A/N:

i wrote this just for fun. i had the idea of harry in a kissing booth and tom going to ridiculous lengths because of it, and this was the result.

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How Much for a Kiss?

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Harry had reservations about volunteering for the spring fair kissing booth.

First of all, he didn't think anyone would actually want to pay money to kiss him.

Second of all, the idea of sitting around for an hour while no one paid money to kiss him, even for charity, was worse than any punishment Harry could think of, up to and including being chased around the neighbourhood by Dudley all summer long as a kid.

But his friends had bullied him into doing it, and it was for a good cause and all, so Harry had given in.

Now he was anxiously waiting off to the side for Cho Chang to finish her shift in the booth so he could take her place. If he ended up doing nothing for an hour, he would never be able to show his face on campus ever again.

Cho kissed her last patron then put up the closed sign at the front of the booth. She gathered up her things while Harry watched, then turned to hand him the key for the cash box.

"Have fun," she said to him. There was a little half-smile on her face, like she knew what she'd said was awkward but hadn't been able to think of a better way to say it.

"Thanks," Harry said, voice croaky and hoarse. He flushed, coughed to clear it, then repeated, "Thanks, Cho."

Cho was one of the prettiest girls on the student executive board. She was the vice-president and was well-liked by everyone who knew her. She was a great candidate for a kissing booth.

"Do you need me to show you how to unlock the cash box?"

Harry gave himself a mental shake. "Er, no. I'm good, thanks."

"It got quiet towards the end of my hour," she told him sympathetically. "Don't worry if you don't get that many people."

Harry grimaced inwardly. Was his nervousness that obvious? "Thanks."

"See you later, Harry." She smiled, patted his arm, then left.

Now alone in the booth, Harry shrugged off his jacket and set it aside. Underneath his jacket, he was wearing the bright pink shirt that Luna had designed for the kissing booth volunteers. On the center of the shirt was a little cupid statue with a red lipstick mark on its cheek. The text below the cupid read 'KISS ME' in chunky dark red letters.

Harry sat down in the booth and pulled the closed sign down. The fair was still going strong from what he could see. People were wandering around with their caramel apples, sticks of cotton candy, and bags of popcorn.

After some time had passed, Harry checked his watch. Two minutes. It had only been two minutes. He was being stupid. Surely even the volunteers minding the game booths sat idle for at least two minutes from time to time.

Three minutes.

Four minutes.

At the five minute mark, Hermione came to see him and insisted on paying £10 for a kiss on the cheek. Harry spent five more minutes arguing with her over it—he didn't want her pity money—before she told him he was giving 'bad customer service' and probably putting off the people around them.

After Hermione left, however, Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott both paid for cheek kisses as well. Harry felt a bit better after that, especially because both girls blushed and smiled at him before they left.

Then there was another lull with no patrons. Harry slouched in his chair and wondered if maybe Hermione had told Susan and Hannah to come over and cheer him up. He checked his phone for messages and found none, though Ron had uploaded a delightful video of himself dropping Draco Malfoy in the dunk booth.

Harry was considering dropping out of university and moving to Antarctica when Tom Riddle strode up to the booth.

Startled, Harry bolted upright, sure that Tom was about to chastise him for slouching, or tell him to smile to attract more patrons, or basically anything other than what Tom did end up saying, which was—

"How much?"

"Excuse me?" Harry blurted out.

Tom Riddle was president of the executive board and had perfect grades. He also had a reputation for being an utter hardass with standards higher than the international space station. To top it all off, he and his family were filthy rich. Tom drove a high-end Mercedes that probably cost more than Harry's tuition.

Unfortunately, Harry had once seen Tom shirtless in a photo posted by Pansy Parkinson on Instagram. The image was now and forever burned into his brain as excellent wank material.

In summary, Harry had only spoken to Tom once or twice before today, except today Tom was standing in front of Harry's kissing booth with stupid fancy hair and a stupid handsome jawline and a stupid attractive smirk.

It was like Christmas had come early, but it was also like Harry had just been dipped balls-first into the fiery pits of hell.

Tom raised a brow at him. "How much for a kiss?"

Harry felt his face go red. "It's, um, by donation. The minimum is £2. Says so on the panel."

Tom made a thoughtful sound as he sat down in the chair in front of the booth. He rolled up the sleeves of his navy button down and checked his watch. "You started at half past three?"

"Yes?"

"And you finish at half past four?"

"Yes," Harry said, wondering what Tom was getting at.

"It is 3:50 pm right now," Tom said seriously.

If it was possible for his face to get any redder, Harry was certain it was happening. Was Tom trying to… trying to say that it was strange that no one was here? Was he going to ask how much Harry had made so far?

Tom pulled out his wallet.

Oh, Christ, Harry thought weakly.

Tom thumbed through his bills and pinched a few notes together. "Here," he said, holding them out. "I want you until the end of your shift. This ought to cover your average hourly rate and then some."

Harry stared down at the money instead of taking it. He did not know exactly how much Tom was holding, but he could definitely, absolutely see that the top most bill was a hundred pound note.

"What the fuck," Harry said without thinking.

Tom's smile was far too indecent to be considered appropriate for a student-run spring fair. "I'll tip another hundred if you let me into the booth."

"That," Harry began in a pitched voice, "is not how this works."

Tom frowned at him. "Isn't it? I pay you for your time and the proceeds go to charity."

"Yes, but you can't pay for… for all my time!" Harry said, flustered.

"If you like," Tom said, "we could do this in increments. But then I'd have to see about breaking these bills. I doubt you have enough in the cash box to make change for three hundred pounds."

"Three hundred pounds?" Harry demanded. "What is wrong with you?"

"It really isn't uncommon to carry around this much," Tom said patiently.

"It is when you spend all of it on a kissing booth!"

Someone came up behind Tom and tapped him on the shoulder. Tom turned around to glance at whoever it was—a girl that Harry didn't know—and said, "Sorry, I'm in the middle of negotiating at the moment. I recommend you return at half past four. That's when the next shift starts."

Harry watched as the girl shot them both an odd look and walked off.

"Now," Tom said as he retrieved his wallet from his pocket for the second time, "if I add another fifty, does that make you more amenable?"

Harry abruptly stood and slapped him. The sound of his palm striking Tom's face was loud and echoed ominously in Harry's ears.

Oh, god. Harry dropped his hand, horrified. He'd just slapped Tom Riddle in the middle of the spring fair.

Tom winced, brow wrinkling, and rubbed at his jaw. "Well, I suppose that's one way to warm up."

"Sorry," Harry said hastily. "Sorry, I didn't mean to hit you."

The side of Tom's mouth quirked up. "It certainly feels like you did." He tapped a hand on the counter that separated them. "Four fifty and that's my final offer."

"You—" Harry said in a strangled voice. "You increasing the amount doesn't actually make me feel any better."

"Odd, that." Tom scrunched his face up slightly. "What if I let you sit on my lap while we kiss?"

"Not better," Harry said, feeling faint.

"There must be something I can offer to convince you to permit me free rein of the…" Tom paused to check his watch. "Thirty minutes you have left."

Harry swallowed, steeled himself, and said quite firmly, "There is nothing you can say that'll convince me. That isn't how a kissing booth works! You can have one kiss if you pay the minimum of £2 and that's it."

Tom stared at him for a long, long time. "Five hundred pounds," he said finally. "I don't have more than that on me at the moment."

Harry scrunched his nose. He did not want to snog Tom Riddle in a kissing booth, but he did want to snog Tom Riddle. This had created a massive internal dilemma in the disorganized land of Harry's brain.

On one hand, the morals of letting the president of the executive board snog him in the kissing booth for half an hour straight in plain sight of everyone. On the other hand, snogging the very attractive president of the executive board for half an hour straight.

"Harry?"

Tom looked so genuinely serious that Harry could feel a headache coming on. What the hell.

"If you donate five hundred pounds," Harry said, closing his eyes and praying to the non-existent gods who watched over sad gay university students, "I will let you take me out on a date."

There was a beat of silence, and then Tom said, "Five hundred pounds and no one else is allowed to kiss you for the duration of your shift. And I get the kiss you offered previously."

Ah, to hell with it. Harry opened his eyes. "Deal."

Tom's smile widened into a smirk. "Do I get to come in?"

"No, you don't."

Tom sighed and emptied his wallet out.

Harry locked the bills into the cash box, his hands shaking slightly with nerves, his heart pounding a million times a minute. Never in his life had he been so nervous about one kiss before.

Then again, never in his life had one kiss been worth five hundred pounds. He was probably allowed to experience some performance anxiety. That was only reasonable.

Harry turned around and braced himself for what he expected to be a very thorough, very engaged kiss.

Tom drew near and raised a hand to touch the side of Harry's face. "Ready?" he asked, like they were about to begin a race and not meet lips for the first time.

"S-sure," Harry stuttered. "Go for it."

Tom swooped in and placed a kiss on Harry's cheek. It was chaste and fleeting, and then it was over.

Harry blinked, wide-eyed. "That's it?"

"Well, you see, I gave your words some thought," Tom said with a smug smile. "I've decided to save your kiss for our date. After all, there's no charge for those who want to kiss you, is there? The £2 fee is for you to kiss me, not the other way around."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but no words came out.

Tom tapped a delicate forefinger to Harry's lower lip. "I'll text you the details for our date. This Saturday, if you're available," he said in a low voice.

"Saturday works," Harry said, forcing himself to answer.

Tom stepped away, still smiling, and added, "In the meantime, you may want to put up a sign to let people know you're closed for the hour. I imagine it would be quite awkward to explain how the rest of your time is spoken for when I'm not around."

Then Tom left, taking his newly-emptied wallet with him.

Harry blindly groped for the closed sign, stuck it at the front of the booth, and pulled the curtains shut. He checked his watch. Twenty-five minutes to go. Five hundred pounds for twenty-five minutes, which meant he was earning a hundred pounds every five minutes to sit here and do nothing.

"You've got to be kidding me," Harry said aloud to the empty booth.

There was no answer, which was expected. Then his phone buzzed, so he turned the screen on to look.

Hermione [16:05]

Why have you shut the curtains on your booth?

Harry dropped his phone onto the counter like it had burned him. How was he going to explain this to Hermione? Or to anybody? How could he explain having made five hundred pounds in a single hour?

After several seconds of sitting there, distressed, Harry picked up his phone and texted her back to say he needed the bathroom. Damn it. He should have just accepted Tom's offer to snog for thirty minutes in the booth. At least then Hermione wouldn't accuse him of not doing his job.

Now Harry was stuck with five hundred pounds, a closed kissing booth, and a questionable date for Saturday night that was guaranteed to end in snogging.

Well. There were worse ways this could have gone. Probably. Snogging was something to look forward to, kind of. Harry scrunched his nose again. It better be an expensive date. He didn't put out for just anything, enormous donations to charity aside.

Besides, Tom was loaded. He could afford it. If he was willing to pay that much for a snogging session, he'd best be willing to shell out more for a nice restaurant.

Harry's phone buzzed a second time. It was Hermione again.

Hermione [16:12]

Are you back yet?

Harry dropped his head to the counter. Maybe it wasn't too late to convince Tom to come back.

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END.

A/N:

taking a moment here to say thank you for all the nice reviews and comments on my other works! i do read them all and appreciate them very much. hope everyone is doing well.