Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/494198.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Harry_Potter/Tom_Riddle
  Character:
      Harry_Potter, Tom_Riddle
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Historical, Alternate_Universe_-_Modern_Setting,
      Sexual_Content, Anal, Barebacking
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-08-23 Words: 9742
****** Skinny Love ******
by rightonthelimit
Summary
     Strange… It really did feel like Tom had met him before…
A/N: Please do not repost, recreate or translate.
                                  Skinny Love
           ‘We were lovers before we were even born in this world.’
It is said in ancient Greek mythology that human beings were at the very
beginning of time complete and as powerful as the Gods were. Humans were at
first created to have four arms, four legs, two heads and two hearts and a
enormous lust for life and power. The Gods were wary - afraid of the mere
thought that their own creations, mere petty humans, would one day be able to
fill in the role of sole rulers of a universe the Gods had created with their
own hands. It was not up to humans to rule the universe when they were so
greedy for power, so hungry for more. They would surely destroy it and the Gods
along with it.
Aware of the faults in their own creations, the Gods decided they should stop
living in fear. Zeus, the God of the sky and thunder, split each human being in
half and left them to aimlessly wander around the mortal world, powerless,
eternally in search for their other half. Their one true soulmate.

Humanity was left to forever feel incomplete. And when they'd finally find
their counterpart, they'd only have so many years together before death would
do them part again. It would be an endless cycle that ensured the safety of the
Gods, the universe and most of all humanity. Time proved however, that even
when humans were half the entities they used to be, they could pose a serious
danger to the world. The Gods decided to stop interfering alltogether after
having watched the world become a darker and darker place, no longer
interested. The universe was a infinitely big, after all. They had better
places to be, better creations to make now that they learned from their
mistakes.
If one were to believe in this, then they’d acknowledge that the phrase you
complete me has an entirely different, deeper meaning and is used way too often
for all the wrong reasons. Most humans don’t even have an inkling of what it
could mean. Often they even settle for less than their true soulmate,
internally already having given up the fight. Life could defeat one, it could
extinguish one's inner fire and lust for more. It could inevitably render
someone helpless and incapable of loving.

Incomplete for a lifetime.

There is no limit to the amount of time it can take a soul to acknowledge its
counterpart fully for its worth and importance. It can take one lifetime. It
can take two lifetimes. It can take centuries for souls to see and know each
other as equals, with or without the interference of cruel Gods.
Natural human ignorance could play a part in this too. Interference. Rules, or
the way the world is perceived. Everything plays a role, for if it does not, it
would not hold any purpose and would one day cease to exist. Just one glance,
one touch, one word could make all the difference.
Make things to fall into place.
For when a man is finally complete again nothing will be able to stop him. He’d
have all the tools he needed to prevail. Their hearts would beat as one, their
minds separate but their will equal.

And even if their bodies would age and eventually perish, no matter what
distance would befall between the two of them, nothing would be able to keep
them apart. Soulmates are infinite and inseparable, and that is the only thing
the Gods could not take away at the very Beginning.

And that was truly what made soulmates divine.
                              25th of June, 1578
                                    France
It was crowded at the local market place.
The sound of yelling peasants could not override the blood rushing through
Thomas’ ears. The sun was burning down on his scalp, his fingers itchy, the
palms of his hands sweaty. His intelligent blue eyes were gazing down at the
ground, not in submission but in disdain and anger while he got forced to stand
on a wooden stool on a platform. He was being displayed like the criminal he
was in their eyes.
Of course it was crowded. Executions were mighty enjoyable for common
villagers.
There was sweat beading up at Thomas’ brow but he didn’t reach up to wipe it
off even though his hands were still freed – in their haste to get rid of him
they hadn’t bothered. Everyone knew that Thomas couldn’t get away, not this
time.
Thomas was to die today and there wasn't a single thing he could do about it.
There was a lot Thomas could think of right now. He was only human after all
and now being so painfully confronted with his mortality did things to his
mind.
Thomas could think of the silent tears running down the cheeks of the boy next
to him, who was to die along with him. The slight tremor in his own fingers.
Thomas could think of how hot the sun was today and how odd it seemed to him
that the boy, who looked so fragile and underfed, was keeping his head up high.
Thomas vaguely thought that the boy had no reason to be here even if the boy
had murdered his own relatives. Thomas had heard the boy scream that it had
been an accident, that it had been self-defense and that his uncle had beat and
starved him and treated him as nothing but a servant while the boy had been the
rightful heir of the Potters. 

An aristocrat, treated as nothing but dirt. Assuming the boy hadn't been lying,
those relatives of his had it coming, in Thomas' opinion.
Thomas could think of the crowd surrounding them. Jeering. Yelling at them.
Wanting nothing but a good show, something to discuss over lunch, something to
talk about tomorrow at the local market.
The crowd wanted Thomas and the boy – Harrison Potter - to be hanged already.
The space between Thomas and Harrison was not scarce, if Thomas wanted to he
could touch Harrison. Thomas didn’t see a reason to when they were going to die
anyway. He couldn't help the shiver that ran down his spine at the mere thought
of it.
Death.
It still seemed like something so distant – a consequence when one did
something foolish or was unfortunate enough to fall ill. In some cases it could
be considered a blessing of course, when the years seemed to drag on with
indecent boredom, pain.
Bones grew brittle with the years that passed by, hair lost its color when one
was lucky. Growing old was not something entirely uncommon nowadays but a hard
case of luck all the same. When you were on the verge of dying, you could see
that very clearly and envision how you could've spent the years instead. There
was a sudden clarity that overcame one at moments like these. 
It was ironic how humanity when so aggressively confronted with its own
mortality, achieved an acute awareness which accompanied the feelings that
followed even though they probably had spent their days before this wastefully.
Years could not be gained by good deeds nor could one's lifespan be shortened
by the sins one has committed in the past. In fact, nothing but humans
themselves could influence each other's lifespan.
Oh, they could lengthen it of course by fighting illnesses, by taking care of
their weaker fellow persons. But nowadays people hungered for blood and it was
about to be spilt, figuratively speaking. Thomas’ and Harrison’s neck would
simply snap like mere twigs, crushed by the weight of their leaders and their
influences.
Thomas turned his head to look at the boy; Harrison was staring at him already,
his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. Thomas watched Harrison shiver
when the noose was placed around his neck, his wobbly knees shaking despite the
determined look in his eyes.
Harrison was afraid. He was petrified, he was about to lose his life. It was to
be expected.
Thomas’ brain could not come up with any solutions to get himself out of this
mess and it seemed to shut down completely when he felt the rough noose getting
fastened around his own throat as well. How foolish of Thomas to have put his
trust into his servant when plotting to take down the church.
How foolish of him to be so entranced with the boy next to him when he had less
than a minute left to live.
The peasants were growing impatient – their yelling became louder, their eyes
cruel, accusing. What Thomas wouldn’t give to make them take his place, make
them suffer, make them feel this irrational fear… If these people did not
encourage sinning, Thomas wondered why they punished sinners by publically
murdering them. Didn't they become what they so desperately sought to destroy
in the process?

All of these people were vermin. Worthless little pawns of a church Tom did not
serve, and never would.
Hypocrites.
Harrison’s breath hitched and then Harrison’s pinky wrapped around Thomas’, his
hands shaking. Thomas was surprised but he did not pull away, their eyes still
boring into one another and finding something achingly similar to
recognition. Their crime?
Caring for freedom. Wanting equality and defending themselves.
Thomas closed his eyes momentarily, raising his chin higher, inhaling a deep
breath through his nose. Breathing. In and out, in and out. Doing that what
made him human and that what he, in just a few more seconds, would not be able
to do anymore. 
The price?

Their lives. Their futures.
Harrison’s hand now slipped fully into Thomas’ and Thomas couldn’t recall the
last time someone had held his hand, if anyone had ever even done so before.
His mother had been a most unfortunate woman who had died while giving birth to
Thomas and Thomas' father had never loved him. The other children had always
been too afraid of him.
Thomas never even had a friend before.
Was Harrison his friend, his companion, and were they facing death together? Or
were they both just trying to make the best out of these few seconds they had
left?
Harrison’s hand tightened and there were a couple more yells and screams, but
Thomas tried to block them out. Blocking out everything but the soft breeze on
his skin, Harrison’s hand in his, firmly now, smaller but so certain.
For a man who had always secretly feared death, Thomas was oddly calm right
now. His body had been starved and beaten these past days and his mind had been
screaming at him to just come up with a way out even if he knew there was no
way out at all.  
And for what? After all the horrible things Thomas had done in his life – he
had murdered, for God’s sake – he was getting punished for finally doing
something right in his life? What kind of a God did these people serve?
Thomas got nudged in the back and he shifted a bit, his blue eyes opening
again. Harrison’s hand slipped from his own and he thought he heard the younger
male say something. Thomas almost had the heart to ask Harrison to hold his
hand again because now that Harrison had let go of it Thomas could feel his
throat closing up and his heart seizing in his chest once more in fear. But he
didn’t do so.
Thomas was uncertain if he would even be capable of using his voice right
now. Thomas just hoped it would be quick. He had once witnessed an execution
where the person’s neck just wouldn’t break and the man had just hanged there,
struggling for air, choking and turning purple and ugly. Thomas didn’t want
that. He wanted… Well, he supposed he wanted a lot.
He wanted to stop standing in the direct sunlight, for one.
The crowd, currently yelling at whoever it was that was leading Thomas and
Harrison to their death, finally shutting the hell up would not be too bad
either. Thomas and Harrison would die soon, that ought to be enough. Impatient
dogs they were, and Thomas was telling himself that he was not losing his life
because they were taking it from him. Thomas liked to believe he was not
defeated if he did this willingly.
The little stool beneath Thomas’ feet wobbled. Any moment now it would get
kicked out from underneath him and he’d die a horrible death in front of all
these people… Thomas thought of Harrison’s eyes again, of how they had been
boring into his. Unafraid, just like Thomas had felt when Harrison had been
holding his hand. He vaguely wondered if his companion was affecting him and if
so, why and to what extent.
Come to think of it, maybe this was not as horrible after all. It was ironic,
yes – how murder, lies and manipulation had gotten Thomas so far in life, so
successful and rich and strong, and how doing one thing right in his life could
take all of that away.
And after this? Eternal damnation?
The noose around his neck felt like it was choking Thomas already without
Thomas’ added weight helping it.
‘Who’s first?’ the man standing behind them finally asked, impatiently. Thomas
had half the mind to snap at him to shut the hell up. ‘Come on. We haven’t got
all day.’

They couldn't have been standing there for more than a minute or so, but it
felt like forever. Must've felt the same for others. Sometimes Tom forgot that
other people had feelings too.
‘To… together,’ Harrison replied hoarsely. Thomas glanced at him in surprise
and felt Harrison’s hand slipping into his own once more. Harrison was shaking.
‘Let’s finished this the way we started. Together.’
Yes, dying together sounded less terrifying than dying alone, Thomas supposed.
And they did start this together by standing here, side by side, waiting for
death’s hands to come collect them, did they not? Thomas was a man who had
nothing left to lose and all he felt was vague intrigue but most of all,
gratitude for this offer. Secretly one of his greatest fears had always been to
die alone.
Harrison’s hand squeezed his own and Thomas felt himself nod. He closed his
eyes once more, savoring the look in Harrison’s for once and forever as if
willing himself to take the view with him to the afterlife.
If there even was one, that is.
His thumb briefly brushed over the back of Harrison’s hand, thanking him in
silence, feeling just a whisper of Harrison’s thumb rubbing a vague circle on
the back of Thomas’ hand in reply. A great man had once stated that death was
but another adventure and Thomas wondered to himself if it would be greater
than life. If life had been nothing but a prelude.
‘It was nice to meet you, Harrison Potter,’ Thomas found himself saying.
Harrison chuckled despite the tears rolling over his cheeks. He no longer
looked petrified. Just human.
‘See you in hell, Thomas Riddle.’
It shouldn’t have made Thomas laugh the way it had. The comment was entirely
out of place and almost harshly reminded Thomas of the weight of the situation,
but there was something about Harrison's attitude that just got to Tom. The
fact that Harrison knew his name only made it that much better.
‘I’ll be looking forward to that,’ he replied. He opened his eyes and they
shared one, lingering look. Harrison’s eyes trailed to Thomas’ lips and then
back to his eyes again. He nodded.
And then they jumped together, without another word. The people had to break
Thomas' and Harrison's fingers after their death to get them to stop holding
hands. They burnt their bodies and as their ashes were carried away by the wind
later that night, their souls couldn't help the initial intrigue. 
                              25th of June, 1703
                                    Holland
The world was becoming a smaller place now that people feared less and knew
more than ever before. Sometimes it still amazed Harry how fast things had
changed, how life could be both so kind and exceedingly cruel to humanity, and
how unfair it all was.
Oh, don’t get him wrong. Harry was a well-faring man, a man of stature. Harry
didn’t have it bad, in fact, he had more wealth than he could possibly care
for. He had a big trading company, you see – he mainly traded in sugar, coffee,
pretty much everything that buyers could ask of him except for…
He sighed as he watched their drawn faces, most of them black, some white as
well.
Slaves.
They were just merchandise – they had no rights at all. The Spaniards,
Portuguese, French, English and even other Dutch trading companies sold these
people, took them away from their homes so it should be normal, right? But
Harry couldn’t help but feel so… So dirty at the mere thought of taking away
someone else’s freedom. Taking away their right to be equal to all other human
beings.
Harry was a social liberalist for as long as he could remember, his father
having taught him at an early age that being able to take care of other human
beings and having freedom was the biggest gift. They had moved to Holland years
ago, attracted by its economy and multicultural society. It was the only
country where citizens were allowed to practice whatever religion they desired,
or in Harry’s case, none.
He folded his arms over his chest and watched all the slaves getting off hjs
rival's, Draco Malfoy's, ship. They would have to be checked out by a doctor,
Harry knew this. No use in selling broken merchandise.
Harry didn’t like it, he didn’t like it at all. It was true that he held no
emotional connection with either one of these people but it was just so unfair
in his eyes, so wrong, so… Harry didn’t know how to describe it. It was normal
in their society, he knew this like no other, and he knew he was missing out on
a lot of money right now but he just couldn’t do it. He couldn’t live with the
thought that he had been the cause of someone’s family being torn apart. It
wasn’t worth the money.
It was rare that Harry actually walked the planks of his own ship because Harry
much rather stayed home, instead of risking getting scurvy. He was normally
always keeping an eye on his rivals and planning out where he could send out
ships to collect goods.

It was just that Harry longed to sail the seas again. His father used to have a
nice small boat they sometimes spent hours on at a lake, fishing and talking
aboutt nothing in particular. Harry missed those days. He was sick of all the
wealth and Harry found himself longing to be free. Truly free. Not chained down
by his own obligations.
‘My Lord.’
Harry paused from where he had been gazing out at the sea, glancing over his
shoulder with a bored expression on his face. One of his servants who was also
his best friend, Ron Weasley, was standing in front of Harry.
‘Yes?’ Harry asked, bodily turning. Ron briefly glanced away, and then glanced
back as if what he was about to say was going to be ridiculous and he knew it.
Harry sometimes made fun of Ron too when they were out drinking. He couldn't
help it - his gingerhaired friend was too clumsy and awkward for his own good.
‘There is a man who wants to sell you his slave. He thinks his slave could
bring up some money.’
Harry’s eyebrow kicked up. Normally people wouldn’t have the guts to talk to
him even if Harry was a kind man. Ron knew this too, why was he even bothering?
‘Is that so?’ Harry asked nonetheless, not at all interested. He believed in
paying people for their work, not exploiting them. ‘You can tell him that I am
not desperate for more money, Ron,’ Harry dismissed him with a wave of his hand
and Ron nodded, turning around and walking away. Harry released a soft breath
and gazed out to the sea again.
Sometimes he wondered what it would be like to just go along on one of his
ships.
To be free.
In a way he was chained down just like those slaves were but Harry reckoned he
was simply feeling melancholy because he was so bored. He hadn’t had a
challenge in years.
There was someone yelling at the haven just in front of Harry’s ship and Harry
raised his head with an irritated look in his eyes. He swore to God, if another
of his sailors was causing a riot…
Only it was not a sailor. Not one that Harry knew anyway. It was a rather ugly
man, slapping a tall young man who cursed and stumbled backwards, falling onto
his elbows on the hard ground from the sheer force behind the blow. Harry
looked at the scene for a moment – at the way most people were ignoring it.
Abuse wasn’t entirely uncommon after all, and these two men didn’t look rich.
No one cared about their wellbeing.
No one but Harry.

Harry started walking toward them, Harry's hand wrapping around the man’s wrist
when he made to hit the tall male again.
‘Would you mind explaining to me why you are beating this man, kind sir?’ Harry
demanded, feeling himself sneer. He hated this injustice. He hated the world
for being so uncaring, for being so goddamn selfish. He was just done with it.
‘This- this isn’t a man, Lord Potter!’ the man bristled, ‘This is the slave you
refused to buy from me, and you were damn right at it too! The shit is causing
nothing but trouble, can’t even do anything right!’
Harry felt indescribable anger at the fact that the man was denying someone’s
humanity just because they were a slave and he aimed his eyes back at the tall,
pale slave, who was gazing at him with intelligent blue eyes. He looked around
Harry’s age and he had smears of dirt on his face. His clothes were tattered
and looked like they never had been cleaned before, and his elbows were scraped
up and bleeding from where he had landed on them.
What was strange was the way the slave was staring at Harry. Harry could see
now that the male hadn’t been cowering behind him. His fists were shaking by
his sides and Harry realized that he had been standing behind Harry because he
had wanted to build up a wall between the ugly man and himself.
He would’ve hit the ugly man if it hadn’t been for Harry.

This slave was different, Harry could tell. How could he not? He had spent
hours studying slaves, staring at their broken expressions and knowing that
they knew life didn't have anything to offer for them anymore. No, this slave
was confident and had a lost of self-esteem and fire in him. Harry felt himself
becoming intrigued. Harry gave the slave's attractive face another glance over
– those eyes, where had Harry seen them before? – before he felt himself frown
again.
‘How much?’ Harry found himself asking before his mind caught up with him.
Pure boredom, Harry told himself. He was merely bored and needed something to
do, and dammit, it was not that familiar something in the male’s eyes that made
Harry want to get to know him and touch him and… Those thoughts were evil. Not
to be accepted. Had it been a century ago he would’ve been hanged for merely
thinking that way about another male.
Without waiting for the man to reply, Harry reached into his pocket and pulled
out golden coins. He dropped them at the man’s feet and then pulled the slave
up, holding him by his bicep and mindfully avoiding his bloody elbows. Harry
felt silly, guiding someone who was taller than him, but he couldn't be arsed
to let go.
‘Lord Potter?’ the slave asked him, not seeming to understand the situation.
Harry ignored him.
Later that night he drew the male a bath and inspected his teeth, his body to
seek for any wounds. Silly of him, that he hadn’t done that before. Harry
usually always inspected his things before he even considered buying them but
then again he supposed that this man wasn't really a thing, now was he?
Harry kneeled next to the tub and inspected the man’s nails too, finding them
too short. Blunt. He brushed his fingers over pale knuckles and smiled when
those blue, blue eyes turned to look at him again. His slave – no, his
new companion - was beautiful. Handsome and entirely interesting.
‘Do you do this for all of your slaves?’ the male asked. His voice was hoarse
from a lack of use, Harry reckoned. Harry settled behind the male and admired
his strong neck before he started rubbing in soap into the male’s shoulders.
His skin was supple and firm under his touch.
Harry was just cleaning him, he told himself. Nothing wrong with taking care of
another person, even if said person was beautiful. Harry just admired him.
That was all.
‘I don’t own slaves nor will you ever be considered a slave,’ Harry replied
evenly. He washed the soapy suds from the male’s body and then started rubbing
soap into the male’s chest. The male kept staring at him. ‘What’s your name?’
‘No one ever gave me a name,’ the male answered. His eyes looked haunted and
tired, so very tired. Harry paused and fought the need to brush his hair from
his eyes. Harry vaguely wondered if the male ever had a warm meal and his
unwavering eyes couldn’t help but remind Harry of the neighbor’s cat, Tommy. It
was an intelligent, elegant creature and it sometimes spent hours simply
staring at Harry.
‘May I call you Tom?’ The male frowned like he didn’t like the name but
eventually he shrugged. He allowed Harry to scrub the dirt off his chest and
Harry was sad to find the male was ghastly pale. He had probably rarely seen
the sunlight.
‘You may call me whatever you want to call me, my Lord, for you bought me and I
am entirely yours.’
Heat sparked down Harry’s spine at that comment and he felt his cheeks warm,
but he didn’t mention it. Neither did Tom.
‘You’re no possession, Tom, if anything I only wish your friendship of you,’
Harry murmured. He beckoned for Tom to sit up straighter and the male complied
without a word. Harry thought that Tom was a very graceful, complex creature.
‘I am going to get you educated. Maybe you can even help me with my business,
you appear to be very intelligent…’
‘I can already read and write, my Lord,’ Tom stated confidently. Harry paused
and Tom shrugged when he saw Harry staring at him in shock. He must be
comfortable enough around Harry now. ‘I used to hide under the window at the
local school and listen to teachers teach their students how to read and write.
I even stole books and writing supplies.’
Tom looked at Harry like he now expected Harry to hate him, or feel intimidated
by Tom, but Harry could just feel impressed.
‘You’re intelligent and very prideful, are you not?’ Harry finally asked him.
Tom did not answer but he did look mildly amused. ‘I knew… From the moment I
saw you, you’re not meant to be a slave. You… You’re meant for great things.’
‘I know,’ Tom murmured. There – no submission, only passion in his eyes that
caused Harry to get all the wrong thoughts again. He forced himself to break
eye contact and he worked on cleaning Tom’s body again. Harry had to get
someone to get them clean water twice yet Tom's bathwater still constantly
turned dark brown. Tom's skin was slowly turning a healthy shade of pink
though, partially from the heat of the water and partially because Harry was
scrubbing down so hard on certain body parts like his arms and his supple
shoulders.
‘I think that you and I could do amazing things,’ Harry commented, more to
himself than to Tom. Tom heard him anyway and sighed. They spoke no more yet
they both knew they wouldn’t be bored in a long time.

Too bad that they never acted upon their needs. It could've made their
relationship even more amazing.
                              25th of June, 1839
                                    England
It was amazing how humanity just kept on learning and creating, was it not?
They were entirely destructive to their own kind, yes, but also progressive in
their own need for comfort and a longer, healthier – most of all wealthier –
life.
Machines were being built, new tools were being created and made easier
accessible, making working at farms easier and creating more jobs for those
without one. Houses were being built to surround the neighboring factories and
everyone with working limbs fought to seek a job there, even if their days
would be long and their salaries would be almost cruelly low.
Well, for commoners, anyway. Tom did not pity them.
Tom’s cotton factory was successful – he had a lot of shitty brats working for
him, but there was one boy… He couldn’t be much older than 16 – differencing
from Tom by six years. Tom had inherited his father’s factory when the man had
died.
After Tom had pushed him in front of a train.
Nifty inventions, they were. Very useful.
The gasps and mews the boy in his lap uttered were definitely not overriding
the noises of the whirring machines – they got loud, Tom’s ears always rung
when he came home late at night. The boy was clinging onto Tom’s shoulders,
mouthing along the column of his neck while he bounced up and down Tom's cock,
his heart fluttering against Tom's chest.
The boy did not have it easy at home. Most children did not, granted – they
ruined their bodies by doing work meant for people twice their age, they
weren’t getting educated lest they came from a wealthy family and their clothes
were often worn and ruined from all the charcoal and oil and whatnot they came
across when working.
Tom had been very blessed when it came to that. He had gone to an university,
knew how to read and write. He knew how the human body worked – anatomy was
simply fascinating to him, he loved knowing things most people did not – and
the suits he wore were expensive and flawless. He did not bear any scars at
all, not even from his childhood. He had lived a very secluded life, only
getting the best of the best.
But Harry was not as blessed as he was.
‘Oh – oh, sir,’ the boy gasped, his hole clenching, his hands slipping and
trembling, his thin arms tight around Tom’s neck. His pale skin was stained
with charcoal and oil and cuts and wounds – he had a couple of scars on his
hands from clumsily handling machines. There were bruises on his ribs, on his
stomach.
Harry was an orphan and lived in an orphanage. The people working for the
orphanage Harry called home abused him, used him for the little amount of money
Harry could make them, treating him lower than dirt. Tom had witnessed this
multiple times too. Watched as they beat Harry because Harry’s real parents had
died at a young age.
That was how they came to this deal.
Tom’s hand slid into the boy’s messy hair and kissed him, feeling the boy’s
lips move against his own, soft mews vibrating against Tom’s skin and Harry’s
bottom lip soft and plush when Tom sucked on it. He kept thrusting in and out
of him.
Tom would be lying if he were to say he hadn’t always felt drawn to this boy
from the moment he had seen Harry working in his cotton factory. Tom had always
told himself that his interest had never been more than strictly physical.
Harry’s hands slid over Tom’s chest, worshipping him, touching him in an
childlike awe. The door was locked – no one would be able to see. This was
their little secret.
The boy came with a soft whimper, pressing his face into Tom’s neck and panting
like a racing horse while his hole pulsed erratically around Tom’s cock,
milking him dry. Tom’s own orgasm took him by surprise. He gripped Harry’s hips
harshly and fucked up in the tight grip of Harry’s quivering entrance, filling
him up completely in ways that no one ever had.
The only type of bruises Tom liked on Harry’s skin were the bruises Tom had
inflicted himself.
Harry slumped over him, still panting, mouthing lazily at the column of Tom’s
neck. Their deal wasn’t hard. It was more of an agreement really and besides
that, they both equally enjoyed it. Maybe a bit too much.
Tom kept Harry fed because he knew the boy did not get much - if anything - to
eat at the orphanage, and Harry kept Tom sated in different ways. It had seemed
like a fair deal to Tom at the time and it still did to be honest. He was
showing Harry a kindness Tom hadn’t known he could manage to begin with.
Tom’s fingers brushed over Harry’s back and then he stretched out his arm to
his desk, grabbing the small box with grapes he had prepared for Harry earlier.
‘Hmm?’ Harry hummed when Tom nudged him in the side, nuzzling Tom’s neck just a
moment longer before tiredly raising his head.
Harry still worked at Tom’s factory of course, but Tom knew what could happen
to the boy there. He had heard stories of one of his workers losing a limb
while handling one of the machines, fools they were. Unfortunately, Tom’s boy
also was very clumsy and for as much as Tom loathed to admit this to himself,
the thought of Harry getting hurt to that extent sent irrational anger through
his body.
Tom opened the box and took out a grape, watching as Harry’s eyes widened at
the sight of it. Grapes were expensive nowadays – a luxury not many could
afford. Luckily for both Tom and Harry, Tom had a lot of money to spare.
Tom pressed the purple grape against Harry’s mouth and Harry tentatively parted
his lips, allowing himself to be fed. The boy held the fruit in his mouth as if
he was unsure of what to do with it – as though he was afraid he wasn’t allowed
to actually eat it. This was the first time Harry actually had a grape before.
Tom liked surprising Harry – he liked making Harry try out new foods, new
things, that childlike fascination bringing some strange sort of satisfaction
to Tom that no amount of sex could compete with. Tom was not a man for charity
– he hated poor peasants, despised them for their lack of ability to do
something with their pitiful lives.
It was just that with Harry it did not feel like charity. It felt like taking
care of something that was his own, like getting his shoes polished or his hair
cut. It felt normal.
Tom took a grape and placed it into his own mouth, chewing slowly as if showing
the boy that it was okay, and Harry watched Tom’s jaw work for just a moment as
if trying to figure out how to chew before he followed Tom’s example. Harry
gasped and Tom swallowed, watching the boy touch his lips as though he couldn’t
believe what he was tasting. Tom could not blame him – the boy had spent his
entire life living in hunger and would’ve been tossed a scrap of dry, stale
bread if he had been lucky every now and then. Being an orphan was hard
nowadays.
Tom liked this about Harry. He liked how everything was just a new experience
to Harry and how he appreciated things Tom took for granted, things Tom thought
to be normal.
Harry swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down.
‘It’s – it’s so sweet and juicy,’ Harry commented in amazement as if he
couldn’t believe it. Tom felt himself smirk. The boy didn’t even know what he
was implying.
‘These are special,’ Tom replied, ‘they were grown especially to not have
seeds.’
‘There are more kinds of grapes?’ Harry asked. Tom hummed and held another
grape against Harry’s lips and this time Harry did not hesitate. He sucked
Tom’s finger into his mouth along with it and Tom’s eyes darkened. Harry was
still sitting on his cock, plugged up with Tom’s essence. Tom should most
likely pull out soon.
If only he were interested in doing so.
‘They come in different colors. Black, dark blue, yellow, green…’ Tom’s fingers
traced Harry’s lips, opening his mouth when Harry fed him a grape too. ‘…Red,
orange, purple.’
‘Do they all taste differently?’
Harry stared at Tom’s lips, licking his own hungrily. Tom hummed, leaning in
close.
‘The green and yellow grapes tend to be a tad sour. These…’ Harry boldly leaned
forward and licked the juice off Tom’s fingers, reminding Tom of just what that
mouth had been doing to him 20 minutes ago. ‘These are used in wine. Delicious,
aren’t they?’
Harry hummed around Tom’s fingers, pressing a kiss against Tom’s temple.
‘They are. But, my Lord,’ Harry started, rocking a bit back and forwards on
Tom’s slowly hardening cock. He took the little box from Tom’s hands and placed
it on Tom’s desk, ‘I fear that I must disappoint you.’
Tom gazed up at him, his eyebrow rising in a silent question while his hands
settled on Harry’s hips again. The boy licked his lips and smiled at Tom. ‘It
appears that no matter what flavors you so kindly introduce to my taste buds, I
cannot find anything quite as exquisite as your lips.’
Tom purred, brushing the messy hair from Harry’s eyes. Harry's speech had been
improving lately from being around Tom so much. He used to have a bit of a
potty mouth. Growing up with no education would do that to a person.
‘I can assure you that you will never induce any feelings of disappointment in
me, dearest, if anything you only keep me amused and pleased,’ Tom replied.
Harry shivered, his cock hard and wanton and straining against his belly
already.
‘You may think me to be awfully foolish when I say this, considering your
social stature and my own insignificance, but I feel…’ Harry trailed off when
Tom lifted him up, his bare ass pressed against the wooden desk. Harry moaned
when Tom slowly started rocking in and out of him, his movements slick because
of his come. ‘…I feel so, oh…’
‘Do keep talking,’ Tom encouraged him, his fingers sliding over Harry’s smooth
thighs and spreading them. Harry groaned and arched his back, his eager hole
clenching whenever Tom pulled out a bit, his hips rutting up into Tom’s as if
bodily begging him to never stop.
‘C-complete when you’re… when I… inside, when you’re, ngh, so near… in me…’
Tom paused, his eyes gazing into Harry’s half lidded green orbs. Harry was
completely pliant when Tom pushed him down to lie on his back, his legs spread
shamelessly, showing Tom all he had to offer. It shouldn’t be a lot and Tom
ought to be unimpressed. He had laid with women and men before – Tom was no
virgin. He was a desirable bachelor and many women of great stature, with great
amounts of money, desired to marry him and carry his children. Being with a man
wasn’t normal, it was not acceptable.
Yet…
‘There is no foolishness in genuine honesty,’ Tom finally murmured, leaning
down and kissing Harry hungrily. Harry moaned and his legs wrapped around Tom’s
waist, his mouth tasting of a grapes, sweet that in no way could cloak the
underlying addictive sweetness that was Harry.
‘What if I fire you?’ Tom mused out loud. Harry shook his head. ‘No? Why not?’
‘I have – I have to support the orphanage, my Lord,’ Harry panted, his nails
digging deep into the wooden desk Tom was fucking him into. It was a good thing
it was polished, Tom was unsure if he wanted to deal with picking out splinters
from Harry’s tender bum. ‘I couldn’t possibly… even d-dream of-
 ohpleasedon’tstop.’
‘And why’s that?’ Tom asked, slowing his thrusts down enough to allow the boy
to catch his breath. He slowly rocked in and out of Harry now, watching the
boy’s chest heave up and down. There was a wet noise every time he entered
Harry’s body. He was still as hot as a furnace inside.
‘I have obligations,’ Harry replied, his voice tight and small like he didn’t
want to think of it himself. Tom scowled and snapped his hips forward, hitting
Harry in that spot that somehow always seemed to make him keen.
‘Is that so?’ Tom asked darkly, something inside of his chest just drawing
tight. Stupid boy. Why did he have to be so considerate, so perfect? Harry
didn’t reply, he was bucking his hips up in a desperate attempt to speed up
their pace, the heel of his foot digging into the small of Tom’s back.
‘Do – do not hate me, Thomas,’ Harry panted, ‘I… I have nowhere to go. I
wouldn’t be able to quit even if I would want to-’
‘I could adopt you. We could go places,’ Tom instantly replied. Harry’s eyes
snapped open and he stared at Tom, his body stilling underneath Tom. Harry had
always called Tom Thomas, even though his name really was just Tom. Tom never
figured out why.
Tom paused as well. When had he become this foolish? When had the boy with the
shockingly green eyes gotten to him? Had it been the moment Tom had first laid
eyes on him or…?
‘Where?’ Harry asked.
‘Anywhere you’d like to go,’ Tom replied, his voice pure honesty, his eyes
boring into Harry’s. Harry shivered.
‘Somewhere by the sea?’ Harry asked. Tom nodded again.
‘Anywhere. As long as it’s with you.’
It was not marriage, nor a relationship. They acknowledged to be each other’s
friends at the best of times – other times they just told others that Tom was
Harry’s guardian and that Harry had been most fortunate to have met Tom. That
was all others needed to know, and all Tom and Harry needed to know was that
they were happy behind closed doors when nothing could get in between them. No
thoughts of what was right or what was wrong, no care for obligations, no
worries about what exactly it was that they had.
Just lovemaking and laughter.
It was all they needed to keep going on.
                              25th of June, 1976
                                    America
Tap.
Tom frowned, his pen hovering over his lined paper and his left hand pausing
from where it had been about to reach over for his glass of water. He glanced
around his room but could not find a source of the sound and sighed to himself.
He looked at his record player but nothing seemed out of order either.
He managed to write just one more word on his essay on Shakespear when he heard
it again.
Tap.
Tom sighed in frustration and dropped his pen, running a hand through his hair.
He pushed himself up and turned off his record player – music, Tom needed music
lest he’d go mad – and glanced out of the window, narrowly getting missed by a
pebble the idiot standing on his porch had been throwing at his window. It
dropped onto his wooden floor with another soft tap, skidding over it and
landing somewhere beneath Tom’s desk.
It was entirely forgotten when Tom caught sight of the grinning face of his
boyfriend staring up at him, his teeth glimmering in the darkness. The boy
waved a hand at Tom and Tom felt himself smirk, pushing away from the window.
There was something coiling in his stomach, hot and warm at the thought of
doing something so forbidden.
He snuck out of his house, the kitchen door creaking and the moment he stepped
outside Tom gripped Harry and lead him to his car, kissing him hungrily. Harry
groaned softly into his mouth and fisted his hair, his stupid, stupid peace
pendant – Harry’s ridiculous stoner friend Hermione had gotten him that
undoubtedly, Harry never had been one to believe in that peace and love
bullshit – digging into Tom’s chest.
Well, wasn’t this unexpected. Undoubtedly Harry had been watching those stupid
movies again. He could’ve just called.
‘Couldn’t wait,’ Harry breathed against his lips, his back arching for Tom so
prettily. His bright colored t-shirt clashed completely with Tom’s black shirt,
his lips parted and so eager. ‘Was thinking of you at home, mom and dad were
watching tv, stupid bullshit about that damn war came up and I just want
to feel you –’
‘You’re ridiculous,’ Tom replied, huffing out a breathy laugh. Harry groaned
and kissed him again, fumbling with the doorhandle until Tom opened it for him
and they landed in a heated mess in the backseat. They didn’t have a lot of
time – there was no telling when Tom’s mom would find out that Tom wasn’t in
his room doing homework (she tended to spend a lot of time with Tom because
Tom’s father ignored her for most of the time) and would go looking for him.
They never had enough time.
Tom quickly pushed down Harry’s pants and Harry fumbled with Tom’s belt before
he was able to go for Tom’s fly, hearing Tom inhale a sharp breath. The little
shit smirked and kissed Tom hungrily.
‘I already prepared at home,’ Harry murmured. Tom groaned and got Harry on his
hands and knees, fumbling a bit with his own pants before thrusting right into
Harry.
They’ve been keeping their relationship a secret for so long now; everyone
always thought they were just best friends. And it was true in a way – they had
started out as friends. But… There was something about Harry that had just made
Tom want to be so much more. He had never heard of this before, two men
together, but Tom figured that it wasn’t that big of a problem right? Everyone
was so obsessed with that whole love and peace thing, whatever it meant, and
Tom and Harry weren’t harming anyone with whatever they had.
They just knew that they would get harmed themselves if they would ever come
out like this, together. The world wasn’t ready to accept that they were loved
each other.
Hopefully one day, it would be.
Tom sucked on a spot behind Harry’s ear and Harry moaned, pressing his ass
against Tom’s pelvis and urging him to just fuck him already. Tom complied and
started thrusting, listening to Harry’s breathy noises. He thought that they
were far more pleasant to listen to than any of the records in Tom’s
collection.
Tom hated how they had to keep this a secret. He hated how his mother asked him
why he didn’t have a girlfriend and how girls just kept hitting on him, and he
hated it when girls tried to talk to Harry. It was so unfair.
Tom spread Harry’s cheeks, watching himself ride in and out of the other teen,
biting the inside of his cheek. The sight was obscene – so
strangely arousing and Tom just couldn’t stop looking at it, at the way their
bodies constantly joined. Harry clenched around him and mewed. His hand reached
underneath his body to jerk himself harshly off.
‘Feels so good in me,’ Harry whimpered. His voice sounded hoarse and Tom pushed
Harry’s shirt up to play a bit with his nipples. He knew how much Harry liked
that and really, for as much as he loathed it, they didn’t have the time to
draw this out. ‘Fuck – Tom -’
‘Why did you come here?’ Tom murmured in Harry’s ear. Harry groaned. His hole
fluttered around Tom’s manhood and Tom squeezed Harry’s hip and huffed. ‘Did
you just come here to get fucked?’
‘Mmm,’ Harry just whined. He closed his eyes tightly and pressed his face into
the leather seat of Tom’s car. Tom smacked his ass cheek.
‘You’re such a – fuck, fuck,’ Tom choked when Harry started backing up on him.
He gripped the boy by the shoulders and slammed his cock into him a couple of
times until Harry choked and came, finally, his walls pulsing erratically
around Tom. Tom moaned and pressed his face into Harry’s hair and pumped his
hips forward, filling Harry up with his heat and collapsing on top of the other
boy.
Harry murmured something about Tom being too heavy and they moved – Tom’s long
limbs getting in the way – until Harry’s head was resting on Tom’s chest, his
legs stretched out over Tom’s backseat and his shoes kicked off at Tom’s
demand.
It was completely silent except for their loud breathing.
Tom wished it could be like this all the time. Just them, drinking each other
in, close all the time. He nuzzled the crown of Harry’s head and he knew that
Harry was already close to falling asleep.
‘Do you believe in true love?’ Harry finally murmured, softly. Tom paused from
where he had been stroking Harry’s sides.
‘I believe that what we have is true,’ Tom tentatively answered. Harry propped
his chin up on Tom’s chest, gazing up at him.
‘It’s just – all this stuff about love is making me wonder… I mean, we’ve known
each other for a long time, right?’ Tom hummed and stroked Harry’s sides again.
Yes, they had. Their parents were friends so as soon as Harry had been born he
had been introduced into Tom’s life. Tom had been two years old when that had
happened and by the time he was five and Harry was three they were already
playing together. Tom vaguely remembered learning how to read and reading Harry
stories.
Harry had been an adorable baby.
‘Almost our entire lives,’ Tom agreed. Harry nodded.
‘Do you… do you sometimes feel like we’ve known each other longer than that?
Sometimes it feels like it, for me.’ Tom snorted, getting what Harry was trying
to imply. Harry wasn’t the kind of guy who could easily word his feelings or
thoughts, Tom knew that. Harry was just… Harry wasn’t complicated. He just made
things complicated.
‘Soulmates?’ he asked. Harry nodded again. ‘No, I don’t believe in
reincarnation or soulmates. I believe in us and what we have, and that is
enough.’
‘Hmm…’ Harry hummed happily. Did Tom’s answer please him or was he simply happy
with the way they were right now? It was hard to tell. Sometimes Tom didn’t
know what Harry was thinking at all and it was bothersome most of the time.
Harry pressed a kiss against Tom’s throat. ‘We should live together when we’re
done with high school,’ he murmured. ‘It’d be totally awesome. Yeah.’ Tom
froze. No one would suspect they’d be anything more than roommates of course,
no one would assume that they were more because a lot of people lived together
nowadays, but that was kind of a big step, wasn’t it?
‘Yes. I’d like that,’ Tom slowly replied. Harry smiled happily and started
rocking himself against Tom again.
‘Good, because I’ve been in love with you since the first  moment I lied eyes
on you. Now fuck me again before your mom sees.’
The hardest thing about loving someone is knowing that one day, you’ll have to
let go of them. Tom was aware of this and to be honest, the thought of death
terrified him. Maybe that was why he so insisted on keeping what they had a
well-kept secret, he wasn’t entirely sure.
Life is a series of events, some believe that said events are meant to be,
others believe that it’s all just cause-effect. Do we live with a goal? It is
uncertain. Is our path already created beforehand? It’s unknown. But Tom did
believe one thing; what he had with Harry was something that no one come in
between.
And when they died 10 years later after their airplane blew up, after their
travel around the world and on their way back home, well, their souls did not
stop believing and tried even harder to reconnect and find one another once
more.
                              25th of June, 2012
                                    England
The thing about summers in England is that the weather could go from being
exceedingly hot to stormy and rainy. One day you were stuck in the house
wearing your favorite cardigan with your fingers wrapped around a steaming mug
of tea or hot chocolate or coffee in a vain attempt to stay warm, and the next
day you could be walking around with a red, painful sunburnt skin. There was
just no telling what the weather had in store every day.
Tom usually wasn’t a man who got affected by the weather, in fact he didn’t
even care much for it, but it entirely disgruntled him that it had to start
raining the moment he stepped foot out of his office building.
He cursed when he stepped into a puddle of rainwater and the water seeped
through his shoes, right through his socks.
Of course. This day just couldn’t get any worse.
Tom grumpily stuffed his hands into his pocket. First his secretary had to
insist on being a klutz by spilling coffee on one of his favorite shirts –
needless to say she had her desk cleaned out for her by security 10 minutes
later -, then he found out that his accountant decided to die because of a
heart attack – his replacement was already hired but still, it was such a
hassle… Soaked socks was something a man of Tom’s stature should not have to
deal with.
It was entirely unfair.
Tom held his briefcase over his head in a vain attempt to remain somewhat dry,
people rushing past him. He cared for none of them and he huffed impatiently
when he had to stop for a red stoplight in front of a sidewalk. A kid walked
right past him, staring at the iPod in his hands. Tom scowled at him too.
Idiot. Stoplights were there for a reason, didn’t the kid’s parents ever tell
him that? Tom glanced up when he heard the honking of a truck – it was rushing
right at the boy. The boy didn’t seem to notice.
‘Kid,’ Tom called, but the boy kept walking. Tom glanced at the truck again –
the driver was making gestures with his hands, looking panicked, his tires
screeching over the asphalt. ‘Hey, boy! Look out -’
Realizing the kid didn’t hear him, Tom sprinted forwards and all but shoved the
boy to the side, hearing the truck honk a couple more times. Adrenaline went
through Tom and he didn’t know why he had reached out and gripped the stupid
fuck, keeping him from getting hit by the truck but…
The boy in his arms was staring at him through wide eyes, tugging his
headphones out of his ears. He finally seemed to get a grip on the situation
they were in and his face was ashen, rain pouring down on them and making the
boy’s eyelashes cling together.
Tom felt himself sneer as he glanced down at the little iPod in the boy’s
hands, but the expression fell from his face when he looked the boy in the eye.
He froze and something inside of his chest lurched somehow.
‘H-hey,’ the boy stammered, visibly shaken up, too shocked to say anything
else. He could’ve died right there. Tom was still holding the boy in his arms
and he did not know why, but there was something… No, it had to be the
adrenaline. The rush. That was all.
The boy just had a pretty face.
Tom stared at him for a long time before he slowly nodded, his hand steadying
the short male in his arms, watching as the green eyed male – God, those eyes –
pushed his glasses up with his pinky and stared at him in a way that made him
feel like he had somehow known him before.
Ridiculous.
‘…Hello,’ Tom tentatively replied. The boy’s lips moved but he didn’t seem to
be able to find words, his eyebrows knitting together.
‘I – thank you. You kinda… you just saved my life,’ the boy finally murmured,
staring at the direction the truck had headed off into.
‘Yes,’ Tom agreed with him. Tom realized he still had yet to let go of him and
he did, his fingers slipping over the boy’s thin wrists. The boy’s t-shirt was
clinging to his flat chest, his nipples stiffened. He was utterly soaked to the
bone.
‘This is going to sound crazy and incredibly cheesy,’ the boy started and he
looked at Tom again, ‘but… Did we meet before?’
The boy felt it too. Strange.
Tom slowly shook his head and the boy huffed, frowning a bit. Tom found that he
looked incredibly adorable like that.
‘Well I s’pose that I should at least buy you a coffee for saving my life.’
‘That would be proper etiquette, wouldn’t it?’ Tom said and he was delighted to
see the boy wasn’t offended by his sarcasm at all. If anything, he just flashed
Tom a toothy grin. This was good. The only reason why Tom had really saved this
boy was because his parents had raised Tom to become a polite man, and even if
he sometimes abused his power, he wasn't the kind of person to actually let
people die in front of him. That went a bit too far for him. 
‘I’m Harry Potter,’ the green eyed boy said and he held his hand out.
‘I’m Tom Riddle,’ Tom replied, his eyes sliding over the boy’s face once more.
Strange… It really did feel like Tom had met Harry before… Tom shrugged the
feeling off and started following Harry to whatever coffeeshop he had in mind,
grateful that he hadn’t opted to take the bus instead. The thought of Harry
getting hurt was strange and sent irrational apprehension through Tom.
It was probably just something he ate.
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