's ass shifted and Harry's penis was stimulated once more.
"Oh, Johnny! You're so sly!" Harry's lips opened in a silent gasp, and Tom's grasp moved, one hand resting firmly on Harry's ass and the other slipping between them, easily unbuttoning Harry's jeans. Harry's eyes widened and he tried to shift away, stopping both so that he wouldn't hit the table and because Tom's grasp wasn't loose enough to get out of. Not without a large struggle. So, instead, Harry moved the opposite direction, pressing his chest against Tom's and his mouth to its waiting counterpart. He was less likely to make noise if his mouth was otherwise occupied. Harry was surprised that Tom's hand left his member just as quickly as it came, but he thought for a moment that perhaps Tom had come to his senses and would be happy with simply kissing.
"Do you see this beautiful painting? I can't believe it's really in front of me!" The girl was happy, and Harry wished she would leave. And then the hand slipped back into his jeans, this time palming his ass. Harry pulled away, licking down Tom's jaw-line while virtually ignoring the other man's advances. That is, until a slick finger – the reason Tom had went to his dick in the first place, he now realized – circled his taught entrance before quickly pressing itself inside. Harry's back immediately straightened, and Harry grit his teeth at the intrusion, body tense.
Fiery green orbs glared as Tom made absolutely no attempt to look innocent, instead grinning, daring Harry to get out from under the table or even say something to stop him.
"I'm glad you like it, Jules. And I promise we'll come back once the exhibit is open so you can have more time to look around." Slowly, begrudgingly, Harry made an effort to relax his body, hoping that it would make their situation slightly less uncomfortable. Not that it mattered as Tom added a second finger just as quickly and inconsiderately as the first. He didn't waste time as he started to scissor the digits inside of Harry, and Harry hated himself when Tom hit something inside of him that made his back arch and his nails dig into Tom's broad shoulders. If Harry had any breath in his body to moan, he wouldn't have been able to stop himself.
Harry felt a soundless chuckle against his hair, hot breath on his scalp causing just as much irritation as arousal. Tom Fucking Riddle thought it was funny to torture Harry. Well, two could play at that game. Harry ground his stiff penis against Tom, enjoying the way Tom's grip tightened on him, mouth opening against Harry's skull as he realized that the street did, indeed run both ways and that he couldn't make a noise either. In response, Tom brutally added another finger, never stopping his assault against Harry's prostate. Harry, of course, only pressed himself harder and faster against Tom, and the couple talking in the background became less and less coherent.
As Harry felt a coiling in his stomach, he pressed himself as tightly against Tom as possible and, when his orgasm finally hit him, bit down sharply at the junction of Tom's collarbone. Tom must have cum too, as the grip tightened and Harry's prostate was hit even harder than before, but Harry was too focused on the blood in his mouth and the post-orgasmic bliss turning his bones to jelly to mind the bruises he was sure to have. Tom's fingers slipped out of him as Harry collapsed onto the larger body, and the wetness of both their jeans made him grimace. Harry pulled his teeth and lips from Tom's skin and pressed them to Tom's lips, allowing the older man's blood to mix with their saliva. Slowly, Harry came to the realization that he couldn't hear the voices anymore, and he wondered how long they had been alone.
Harry pulled away and rolled off of Tom, getting out from under the table and standing back up a moment later. Tom followed him, and Harry took pride in just how disheveled the man looked. And then he saw the stain on Tom's pants, looking just as ridiculous as Harry was sure that he, himself looked. Suddenly, he wasn't sure why, but the entire situation was hilarious. Harry felt stupid and ecstatic and giggly all at once, and when his eyes met Tom's, the feeling only amplified. A goofy smile made its way to Harry's face, and he did the first thing he could think of: punched Tom on the arm. Out of the corner of his eye, as he fixed his pants, Harry saw Tom gently touch his injured bicep. His silly grin turned into a devious smirk as he looked fully at Tom again.
"Now we can both have bruises." And for a moment, it really was humorous. Then Harry realized where they were. "Shit! Tom, how are we going to get out of here?" It was blatantly obvious what they had been doing. Tom merely waved a hand in dismissal.
"I know a back way out. The car is nearby it." As though he planned this. Green eyes narrowed. Tom had planned this. The arrogant bastard.
"And what about the check, huh?" They still hadn't paid. And for all that they had ordered, there was no way Harry wanted to dine-and-dash the place. Embarrassment or no. Tom's smirk became mischievous as he took Harry's hand in his own, threading their fingers together before leading Harry towards a different door than the one they entered through.
"I own the place." At the words, Harry shook his head, unable to suppress an incredulous grin.
"Conceited bastard." Crimson-chocolate eyes glanced back to Harry before looking around the parking lot, hand tightening around Harry's smaller one to let the younger man know that they were about to make a run for the corvette.
"Not conceited. Arrogant."
And if anyone saw them making a break for the car, they didn't voice it.