Hello — to my RETURNING READERS! This important snippet was added to the previous chapter. Please read.
Context: Harry has just been shown to his room.
"Afterwards, he got out his laptop and fell onto the bed. Wow, it was surprisingly comfy? He supposed this was where Amortentia Inn's investments had been focused.
Then, realizing he had a whole hotel room to himself with nothing to do but "stay put" until evening, Harry decided to mess around. After all, since he'd started living with Ron, he hadn't had this kind of privacy in ages...
So he watched some porn. He drew smutty Jarvolo art... which came out looking like a banana fucking a slug but, hey, who was watching? Who was there to criticize his every word, every action, every breath? Nobody.
And because nobody was watching, Harry connected his laptop to his portable bluetooth Bose speakers (a beloved birthday present from his godfather, who loved music just as much as him — Harry took them wherever he went), turned on Spotify, and had a mini dance party too.
After tiring himself out and finding that he had nothing else to do, he logged onto the Jarvolo Discord server…"
Alright. Happy Reading!
Harry stared up at the ceiling, unable to fall asleep.
Seeing as he was still unbearably hard.
After about twenty minutes of thinking unsexy thoughts, trying not to focus on how even Riddle's breathing patterns were attractive, Harry reached for his phone on the bedside table.
On instinct, he opened up and scrolled through his Tumblr dashboard before switching (inevitably) to Discord. Right, he'd rejoined The Inner Circle earlier—his phone showed many notifications for the new server… a lot of which seemed to be taunting messages from Bella_Tricks.
But strangely enough, Harry wasn't too interested in seeing what they'd tagged him in at the moment. Instead, he swiped through his direct messages before settling on the one chat he'd been waiting to continue.
[Yesterday at 4:22 PM]
Lord_Voldemort_: But perhaps we can message later?
lightning_boi: Absolutely.
Harry stared at the most recent bit of their conversation, resisting the urge to scroll all the way back up and reread it like he had mere hours ago.
With a courage that seemed to come from nowhere, he messaged Lord_Voldemort_.
lightning_boi: Hey, what's up? Is now a good time to chat?
His anticipation spiked as he pressed send, proceeding to stare holes into his phone screen.
Nothing happened… save for Riddle's phone buzzing on the bedside table a moment later, temporarily lighting up.
Harry waited a few seconds, staring at the chat for a bit before casting aside what remained his pride and messaging once more. He didn't want to come off as needy, or bother the man. But perhaps one more recklessly-sent message, one more small push, to let Voldemort know he could reach out whenever he felt like…
lightning_boi: Well, hit me up whenever you're free to chat, discussing fanfiction with you the other day was really fun :)
Harry waited a few moments longer before sighing and swiping away from the chat.
What had he been expecting? Of course, he knew nothing about the man's time zone or how often he checked Discord… not often enough, if his engagement on The Inner Circle was anything to go by…
Riddle's phone buzzed loudly once more, and out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Riddle groggily reaching for it with an explicit mutter.
Upon seeing the content on his phone, however, Riddle's demeanor seemed to completely change. Harry watched with avid interest as Riddle sat up in bed and straightened his shoulders. His face was serious now, as if he had important business in mind that required his immediate attention.
Sometime during this process, Riddle must have glanced over at Harry and seen that he, too, was wide awake.
"You're still up?" Riddle asked snidely.
"You are too," Harry replied glibly as he stared back at his screen, trying to look as if he had better things to do on his phone than give Riddle his time of day (especially at this time).
"I'm not the one who is sick." Riddle looked at Harry coldly, making his lingering annoyance clear. "It seems I bought you that medicine for nothing."
Harry turned to face Riddle, channeling his inner P.E. teacher and smiling in a sickly-sweet manner. But whatever smart, self-condemning remark he'd been about to give was wiped from his mind as his phone pinged suddenly.
Harry's attention immediately jumped to Discord, his eyes widening with delight at what he saw.
Lord_Voldemort_ had responded.
Lord_Voldemort_: Absolutely. I've been meaning to recommend some fanfiction to you.
Harry bit back a stupid grin, replying quickly. He made sure to pay extra special attention to his grammar and spelling, though, because Lord_Voldemort_ was the kind of person who just made him want to sound… more educated?
No, that hadn't been the right word—more impressive.
lightning_boi: Hit me with them. I'm sure I've read them, though.
After all, Harry had been in this fandom for quite a while.
Lord_Voldemort_: Well, I have two recommendations—my first one is Counting Bodies Like Sheep by rightonthelimit.
At the mention of the familiar, well-loved title, Harry suppressed what would have been an inhuman-sounding stream of excitement.
lightning_boi: I love that fic! I love it so so so much.
lightning_boi: I craved Zombie AUs so much after reading that work! I ~ couldn't ~ get ~ over how brilliant it was.
The mattress dipped and shifted. Harry turned his head, watching as Riddle leaned over his bedside table, plugging his phone charger into the lamp before connecting the wire to his device.
Back… muscles… hnngh…
Forcibly ripping his eyes off of Riddle's form, Harry hastily turned back to his phone and resumed his Discord conversation.
lightning_boi: But yeah, that fic? Just the premise of it—James and Marvolo on the run together, only able to depend on each other—is so fascinating. And, god, the twist on why Marvolo is so innately dark, and lustful, and bloodthirsty—
Harry paused his fingers when he noticed Lord_Voldemort_ hadn't said anything. He wasn't even typing anything.
lightning_boi: Sorry, I
lightning_boi: I got a bit distracted/overwhelmed with love for that work.
lightning_boi: It's just that, I'm a huge fan of rightonthelimit.
There was a silence on the discord. Harry was tapping his fingers against his phone case almost nervously.
Why had the other man suddenly fallen silent—?
"Stop that," Riddle growled, his eyes sweeping in Harry's direction before he picked up his phone from the bedside table, swiping into it.
His eyes stayed glued to the phone once he had.
Harry raised his eyebrows at his boss. That was strange and uncommon behavior for the older man. If anything, Riddle was the type of person who swept through his phone's contents in an almost monotone, routinely fashion before clicking it shut.
He didn't usually stare at the same part of his screen contemplatively.
Harry had turned his eyes back to his screen, relieved to note that Lord_Voldemort_ had begun typing again.
Lord_Voldemort_: No apologies necessary, I was plugging my phone into its charger. Also — I, too, consider rightonthelimit one of my favorite fanfiction authors, although I do not read fanfiction as often as I write it.
There was a pause on the other end before Lord Voldemort continued to type.
Lord_Voldemort_: The Jarvolo fandom is quite talented. There are a few authors whose writing styles I would consider addictive and magnetic, to the point where whatever they write—it is a success.
Harry's eyes widened, his heart thumping with anticipation. Talking to his favorite author was insane enough — but hearing that he also read and liked and possibly worshipped authors?
Holy shit.
lightning_boi: Who?
Who, indeed, did Lord Voldemort respect the way Harry respected him?
RenderedReversed, who wrote the most brilliant AU works? MaidenMotherCrone, whose elegant writing style put his own to shame?
There was another pause on the chat, as if Lord Voldemort was rethinking how he wanted to phrase his next words.
Lord_Voldemort_: Obviously, my opinion will be controversial. I tend to rank and organize authors into "tiers" in my mind.
Harry's mouth quirked at that. Somehow, that just seemed so… Slytherin-like.
lightning_boi: I absolutely do not mind! Would love to hear your opinion on the authors you consider Legend-tier ahahha
Harry sent the message, cringing as reread it. So formal. Being overly courteous was something he typically disliked. But something about Lord_Voldemort_ — the classic, tasteful energy he gave off, the grammatically-correct way he wrote — just made Harry want to seem more… professional.
Not a moment later, he received a response.
Lord_Voldemort_: ObsidianPen, TheFictionist, rightonthelimit, and Katsitting.
Harry let out a soft, breathy chuckle.
Of course. Dark, beguiling, heart-stopping works… it figured Lord Voldemort would respect the authors whose styles were very much like his own.
Lord_Voldemort_: These authors write my favorite tropes… and write them very well, never failing to keep James and Lord Slytherin in character.
Lord_Voldemort_: They have all written at least one canon-compliant/diverging work that demonstrates the wide emotional spectrum of the quintessential Jarvolo relationship — enmity, guilt, disgust, unwanted attraction. Elements of horror, power imbalance.
Lord_Voldemort_: And most importantly, their writing deals realistically with Lord Slytherin's inability to love.
Lord_Voldemort_: The build-up in their works is not only believable, but mind-twisting. It leaves the reader breathless, often panting for more despite an unparalleled ending.
Harry stared at the screen, his mind reeling at how Lord Voldemort had managed to perfectly (compellingly, seductively ) describe exactly the kind of work he loved reading.
Because of course he read Jarvolo for the angsty romance. But Harry loved the James Evans timeline universe so much, and few fanfiction authors twisted canon itself into a believable, angst-ridden Jarvolo fic. Hell, there weren't nearly enough Slytherin Wins AUs out there.
Except, of course, for his favorite. No Glory.
lightning_boi: Beautifully worded. I agree with you on almost every point, except…
lightning_boi: You forgot one author.
There was another pause on the chat. Harry swallowed nervously, hoping he hadn't somehow offended the man.
Lord_Voldemort_: Oh?
Harry grinned, practically hearing the deadpanned hint of playfulness in the other's tone.
lightning_boi: Yourself, of course.
Harry's shit-eating grin fell slightly with annoyance as the older man beside him shifted onto his other side, the whole mattress dipping once again. Riddle gave a low chuckle that sent a shiver down his spine.
It was a shiver of disgust, of course. Who suddenly laughed at two o'clock in the morning? Harry was in bed with a fucking creep.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Harry whispered, and Riddle froze, glancing at him with annoyance, as if he'd forgotten his assistant's existence.
When the man remained caveman-level silent, Harry rolled onto his side, his back to Riddle as he went back to ignoring the man and looked down at his screen.
Lord_Voldemort_: Ah, so you're a fan.
Harry bit his lip, his ears starting to burn.
lightning_boi: Oh, don't act so coy, my Lord. You have too many fans to be surprised by yet another.
Lord_Voldemort_: Elaborate. Tell my why you like my writing.
Harry's eyebrows raised at the… command.
lightning_boi: You want me to sing your praises now?
Lord_Voldemort_: Want? I dare you. Praise me to tears.
There was an undignified snort from behind him… something Harry had never heard from his boss before.
What the hell?
"Are you okay?" Harry asked, turning his head back to look at the other man. Because he was seriously concerned about how — excuse the fanfiction lingo — out of character his boss was acting.
Tom raised his eyes from the screen, slowly, as if the very action pained him.
"Never mind," Harry muttered under his breath, turning back to his phone.
lightning_boi: Alright then, Lord Voldemort… brace yourself.
lightning_boi: Your characterization is always impeccable… but your characterization of Marvolo Gaunt? Out of the world. You seem to understand him and his motivations on a level I'm not sure even Roaring herself possible does…
And partly because, as Harry had begun to notice, the man was very much like Marvolo Gaunt.
lightning_boi: I know you abandoned The Orphan, but the way you delved into his personality — explaining every bit of darkness within him as a product of some experience in his childhood, or as a lingering trait he may have inherited from his parents… it's fascinating.
lightning_boi: I rarely find Marvolo Gaunt a sympathetic character, but the whole exorcism scene? The scene where all those kids bullied him for being a "freak," and how Marvolo took his revenge on them in the cave? You were probably trying to justify his actions rather than elicit any form of empathy for him.
lightning_boi: But, oh god, I felt so much for him...
Harry paused before continuing once more, revealing more than he had intended to originally.
lightning_boi: After all, I've gone through something similar in the past.
Harry swallowed, pressing his knuckles against his mouth as he awaited Lord Voldemort's reaction.
Lord_Voldemort_: Were you bullied as a child?
lightning_boi: Hmm, I mean, yeah
lightning_boi: a bit, by my cousin and his friends but
lightning_boi: just the usual… the same kind that anyone goes through, I suppose.
Lord_Voldemort_: Still, unacceptable. And it explains some things about you too.
Harry's eyebrows shot up at that.
lightning_boi: Excuse me?
Lord_Voldemort_: Like how you are always apologizing to your readers for updating "late" when there is no need to. You are providing them with free literature — that alone should earn their thanks.
Lord_Voldemort_: And still — you fear their reproach, you crave their approval.
Lord_Voldemort_: An inferiority complex?
Harry felt Lord Voldemort's words piercing him, slicing him to bits. He felt exposed and naked, and suddenly, the blankets around him weren't enough to stop the icy feeling threatening to overcome him.
He tensed, growing defensive.
lightning_boi: And how do you know all of this? What gives you the right to judge me like this?
Lord_Voldemort_: I've read every single one of your Author's Notes.
And just like that, the icy feeling growing within him disappeared, replaced by a fluttering sensation in the pit of his stomach.
lightning_boi: you read my a/n's?
Lord_Voldemort_: Do not make me repeat myself.
Harry huffed fondly. Terse and blunt and to the point, as always.
Lord_Voldemort_: You are a very good writer.
Harry's heart jumped.
Lord_Voldemort_: But I have seen the way you interact with your readers. Do not let your readers have so much power over you. Take their criticisms with more than a grain of salt.
Harry eyebrows furrowed. The man was being oddly… kind?
Either way, he wasn't sure he agreed with Lord Voldemort.
lightning_boi: But, like, comments are 87% of why I write fanfiction
lightning_boi: I adore their approval and enthusiasm, their thoughts about what's to come
lightning_boi: Sure, I've had to deal with my fair share of flames and trolls; but interacting with the Jarvolo fandom is half of the fun
lightning_boi: Hell, I wouldn't have even written boss from hell if not for all the encouragement and inspiration I got from the Jarvolo server
Lord_Voldemort_: Jarvolo server?
Harry froze. First, with excitement — introducing Lord Voldemort to the whole server? They would freak out.
But then he remembered all of the things he'd said, the way he'd thirsted like an insane person over Marvolo… and frick, his spelling was kind of shit too.
No, no way was he letting Lord Voldemort onto the server.
ligtning_boi: yeah
lightning_boi: Anyways — back to my mission of praising you to tears —
Harry drummed his fingers against the phone screen as he mentally switched gears.
A grin crept across his features.
lightning_boi: I know you always try to make James seem like the "attractive" and "lust-inducing" the object of Marvolo's affections
lightning_boi: But your Marvolo
lightning_boi: is so
lightning_boi: goddamn
lightning_boi: sexy?
Harry heard a thump behind him—the sound of Riddle thumping his head against the headboard, followed by a stream of muttered curses.
Serves him right for being so damn tall.
Lord_Voldemort_: Well
Lord_Voldemort_: I am pleased to hear that
Lord_Voldemort_ is typing, Discord read intermittently. In fact, the author took a while to respond… as if he were typing and then deleting, overthinking.
Caught off guard, Lord_Voldemort_? Harry smirked.
He hadn't missed the way the seemingly perfect author had forgotten a period at the end of his last few messages.
Lord_Voldemort_: Though your words come as a surprise, given that I rarely describe him the way I do James.
lightning_boi: On the contrary, you do. All the time.
lightning_boi: His narration, the way he thinks…
lightning_boi: Intelligence, dry sarcasm, and an almost morbid sense of humor that I can't help but find endearing.
lightning_boi: I'm halfway in love with him, haha
Harry pressed send on his last message, unaware of the way his bedside companion drew a sharp breath moment later.
Lord_Voldemort_: And if I were to say that I project? That Marvolo's thoughts do not stray far from my own internal monologue.
Harry stopped thinking.
His mind froze, his throat drying up. And then his breathing suddenly grew faster, louder and—shit, Riddle could probably hear it at this point.
lightning_boi: Then I imagine you're a very attractive man, Lord_Voldemort_.
Harry pressed send.
Silence met his message.
The chat was utterly quiet. There was no sign that Lord Voldemort was even online anymore because the man wasn't typing anything .
So, of course, Harry panicked.
lightning_boi: Anyways, your characterization and style are really good
lightning_boi: your cliffhangers (I hate them, I love them) never fail to leave me breathless
lightning_boi: I always have to set aside time to read your work because I can never stop in the middle
Every message he sent felt like a plea, Come back. But nevertheless, all of his messages were facts, streams of consciousness that came from somewhere deep inside of him.
lightning_boi: In fact, I stayed up all night rereading Haunted two days ago and I just
Lord_Voldemort_: Yes, I seem to have that effect on my readers.
Harry could have let out a sigh of relief, knowing that the man was still online.
Then he reread Voldemort's message, blinking in confusion.
lightning_boi: What effect?
Behind him, Riddle let out yet another long-suffering sigh. Seriously, what was his problem? Was there a pea under the mattress?
If Harry heard anymore sighs from the fucking princess sharing his bed—
Lord_Voldemort_: I tend to keep my readers up all night. ;]
It took Harry a moment to process that.
And then he was gone.
Hnnnhgh. Harry's mind went crazy as he resisted the urge to key-smash right there and then. Holy fucking shit, was he batshit blind or was that actually —
lightning_boi: Oh my god.
Lord_Voldemort_: ;]
Harry went insane.
lightning_boi: Fuck, all those innuendos. I thought it was just me seeing them, when you called readers "breathless" and "panting for more" but shit, you fucker, you were doing that on purpose I'm—
Lord_Voldemort_: Sweetheart, you're not the only dirty-minded fanfiction reader between the two of us.
Sweetheart, Harry's senses screamed back at him. He couldn't lift his eyes from the endearment on his screen. It was so condescending and yet so quintessentially Lord_Voldemort_ it made Harry's stomach flutter.
lightning_boi: They drove me nuts.
Lord_Voldemort_: More like they drove you to nut.
Harry spasmed then, kicking Riddle behind him. He might have gurgled too.
"You fucking—"
"I'm sorry, " Harry gasped, turning back to face his still-awake boss. "Accident, accident —"
Riddle kicked him back, like the spiteful, vengeful creature he was. And, shit, it didn't hurt that much but it hit a little too close, too close to the hard-on he somehow still fucking had.
So, amidst the chaos of his body, bed and online life, Harry messaged—
lightning_boi: Nutting? God, I wish.
—only to realize, as soon as he'd pressed send, that he was in deep shit.
lightning_boi: wait
lightning_boi: wait holy shit let me explain
Harry's right leg jerked back, kicking his boss again… his spasming foot striking mere inches from his boss's joystick.
"You little fuck ," Riddle snarled. Harry froze, his heart rate skyrocketing as he craned his neck back.
His boss was up on one arm, eyes flashing with murderous intent. He held his phone in the other hand, its brightly-lit screen illuminating the definition of his chest and abs, the blanket riding low across his hips.
"Would you like to be kicked out of bed?"
Harry scrambled back on his elbows towards the very edge of the bed, knocking his phone off the bed through the slit between the mattress and the headboard. Shit.
"Sir," he said at once, pleadingly. "I am—so sorry. I just received a very surprising message and I couldn't help—"
" Off! " the older man hissed, his eyes already drifting back down to his buzzing phone. "Get off before I—"
Riddle cut himself off suddenly, his eyes staying glued to his phone screen.
Then the older man shot up in bed, his eyes wide and pupils fully blown as he stared at it. And, oh my, the poetry of his eyebrows rising—those devils had more arch than the parabolas in Morsmorde's Algebra textbooks.
"Riddle?" Harry tried, only to be ignored.
He didn't think he'd ever seen Riddle so expressive. It was unfamiliar, but far from unpleasant. And with a plummeting stomach in his feeling, Harry realized exactly what kind of face his boss was making.
Somehow, Riddle was enamored.
… With whoever he was talking to. And Harry didn't like that.
"Your face looks weird," he said, because it was the only thing he could think of besides, ' So, who's the unlucky girl?' because he suddenly wanted Riddle's attention very much.
Riddle's eyes snapped back to him.
And then suddenly, the older man aimed a strong kick at Harry's legs, finally causing him to tumble off.
Harry slammed hard into the carpeted floor, groaning as he landed roughly on his stomach… on his ever-present hard-on. Gritting his teeth, he slowly lifted himself upwards, kneeling on the floor and leveling a harsh, indignant glare in his boss's direction.
Remorse for kicking the bastard? Long gone. Extinct.
"Are you human?" Harry seethed, holding back tears at the way his cock continued to throb painfully. "Are you sane ?"
Riddle smiled coldly, dangerously. It was the kind of smile that implied he'd happily push Harry off a ten-story building. "Would you believe me if I denied both accusatio—"
He was cut off by a pillow thrown at his face, courtesy of Harry James Potter.
In the moment of his boss's distraction, Harry stood up, grabbed the very top blanket, and began walking off to the opposite corner of the room. Honestly, after half a night's worth of abuse, the floor was looking a lot more welcoming than the bed—
There was a firm, opposing tug on the blanket that stopped him in his tracks, and Harry slowly turned back.
Was he going to be invited back to bed…?
Riddle looked at him, his expression unfathomable save for the chilling glint in his eyes.
"Apologize," he commanded imperiously.
Harry's eyes widened incredulously.
"For kicking you?" He scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief at the nerve of this man. "You kicked me back —"
He stopped himself abruptly, caught off guard by Riddle's expression.
His eyebrows raised as if he were coolly regarding a pest, his lips relaxed and unsmiling. But the icy glimmer in other man's gaze destroyed the facade of mere annoyance.
Harry tensed slowly, the hairs on the back of his neck rising as a sense of foreboding struck him.
"You deserved that," Harry said quietly, defiantly, even as it came out sounding more like a plea. Because the tables had turned, and just like that, Harry remembered exactly why he had once feared his boss so much… why he sometimes still did.
That unbearable coldness.
Harry would take Riddle's heated insults any day over distasteful regard… or worse, disregard altogether.
Don't fire me. Leave me alone. His thoughts were a flurry of contradictions even without the assistance of Riddle's befuddling tongue.
Harry held his breath, staring at the dauntingly expressionless man for a few moments more before facing away, his hands still gripping the top blanket as he took another step away from the bed—
Suddenly, there was a much harsher pull on the blanket, one that had Harry falling back onto the bed. A warm arm caught him around his waist, pulling him further backwards against tantalizingly firm, naked skin.
Harry stopped breathing.
Riddle held Harry against his chest, the two of them breathing in silence for a few tension-ridden seconds.
Then at once, he tightened his arm as he dropped his head against the back of Harry's neck. The older man's mouth grazed the shell of his ear as he let out the most seductive-sounding murmur.
"Oh? I deserved that?" His voice, mocking despite its beguiling pitch, dropped an octave. "Then tell me, Harry, what else do I deserve?"
Wh-what?
Harry remained silent, breathless. The sensation of Riddle's warmth pressed up against him, of his breath hitting the back of Harry's neck and tingling down his spine…
It was unbearable, especially since he knew it was all just a game to Riddle anyways.
But that didn't stop Harry from wanting, from succumbing to the pleasure of his touch against the will of mind—
A cool hand suddenly crept up Harry's neck, curling around his jaw menacingly, almost possessively .
"Since you failed to answer, I shall tell you." The long fingers on his waist began to trace feather-light, distracting shapes. "As your superior, I deserve your respect. Your obedience." Riddle punctated every virtue with a paralyzing squeeze against Harry's jaw. "And above all, your utmost… attention. "
And suddenly, the arm around Harry's waist spun him sideways and pinned him flat against the bed. Riddle loomed over him, his eyes dark and ignited with a strange energy as he placed his arms on either side of Harry's head.
His voice grew impossibly softer as he spoke the next few words, ending on a near-hiss.
"Do I… have… your… attention. "
Harry trembled against the silken sheets, finally gathering the wits to whisper back. "Yes."
Riddle held his gaze. "Yes, sir. "
That shook him out of it.
Fury licked down his spine, adrenaline energizing his limbs. Harry narrowed his eyes as he shoved Riddle back from him and sat up in bed. He straightened himself against the headboard, curling his fists defensively.
He was angry, he was humiliated, who did this jerk think he was—?
"Sorry, but I don't call anyone 'sir' in bed."
Riddle's eyes flashed, though he made no movement to hold Harry once more.
"Perhaps you should get used to it," he murmured patronizingly, suggestively, a faint smile gracing his fine features.
Harry saw red. He tightened his fist and pulled it back, aiming for Riddle's stupid face—
Only to be stopped by two firm hands grasping his wrists, holding them up against the headboard… above Harry's head.
Riddle leaned in tauntingly as Harry struggled against his grip. His smile grew sharper, almost cat-like.
"Oh, sweetheart, I could do this all night."
Harry's breath hitched at the endearment despite himself. So fucking condescending… and yet, he liked it so much.
"Let me go. "
Riddle's eyes fell half-shut a few inches from his own, his long lashes failing to hide their burning intensity.
"Never. "
Harry's mouth fell open.
" Sir—"
"There , " Riddle sighed abruptly, releasing Harry's wrists unceremoniously as he dropped the lover's act. A cold smile curled across his lips, a far cry from the heat in his eyes moments earlier.
"That wasn't so hard, was it?" he said softly, leaning back with satisfaction.
Harry merely stared at his boss.
Patronizing piece of shit couldn't even let him finish a sente—
"Now, since we're both wide awake, we might as well be productive." He pushed Harry towards the edge of the bed again. "Go, retrieve our laptops."
And that was how they ended up getting out their laptops in bed and editing shit at two o'clock in the morning.
Twenty minutes after being physically kicked out of bed, Harry was typing furiously on his laptop — which he had balanced on a pillow covering his legs "to avoid the radiation," as he'd told his boss.
Really, the kind of bullshit he said to hide his hard-on. At this point, the situation was starting to feel unreal. It was a wonder his boss hadn't noticed it by this point.
Harry paused momentarily in his typing, staring down at his heavily-blanketed lower half in despair.
Was it something he'd eaten ?
"Why did you stop?"
Harry glanced up at Riddle, who had tossed the remark without lifting his eyes from the screen. The annoying, asshole-ish, and seductive Riddle who had toyed with him earlier was gone — he was back to his typical workaholic self.
"I actually finished a scene. Is this good?" Harry turned his laptop slightly, striving to act casual for his own sanity's sake. After all, if Riddle could do it, so could he. "I sort of deleted and rewrote the entire masquerade ball scene."
He tensed as Riddle leaned in to view his laptop screen, his shoulder brushing Harry's. "Better," he said simply, his narrowed eyes rereading the scene at a high speed. "You've given life to a scene that was bland in the first place."
Harry blinked at the compliment before slowly smiling, rather pleased with himself for having drawn praise out of the reticent man.
"Copy that whole scene and shift it onto the document I'm editing."
Harry nodded, Control-C copying the entire passage and navigating to the document where Riddle's icon was showing (a picture of Riddle in sunglasses and golf attire, damn, why did he look so attractive in even the preppiest-looking outfits). He scrolled down until reaching the page where Riddle's cursor was.
What Harry pasted via Control-V, however, was not the scene that he'd just finished rewriting.
I spread my legs under his watchful gaze, dipped my fingers into the waiting glass of lube, and began to stretch myself open before him.
Shit. Harry froze in horror.
Marvolo's eyes grew dark and heated, running over my form before settling on the area my fingers were penetrating. He licked his lips once, twice, before saying, "Turn over."
His voice was low, thick with arousal, enough to make me submit to my own.
Harry furiously began to backspace, before giving up and trying to highlight the whole thing with his mouse. But right on cue, his shitty laptop decided to freeze his screen, and his mouse stopped working.
Oh.
Fucking.
Hell.
The sound of Riddle's typing had long since stopped, but Harry kept his eyes on his laptop, determined to avert crisis before his boss noticed—
"What the hell is this, Harry?"
Too late.
Harry key-smashed in earnest, hoping something would make the keyboard start working once more. He pressed Alt+F4, just wanting to exit out of the application altogether. Riddle had already seen his writing at this point, he was going to be murdered anyways—
But instead of pressing Alt+F4, he accidentally pressed Alt+Tab.
And instead of closing his current application, it switched to his other open tab—the incognito tab upon which he'd been watching gay porn earlier that day. The video was paused at the most incriminating position, in the most incriminating position—
Holy fucking shit, could someone please shoot him right now ? Why hadn't he exited out of this shit earlier?
Harry turned to look at Riddle, hoping the man was still looking at his own laptop—good god, still looking at the written porn he'd accidentally pasted into the doc, because anything was better than what his Toshiba was showing—
No such luck.
The man was staring at Harry's laptop screen, his features wiped blank once more, as if he couldn't believe he was seeing such things on his subordinate's laptop.
Harry sobbed a bit inside and turned his screen away from his boss, key-smashing once more because that had really helped in the past, and the definition of insanity was definitely not doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.
This time, he accidentally pressed the spacebar while key-smashing, and the video began to play.
"Ha… ha… faster, fuck me faster…"
Harry removed his hands from his laptop and splayed them across his face. He couldn't bear it—the shame. The humiliation.
Then, after what seemed like an eternity of porn playing, he slowly turned to peek at Riddle through his fingers.
The man's eyes were glued to Harry's screen.
His expression was blank — as if he couldn't believe his eyes, as though he hadn't yet fully processed exactly what was going on with Harry's Toshiba. A few moments later, Riddle blinked slowly and resumed watching with visibly dawning incredulity… as if he'd never watched porn a day in his life.
Harry couldn't recall ever seeing the man look so surprised. He let out a sound — something halfway between awkward laughter and a sob.
Riddle's eyes snapped to him.
And then he continued to stare at Harry, like he'd never seen him before, like he was the strangest creature alive.
"What… the… fuck?" Riddle breathed ominously, still looking at Harry disbelievingly, like he didn't know what to do with him.
Harry wrapped his arms around himself, suddenly frustrated beyond measure because life was not fair and what had he done to deserve this humiliation, this—
"Stop it. Now! " his boss snarled, with more fury than disbelief coloring his voice now.
"YOU THINK I HAVEN'T TRIED?" Harry yelled back in Riddle's face, which only seemed to make Riddle angrier but what ever, who cared if his voice was a little loud, if the neighbors heard them—
Shit. The neighbors.
"Then turn the bloody thing off! " Riddle hissed, the anger in his voice making his words nearly indistinguishable in their sibilance.
"I can't, " Harry cried, having given up on key-smashing and just staring at the despondently at the porn playing on his screen. "The manual power-off buttons don't work—and neither does closing the laptop screen."
Riddle stared at him. "Then how do you usually turn off your laptop?"
Harry ran a hand through his hair. "Well… I… either it just, naturally dies… "
They both looked at the screen, which showed 98% battery remaining.
"Naturally… dies?" Riddle intoned dryly.
"Yes, Riddle!" Harry snapped. "Like a fucking human being."
He didn't even know what he was saying at this point.
"Either that," Harry continued, after a calming breath, "Or I navigate to the main menu and click the power-off button." He glanced at his laptop once more, desensitized to the porn playing on it by this point. "And given that the keyboard — including the mouse — isn't working…"
"HAAAAAAAAH!"
"Okay, who even makes that much noise while being fucked." Harry snapped, staring pointedly at the twink bottoming in the video, wishing the boy a slow and painful death. "It's unseemly."
"Someone having better sex than you ever have," Riddle deadpanned, looking at the twink as well. And now they were both watching the porn together, and that was just really fucking weird.
Harry frowned, glaring at Riddle. "Yeah, probably, considering I've never had sex before."
Riddle faced him back, his eyes boring holes into Harry's skull.
"You're actually a virgin? "
And then Harry looked at back Riddle — really looked at him, at the definition of his naked lower stomach, the sharp planes of his face, his broad shoulders — and remembered exactly who he was talking to.
But before he could spit out a worthy excuse, which would have been something along the lines of snide and dishonest, "Not for lack of opportunit y," he was interrupted by a very loud ejaculation.
"COOOMIIII—"
And then the noise ceased.
Harry gasped. The video was still playing; precisely one hour and forty-three minutes remained. But for some reason, the audio had disappeared.
"It stopped! " He declared with great joy, clapping his hands together. "It stopped, it actually—"
There was a weird static sound from his bedside table. Once, twice. And then, because Harry had forgotten to switch off his laptop's bluetooth after his mini-dance party earlier that day—
The porn video's audio began blaring at full volume, this time magnified through the portable Bose speakers resting on his bedside table.
And Harry would be lying if he didn't think the whole inn could probably hear it.
"Uh… uh… uhngh…"
"You like that, baby boy? I'll fuck you a cream pie, just the way you like it."
"Yes, daddy! UNH!"
Harry's face reddened. The audio was so loud, and suddenly, it was difficult to ignore the things they were saying. He didn't even want to imagine what Riddle was thinking, hearing all of this.
"Get this… stupid contraption… out of the room," Riddle said slowly, dangerously calm — as if mentally counting to ten.
"HAAAHAAAH!"
His ears felt like they were about to burn off.
" HHHNNAHHHHHHH!" The twink, a blonde man who reminded Harry of his coworker Draco, arched his back off the mattress as he came a second time in the video.
"Oh, baby," muttered the the other man performing. "We're only getting started…"
Harry glanced at the sidebar. One hour and forty minutes of hellish torture left.
"Ooohhh, I wanna ride dick—big dick—"
"That's it," Riddle said testily, grabbing for Harry's laptop. It was only thanks to his fast reflexes that Harry managed to avoid Riddle. "Give it to me."
Harry jumped off the bed, cradling his precious laptop in his arms.
Unfortunately, Riddle got up from the bed as well, eyeing Harry's laptop with murderous intent. He was still wearing nothing but boxers, and tantalizingly naked skin came closer, and closer—
Harry stumbled backwards a few more steps, hastily placing his laptop on the desk behind him.
"Hey! What do you think you're doing?" He faced Riddle, crossing his arms and leaning back against the desk.
"Give it here ," Riddle enunciated lowly, looking at him with a no-nonsense expression. "So I can toss that bloody contraption out of the window."
Harry's eyes went wide. " Hell no!"
Riddle's eyes seemed to glimmer red in the dim lighting, narrowing viciously. Recognizing the look, Harry instinctively straightened up, spreading his arms out in front of the desk to protect his Toshiba, hisbaby.
"Stand aside, you silly boy… stand aside, now. "
"Not my Toshiba, please no— "
Why was Harry feeling the strangest sense of… deja vu? And now Riddle was looking at him strangely once more, and Harry found he no longer had the energy to try and decipher—
"You… are you quoting James Evans at me?"
Harry blinked slowly, before gasping. No wonder. " You were quoting James Evans at me!"
"Lord Slytherin, actually."
They stood very still, staring into each other's eyes as porn played in the background.
Riddle's eyes were glinting knowingly, which made Harry remember that the man had been the main editor for Roaring's James Evans series and that, oh my god, he'd recently read some of Harry's Jarvolo smut so he probably suspected—
"Right." Harry said eventually, trying not to think about anything in particular. "Okay, here's the plan. I'm just going to stuff this laptop into the deepest, darkest corner of my suitcase and hope—"
Riddle held a hand to Harry's mouth, cutting him off.
"Ah," he said after a pause, his eyes wide. "We… are idiots."
He looked at Harry's bedside table, the source of all the noise and all their problems. "We should be dealing with the speaker."
Before Harry could stop him, Riddle was at his bedside table, picking up the bluetooth speaker and turning it in all directions. With a new feeling of dread, Harry realized exactly what he was looking for.
"There's no power button," he said, before clarifying, "It's an auto-off speaker — only turning off once audio stops streaming from it."
Riddle froze.
And then, with a newfound rage, his boss was stalking towards the only window in their room.
"NO— STOP !" Harry scrambled away from his laptop as Riddle's hand attached to the window's latch. No way, that jerk was not throwing out the precious speaker Sirius had given him for his birthday. God, this man had no concept of value — he may have been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, but these electronics were all Harry had.
Riddle's hand clenched tightly on the latch, his naked back to Harry as he continued to face the window. "Be grateful these innkeepers child-proofed the window—though, perhaps I should simply break it…"
Harry finally snatched his speaker back, holding it to his chest. And surprisingly, Riddle had made no movement to avoid Harry, nor even shown any reaction at all…
He simply continued to stare out of the window for a few moments, oddly calm.
"Forget it," Riddle said quietly, still turned away. "The whole inn has heard by now anyways. In fact, I'm surprised that no one has come knocking at our door yet…"
He tilted his head sideways, and Harry caught the assessing glint in his eyes. "Unless, of course, the innkeepers lied to us and there are no guests in this decrepit place—"
Riddle stopped talking halfway.
Because their room's window was right next to the shared wall, and the wall was shaking… as if being pounded into—
And maybe it was because they'd been so caught up in their own affairs that they hadn't noticed, but judging by the voices on the other side, this had been happening for a while.
"Hnnngh, honey I'm close — ah !"
A woman's voice.
She moaned again, and Harry flinched, snapping out of it.
"Something…" His voice was faint, "Something tells me our neighbors don't mind."
The wall was shaking again — a minor sort of quaking that would not have been visible nor tangible from their bed. But the reason behind it was painfully clear.
The woman moaned again, even louder, and Riddle hissed in displeasure as Harry held his hands up to his ears.
"Oh my fucking—"
"Don't… " Riddle's voice was strangled, "Don't say that word. This inn is cursed."
Harry shuddered. "Agreed."
And without facing further protest, he stuffed the laptop and his speaker into the deepest corner of his stuffed suitcase. It seemed Riddle was just as drained as him, because he didn't even argue when Harry slid into bed next to him.
He wrapped himself in the blankets, burying his face into a pillow. At least the couple next door wasn't audible from here.
Ironically, the stressful accident of playing porn in front of his boss had successfully gotten rid of his boner at some point.
Harry closed his eyes, willing away thoughts of what had occurred in the past few hours.
With the sounds of two men fucking still playing faintly from his suitcase, he finally fell asleep.
. . .
The writer's convention was hectic.
Potential authors had been throwing their manuscripts left and right at him, pitching their story concepts at the Morsmordre booth and leaving before Harry had even finished absorbing the previous two. And now there was a huge pile of unread manuscripts and Harry was so behind—
" Faster, " Riddle hissed into his ear, as the latest writer left their booth. "You'll never become an editor if you read this slowly."
Harry bit back a scowl. "Sorry, sir, " he forced himself to say. Even though he was the one reading every single manuscript, filtering them by his boss's criteria, while Riddle was only reading the ones in the 'good pile.'
Riddle's eyes flashed, undoubtedly picking up Harry's sarcasm. But anything he might have said was interrupted by the announcement that lunch break was now in session.
Bless. Harry jumped up and walked away with a "later, boss" before Riddle could protest, making his way to the Indian take-out line.
He ran a hand through his hair, sighing as he swiped into his phone. Being around Riddle was exhausting, and he was already drained from last night. And while neither of them had mentioned last night's Porn Scare this morning (and what an awkward morning they'd had), many incriminating details about Harry's life had just been put out there on display, in front of the one person he would never have wanted to see them and…
Yes, Harry was definitely stressed for multiple reasons right now.
At least he was doing something he enjoyed this time. Editing and scouting talent was somewhat tedious at times, but nevertheless, satisfying overall.
As he sat down at a table alone and started digging into his spicy samosa chaat, his phone buzzed with a Discord notification.
Lord_Voldemort_: Well, no need to explain.
Harry paused in confusion, his eyes traveling upwards for context. Explain wh—?
[Yesterday at 1:36 AM]
lightning_boi: They drove me nuts.
Lord_Voldemort_: More like they drove you to nut.
lightning_boi: Nutting? God, I wish.
Oh.
Harry's face began to redden. Explain the fact that Harry had stated his desire to ejaculate to Voldemort's works… while under the haze of a hard-on and caught up in many other factors.
Right. Thanks, Lord Voldemort. Hopefully, the period at the end was more of a grammatical thing and less of a passive-aggressive statement.
lightning_boi: Ah, thanks. I was in a difficult position last night, so thanks for understanding.
Harry sent the message, drumming his fingers against the cafeteria table while trying to come up with something better to say.
lightning_boi: So how are yo| [Send]
He started deleting his message, disgusted with himself. Engaging in small talk with his favorite author would be a disgrace.
So, instead, because Harry was genuinely interested—
lightning_boi: So how's writing been going for you?
At last, Lord_Voldemort_ began typing back.
Lord_Voldemort_: Quite well. I'm on track to publish my next chapter next week, but my green-eyed monster is being rather difficult.
Harry reread the message, eyes narrowing.
lightning_boi: Your green-eyed monster — as in, your chapter?
Lord_Voldemort_: No. As in… my actual green-eyed monster. My muse… and my coworker.
Harry grinned.
lightning_boi: You weren't lying when you said you projected, huh?
Lord_Voldemort_: I'd be lying if I said I didn't project.
He huffed, shaking his head and rolling his eyes upward.
lightning_boi: Stop speaking in riddles. You're not the only one who projects.
Harry glanced away, to where Riddle was standing in line, waiting for Italian food. The man was staring intently at his phone.
lightning_boi: I, too… have a boss from hell.
Harry glanced at his boss again… frowning when he realized that Riddle was smiling down at his phone. No doubt about it — he was clearly chatting with the same person from last night.
Lord_Voldemort_: What a dramatic little boy you are.
Harry's mouth quirked. With a hint of daring, he sent:
lightning_boi: You like it.
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry glanced at Riddle once more. It was habit by this point, really. Call it survival instinct… or even human nature. Most eyes in a room tended to be drawn to Riddle anyways, given how tall and handsome he was.
What was not habit, however, was the way Riddle's ears had turned positively pink.
The man was still staring at his phone.
Blood rushed in Harry's ears. He nearly stood up. There was a growling beast in his chest and he didn't know what to make of it. But it was definitely displeased with the way Riddle was staring down at his phone screen… nearly blushing at words written by some random chick .
His pinging phone snapped him out of his craze, stopping him before he could do something stupid like stalking up to the bastard.
Lord_Voldemort_: I do. Want to be my new muse?
Voldemort knocked the breath out of him.
Harry felt his own cheeks burn.
lightning_boi: I do (~˘▾˘)~
lightning_boi: Look at us, saying our vows already.
Lord_Voldemort_: You'll be Chained to me before you know it.
Harry sucked in a breath, completely caught off guard. That… was the name of one of his fanfics.
lightning_boi: Did you just… pun me? With my own work?
And then, with more vigor—
lightning_boi: Was that a Freudian Slip or an intentional innuendo?
At this point, their messages were rapid-fire.
Lord_Voldemort_: Well, Paranoia and Puns happen to be my specialty.
Harry grinned like a fool. Of course they were, Mr. Nevermind the end.
lightning_boi: Oh, my Lord, you're playing A Dangerous Game here. There's No Glory in low quality puns.
Lord_Voldemort_: No worries, sweetheart, I happen to have a Sickly-Sweet Obsession with wordplay . It is Unlikely that you will be able to keep up.
Harry smirked.
lightning_boi: For Your Approval, Sir? I'll do anything to keep up.
And thus began their punfest, with references blending into their conversation so seamlessly only a Jarvolo fan would be able to pick them out.
Lord_Voldemort_: So it seems your next update for the Office AU is Unplanned.
lightning_boi: Yeah, what can I say? Words Fail me.
Lord_Voldemort_: Again and Again.
lightning_boi: Hey!
Harry muffled his laughter.
He was deeply offended. He could not stop smiling. What was this insanity?
lightning_boi: I never said I would Abandon it!
Lord_Voldemort_: Oh, small mercies.
lightning_boi: Seriously, though. I haven't been able to write lately… I think I need a Diagnosis.
Lord_Voldemort_: Writer's block can be cured by anything… even The Love of a Good Wizard.
Harry's chest began to thump wildly.
lightning_boi: Are you offering, Lord Voldemort? We've already said our marriage vows, after all.
There was a pause on the chat.
Lord_Voldemort_: I wouldn't mind The Consequences of a Binding Ritual… if I was bound to you.
Harry put a hand up to his mouth, eyes wide.
This was starting to feel more… serious. And he wasn't good at that sort of thing.
So he switched back to their previous topic.
lightning_boi: Well, writer's block isn't the only thing holding me back. Some of my earlier chapters are actual trash — they need to be Rewritten at some point.
Lord_Voldemort_: I'll give you 47 Days to Change them.
Harry's eyebrows rose.
lightning_boi: And if it takes me longer?
Another pause on the chat. Then—
Lord_Voldemort_: Then I won't beta for you.
Harry spluttered on his spicy chaat, his throat burning and mouth suddenly too parched for multiple reasons.
lightning_boi: you
lightning_boi: you were going to offer?
lightning_boi: oh my| [Send]
"Harry?"
" God!" Harry finished out loud, startling at the sound of Riddle's voice so close to him. As usual, the man had crept on him from behind. "Ridd— sir, a bit more warning please!"
Riddle stared down at him, his mouth drawn tight with displeasure. None of his attitude detracted from deliciously distracting way his suit flattered his form. His shoulders somehow appeared even broader,crisper in the outfit.
His boss hadn't shaved this morning either, but the five o'clock shadow he sported was… mouthwatering…
"You're behind on the pile of manuscripts. Now is a good time to catch up—before the writers reconvene."
Now was a good time, indeed. Now—his only break between now and the end of the convention.
"Of course, sir," Harry sighed, cracking his knuckles and picking up his tray. It was a good thing he was enjoying his work — otherwise, Riddle's workaholic tendencies would have been utterly unbearable.
Back to work, then.
. . .
It was half past midnight when they finished.
The actual writer's convention itself had ended hours ago, right before six in the evening. But Riddle had declared that they wouldn't leave until they'd finished looking through every single manuscript.
Even when the booths were being cleaned up and packed away, his boss had simply found them an empty meeting room in which to continue working.
And now the building was completely empty… completely dark, save for the room they were working in.
"Done," Harry said softly, pushing his laptop away from him and leaning his head upon his palms. He rubbed his eyes sleepily beneath his glasses, his vision blurry from all the manuscripts he'd read.
"Is that the last pile?" Riddle's voice sounded in front of him, hoarse and rough.
Harry nodded as he got up, stuffing the pile into his backpack. "Yes—the rest are rejected manuscripts." He picked up the rejections, stuffing them in the nearest recycling bin.
"And have you sent out emails to the writers we're considering?"
Harry nodded again, yawning. "Yes, sir."
He walked forward a few steps before he was suddenly overcome by dizziness. Closing his eyes as he swayed on his feet, Harry reached out a hand to place against the wall, leaning against it.
A nice, warm wall.
" Harry, " a soft voice murmured, with clear amusement, but Harry ignored it. He was warm, and so very… comfortable…
After a few moments, warm hands grabbed Harry's wrists, removing them with surprising gentleness.
"The elevator is here." Fingers flicked his forehead, and the soft voice grew firmer. "Wake up. "
His eyes opened on command.
"Euurgh!" Harry jumped away from Riddle, whom he'd been leaning against, clutching at like a lifeline. How embarrassing. "Why didn't wake me?"
Riddle raised his eyebrows explanatorily, and that was all the response Harry needed to flush twice as hard.
As they got into the elevator, the older man pressed the button to the parking garage floor and turned to face Harry. "I got us separate rooms at the Hilton not too far from here."
Harry breathed out a sigh of relief, feeling himself warm at the mere thought of luxury and privacy. "Thank you."
They stayed quiet as the lift fell shut and started moving downwards, more out of tiredness than awkwardness by this point. And that familiar vertigo hit him once more, but Harry suppressed it, focusing on the ever-decreasing floor number displayed above the closed doors.
Nine… eight… sev—
The elevator jerked to a stop.
The lights went out completely, submerging them in darkness.