indulgence
Harry slides his fingers over the pale expanse of Tom's skin and relishes in the goosebumps that his touch creates in its wake. There's this silent thrill in inside him when he elicits this kind of reaction in Tom.
If Harry was a liar, he'd say that he only ever did this to him. To Tom. To this supposed dark lord that arches and gasps when Harry mouths at his red and bruised throat. No, it wasn't only Tom.
Harry thinks he'd die if it was only Tom Marvolo Riddle in his life. Too dark, too grimy and sticky and everything bad in this fucking world. Sometimes Harry likes something a bit sweet, dark still but not too much. Coarse outside, but soft inside.
Someone who has yet been crushed by the world. Enter Draco Malfoy. Cool and suave, doesn't really know what he's getting into. Thinks it's just a good fuck and a nice conversation, he's cool that way. Draco likes stringing them along with pretty words and a whole lot of money, but he can't hide for so long. Underneath that slimy skin his father fashioned for him, is a man vulnerable and needy; someone wanting nothing else but to hold on to that sweet softness inside them.
Tapping his mouth with his index finger and eyes narrowing in thought, Harry almost frowns at how familiar Draco feels.
Like a word that's on the tip of his tongue. A thing of the past that's about to rust and turn slimy and dark. By then, Harry wouldn't want anything to do with him. He's got Tom for that, thank you very much . But while he's still here and not on either side, conflicted like a child; Harry will have his way with him.
They fuck like there's no tommorow and to Harry's surprise it's needy and rough and entirely reciprocated. Not desperate, wanting and branding from the inside out like with Tom. This is easier somehow and Harry cries when he comes, hands muffling his cries and eyes blown and dilated like he's inside one of those shitty, delicious opium dens. It's a riot in his head, a clambering of reasonings and justifications. He knows what he has done.
Tom will find out and there will be blood and fury and pain. Harry's tired of pain, he thinks. Should've thought about that before fucking him, a voice rebuts in his head. But-- but don't I deserve this? You'll indulge yourself to death, he tells himself. Oh, the sweet taste of reward well-deserved. He remembers it like he remembers Draco, all too distant and blinding.
They keep fucking still. Harry's got half a mind to be weary, but they're careful. Tom's never home because of the legislation and Rufus organized a rebellion and blah, blah and blah. Harry listens with a sympathetic ear and a gentle pat on Tom's right finger. It's nothing you can't handle, Tom. I believe in you. Tom wants to convince himself to believe this spiel, but oh, he's too smart for his own good and he accepts this reassurances like he would listening to a soprano in the Opera; a tight smile full of false understanding at the emotions in play. In that regard he's stupid. Stupid at emotions and at Harry.
He's always stupid when it comes to Harry though, so Harry doesn't blame him. Everybody is. Just look at his mum, up and died for nothing if you asked him. Look at his son now, wearing her eyes and wasting her sacrifice. Everyone was stupid when it came to him, it just couldn't be helped, fate has decided.
"Draco…" Harry tucks his face at his lover's shoulder and let's himself need. He can't ever be like this with Tom. It's as if Tom carries the need for both of them because Harry can't feel it. There is physical pleasure and Tom always makes sure he comes, the dark lord can't bear it when Harry doesn't come. Tom has needs, and those needs include being needed.
Needs, needs, needs. Tom feels needed when he can give Harry that carnal bit of pleasure that wracks one's body with shudders and tingles in your spine.
Harry can't pinpoint the exact time, but Tom hasn't been enough for a while now. So disappointing, he used to be a good fuck. Now something's gone and changed like a sweet fruit gone rancid.
Harry comes again, bucking against the cock pulsing and thrusting inside him. Draco's so wonderful . He's almost sad because he knows--Harry knows. One day he'll become too stifling, slimy and black like tar.
Just like Tom.