…
A/N: Here's your gay wizard porn, G. Love ya! Also merry Christmas I guess lol.
Tom in this is like politician Tom, and we're gonna pretend the anachronisms in here make sense, just bear with me.
C/W for non/con, violence, and smut, as requested ;)
…
The firewhiskey burned down his throat, adding fuel to the embers of rage seething in his chest. Tom's last words to him echoed in his mind; "Of course I don't love you, Harry. I told you going into this that I don't do fluff. Please, don't be ridiculous. "
A low growl escaped his lips as he downed the last of his drink, waving down the barkeep for another. He couldn't understand how Tom could be so cruel and unfeeling, but he didn't particularly feel like dwelling on it just then.
Drink after drink, he watched as twilight slowly turned to midnight through the windows of the bar, nestled in the quiet part of Diagon Alley. As his mind swirled in a drunken haze, he ignored the eyes burning into him from the corner. He'd been used to people staring his entire life, so if the dark stranger wanted his attention, he'd have to be brave enough to approach.
He knocked back another glass just as his train of thought came to the conclusion, and no less than thirty seconds later, the stranger approached. He felt the air around him shift and a large, bony hand came down on his shoulder.
"Can you read my mind or something?" Harry managed to slur out, twisting his head around to face the man. "Oh, you can. Ugh. "
Severus Snape stood over his shoulder, his worn features lined with concern. He turned away from his old professor, who also happened to be a master legilimens.
"Harry, do you realize what kind of a position you're putting yourself in by allowing yourself to get carried away like this? Do you even realize how much you've had to drink?"
Harry gave a noncommittal shrug and waved in the general direction of the barkeep. "I'll find out when I pick up the tab. Which, I don't plan on doing until I can't feel my face. So," he paused to take a swig of whiskey, "I still have a bit to go. "
Snape scoffed, taking the barstool to his right. "I'd wager you already can't feel your face, you imbecile. Need I remind you," he lowered his voice to a whisper, leaning in a bit closer than necessary to his former student, "that you have enemies everywhere, any number of whom would be delighted to find you this intoxicated, alone and unprotected? Do you not realize how brightly lit the target on your back is at this very moment?"
Harry drained his glass and looked as incredulously he could manage (for if he were being honest, he really couldn't feel his face) at his old teacher. He didn't last long before a goofy, lopsided grin stretched across his cheeks, and with a firm clap to the man's shoulder, he cried, "Oh, come off it! Loosen up, old Snapey, I'm just having fun! Here, I'll get you a round too, on my tab. Let's see if you're such a tight-arse after you've got some good in you. " He winked and waved for the drinks.
To his credit, Snape managed to withhold laughter at the ridiculous display, though he did feel some stirrings of resentment at being addressed so casually.
The drinks came, and Snape watched Harry grow steadily more and more intoxicated. How he hadn't thrown up at that point was anyone's guess, but it seemed that remaining conscious was beginning to become a struggle for the boy. He held his shoulders steady as his head drooped, then shot back up with a sudden wave of alertness.
He yawned, exclaiming, "Oh, I'm not gonna pass out, you don't need to hold me like that. I'm fine! I do, however," his head flopped to the side, regarding Snape with an impish grin, "think it's time for me to go home. "
Snape hummed, not loosening his hold on Harry. "Well then, pay your tab and let's go. "
Harry squinted at him for a moment before he smiled, giggling in a most unbecoming way, "Professor, you don't know where I live! If you did, well…" He trailed off in a fit of laughter, imagining the appalled and shocked look on Snape's face if he knew who exactly Harry lived with.
His boisterous laughter went straight into his head, almost knocking him down with the wave of dizziness that followed. Snape's nails dug into the skin of his arms as he moved to catch him. "Woah! I'm fine, I'm fine, stop fretting over me like some, some… I don't even know. " He trailed off in a slur, tripping over himself to get back in his seat.
When the bill was duly paid, the pair stepped outside, where Snape was appalled to see Harry pulling out his wand.
"Excuse me, Potter, what exactly do you think you're doing?"
Harry blinked blearily up at him, almost swaying on the spot. "Uhmmm, I'm going home? What are you doing, sir?" He grinned at what he perceived to be a witty comeback.
"You are absolutely not apparating in your state, you'll splinch yourself to pieces! Do you have even a shred of common sense, boy?"
Harry held the tip of his wand against his chin, making a display of thinking. "Hmmmmm- hey!"
Snape had reached out and snatched the wand from his slack grasp. "I'm taking you home. Better that than you end up in a hundred pieces, spread out across the countryside. "
"You don't know where I live, sir, so how the hell are you going to take me there?"
"I'm assuming you're too dense to tell me where you live?"
"You assume right, mister- sir. I think you'd have a heart attack-!" He broke off in peals of laughter again, nearly collapsing to the pavement.
Snape grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, pulling him back up. His hand still rested heavily against his ex-pupil as he ground out, "Well, then it looks like you'll be staying the night at the Snape residence. "
Harry twisted around in Snape's grip and barked out a laugh. "I don't think my… boyfriend would like that very much. He's probably up waiting for me, poor old Tommy. I bet he's just worrying his knickers off," he sighed, then snickered. He just called Voldemort his boyfriend. How ridiculous!
"Well, Potter, your boyfriend will have to learn to share. You're staying with me tonight. No arguing. "
Ohhhhh, Snapey, you have no idea. He doesn't share, trust me. "
"He'll have to learn to. " Without further ado, he snatched the younger man into his arms, holding him tightly against his chest as he struggled. "Stop wiggling, you nitwit. "
Before Harry could even think to respond, as he was still fighting against his professor's surprisingly strong grip, he felt a tug in his navel. The sensation of being squished into a rubber tube overwhelmed him, smothering his cry of indignation and sucking the air straight from his lungs.
His feet hit the ground not too long after, and the rest of his body followed. Bits of gravel stuck to his cheek as he looked up at the man who had thrown him. He almost spat a retort at him, but his tongue refused to move. The second he tried, he almost vomited.
Snape scoffed at him, poking him with the toe of his boot. "Are you sleeping out here tonight, or are you going to get up?"
"I told you, I'm not staying here. I'm going home. "
He seemed resolute, and it was becoming obvious to Snape that even in his drunken state, Harry was just as obstinate as ever. He made a show of sighing and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Fine, Potter, have it your way. At the very least, come inside for a bit and I'll make you a potion to sober you up. "
Harry squinted up at him suspiciously, but acquiesced. He lifted his hand up to Snape for help, because he knew he wouldn't be able to get up on his own just then. Snape half-carried, half-dragged him out of the damp, dirty street and into his damp, dirty house.
It seemed surreal to him to be inside of his old teacher's home. Looking around at the dusty shelves and the dusty chairs, he could tell that Snape never stayed there for too long, perhaps living at the school over every holiday. Now, the man bustled around in his kitchen, pulling various tinctures and herbs into the cauldron on the counter.
Harry slumped down onto the small, single-person couch that sat in the center of the room, tilting his head back tiredly. As he did, his stomach churned at how the room spun.
The next thing he knew Snape was standing over him, holding a steaming goblet. "This first, it will keep you from emptying the contents of your stomach onto my living room floor. "
Harry downed the potion in one gulp, thanking Snape as he felt his stomach settle almost instantly. A moment later, he was being handed another goblet filled with a sickly green liquid. His nose crinkled of its own accord as he sniffed at it, only to find that it had no scent at all.
"It's a sober-up potion. Hurry up and drink it, then you can leave. "
He was surprised once again as he tilted the contents of the cup into his mouth; it had absolutely no taste. That stuck out to him.
"Hey- um, doesn't sober-up usually taste like, well, shit?"
Snape only hummed and pried the cup out of his hand, muttering something to himself as he carried it into the kitchen.
His head found its place against the back of the chair once again as he waited for the potion to take effect. Much to his dismay, he felt the pressure in his temples mounting, buzzing more violently by the second. His entire body felt fuzzy and disoriented in a remarkably short time. His vision darkened, filling in from the corners with dark, swirling shadows. His breathing slowed, as did his mind.
The only sign that he wasn't asleep was that he could feel cold fingers pressing into the hollow of his cheek. They stroked from his ear to his chin almost lovingly, before drawing back. In that moment of stillness, Harry felt like he was floating on top of the ocean's waves, drifting along in complete darkness.
A sharp slap against his cheek dragged him back for just a moment before he was swallowed under the waves once more. His lungs refused to pull in a gasp, breathing as slowly and steadily as if he were in a deep sleep.
A low, dark chuckle rang through the quiet room. The hands returned, exploring the skin of his throat, tracing down to the collar of his shirt. The chill of the skin against his sent goosebumps down his arms. His voice was nearly silent as he forced a single word out.
"Tom?"
He felt his body being lifted, thin hands pressing into his hips and shoving him back, back until he hit stone. His spinning head cracked loudly against the wall, sending white splotches dancing across his vision. His breath was cut off by a bony forearm shoved against his throat as a raspy voice spoke against his ear.
"Not Tom. "
Thin lips crashed over his, slicing through his numbness with sharp teeth. They tore through his skin as he struggled for breath, filling his mouth with blood. His eyes rolled back as the moments bled together, skipping over parts in a drunken, suffocated haze of pain and movement.
His vision darkened, then returned as he felt a hand fisting his hair, pulling his head to the side. He breathed in a gulp of stale, hot air as the teeth finally released his lip, moving down to his throat. They scraped along the column of his neck, seeming bent on consuming him whole.
The arm that had pinned his throat roved down his back, its long fingers clawing and grasping at everything in its reach. A wash of cool air hit his bare chest, and he was shocked to find his shirt thrown just within sight, tossed carelessly away in his attacker's haste.
"What are you…" his head spun as he was whirled around, and the breath was knocked from his lungs as he fell onto a hard, wooden table. The clawed fingers trailed in scrapes down his chest as the figure loomed over him, cast in a menacing shadow.
He didn't notice Snape's head lowering over his stomach, tracing over every contour of his abdomen with appraising eyes. He let out a whimper that morphed into a short, subdued cry of pain as Snape's teeth closed over the sensitive skin on his hip, taking his time sinking them into his flesh.
Terror sliced through his stupor as he realized what was happening to him. The fog in his mind swirled and threatened to drag him under once more, much more potently than regular inebriation. He opened his mouth to speak, but he found that his tongue was heavy, and the only sound that came out was a weak whimper, almost inaudible to him. His head lolled to the side, his eyes roving wildly around the room in a dizzying swirl of motion.
"Oh, no you don't. " Thin, hard fingers grasped his face, digging unkempt nails into his cheeks. He was forced to look up into Snape's deep, black eyes as he appraised his bare chest, streaked with blood. The look in those eyes sent a flash of adrenaline through his veins, running his blood cold for a split-second before the potion did its work, and he fell limp once again.
The hungry, sadistic gleam in those black pools was undeniable. They trailed down from his red-streaked lips, his bruised throat, to the lines of blood leading down to the bite mark above the hem of his unzipped slacks. Harry's panic sent him into overdrive as he felt cold fingers slide under his waistband, unable to look away from the blood-stained lips curved into a wicked smile between his legs.
"I told you, Harry Potter," he spat the name like a slur, splattering more blood onto his stomach, "that you have enemies everywhere, just waiting to catch you in such a vulnerable state as you were. Idotic fool. "
Harry couldn't bring himself to register the words spoken to him when he felt the band of his boxers snap against his skin, reminding him of the man's hand exploring there. Another breathless whine escaped his swollen lips, a failed attempt at a scream. His thoughts were completely incoherent as Snape finally found his way underneath each layer of his clothing. He lay there, breathing as steadily as ever while Snape's voice became haggard, palming him, skin against skin.
"You have no idea, Potter, how long I've wanted… how long I've waited for this. I thought I'd lost my chance when you left Hogwarts, that I'd never see you again… but you practically offered yourself up to me tonight. " He panted, and Harry could feel something hot and hard grinding against his limp knee.
He couldn't take it anymore; he closed his eyes against the sight of Snape's face contorting in sick pleasure, though he couldn't drown out the sound of the moan that tore from him. It resonated through the small room, raising the hairs all across Harry's body; it was a sound he'd never imagined he'd have to hear from this man, his teacher, and he'd never wanted to. It was wrong, all of it was. If he could move, he'd roll off of the table and vomit.
But he couldn't move at all, aside from his eyes, which he kept firmly shut. That small exercise of power seemed to be too much for Snape, as Harry shortly found out.
The fingers grasping between his legs pulled away; he was granted one, short wash of relief before he felt his nose shatter under a bony fist.
The snarl of rage was so close to his face, so fierce, that it drowned out any weak exclamation he'd made. Snape's breath was unbearably hot against his cheek as he spat, "You will look at me, Potter! You will watch as I take you, you'll see every moment of it, you impudent little-"
The temperature in the room dropped by fifty degrees in a split-second. Harry could feel hot blood pulsing out of his nostrils, and he felt strangely grateful for the warmth. The rest of his half-naked body was not spared from the freezing temperature, save for the parts Snape leaned over, a predator warily protecting its kill. He kept his palms planted firmly on either side of Harry's hips, leaning over the table and scanning the dark room.
He couldn't see anything, though that seemed to put him further on edge. His stained lips curled back from his teeth in a snarl. His eyes flashed wildly from one shadow to the next for a moment, then suddenly his irises disappeared entirely. From the table, Harry watched the man shoot straight up, arms locked at his sides, eyes rolled all the way back. His lips twitched uncontrollably, the words dying in his throat.
Harry could have fainted from sheer relief. Over Snape's trembling shoulders, materializing from the shadowy curtain of the night, familiar red eyes burned. Tom.
The tall, graceful man zeroed in on Snape, circling him like a hawk. He pushed two fingers into the potion master's chest, deceivingly calm, shoving him further away from the table. He whispered to the man with each pass he made, the acerbic tone obvious to Harry even though he couldn't make out the exact words. He would have tried harder to listen in on his lover's famously creative threats had his own panic not resurfaced.
The blood that ran endlessly from his nose trickled straight into his mouth and down his throat, filling it. He twitched, fighting to turn his head as his lungs burned for air. His throat refused any notion of swallowing, and he inwardly cursed. After all that he'd gone through, he'd be damned if he let himself choke to death on his own blood.
Almost instantly, Tom's eyes flashed over to him. Harry didn't want to imagine what he probably looked like; half- undressed, smeared with blood, covered with bruises and cuts and whatever else. All that mattered was whether or not Tom noticed his diaphragm stuttering beneath his ribs, trying over and over to suck in air where there was none.
In an instant, Tom hovered over him. Even as his mind hazed further from lack of oxygen and his eyelids fluttered of their own accord, he couldn't help but feel amazed at the man's startling beauty. Those crimson eyes seared into his, searching. His lips moved, the tenor of his voice smooth and flat, if not a bit panicked. The words were muffled in Harry's ears as his mind sank further, but the tone disturbed him. Tom never sounded that worried.
Harry wanted to tell him not to worry, that he was alright, but he only managed a wet gurgle past the blood in his throat.
Understanding dawned in those ruby eyes and in a flash Harry was on his side, blood pouring out of his mouth and onto the table. He blinked up at his savior as he steadily took a breath, trying to convey his gratitude through those small movements alone. Tom flicked his wand, erasing the metallic tang from his mouth completely, before rounding on Snape once again.
He made absolutely no effort to hide his fury, shaking the walls with the magic that exploded from him. It seemed he had run out of threats and was fueled entirely by his indignant rage. Tom's roar was quickly drowned out by Snape's growing howls of pain, just out of Harry's line of sight. Although he couldn't turn his head to watch the man's fate, he at the very least revelled in every second of the man's anguished final noises.
His cries turned hoarse, marking the exact moment that his vocal chords gave away and tore. Not too long after came a wet splattering sound, and a horribly familiar scent wafted over him. He remembered the smell well from his years fighting for Dumbledore, and he instantly knew that Snape had been disemboweled. From his viewpoint, he watched blood spray across the floor in sporadic streams, paving the way for the ever growing puddle that spread outward from Snape's feet.
After what felt like an hour, but was very likely only a few minutes, the screams broke off into a wheeze that led straight into Snape's final breath. His body hit the floor with a loud thud.
Harry wanted nothing more than to sleep, then. He was safe. His heart swelled with gratitude for Tom; without him and his uncanny ability to find him any time he was in danger, he'd still be pinned under his most hated ex-professor. He almost gagged at the idea.
Tom was in front of him again, the smell of blood wafting around him like a perfume. His face was chalk-white with rage, contrasting starkly from the blood splashed across his left cheek. His eyes shone like smoldering embers as he took in the sight of him, and suddenly he felt embarrassed. He knew he'd gotten himself into this mess. As much as he was loath to admit it, he had gone overboard at the bar. He could only hope that Tom wouldn't chew him out too thoroughly over it.
"Harry?"
He made no response, he couldn't. That seemed to annoy Tom.
"Blink if you can hear me. " He sounded irate, and Harry complied.
The man visibly relaxed as he did, letting out a long sigh and leaning his hands against the table. Had he really been that worried? Harry thought that Tom was angry with him, but there wasn't even the faintest trace of it written on his face. The man looked utterly relieved.
"Let's go home, Harry. " He sighed and hefted Harry's limp body up into his arms, cradling his head gently to his shoulder. As he turned to leave, Harry caught a glimpse of Snape's mangled corpse strewn across the floor. The man's arm was torn from its socket and laid five feet away from the rest of him; his face was permanently etched into a mask of horror. Harry closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of his lover.
The cool air outside was a balm to his mind, though he only had a moment to enjoy it before he was side-along apparated home. The familiar smell of their bedroom greeted him, a comforting mix of incense and cedarwood that set him at ease immediately. Tom leaned over to lay him across their bed and snapped for a house elf.
"I need some water, sober-up potion, calming draught, and-" He looked over Harry's crushed nose and open wounds, "-blood replenishing potion. Also, bring the medical supply kit. " The elf popped away in the next second, and Tom summoned a chair right next to the bed but didn't sit. His hand traced across Harry's forehead, brushing his hair away from his eyes.
"How could this happen…?" He muttered to himself before casting a diagnostic charm over him. "Broken nose, skin abrasions…" He paused over Harry's sternum, shaking with rage. His lips twisted into a silent snarl as he cast the spell again, moving his wand tip from the top of Harry's head down to his shoes. "You have a crack in your skull, two broken ribs, and you've been drugged. " The last word was spat with such malice that Harry almost flinched.
This felt better. Seeing him angry like this felt much more natural than the uncharacteristic concern he had shown back in Snape's home. The room fell silent as they waited for the house elf to return. His fingers never left his hairline, tracing it over and over absentmindedly while the man thought.
The elf popped back in with a cart of medical supplies and potions, definitely more than had been asked for. Without a wasted breath, Tom ordered the elf to go back and find whatever cup Harry had drank from, and to bring it back. Again, the elf bowed and popped away.
"I'm going to remove your clothes now," he warned, and the gesture warmed Harry's heart further. Undoubtedly, in any other circumstance, he would have just stripped him without a word. It was a small gesture, sure, but it proved to him that Tom really did care about him.
He was levitated a foot above the bed as Tom worked, gently pulling his shoes and trousers off and leaving him in his knickers under the duvet. He felt much more comfortable then, but as much as he wanted to, he couldn't fall asleep. He figured whatever potion he had been drugged with was probably designed to keep him conscious. He didn't want to think of the implications of that fact.
His nose cracked painfully under Tom's wordless spell, and another gush of blood trailed across his cheek. Tom was quick to banish it, thankfully preventing him from choking again, although luckily his mouth was shut this time. After a moment, only a dull, aching pressure remained of the injury, and Tom moved on. He rolled Harry onto his side, casting spell after spell on the back of his head where apparently he'd fractured his skull. He wasn't sure whether the injury had come from being slammed against the stone wall or thrown down onto the hardwood table, but it didn't matter much to him.
He was safe. Tom had saved him. Those were the only thoughts in his mind as the man busied himself repairing his broken ribs. The cracks of his bones as they moved under his skin and fused back together could have made him cringe, but he didn't let himself dwell on it. It was over shortly and Harry was not excited to feel the aftermath in the morning. The soreness he felt now would only multiply in his sleep, he knew that from experience.
On his back again, Tom traced his wand over the clawed trenches in his chest. The stinging of the antiseptic hurt even worse than Snape's nails had as they raked through his skin, but he knew that Tom was being as gentle as possible, and that distracted him enough to endure.
A plume of red sparks suddenly flew into the air, and Harry's eyes went wide in shock. Tom didn't notice the magic that had spouted from his wand, his gaze fixed completely on a section of mangled, torn skin just above the hem of his boxers. His hands curled into white-knuckled fists and Harry could swear that the man was regretting giving Snape such a quick death.
His hip burned as Tom sanitized the bite wound with shaking hands, and Harry was shocked to find that he couldn't close his eyes against the pain. He felt a faint echo of panic that was dragged away just as quickly, and with numb detachedness he figured that the potion he had been drugged with was exerting more power over him the longer it was in his system.
He could feel every prickling stitch of Tom's magic healing his wounds, but his eyes never left the ceiling straight ahead of him. He felt dead.
Tom finished his work and sat down on the chair he had conjured, rubbing his forehead tiredly. From the corner of his eye, Harry watched the man's head snap to the side as the elf popped back into the room. He jumped up and took the goblet from its tiny hands, instantly investigating the last dregs of potion left within.
"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck!"
Tom swiftly came to his side, peering down into his widened eyes. "Harry, I need you to blink. " He couldn't.
Another swear tore itself from the man's lips, and he frantically began to cast spell after spell on the cup, lighting up the room in flashes of red, orange, and finally, green. In the next breath, he was listing off potion ingredients to the elf, who was gone before he had even finished pronouncing the last one. He hovered over the side of the bed, more anxious than Harry had ever seen him.
His words came out shakily as he explained, "The potion you were given is a very dangerous, illegal drug. It dampens the nervous system, slowly at first, then exponentially after the first thirty minutes or so. It's designed to keep you compliant and conscious for a short time, and then your brain shuts itself down completely. You won't be able to move or talk, and eventually you will stop breathing completely. " He broke off darkly at that conclusion, his voice catching.
"Severus Snape was going to let you die-" His voice broke again in rage, and he growled before continuing, "I won't let that happen. " He left no room for doubt, and Harry wouldn't have anyways.
Tom kept his hand resting against Harry's chest while they waited for the potion ingredients, tracking the steady rising and falling of his breath. They arrived without delay, the house elf panting from the exertion of her rush. Immediately, Tom moved away and began throwing the ingredients together in a flurry of frantic movements just outside his line of vision.
A gentle sizzling sound filled the room along with an acrid smell. It burned his throat for a moment before, to his horror, his lungs seized up as solid as rock. Tom had implied that he would stop breathing slowly, incrementally, but obviously that wasn't the case.
He wanted to cry out, hit something, do anything at all to get Tom's attention, but he sat as still as a corpse, trapped entirely in his deteriorating mind. It didn't take long for his vision to darken, both from lack of oxygen and because of how ridiculously dry his eyes had become without the ability to blink.
For an outsider looking in on the situation, he was already a corpse lying in repose. If Tom didn't turn around to check on him soon, it would become reality.
His fingertips and toes tingled, spreading up his arms and legs as if he were being consumed by TV static. Even though his lungs burned for air and his eyes stung dryly, he could only be thankful that his death wouldn't be too incredibly painful. At the very least, he was here with Tom, which was far better than the alternative.
He knew that Tom loved him, no matter what the stubborn man said, and that was all that mattered to him as the world around him faded into black.
"Harry? Harry!" The voice was muffled, but he'd recognize the smooth tenor anywhere.
The static consumed him, and he finally slipped unconscious.
…
He awoke slowly, groggily opening his eyes in the cool light.
He groaned as he felt a throbbing pressure behind his eyes that built to an unbearable peak the second he tried to move.
"Good morning. "
Harry froze at the voice which spoke right against the top of his hair, and he became aware of the arm wrapped around his stomach from behind. He twisted himself around to face him, trying his hardest not to cringe at the pain shooting up from his ribs.
Tom looked down at him with guarded eyes, scanning his expression.
"It would be useless to ask if you're alright, but are you currently hurting anywhere?"
Harry nodded, and then grimaced at the motion. "My head is killing me, and I feel like I got hit by a bloody bus. "
Tom's lips twitched at his language, then withdrew his arm and rolled to the edge of the bed. When he returned, he had several flasks.
"I didn't want to give you any potions until the sedative was out of your system, in case they'd have a negative reaction. Here," he started, pushing one into Harry's hand, "this one will ease that headache. "
Harry downed the sobering potion without question. His head cleared considerably, and he rolled his neck in appreciation. He accepted the blood-replenishing and pain relief potions in turn, but the fourth and final potion gave him pause. He sniffed at the milky white liquid, his nose wrinkling at the fetid smell.
"What's this one for?"
Tom's expression darkened, though Harry knew he wasn't upset with him. If anything, it seemed like the man was angry at himself.
"That one is for the nerve damage you very likely sustained. The antidote to Snape's potion took longer than I had anticipated to brew. Unfortunately, your body went without oxygen for nearly three and a half minutes. "
Harry's eyes went wide at the realization of how close he'd come to death. He couldn't imagine how terrible that must have been for Tom, to witness him suffocating to death and not be able to do anything about it.
The fuzzy memory of Tom shouting his name played over and over in his mind as he accepted the potion, and he wallowed in guilt. The taste, however, was enough to distract him.
"Ugh! That was disgusting!" The potion tasted like rotten onions steeped in vinegar, and it left his throat feeling dry and chalky, making his voice sound hoarse.
Tom's eyes softened in a moment of rare sympathy, and he quickly conjured a glass of water, pressing it into his shaking hand.
The taste washed away surprisingly quickly, and he and Tom settled back onto the pillows. With a sigh of relief, he nuzzled his face into the crook of Tom's neck. He felt as Tom threw his arms lazily over him, tugging him closer and tracing patterns into his skin with his thumbs.
With his mind cleared and the pain in his body lessened significantly, Harry was lost in thought. He couldn't believe how stupid he'd been to run off and put himself in such a compromising situation. Because of his stupidity, Tom had to drop whatever he'd been doing to save him, and he knew how distressed Tom felt about almost losing him, although he would probably never admit it. He didn't need to; the way he held Harry close against him said enough.
Harry decided to break their comfortable silence first.
"I'm sorry. "
Tom balked, staring down at him incredulously. "You're apologizing for getting drugged and assaulted?"
"I was drunk, I should've been more careful. "
The scowl that Tom threw him was darker than the sheets they laid against. It was clear from his tone of voice that the thought of blaming Harry had never even crossed his mind. "You absolute imbecile. If I didn't just have to heal your cracked skull, I'd smack you. "
Chastised, Harry buried his face against Tom's bare chest, mumbling into his skin. "You're really not mad at me at all?"
He felt the man sigh, "I wouldn't be with you if I didn't think you could take care of yourself. While I don't condone going and drinking yourself into a public stupor every time we have a disagreement," he pulled away to level a glare at him, "Snape wouldn't have stood a chance against you without cheating. I completely understand why you would trust him, too; he was your teacher, and he worked as a spy for Dumbledore for years without anyone suspecting a thing. So no, none of what happened was your fault. "
He hadn't looked at it that way; he'd trusted his ex-professor easily, and that was completely normal. No one could've guessed the monster lurking beneath his strict facade, especially considering the man's history of duplicity. Even though he knew that it wouldn't have happened if he had just paid attention to how much he was drinking, he could hardly blame himself.
"I am sorry. "
Tom's words shocked him from his thoughts. Before he could even look up to discern the man's expression, he felt a cool hand trail down his chest, coming to rest above the bone of his hip. His fingers gripped him there, and he was gently pushed onto his back.
"Look," he was prompted.
As Tom's fingers pulled back, he could see the faint outlines of a scar. The two half-moons converged over his boxers, a permanent reminder of what had almost happened. He could almost point out the exact points where Snape's canines pierced his flesh.
"He left his mark on you. I tried my hardest to avoid scarring, but healing magic has never been my forte. " His anger and shame were evident in his voice, and Harry felt himself choke on a sudden swell of emotion.
He pulled Tom's hand back onto his hip, pressing their joined fingers into the scar. He waited until the man's gaze was fully focused on him before he spoke, his voice turning husky.
"You saved me. I don't give a shit about a tiny scar, I'm alive because of you. The very air I'm breathing is because of you, my heart is beating because of you, and because of you, I'm able to do this. " He stretched himself up, pressing his lips to Tom's. His fingers tightened against him at the contact, pulling their bodies flush together. He pulled away to find a darkened, blood red stare fixed on him. "I would be dead if it weren't for you; every second I live from now on is your mark on me. "
He felt Tom's breath hitch. Harry knew for a fact that no one had ever spoken to him in such a way, showing such vulnerability, but every single word of it was the truth.
He knew that things were never going to be 'fluffy' with Tom, and he was okay with that. Any fluff from the man would seem strange, against his nature, and not what Harry was with him for. Tom was a man who had trouble putting his feelings into words, but he didn't need to; his actions spoke volumes.
Tom craned his neck to claim Harry's lips once again, and he happily acquiesced. He moved his arms to wrap around his broad shoulders as Tom rolled on top of him, carefully not letting his weight press against him.
Harry didn't like that. With a tug, Tom's arms gave out and he fell in a heap against his chest. His aching ribs protested, but he bit his lip to fight a grimace. Tom noticed.
"Idiot," he huffed, heaving himself up again.
At Harry's responding whimper, he shot him a narrowed glare. "I just fixed those ribs, and I'd be very unhappy if I had to do it again less than twelve hours later."
He cut off any protests Harry had been preparing to launch back at him with his lips, lowering himself just enough to gently nuzzle their chests together. Harry arched up into him, pleased to find one of Tom's hands pressed against the small of his back, pulling him even closer.
He gasped into the kiss as his hips bucked up into Tom's; he was disappointed to find that the man still wore his slacks, though they did little to hide the state of his body. He felt a soft laugh against his lips, and the voice there sent a shiver of desire down his spine.
"Impatient brat. "
That only spurred him further, and he twirled his fingers through the hair at the nape of Tom's neck, pulling himself up to kiss him more thoroughly. His lips parted with ease at the lightest touch from his partner's tongue, eager to spur the man further. His fingers tightened over the smooth, dark waves, twisting into his roots sharply.
Tom groaned against his tongue, and he knew that his plan had worked. Ignoring Harry's gasp, Tom pressed him flat against the bed, attacking his lips at a feverish pace that sent his mind spinning. His hand wandered over the toned muscles of his lover's back, grasping his heated skin.
Eventually, he found the waistband of the dark slacks, and snuck his fingers around to the front. Tom's lips left his, trailing down his jaw to press firm kisses into his neck, and he lifted his hips just enough to give Harry room with his zipper.
Harry didn't bother. His fingers deftly undid the button, and as his hand pressed its way under the fabric, the zipper whined open on its own. As usual, he found Tom's silk boxers concealing his own arousal, and he revelled in feeling the sultry fabric stretched taut by his lover. He felt Tom release a shaky breath into his ear as he ran a single finger up his hard length, teasing his outline through the thin fabric.
Tom rutted forward into Harry's palm when he finally gave in and grabbed a firm hold of him, moving in slow, sure strokes that he knew would drive his lover mad. With a growl, Tom bit down on his neck, sucking harshly against the skin there to stifle his own voice.
It wasn't often that Tom let him take control like this; he was going to make the absolute most of it. For the moment, the man was putty in his hands. Literally.
Tom's teeth released his skin with a gasp as Harry's fingers located the front opening concealed in the folds of silk, and without any warning he had him wrapped tightly in his fist. His voice was a breathless whisper against his ear, spouting a stream of curses and unintelligible murmurs as he was viciously pumped by Harry's deft hand.
The sounds excited him as much as the feeling of Tom's body shivering against him, but he wanted more. Almost as soon as the thought crossed his mind, Tom decided that his time in the lead was over. In a move so fast that it was dizzying, Harry's hands were snatched and pinned above his head with a binding spell; he had been so lost in the moment that he hadn't even seen Tom reach for his wand. A voice growled in a sinister tone against his throat, making him shiver in his skin.
"My turn. "
With another flick of his wand, Tom was divested of his clothing, leaving him completely naked as he perched over Harry's prone form. He couldn't help but squirm under the man's gaze, almost preening when he felt thin fingers hook around the band of his own boxers, which weren't doing a very good job hiding his arousal. In one swift jerk, his last bit of clothing was thrown to the floor, and he looked down to find Tom smiling up at him from between his legs.
The look in those crimson eyes nearly sent him over the edge all on its own. Without a doubt, he knew that his earlier words had affected the man, and he was about to find out exactly how much.
"Fuck!" He cried louder than intended as Tom took his entire cock into his mouth. His tongue wrapped around him skillfully, maddeningly hot and wet, and Harry ached to grasp at his hair. His hands fought hard against their invisible bonds as he bucked up into the bobbing head sucking him off. Not once did the man's eyes leave Harry's flushed face; he seemed rather amused by his desperate struggle.
His hips bucked again of their own accord, causing Tom's nails to dig painfully into his thighs as he groaned against him; the vibration of his voice was almost his undoing. He jerked his hips under the iron grip now holding them in place, a desperate whimper escaping his lips as he begged for release.
All too soon, Tom pulled his lips away. He whispered seductively against Harry's skin between open-mouthed kisses trailing up his stomach, "You'll have to beg… a little harder than that, Harry… Tell me…what is it that you want?"
Harry's voice failed him as Tom swirled his tongue against his nipple. "I– I want you to- Fuck!" His voice cracked comically, and he looked down to be met with a raised eyebrow from his lover, who now held a large section of his skin clamped between his teeth. He swallowed, attempting to locate his mind once again.
"I w-want you to fuck me, please!"
That earned an amused chuckle from his lover, who slid his body upwards, dragging their skin together sinuously as he lunged for Harry's lips. Their hips ground together, their arousals brushing roughly in the closing space between them.
Harry knew that, no matter his tendency to tease him, Tom couldn't last much longer. He was depriving both of them equally when he deprived Harry, and they both knew it.
Harry bit down onto Tom's bottom lip, which the man countered with a hand tugging at the roots of his hair, pulling his head to the side.
His voice held the sinister traces of a dark amusement as he moaned loudly into Harry's ear, followed by a breathless whisper, "Beg. "
His voice cracked as he cried out, but he couldn't care less. "Please, Tom! Please, I need-" he broke off with a gasp as his neck was again taken by Tom's teeth, his skin pulled dark by the force of his mouth. He arched into the contact, and his voice failed him completely when he tried to continue.
Tom sighed amusedly at his stuttering, pulling his hair until their eyes met. He chuckled darkly at Harry's dilated pupils and reddened cheeks, pleased at how quickly he'd turned him into a preening, babbling mess. He felt his heart swell with warmth and admiration for the young man, as well as a profound sense of relief that he appeared healthy and unchanged by what had almost happened. He didn't know what he would've done if he had been too late; as it was, he'd already come dangerously close to that.
Without further delay he flicked his wand, casting the spell that would prepare Harry for what would come next. He felt his lover's breath hitch at the sensation; it wasn't exactly something a person could get used to easily. He buried his face against Harry's neck, distracting him from the discomfort with his lips.
He settled himself between Harry's legs, pulling his knees up around his hips.
"Are you ready?" Normally he would have just assumed based on his lover's body language, but given the circumstances he felt the need to be a bit more direct.
Harry whined and nodded his head vigorously, letting his eyes slide shut.
Tom lost control over the binding spell as he gently pushed himself inside, and he felt Harry's arms fall across his shoulders, grasping at his hair as they breathed in unison. They let out a sigh in synchrony as he pushed himself to the hilt, and the pitch of Harry's voice sent a flood of warmth through his chest.
Harry's hips bucked, urging him to move, but he was lost in the foreign warmth that sent a flush into his stoic face. He felt the body under his stiffen, a questioning look forming itself in those intoxicating green eyes.
"Tom? Is everything alri-"
His question was cut short as Tom dove for his lips, crushing them with his own as he rocked his hips with renewed fervor. In a flash, they were locked in an ardent tangle of grasping hands and hungry lips as if the second of hesitation had never happened.
Tom knew Harry's body as well as his own, and so he had no problem angling his thrusts to hit that specific spot inside. He watched Harry's eyes darken and roll back as he pounded into him, picking up his pace at the insistence of the legs wrapping around his, urging him forward. His head dropped to the side, panting into Harry's ear, and his entire body strained upwards to meet him.
One of Tom's hands flew out to grasp at the headboard as Harry's hips angled, taking him in deeper as he drove in faster and harder. Harry moaned and mumbled incoherently against his shoulder, reaching up to graze his skin with his teeth. At the same time, he felt short nails digging into his back, and the voice against him cracked with a melodic lilt, and he was hit with another wave of emotion.
He wasn't sure why he was suddenly so affected by Harry's voice, his eyes, his body… but it wasn't entirely unpleasant. Perhaps it was because he'd come so close to losing him, but as he looked down at the boy whose head was suddenly thrown back in pleasure, he knew that he could never bear to part with him. Maybe that made Harry a weakness, but he found that he really didn't care.
He lowered himself over the trembling young man, sinking his teeth into the skin on his shoulder as he rutted into him, his eyes closing involuntarily as Harry tightened around him. He could feel Harry drawing close to his limit, his entire body thrumming with his impending release, and he drove himself on and on to that end, fighting the stirrings of his own orgasm that threatened to surface. He would be damned if he didn't make Harry come undone first.
Luckily, he didn't have to wait too long. Harry cried out and wound his arms around his neck, holding him in place as his body rocked with the waves of pleasure, and Tom could feel Harry's seed spilling out between the friction of their stomachs. He held still until all of Harry's muscles fell limp and he sighed against his neck, still trembling in the aftermath.
Tom stared down at his relaxed features with thinly veiled wonder, seeing there something he had never recognized before. In a gesture that was so gentle that it even surprised him, he leant down to kiss Harry on both of his cheeks, tracing his nose over his features tenderly.
Green eyes stared up at him with a warmth that had always been there when they met his, but he only just now understood it. He didn't allow himself to think as he began to rock his hips once again, seeking out his release. Harry helped him, lifting himself to meet the thrusts better and running his fingers through Tom's hair.
Tom gasped and panted into his lover's hair as he felt himself release, and as he rolled his hips, he kissed a trail up Harry's neck until his lips were against the shell of his ear. His voice caught and rasped out as he threw caution to the wind, if only for a moment. The confession tore itself from him, and he didn't fight it.
"I love you. "
There, he said it. He kept his head buried against the black curls and the pillow, almost afraid to see Harry's expression.
The young man seemed to have stopped breathing completely. Really, they'd had enough of that last night, and Tom didn't like the reminder.
"Breathe, Harry," he ordered, lifting himself up from the man's chest. He was startled to find tears swimming in those green eyes, and for the life of him, he couldn't understand how such a confession could make him cry. He still didn't want to spoil the moment, though, so he fought back a scoff as he rolled onto his side of the bed, sweeping his hair back onto the pillow.
He breathed in a deep sigh, not allowing himself to dwell on his show of vulnerability.
Harry seemed to catch the hint he was dropping and snuggled into his side with a contented hum. He already knew that Harry loved him, he'd told him multiple times, so there was nothing else that needed to be said on either side. They laid in a very contented silence for a few moments before Tom flicked his wand, cleaning them both.
"Thank you," Harry breathed, and Tom knew he was talking about more than just the cleaning spell.
"Don't mention it," he hummed in return, tangling his fingers into his dark hair. The room fell silent once more, until Harry suddenly perked up and peered over his chest to meet his eyes.
"How did you find me last night? How did you even know that I needed help?"
Tom said nothing as he traced his forefinger over the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead, smiling cryptically. He almost laughed as he watched the answer form in Harry's eyes, and he looked as if he could slap himself.
"Merlin, I forgot about that!"
Tom only shook his head amusedly, then bent down to plant a kiss over the scar.
"So…" Harry trailed off, a mischievous glint shining in his eyes, "you love me?"
Any semblance of good humor dropped from Tom's face in an instant. He pressed his hand into Harry's cheek, pushing him away fitfully.
"Don't push your luck. "