Chapter 4. Look at Me

Harry woke exhausted despite the light filtering through the windows which filled him with the immediate sense that he had slept a very long time. Shivering and blinking slowly—it felt as if his head were stuffed with cotton—he struggled to sit up. Why did he feel so awful? What happ—

Oh gods.

Fear licked up his spine as the horrors of the previous night flashed behind his eyes. A looming figure, red eyes, a hand around his throat, obscene rutting against his thigh. Pleading. And then...

Harry swallowed heavily, his shaky hands absently drifting up to clutch at his wayward hair.

Had he... Had he truly thrown Voldemort—Lord Voldemort—across the room? Like he had weighed nothing? No. No, he couldn't have.

And yet... It would certainly explain how awful he felt. Magical exhaustion was very rare, he knew, but it happened.

The memory of Voldemort crashing onto the floor replayed in his mind over and over. For a moment there, in the moment before Harry had thrown himself toward the window, he had seen pain twist the monster's serpentine face. The creature could hurt.

Although, if that were true, why on Earth was he still alive?

The answer came to him unbidden, a sickening hiss in his ears. "I want to defile you."

Harry shuddered violently and quite suddenly, he couldn't stand to be in that bed a moment more. Scrambling and shaking, he shoved aside the sheets and propelled his weakened body to his feet as best he could. He needed to move, to get away. And yet, the moment he moved to pace, blood rushed to his head.

Black lights sparked, eating at the edges of his vision and he felt himself sway. Blindly, he stumbled forward on weak legs toward the wardrobe beside the bed. His sharp gasp was swallowed by the slap of his hands coming to brace against it. "Okay," he muttered, eyes squeezed tight. "Okay." No pacing.

Gradually, the popping lights cleared. It felt better to be standing, at least. To be away from that bed. Not good, necessarily, but better. His skin still felt too tight.

He wasn't sure how long he stood there, but inevitably, Harry's eyes flicked over to the window through which he had failed to escape. His gut feeling had been right; the sun was far too low in the sky for it to be any decent time to wake. In fact, sunset couldn't be more than one or two hours away. Normally, by now, he and Tom would be—

Tom.

Harry felt as if he should be feeling more as he remembered his fellow captive. Tom must be very worried. Did he think him dead, killed by Voldemort after his thoughtless comments the day previous? Or had Tom guessed at the monster's intentions to keep him alive?

As if his thoughts had conjured him, Tom's muffled voice sounded out from behind the door. "Harry? Is that you I hear? Are you finally awake?"

Harry couldn't feel any shock at the unexpected arrival of his friend. He suddenly couldn't feel much of anything really. "Yes." Too quiet. He cleared his throat. "Yes," he called. "Yes, I'm awake." After a thought toward his night attire which fell a bit too far above his knees to be proper—who cared, he thought in the end—he added, "You can come in."

Tom threw open the door.

There was a rumpled look to the normally put-together man that looked strange on him as he loomed in the doorway. It looked as if he had been pacing, as if he too had been clutching at his wavy dark hair. Upon seeing Harry, his tense shoulders dropped with palpable relief.

"You're okay," he breathed and without pause, he opened his arms to him.

The sight broke Harry. A choked sob tore out of his throat and he felt his exhausted body lurch, stumbling forward toward the older man. Immediately, Tom rushed to meet him, gathering him in his arms as Harry fell into them. Dry sobs racked his shaking body. He couldn't stop but he also couldn't cry. The tears wouldn't come. All the while, Tom whispered soothing words in his ears and ran a cool, large hand up and down his back. Slowly, as Harry came back to himself, he realized that this was the most they had ever touched. It felt right. For some reason, that scared him.

Harry drew back. "I—" he choked, staring at the floor. "I'm sorry."

A hand gently cupped his chin, tilted it back. Tom's fingers were cold against his skin. Harry's eyes fluttered shut as he shivered. "Harry," Tom murmured. "Look at me."

He did, heart in his throat, and found Tom's grey eyes staring down at him. Grey... "I'm missing something," Harry realized suddenly.

Tom's eyebrows furrowed slightly. "Missing something?" he asked softly.

Harry took a step back, and Tom's hands dropped to his sides. "I know so little, Tom." The man said nothing. He only blinked. "I can't sit here waiting for Voldemort to come back. He wants to—" His throat closed. "Anyways. I can't just do nothing."

"He wants to..." Tom prompted gently.

The thought of telling Tom mortified him. "It doesn't matter, Tom," Harry insisted, not quite able to meet the man's eyes. "I just—I have to leave."

A shadow seemed to flicker over Tom's fine features, there one moment and gone the next. When he spoke, there was something... lacking in his tone. "You know we cannot leave, Harry. I've tried everything."

"But I haven't tried everything, Tom," he insisted.

"What more can you do?" the man asked. "Especially in such a state. Look at you." He strode forward, gripping Harry's shoulders lightly before allowing his cool hands to slide down the outside of his arms. "You're trembling, Harry."

He was. When had he started trembling again? "Tom," he pled. "I can't." And he couldn't. He knew he couldn't face Voldemort again. Not alone. "Please. If I can't leave, then let me stay with you. Wherever it is you go at night, let me join you."

Harry knew what he would say before Tom spoke. "I can't." His heart plummeted and Harry squeezed his eyes shut, pained. "I have been warned. Lord Voldemort barely tolerates our time together as it is, dear."

"I know," Harry hummed, and he couldn't stop himself from stepping forward, seeking comfort in Tom's arms. They wrapped around him, warm. "That's why I have to try and escape, Tom."

The arms around him tightened almost painfully. "You can't."

"But if I just—"

"You can't leave me."

Harry opened his eyes and tried to pull back to comfort him in return but the arms around him were too firm. He tried to push at Tom's chest gently. "Tom, I'd—"

"You can't leave, Harry."

His grip grew tighter. Harry winced. "Tom, you're hur—"

"I can hold him back."

His words and suddenness of them confused him. Harry stopped struggling. "Tom?" he asked, tentative.

He spoke slowly. "I cannot join you at night, Harry, not in the way you want, but I can hold him back."

"What?" The word slipped past his lips and he felt Tom's grip loosen some. He leaned back from his chest and stared up at the man, confused. This time it was Tom who avoided eye contact. The man just stared straight ahead over him. "What do you mean?"

"I know what Lord Voldemort wants, Harry."

He felt as if he'd been slapped. "How do you—" Instinct sent him shoving Tom, reeling away out of reach as his mind struggled to catch up. "But—" Tom couldn't know what Voldemort wanted; it was impossible.

"I know what he wants to do to you."

The words were spoken softly, almost kindly but Harry couldn't help it—he retched. Keeled over, bent double, and gagged. It was horrid knowing Voldemort wanted to rape him, but it was worse knowing Tom knew too. Viscerally, horribly worse.

Sometime later, his body calmed enough for Harry to raise his head. In response, Tom said his name and moved to comfort him, but Harry threw up his hands to ward him off. Stopped, Tom looked down at him with... What was that? Conflict?

"I can hold him back."

Harry silenced him from his bent position with a sharp gesture. It took him a moment, but he finally pulled together enough strength to stand fully upright and ask, softly and slowly, "What do you mean, you can hold him back?"

"Oh, Harry," Tom whispered, and suddenly, Harry wanted to hide. "Isn't it enough to know I can?" Harry shook his head, eyes squeezed shut, unable to face the man. It did not go unnoticed. "None of that now," Tom chided, tutting. "Look at me."

"I don't—"

"Look at me."

Harry opened his eyes and recoiled as they met Tom's. Tom's familiar grey eyes.

"You know, don't you?" the handsome man asked. There was no trace of the sympathy Harry had seen before on Tom's face. Had there ever been sympathy?

"No," he denied immediately.

"Oh, but you do." Tom's grey eyes narrowed; his mouth curved. Something had changed. "You knew the moment our eyes met earlier. Say it." Something had been revealed.

"No." He felt dizzy again.

Tom tutted again, face morphing into the perfect mimicry of concern. "Your face has gone dreadfully pale, dear. Let's not prolong this, shall we? Come now. Say it for me."

The tone, the endearment shocked the words from his throat. "I won't!"

"Oh Harry," Tom said again, but it was so much worse this time. "Why must you insist on angering him?"

"I—!"

"I—!" Tom mocked, and Harry flinched back from the sudden cruelty. "Come now, Harry. Be a brave boy for me. Say it."

"I CAN'T!" Harry bellowed. "It can't be true." His voice broke and the tears he couldn't cry before began to run down his cheeks. The sight of it inflamed the stranger before him. The man's eyes flashed red.

"So weak!" Tom snarled. Rage Harry had never seen on Tom before twisted his face into something new. Still beautiful, but horrible too. The ghost of something worse lingered behind that face, in those red eyes. "Pathetic!"

"I'm not—!" His voice cut off in shock as the man began to stalk toward him, and Harry retreated—fell, really—further and further away until his back was against the wall. Still, the man came, and Harry had no choice. "Voldemort!" he cried. "Voldemort!"

The red faded to grey. Tom Riddle stilled inches from him, cocked his head. His expression was suddenly, awfully, dead. How did he not see it before?

"You're Voldemort," Harry spat. "Lord Voldemort."

Tom's lips began to curl. "I wouldn't say that."

"You are! You've—You've always been Voldemort!"

"Mmm," he hummed, finally stepping back to assess him. "Wrong again, Harry, though Lord Voldemort and I are certainly well acquainted."

"You're insane," Harry realized suddenly, and he swiped furiously at his wet cheeks. Tom's eyes followed the movement. "Mad."

"We prefer cursed."

'We,' Harry thought hysterically. He could only stare.

"I never intended for you to find out this way," Tom admitted when it became clear Harry was not going to speak. The man brushed at his fine clothes, smoothing them out as he spoke. "Lord Voldemort has never been good with restraint. Had it not been for his actions—"

"What?" Harry blurted. "You would've just lied to me forever?"

The words were waved off dismissively. "Of course not. To do so would be an exercise in futility, though an interesting one. You would've found out eventually. It's a shame the truth had to be revealed so soon." Tom sounded thoroughly put out.

It only enraged Harry. "'A shame?'" he parroted. "'A shame?!'"

"Yes," Tom said simply. "You will look at me differently now."

"As I bloody well should! You're Vold—"

Tom's hand snapped out, snatched the locket around Harry's neck, and yanked him forward by the neck until they were nearly nose-to-nose. Harry was forced to brace his hands against the man's chest to avoid being pulled flush to him; the man's breath was hot on his face as he hissed, "I am not Lord Voldemort. We may share a mind, Harry Potter, but you of all people should know that we are not one and the same."

Harry trembled beneath the force of his wrath.

"That being said..." Some of the cold fury marring Tom's face melted away. "It appears we can both agree on one thing, Harry."

He waited, breathing shallow, but Tom didn't continue. "What?" he asked harshly.

"My original offer still stands," the man said instead and he released his hold of the locket, allowing Harry to fall back against the wall.

He was so confused. So tired. "Your offer?"

"To hold Lord Voldemort back, Harry."

"But why—Why would you do that?"

"Why?" Tom asked before laughing. "Oh don't tell me. You didn't think this would be for free did you?"

Dread settled heavily on Harry's shoulders, mingling with his deep exhaustion. He swallowed heavily before speaking. "Fine. What do you want?"

"You." The statement stunned him and he almost missed it as the man continued. "In return for your... companionship, I will hold Lord Voldemort back. I have no desire to hurt you, Harry. At least not in the way he does."

Harry could feel the blood draining from his face. "'Companionship?'" he echoed.

"You're a bright boy," Tom crooned, and he stepped forward and lifted a hand to cup Harry's face in a mockery of the comforting gesture of only a few minutes ago. His hands were ice; Harry flinched back. "I'm sure you can come to the correct conclusions."

Hysteria gnawed at his lungs. His breathing quickened. "And-and why would I ever do that?!" Harry cried.

"I can assure you, Harry, that you will find our time together far more... pleasurable than you would with Lord Voldemort. All you need to do is submit."

Pleasurable. Submit. A shiver ran down his spine as the words echoed in his head. He could feel his body slipping a little down the wall.

"How do I know you can hold him back?" he asked weakly.

"I did last night, didn't I?" Voldemort's red eyes flashed grey in his memory. "I protected you, Harry."

From yourself, Harry thought, but he said nothing. Instead, he continued to slip. He was so, so tired.

Tom's eyes tracked his slow descent down the wall, but he did nothing to stop it. It was only once Harry began to fall in earnest that he intervened, catching him under the arms moments before he hit the floor and pulling him flush to his chest. Harry was too exhausted to do more than push feebly against him. "So tired," Tom commented, running a hand down his back. "Yes. Yes, I think I'll continue to protect you," Tom said thoughtfully and then he began hauling Harry away from the wall and toward—

Oh no.

The bed.

The sight of it sent a jolt of adrenaline down his spine and Harry jerked in Tom's arms. They tightened reflexively and his protest was muffled in the man's clothing and drowned out by the soft hushing noises Tom made. If they had come from anyone else, the noises would've been comforting. Instead, they mocked him as Harry was dragged over to the bed. In no time, the back of his legs were pressed up against the mattress, and Harry let out a cry and began to struggle in earnest, lashing out and pushing forcefully against Tom's chest. This only sent him reeling backward as Tom let go without warning. Harry landed hard on the bed.

"Look at you," Tom murmured as he loomed above him, eyes dark with lust. "Gorgeous."

Harry barely had time to open his mouth to protest before Tom crawled forward, catching Harry's warding arms by the wrists and pinning them above his head with cold hands. He tried to kick at him but missed. "Tom," Harry tried, "Tom—"

Tom released his wrists only to grab at his nightgown and yank him farther up the bed before he settled heavily on top of him. Harry could feel every inch of his warm body. The feel of his body, of the evidence of Tom's arousal pressed against his hip... It didn't send a thrill down Harry's spine—it didn't.

He grabbed the front of the man's shirt in return. "Tom," he tried again, weaker this time. It was a plea.

The man only laughed softly in his ear, and Harry's anger reignited. Enflamed, he began to buck against him, trying to dislodge him but Tom was taller than him and heavier and Harry found himself weakening. He was so spent... He stood no chance. In the end, his flailing arms were captured as his wrists were once more crushed against the bed in Tom's large hands and his legs were pinned down by the weight of Tom sitting on them.

"There we go," Tom crooned.

Harry glared back up at him. They were both breathing hard from the struggle. "I hate you," he spat.

"I know," Tom breathed.

And then he was hissing something terrible—a spell Harry realized a second later—and Harry's hands were stuck where they were beside his ears; Tom's hands were now free.

He took advantage of this fact immediately, dragging the cold tips of his fingers lightly down Harry's arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake. It was as if Tom was tracing him; his fingers continued from Harry's pinned arms to his sides, brushing his flushed skin lightly, torturously. The feel of it wrenched gasps from Harry's unwilling throat, gasps that Tom drank in all too eagerly as he dragged his fingers lower and lower until they hooked along the edge of his nightgown and pulled upward, tangling his arms in cloth and baring Harry's quivering body to the room. Only his underclothes covered him now and as he felt the sudden chill of the room against his skin, Harry realized something horrible. He was... He was—Oh gods—

"You're hard," Tom breathed.

"No." Harry shook his head rapidly. "No, I'm not!"

"You are," Tom said. "Shall I prove it to you?" Cool fingers hooked the edges of his underclothes.

"No," he cried again, but it was useless. In one swift move, Tom pulled his underclothes down his thighs and Harry's rigid cock sprang free. His eyes squeezed shut as his face burned with shame.

"No, no," Tom chided, "That won't do." Harry's eyes flew open in shock as Tom's cold hand palmed his face. "Better," he purred. "Look at what I do to you. Look."

Tom's fingers dug into his chin and tore his head down, forcing Harry to stare at his hard length. It was awful, it was humiliating, it was—

"Oh!" A cry escaped his lips as the hand not gripping his face wrapped around his cock and pulled. The shocking cold of Tom's hand only worked to intensify the sensation and he watched as his entire body tensed. He felt his very toes curl.

Laughing darkly, Tom continued to work his hand up and down Harry's cock until he was shuddering and gasping for breath. It felt so good, so much better than when he did this, and Harry hated Tom for it, for the noises slipping from between his lips like breaths of hot vapor in cold air. But as quickly as he started, Tom stopped. A whine gurgled in Harry's throat.

"So eager," Tom teased, but his face was flushed now, his pupils blown wide. Tom was eager too. "But not yet. I want you to come while you're on my cock."

Harry didn't have enough time to register the words before Tom whispered another spell, and he felt something warm and wet and odd, so odd. He felt... looser. The full meaning of the peculiar sensation and his words were made clear as Tom shifted off of Harry's legs, parted them, and exposed him. Another spell lashed his feet seconds later and Tom crawled off of him to stand. Harry struggled to hide himself with his knees.

"Beautiful," Tom marveled as he began to undress. His eyes did not stray from Harry's body. "Beautiful."

"Please," Harry cried, shaking. He didn't know what he was pleading for, but it was all he could say. "Please."

In seconds, the man stood before him, lean and strong and naked. And hard. Tom's cock was as hard as Harry's own, though longer and thicker. Harry could only stare. He should be protesting, yelling, fighting to get away. And yet...

"I'm going to make this good for you, Harry," Tom promised lowly, and he shivered.

He didn't want to fight.

"I'm going to make you beg. I'm going..." Tom trailed off as he moved forward, leaning one knee on the bed, and placing his cool hands on Harry's knees. He seemed to be lining up to—Harry squeezed his eyes shut. "Oh, Harry." His legs were pried apart. They fell to the sides, pliant.

"Look at me," Tom demanded.

He didn't need to command it. Nothing could've kept Harry's eyes closed as he felt the blunt, thick head of Tom's cock press into him. It wasn't rushed, wasn't forceful, and as Tom fucked into him slowly—horribly, awfully slowly—Harry's eyes rolled back in his head. Just as slowly, the man pulled out. And pushed back in, further this time. And pulled out. Gods, why? Why was Tom doing this, fucking into him so slowly? It made it so much worse.

So much better.

As Tom fucked into him slowly—it's not my fault, it's not—a low drawn-out moan was forced from Harry's throat.

The obscene moan was immediately joined by another—Tom's—and the man swore, his slow, steady pace stuttering as his hips jerked forward, wrenching another strangled cry from Harry's lips as he hit something and Harry's vision went white. He felt his body clench hot and wet around Tom's thick length.

This, it seemed, finally tipped Tom past the edges of his restraint. Without pause, a hand came up to wrap around his throat, Harry gasped, and Tom began to pound into him.

Over and over, Harry's world sparked as Tom hit that spot inside him head-on. The expert pressure on his throat kept him gasping, struggling to breathe, just shy of choking, and why was that so good? Teeth nipped at his shoulder, a hot tongue and Harry felt his body begin to stiffen, grow taut, as he hurtled toward the edge of something that would ruin him. His neglected cock was dripping pre-cum on his stomach, he could feel it and he wanted so badly to just reach down and tug but his hands were still stuck. He pulled against the magical restraints, wanting, but as he did, the hand on his neck tightened in warning, and he fell back, a swear on his lips.

Tom's movements were growing frantic now, rougher and stuttering as the man chased his pleasure. At a particularly deep thrust, Tom moaned directly in Harry's ear and it was over. Harry came hard, his voice breaking into a silent cry as he splattered across his stomach, his vision shattered, hands tingling from the intensity of his pleasure. It seemed to last extraordinarily long as through it all, Tom fucked him mercilessly, until he too climaxed, filling Harry with hot cum, forcing whimpers from his lips until the man collapsed on top of him.

They stayed there panting, then breathing, until the sun began to dip below the treeline.