Interrupted Play
The afternoon sun, softened by the heavy drapes of their shared bedroom, painted the space in warm, inviting hues of amber and gold. The air, still carrying the lingering scent of their shared sandalwood and vanilla cologne, hummed with a quiet intimacy. Laughter, warm and genuine, echoed through the room, a sound that had become the soundtrack to their life together. Harry, usually so serious and reserved, was perched on the edge of the rumpled bed, his emerald eyes sparkling with mischief. He held aloft a ridiculously fluffy, bright pink feather boa, dangling it teasingly in front of Tom, who was sprawled across the bed, a picture of relaxed amusement. The quilt had slipped slightly, revealing the bare expanse of Tom's chest, the faint marks there a testament to their recent passion.
"Come on, Tom," Harry teased, his voice light and airy, a playful glint in his eyes. "Don't you want to be a fabulous flamingo?"
Tom chuckled, a low rumble in his chest, shaking his head with mock exasperation. "Absolutely not," he replied, his voice laced with amusement. "Pink is not my color, and I have far too much dignity to be prancing around in a feather boa."
"Oh, come on," Harry persisted, playfully flicking the boa at Tom. "Just a little bit of fun. Besides," he added, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "I think you'd look rather dashing." He leaned closer, his fingers tracing the line of Tom's jaw, a lingering touch that sent a shiver down Tom’s spine.
Tom raised an eyebrow, a slow, seductive smile spreading across his face. "Dashing, you say?" he murmured, his gaze locking with Harry's. He reached out, snatching the boa from Harry's grasp and twirling it around his own neck. "Perhaps you're right," he said, his voice smooth and seductive. "Perhaps I could pull it off."
He struck a dramatic pose, one hand on his hip, the other gesturing theatrically, his lips curving into a playful smirk. Harry burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the room, his heart filled with warmth and affection. He loved these moments of playful abandon, these stolen moments of pure, unadulterated joy. He loved the way Tom could make him laugh, the way he could bring out the playful, mischievous side of his personality that he usually kept hidden.
Their laughter was interrupted by a sudden, sharp knock on the door. "Harry?" Lucius's voice called from the hallway, laced with an edge of impatience. "Are you in there? We have a matter of some importance to discuss."
Harry groaned, his playful mood instantly evaporating. "Speak of the devil," he muttered, rolling his eyes. "Duty calls."
Tom sighed, a hint of annoyance flickering across his face. "Just when we were getting to the good part," he murmured, his gaze lingering on Harry’s flushed cheeks and tousled hair. He tossed the boa onto the bed and stood up, his expression shifting from playful to serious, a protective glint in his eyes. He straightened his robes, a subtle shift in his demeanor that spoke of power and control. "I'll handle this," he said, his voice firm, brooking no argument. "You stay here."
He walked towards the door, his movements fluid and purposeful, a predator on the hunt. He opened the door a crack, peering out at Lucius, Rabastan, and Rodolphus, who were standing in the hallway, their faces etched with a mixture of impatience and… something else. Curiosity, perhaps, or even a hint of prurient interest.
"Yes, Lucius?" Tom asked, his voice cool and controlled, a subtle warning in his tone.
"We need to speak with Harry," Lucius replied, his gaze shifting past Tom to the interior of the room, lingering a moment too long on the rumpled bed and the discarded feather boa.
Tom stepped back, effectively blocking their view. "Harry is… indisposed at the moment," he said, his voice flat, the warning becoming more explicit. "Whatever you need to discuss can wait."
Lucius frowned, his aristocratic sensibilities offended by this dismissal. "It's a matter of some urgency," he insisted, his gaze still trying to penetrate the barrier of Tom's body. "We wouldn't interrupt if it wasn't important."
Tom's eyes narrowed, a flicker of open warning in their depths. He knew what they were thinking, what they were implying. He wouldn't allow them to intrude on their privacy, to violate the sanctity of their shared space, to cast aspersions on the intimacy they shared.
"I assure you," he said, his voice laced with steel, "it can wait. Now, if you'll excuse us…"
He began to close the door, but Lucius, driven by his curiosity, or perhaps something more sinister, attempted to peer past him into the room. He caught a glimpse of Harry, who was sitting on the bed, looking confused and slightly disheveled, his cheeks still flushed from their earlier play.
Tom's expression hardened, his jaw clenching. He knew what they were thinking, what they were implying. He wouldn't allow them to disrespect Harry, to tarnish the purity of their connection with their judgmental whispers and knowing glances.
He raised his hand, a silent incantation flowing from his lips, the magic crackling around him, a tangible force of power and protection. A powerful Silencing Charm enveloped the three men, cutting off their protests, trapping them in a world of silence. He then unleashed a series of swift, precise hexes, his magic striking with deadly accuracy. The three men stumbled backward, their bodies contorting in pain, their wands flying from their grasp.
He didn't give them a chance to recover. He blasted them out of the room, their bodies tumbling through the hallway, their silenced screams echoing through the manor. He slammed the door shut, locking it with a powerful ward, a protective barrier against any further intrusion.
He turned back to Harry, his expression softening as he approached the bed. "Sorry about that," he said, his voice gentle, his hand reaching out to caress Harry’s cheek. "They won't be bothering us again."
Harry blinked, his eyes wide with surprise, a hint of lingering amusement in their depths. "What… what was that all about?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.
Tom shrugged, a faint, possessive smile playing on his lips. "Just… a minor interruption," he replied, his gaze lingering on Harry’s flushed face and tousled hair. "Now, where were we?"
He reached out, gently taking Harry's hand, his fingers intertwining with Harry’s. "Ah, yes," he murmured, his voice laced with warmth and affection, his eyes promising a return to their interrupted play. "The flamingo. I believe I was just about to strike a rather dashing pose…"
He twirled the feather boa around his neck, striking a dramatic pose, his lips curving into a playful smirk. Harry burst out laughing, the tension in the room dissipating like mist in the morning sun. He knew that Tom would always protect him, that he would always defend their privacy, their love, their shared joy. And in that moment, he felt safe, cherished, and utterly loved. The lingering heat from their earlier passion, the unspoken promise of more to come, filled the room with a comfortable intimacy.