Chapter Text
Tom practically lived and breathed productivity at work. He had a comfortable ottoman in his spacious office there, and no shortage of assistants that he could order to stay and bring him meals long after the regular workday had ended.
So whenever he did find himself back at his fully-furnished flat, it was mostly for sleeping, eating, or showering, and it was usually only for a few hours at a time.
Despite this, Tom was still exceedingly picky about who he allowed to live in his building. Extensive background checks were done on all his tenants, and there were strict low-noise, non-smoking rules for all of the flats. Tom had personally researched all of the potential renters for the flats on his floor, and had so far only found one suitable person by the name of Hermione Granger. She was an over-achieving, vaguely sociable woman whose idea of a good time involved unlimited access to a bookstore. Most importantly, she was quiet, and smart enough to take a hint when Tom blatantly ignored her friendly overtures.
Of course, none of the tenants knew that Tom Riddle owned the building. That would have been asking for people to be banging on his door at all hours of the day. The only reason Tom was living in his own building at all was that it was just simply more convenient, mostly because it was near his office, but also because he hardly spent any time at home to begin with.
When the profile of Harry Potter fell across Tom’s desk one sweltering June morning, he set aside an entire two hours to look at it.
Potter was a few years younger than Tom, and he worked night security at the local hotel, which was where Tom usually sent his more particular clients. At a glance, Potter was boring. No accolades to boast of, no notable aspirations. But a night-shift worker meant that Tom would probably never have to see him. Or, at least, would not have to see him very often. The interview that Lucius had held on Tom’s behalf was full of notes on a mild-mannered, conscientious boy who was unlikely to cause any trouble.
So Tom decided to give it a try. One six-month period, and if it didn’t work out—well, he’d hand out the 30-day eviction notice and be done with it. After all, it wasn’t as though he, Tom, would have to bear any of the negative consequences of kicking someone out in the first month of the new year.
Tom gave the go-ahead, and Lucius was told to draw up a lease contract for Harry James Potter.
According to Filch, Potter had moved in with the most meager amount of belongings he had ever seen, and had then proceeded to fill his flat with furniture that did not match. Resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, Tom decided to just avoid Potter as much as possible.
But Potter somehow found ways to run into Tom, and he was always so genuinely cheerful when he smiled that it was hard for Tom to be irritated. So Tom started asking to borrow sugar, because Potter was relatively less annoying than the rest of the people in the building. And then, after maybe the second or third time of asking, Tom started leaving sugar off of his shopping lists altogether. It wasn't as though he needed much of it, and Potter was always there, ready and eager to play fetch. It was certainly easier than having to go out to get it himself whenever he forgot to order Lucius to do his shopping for him.
So it was on one December morning when Tom had arrived at his flat, intent upon a cup of tea with a spoonful of sugar, only to realize that he wasn’t actually sure whether or not Potter was home. Well, there was only one way to find out.
Tom walked up to Potter’s, noticing that there was a cheap mobile phone lying on the door mat. Ignoring it, he rapped smartly on the door a few times and waited. Clearly, Potter was home, if the fact that he’d dropped his phone on his own doorstep accounted for anything.
There was still no response, so Tom tried again, knocking harder this time. Then his phone buzzed, so he pulled it out to look at. Lucius was bothering him with yet another inane question. Tom began to type out a lengthy diatribe that referenced Lucius’ inability to know so much as how to breathe correctly.
The door opened just then, so Tom said, “Sugar,” like he usually did. Potter would return with a paper cup of sugar, and Tom could go enjoy his tea in his flat in peace.
“What time is it?”
Tom, still in the middle of responding to his idiotic assistant, glanced irritatedly at the time displayed at the top of his phone. “It’s five in the morning,” he said. And then he looked up.
Potter was clad in a towel. He was clad only in a towel, and his hair was a disastrous mess, but somehow he was still the most beguiling sight Tom had ever seen. Bright green eyes and charming smile. He was perfect, and Tom had no idea how he’d failed to notice this before.
“Uh,” said Harry Potter, blinking owlishly at Tom from behind his round spectacles. As Tom continued to stare, Harry began to slowly turn very red. Then Harry stuttered out, “I’ll go get you your sugar,” and stumbled away into his flat.
Tom put his phone away, his eyes fixed on Harry’s retreating form. Obviously, he had not been paying enough attention to his adorable, introverted neighbour.
When Harry returned with his little paper cup of sugar, as usual, he held it out nervously for Tom to take. He hadn’t even bothered to put on a robe or anything. It was endearing.
“Thank you, Harry,” Tom said, reaching out for the cup, taking care to brush the fingers of his hand against Harry’s as he did so.
And then Tom remembered that Harry’s phone was still resting on the doormat between them, so he bent down to scoop it up. “You must have dropped this last night when you came in,” he said. Upon closer examination, the phone was cracked across the entire top left half. Harry was overdue for an upgrade.
“Ah, yeah, I must have,” Harry said, sticking his hand back out for his phone. “Thanks.”
But Tom wanted to know more. So he turned the phone screen on, revealing a photo of Harry dressed as Spiderman. He was standing next to two of the other tenants in the building. Tom tried to access the home screen and was greeted with a request for the passcode.
Harry made a noise, and so Tom asked, “Passcode?”
“Zero-seven-thirty-one,” said Harry.
His birthday. That made sense. Tom punched it in and went to the contacts app, scrolling carefully through to see if there was anyone that looked like potential competition. There were the names and numbers of some of the other tenants, the number for a nearby pizza shop, and the number of Filch, the maintenance man.
Satisfied that there was no immediate threat on the horizon, Tom hit the plus button and added his own information in. He made a point to leave off his last name, so that the contact only read ‘Tom’. It was more personal that way; he wanted Harry to think of him in a friendly manner.
“Thank you again for the sugar,” Tom said, and handed the device back over to Harry, who accepted it silently, an expression akin to worship painted all over his face. Then Tom turned around and went back to his flat, because absence only made the heart grow fonder, after all.
Tom cleared his schedule for the rest of the day and started to research. Firstly, a new phone for Harry, because the contraption he was using was pitiful, and Harry deserved something much nicer. Secondly, Tom had to go over Harry’s profile again, this time with the intention of memorizing all the details. Thirdly, he harassed Malfoy to write up a brand new report on his tenant interview with Harry Potter, with explicit instructions to spare no thought towards being concise.
Unfortunately, the week before Christmas was insanely busy, meaning Tom was practically living out of his office, barking orders at Lucius to bring him coffee and meals on top of his regular work reports. But Tom made sure to check his phone regularly, even going so far as to set a particular ringtone specifically for Harry’s number just to ensure that he didn’t miss anything. However, by the time it was Friday, still no calls or texts from Harry had arrived.
This was now an issue.
Tom sat in his chair, steepling his fingers under his chin. Harry was obviously attracted to him, so why hadn’t Harry called him? Perhaps he was just shy... his Harry had definitely seemed like the shy type. But Tom had already gone and made the first move, so that should have taken a good deal of the pressure off. Tom frowned harder as he tried to puzzle it out.
Out of the corner of his eye, Tom saw Lucius shuffle silently into the room, placing a stack of papers very slowly onto the desk so as not to disturb Tom’s train of thought.
If Harry’s endearing shyness was what was getting in the way, then clearly what Tom needed to do was to orchestrate a situation where Harry would be incentivized to spend time with him. He already knew that Harry was working the night before Christmas Eve, so that was an excellent starting point.
“Malfoy,” Tom snapped out. “Clear my schedule for the 24th. I want the entire day free. I have some personal errands that need attending to.”
Lucius started so violently at being suddenly addressed that he bumped his knee painfully against the table. “T-this coming 24th, sir? Christmas Eve? It’s just—well, there’s a forecast for a lot of snow this weekend—”
“Yes, Malfoy,” Tom spoke slowly, to make sure he got his point across. “Christmas Eve is on the 24th, which is a Monday. Or do you not work on Mondays anymore? Surely you can handle one day without this entire place burning to the ground?”
“I—of course, sir. Yes, sir.”
“And I don’t want to be bothered on that day, either. Full radio silence, am I quite understood?”
“Yes, sir.” Lucius continued to stand there uncomfortably, as Tom had not dismissed him yet.
However, Lucius’ comment about the snowfall had given Tom an excellent idea. “And get me the blueprints for the Gaunt building,” Tom added. “I want them on my desk before the end of the hour. Dismissed.”
Lucius left without another word, which was what he’d been trained to do.
Once he had the blueprints in hand, Tom spent an absurd amount of time trying to figure out how central heating worked, with the express purpose of learning how to take it apart. Because he didn’t want to ruin the heating for the entire building, since that would be costly. Tom just needed to figure out how to ruin Harry’s flat specifically, and then perhaps a few others as well, just so it wouldn’t be suspicious.
Eventually, Tom thought he had a viable plan figured out.
So on Sunday evening, Tom left work early, drove directly to his building, and ‘fixed up’ the heating. Then Tom called Filch to tell the man that the heating was having problems, and to inform any affected tenants that it would be fixed the morning after. Filch knew better than to bother Tom with petty complaints and the like, so Tom was reasonably certain that no issues would come of it.
Ensconced in his flat, Tom cheerfully set an alarm on his phone for early the next morning—around the time when Harry was likely to be returning from work—and then went to bed. When he woke it would simply be a matter of waiting for Harry to return home, and then Tom could pay his darling neighbour a friendly visit.
When his alarm rang, Tom got up and went through his usual morning routine, taking extra care with his appearance. Then he sifted through his closet, tossing aside all the options that weren’t expensive enough or impressive enough. Harry needed to see Tom and know, without a doubt, that Tom was the best choice he would ever make in his entire life.
Eventually, Tom settled on a pair of dark-wash denim jeans, a short-sleeved white t-shirt, and a black cashmere jumper. Tom had always thought he looked excellent in black.
It was only moments after Tom had started to pace impatiently in his sitting room that he heard the tell-tale noises indicating that Harry had just let himself into flat 6G. Tom checked his watch, deciding he would wait twenty minutes before he went over, just to allow some time for the frosty air to settle in.
Some seconds passed. Tom’s foot started tapping on the floor. Had time always been this slow?
Checking his watch again, Tom saw that it had barely been three minutes. He got up and went over to his laptop, turning it on. The screen came to life quickly. Tom logged onto his account. He would put some Christmas music on, and that would hopefully help him pass the time. Songs were, on average, three minutes long. That meant he could listen to approximately six songs, and then he would go and see Harry.
Tom managed to sit through three songs before he gave up and shut the music off. It was fine. It was all fine. Ten minutes wasn’t… unreasonable. It was perfectly reasonable to go say hello to your neighbour right after they’d gotten home, even when it was—Tom checked his watch for the third time—five o’clock in the morning.
Smoothing his clothes, Tom stood and briskly made his way over to Harry’s flat. The door read, in bold lettering, 6G. Knocking thrice, Tom arranged his face into a pleasant smile and waited for his Harry to appear.
When Harry opened the door, he was still wearing his scarf, hat, and bulky winter coat.
“Hello, Harry,” Tom said. Then, allowing a bemused expression to fall upon his face, he continued, “I heard you come in about ten minutes ago, and I was wondering if I could—”
“Sugar,” Harry said quickly, turning the most delectable shade of pink as he did so. “You’re here for sugar?”
“Yes,” said Tom patiently. Harry was noticeably pleased to see him, and that thought warmed Tom up immensely.
“Yeah, obviously, of course—just—give me a moment,” Harry said. Then he practically jogged back into his flat. If only Malfoy could take a few pointers from Harry when it came to timeliness, Tom mourned. But of course not everyone could be as perfect as Harry was.
“Oh, there’s no hurry, Harry,” Tom said, so as not to make his neighbour any more nervous. He wanted Harry feeling nice and comfortable, thus ensuring he would accept Tom’s offer to come over. “Take your time,” he added, just for good measure.
Music was echoing around in Tom’s head. Harry was still in the kitchen, so Tom began to tap his foot upon the floor, humming in the hopes that the sudden earworm would leave.
Shortly after that, Harry re-approached the door eagerly, cup in hand.
“It’s rather cold in here,” Tom said casually, accepting the sugar. “Is there something wrong with your heating?”
“Oh,” said Harry. “Yes. Filch said the heating’s been busted in some of the flats. There’ll be someone in to fix it tomorrow morning.”
Tom waited to see if Harry would say anything further, but Harry seemed to be done talking. So Tom spoke again, laying out the bait, “Well, that simply won’t do. You’ll have to come and stay with me.”
“I—what?” Harry asked.
“Your flat has no heating. You can’t possibly expect to stay in it for the rest of the day. You’ll catch pneumonia and freeze to death long before nightfall. Unless you have somewhere else to go?” Tom added, knowing that the answer was likely no. All of Harry’s social contacts had been tenants in the building, tenants that Tom knew had gone home to their families for Christmas.
“No, but. But. You—you really don’t have to do that.”
“Why not?” Tom held up his cup of sugar and gave it a little shake, raising his brow as he did so. “We are neighbours, after all. And it’s Christmas Eve.” He offered Harry his most charming smile, the one that convinced even the wealthiest clients to sign their names without reading the contracts.
“Well, alright, if you’re sure it’s no trouble—”
“Of course it isn’t,” Tom said. “No trouble at all.” If Harry only knew all of the trouble Tom had actually gone to… this was hardly anything. Harry was doing him a favour by agreeing to stay.
“Then… I guess I’ll just go and grab some of my things,” Harry said slowly, looking down at his feet. Tom glanced down as well, and noted that Harry was wearing mismatched socks. One of them was clearly an ankle sock, and the other one was a worn-looking crew sock. Both were black, but Tom had to wonder just how Harry could have gotten them so disastrously mixed up.
“I’ll meet you at mine when you’re ready, then,” said Tom, forcing himself to look back up at Harry’s face. Harry was still flushed pink, although whether that was from Tom’s magnetic presence or from the cold remained to be seen.
Tom went back to his flat and took a quick glance around, making sure that everything was perfectly spotless. Then he examined his reflection in the mirror hung up by the door, to make sure that his hair was properly styled into place.
Some time later, Tom heard Harry’s two timid knocks upon his door. The sound of it filled Tom with more thrilling anticipation than he’d experienced in years. He strode over to the door and quickly pulled it open.
What he saw was as equally delightful as what he had heard. Harry had changed clothes before coming to see Tom. He was now wearing jeans and an emerald green jumper. The green really brought out Harry’s eyes, Tom thought fondly. He took a step back, gesturing Harry in.
Harry stepped inside, his wide eyes glancing all around as he took in the sight of Tom’s flat.
“What do you think?” Tom asked, hoping that Harry found the space to be suitably impressive.
“I think it’s perfect. It suits you really well.” Then Harry blushed, which was really the perfect end cap to the perfect compliment.
Tom offered Harry a reassuring smile to show that the comment was welcome, and Harry seemed to relax a bit.
“You can set your things in my bathroom,” Tom said, stepping towards Harry. “It’s just this way.” The opportunity to play tour guide was just too exquisite to pass up; Tom pressed his hand softly against Harry’s back, gently leading him down the hall.
“Thanks again for letting me stay,” Harry said, talking a little faster than normal. “I know it’s Christmas Eve, and you probably have better things to do than to spend it making sure your neighbour doesn’t freeze to death.”
Had no one ever shown this boy a scrap of kindness before? Or was Harry really just that insistent on not being a bother? Tom was beginning to find himself irritated with Harry’s friends and family. They needed to do a better job of bolstering Harry’s sense of self-esteem.
Tom watched as Harry set his bag on top of the sink counter. “Really, Harry, it’s no issue. I didn’t have any plans for Christmas Eve, so it will be nice to have someone to spend it with this year.” Then he took a careful step closer, so that he could feel the heat radiating from Harry’s body.
“Oh?” Harry sounded suddenly breathless as he stuttered out, “So you’re not—you aren’t—”
“I am most definitely not seeing anyone,” Tom assured him. There was no reason to think of anyone else after Tom had set his sights on Harry.
Harry coughed. “Right. Well. Er—good. I mean, not good, but, um.” Then he reached up to adjust his glasses nervously, biting down onto his lower lip.
“Why don’t I go make you a cup of coffee,” Tom said, pulling away. “It’s the least I can do, considering all the sugar you’ve loaned me.” He resisted the urge to reach out and touch Harry’s shoulder as he left the bathroom, telling himself that he had to be patient. It would do no good to crowd Harry too much before he was ready.
Tom could hear Harry trailing close behind as they walked into the kitchen. As they stopped in front of Tom’s coffee machine, Tom caught the confused expression on Harry’s face.
“I like to add the sugar in manually afterwards,” Tom explained. “I don’t buy those pods that already come pre-sweetened.” Then he proceeded to make them each a cup of coffee.
“How many sugars?” Tom asked, once the coffees were done.
“Ah, two sugars is fine.”
The cup of sugar that Harry had lovingly provided was sat upon the counter. Tom scooped it up into his left hand, using his right hand to disperse two helpings of sugar into Harry’s mug. Something sweet for someone sweet. Tom pushed the mug over to Harry, then picked up his own cup to take a sip.
Harry was staring at him again, and it took a moment for Tom to logic out the reason why. “I take my tea with sugar, not my coffee,” he said, smirking slightly.
“Right,” Harry said, still looking adorably confused.
They sipped at their coffee in companionable silence. Tom took the time to gaze at Harry without interruption. Even though Harry’s green jumper was of a nicer quality than what Tom had usually seen him wearing, it was still a little large on Harry’s smaller frame. The idea that it had perhaps belonged to an ex-lover insinuated itself into Tom’s mind, where it sat and simmered dangerously.
“Maybe I should see if there’s someone else I can stay with for the night,” Harry said suddenly. “You’ve been too kind already, and I really don’t want to cause you any trouble.”
No, no, that was not to be allowed. Harry wasn’t allowed to go parading himself over to an ex's flat when Tom was here and perfectly available to take care of him properly, the way he deserved to be looked after. “Don’t be ridiculous, Harry,” Tom said sharply. “I’ve told you, I’d like the company.”
“If you’re sure,” Harry said, sounding hopeful.
“I’m very sure,” Tom said, happy now that it seemed Harry understood the situation better. Harry was going to stay here with him, and it was going to be the best Christmas Eve he’d ever had. Tom took both mugs and carried them to the dishwasher. “Why don't you make yourself comfortable on the couch? Or did you want to sleep? You can take my bed, if that’s the case.”
The mental image of Harry in his bed was very pleasing, and it was certainly going to become a reality before the end of the day if Tom had any say about it.
“I’m not tired,” Harry said quickly.
So Tom moved back to the sitting room where the couch was, knowing that Harry would follow him. “I could put a movie on,” Tom said. “And I’m afraid I don’t have any breakfast foods to eat, but we can order in.”
“Sure,” Harry said. “I left my wallet in my flat, but I can go get it—”
Silly notion, Tom thought, reaching out to curl his fingers around Harry’s forearm. “You’re my guest,” Tom said kindly. “I’d hardly expect you to pay for breakfast.”
Harry’s entire body shifted as he seemed to take in the tone of Tom’s voice, and then he moved to go sit on the couch.
Pulling out his phone, Tom dialed the number of his usual restaurant to place his usual order, only this time with two servings instead of one. He kept his eyes on Harry the entire time, so that Harry knew he was more important than the tedious act of ordering the food. When the call was done, Tom set his phone down on the side table, then went to grab his laptop where he’d left it tucked inside the drawer of the coffee table.
He navigated to Netflix, and then handed the entire thing over to Harry. “Pick something,” Tom said. He was curious as to what Harry would choose.
It was that moment when Tom’s phone rang shrilly. Scowling, Tom looked over to see who it was. Unsurprisingly, it was Lucius. He snatched up the phone and began walking towards his bedroom as he answered the call.
“I thought I told you no one was to call me today,” Tom hissed out. “Or were my very simple instructions not clear enough even for your moronic brain? I have half a mind to fire you over this, Malfoy.”
Lucius simpered, backpedaling, and begged for Tom’s forgiveness. Tom did not want to hear Lucius’ excuses. Harry was waiting around alone in Tom’s sitting room instead of spending time with Tom like he was supposed to be doing, because Lucius Malfoy was a gibbering idiot who was incompetent at his job.
“Unless the entire company is magically about to go under,” Tom began dangerously, “you will handle whatever this is about, and you will not call me for the remainder of today if you value your life. I have left you plenty of notes and instructions on how to handle various situations, and you will use them in a way that is intelligent, or you can kiss your menial little job goodbye.” And then Tom hung up.
Harry was scrolling on Tom’s Macbook when Tom returned to the sitting room. “Sorry about that,” Tom said. The mere sight of Harry melted all of his previous frustrations away. “Work emergency. What have you got for us to watch?”
Tom sat down on the couch, close but not too close, and peered at the screen.
“The… Princess Switch?” Tom asked dubiously.
“I don’t know,” Harry said. He seemed embarrassed again. “It said it was a Christmas movie?”
Deciding it was in his best interests to not question it further, Tom said, “Alright,” and shifted back into the couch cushions.
Tom’s suspicions of the movie being geared towards young girls was confirmed not very far into the film. A side glance at Harry revealed that Harry was trying, and failing, to pretend that everything was perfectly fine. Perhaps letting Harry choose the movie had been a bad decision. Tom resolved to find out what Harry’s movie interests were, so next time he could pick something for them to watch together that Harry would enjoy.
When the food delivery finally arrived, Tom was only too eager to get away from the movie and answer the door. Opening the door revealed some teenage-delivery girl with short black hair and red-framed glasses. Tom took the two bags of takeout from her and handed over enough money to cover three times the amount of food he’d ordered. “Keep the change,” he said curtly, and then he shut the door in her face.
Turning back to the sitting room, Tom said to Harry, “I’ll just go put these onto some plates,” and then proceeded into the kitchen to do just that.
Once Tom was satisfied that the fruit and pancakes were arranged artistically on the plates, he carried them back out into the sitting room, handing one of the plates to Harry.
“Thanks,” Harry said.
Tom watched as Harry slowly cut his food into bite-sized pieces. Then, finally, Harry speared a chunk of pancake with his fork and brought it to his mouth. His eyes widened as he chewed. “This is really good,” Harry said.
“It’s one of my favourite restaurants,” Tom said. Then he added, “I’ll have to take you there, sometime.” The first of many places Tom planned to take him.
Harry’s smile lit up his entire face. “That would be nice,” he said shyly.
It was so easy to make Harry happy. Tom found himself extraordinarily gratified with knowledge that he was responsible for the smile on Harry’s face.
To punctuate his commitment to seeing Harry smile more, Tom pressed play on the movie again, just so that Harry didn’t think Tom was annoyed about his choice.
Then Harry asked, “So how long have you lived here?”
Tom had to think whether or not he wanted to answer that. But Harry’s face so earnest that it was hard to do anything but tell the truth.
“Harry, I own the building,” Tom said gently.
Harry blinked. “But—the name on the lease?”
“Gaunt. My mother’s maiden name.” Tom inhaled deeply, trying not to think too much about his family. “I like to enjoy a bit of anonymity here, you understand.”
“Makes sense,” Harry said, and that seemed to mark the end of the conversation.
After the movie finished, Tom took care of the dishes, pondering his next move. He wanted Harry to feel safe with him, so that meant further conversation. To facilitate that conversation, perhaps something... extra would be required. Nothing strong, because Tom wanted Harry to be very much aware of what he was doing and who he was doing it with, but just enough to loosen the tongue a bit.
“Would you care for a drink?” Tom called out.
There was a pause from the sitting room. “Isn’t it sort of early?” asked Harry.
“Never too early on Christmas,” Tom said lightly, already moving to the fridge. “I like to think of it as being opportunistic. And a bit of drink will help warm you right up.”
Soon enough, Tom had popped a bottle of champagne and mixed it with some organic orange juice in two clear crystal glasses. Harry was still seated upon the couch, fiddling nervously with his hands until Tom filled one of them with a drink.
Something was still missing. Tom’s eyes fell upon the laptop again, and so he asked, “How about some music?”
Tom set his glass down on the table, then clicked onto the playlist he usually played in the office when he needed to focus. As the music swelled around them, Tom settled back into the couch, lifting his right leg up so that he could rest his ankle on his knee. This, of course, meant that his knee was nearly touching Harry’s. Tom gazed over at his lovely companion.
“Go on,” said Tom, eyeing the untouched drink in Harry’s hand. “Give it a taste.”
Harry immediately took a sip of the drink. Then he seemed to pause, taking in the flavour, and then took another sip before setting his glass down onto a coaster.
“So, Harry,” Tom said, shifting himself so that his knee pressed into Harry’s thigh. “Tell me a bit more about yourself. I feel like I hardly know you, despite the fact that we’re neighbours.”
Harry looked reluctant to answer, but he said, “I grew up in Surrey, in South England. With my aunt and uncle. My parents died in an accident when I was only an infant.”
“That’s quite unfortunate,” Tom said, even though he’d already known all of that. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Yeah.” Harry cast his gaze back down at his lap, looking suddenly saddened, which Tom did not like to see. “And my aunt and uncle, well, they weren’t the best guardians, growing up. They had their own son, Dudley, and they kind of spoiled him a lot.”
“I can understand how lonely that must have been,” Tom said quietly. “An outcast in the place you were meant to call home.”
Harry ducked his head further, his cheeks pinkening. “It wasn’t that bad, really.”
Tom did not doubt that Harry was vastly underplaying the treatment he’d gotten, but he also knew that Harry likely did not want to be pushed on the subject. Surprisingly, though, Harry reached for his drink again and took another, longer drink from it.
Perhaps there could be a little pushing after all. “There’s no need to understate it, Harry,” Tom said, formulating what he wanted to say as he went along. He knew what Harry was feeling, so he could articulate it in such a way that Harry would see that they were kindred spirits, that they were meant to be together.
“I know what it’s like to be unwanted, you see,” Tom continued. “I was born in an orphanage—my mother was destitute when she arrived there, and she gave birth to me only to pass away shortly after. I lived there for my entire childhood, thinking that no one cared enough to come looking for me.”
“Oh, Tom. That’s terrible, I’m so sorry.”
The sound of his name on Harry’s lips was like a siren call. Tom felt his heart thump treacherously in his chest in response to the genuine expression of empathy on Harry’s face.
“It’s quite alright,” Tom said, trying for nonchalance. “I told myself I would pave my own way in the world, and I have. I have a place of my own, a job where I can succeed, and pleasurable company that I enjoy.” He made sure to emphasize the word ‘pleasurable’ as he smiled warmly at Harry.
“You’ve done really well,” Harry said. “You always seem very busy.”
They were so close, Tom could practically taste it. Everything inside of him was vibrating with the need to pull Harry into his arms. “Everything has its price, I suppose,” Tom said. He picked up his own drink and took a slow sip from it, trying to soothe his overexcited nerves. “But I think it’s well worth it, to be able to have all of the things I want in life.”
Harry nodded slowly in response, looking entranced, and Tom decided it was time to pounce.
“I’m a very particular man,” Tom continued, focusing his entire attention on Harry. “But when I do know what I want, I don’t hesitate.”
That was when Harry picked up his glass and drained the entire thing.
Tom resisted the urge to smirk, knowing now that Harry was where Tom had planned for him to end up. Harry’s green eyes were gazing cautiously at Tom, but Tom could see his pupils were most definitely dilated as he swallowed. Tom allowed his gaze to linger over the motion as he wondered what Harry’s skin would taste like.
“Did—did you want to watch another movie?”
Oh, Harry. Sweet, oblivious Harry. They were very nearly there, and Tom was not about to let all of his planning go to waste simply because Harry was too shy to ask for what he wanted. Tom set his drink back onto the table and said, very clearly, “We could do something else.”
And then Tom uncrossed his legs, so that their thighs were pressed together.
Harry gaped slightly for a moment, the warm blush returning to his cheeks. “What… what other things?” Harry asked.
“I’m sure we can think of something,” Tom said shamelessly.
Harry didn’t say anything else, so Tom took that as his cue to go further. He lifted a hand to Harry’s cheek, shifting over so that they were only inches away from each other.
One last question, then. So that Harry understood, once and for all, exactly what Tom’s intentions were. “Tell me, Harry,” Tom said airily. “Are you seeing anyone?”
Harry shook his head mutely.
“Wonderful,” Tom said, and he meant it. Then his gaze dropped deliberately to Harry’s mouth, giving Harry ample time to see what was going on, so as not to spook him.
Then, when it seemed that Harry was fine with it, Tom leaned in and kissed him.
What was beautiful was how Harry gasped when their mouths touched. Tom had to chase the noise, moving closer so he could finally start to quell the raging desire inside of him. Harry was kissing back, desperately clutching at Tom’s waist as he did so. To soothe him, Tom slid his own hand to caress the back of Harry’s head, his fingers lingering around the nape of Harry’s neck.
They kept kissing until Harry made another noise like a whimper, which inspired Tom to wrap both arms around Harry’s waist and pull Harry onto his lap. But Harry was still clinging to him, like he couldn’t quite get close enough, and Tom wanted to tell Harry that they would be getting there very, very soon.
Harry looked up at Tom from under his lashes as he breathed out. “Wow.”
Tom could only picture how Harry would look draped in his bedsheets, glowing with such happiness that the memory of it would be burned into Tom’s mind forever. Unable to help himself, Tom leant in again, just to nuzzle Harry’s cheek and inhale Harry’s scent. Harry clumsily pulled his glasses off and set them aside, so Tom gave Harry another quick kiss, mostly to reward the beautiful expression Harry had on his face.
“You are exquisite,” Tom said. He began tracing his fingers over Harry’s skin, first across Harry’s throat, and then down his collarbone. “Utterly perfect.”
Harry seemed ecstatic at the praise, because he beamed gorgeously at Tom, and that made Tom want to kiss him again, so he did so. They kissed for another long while, then Tom slid his left hand around and under Harry’s jumper to place his hand on the bare skin of Harry’s waist.
Then Tom felt Harry tugging on his jumper, and then he had to pull away, just so he could see the slightly petulant expression on Harry’s face. Deciding to indulge Harry in his non-verbal request, Tom went to devoid himself not only of his jumper, but his t-shirt as well.
Harry blinked, as though trying to focus. With a quiet chuckle, Tom dipped his head to Harry’s neck and began to plant slow, mouthy kisses there. This led to Harry scrabbling to hold on, his hands clutching against Tom’s shoulder blades.
But Tom was not about to let him get comfortable, because now he wanted Harry’s jumper off. Slowly, he started to tug the material upwards, noting its colour once more. “Green looks very nice on you,” Tom said unthinkingly.
“Thanks,” Harry panted, breathless even as Tom was pulling the jumper over his head.
“I’ll have to get you some other things in green,” Tom said aloud as he tossed Harry’s jumper aside. Then Tom took a moment to admire how Harry was straddling his thighs, clearly eager to get on with things.
Surprisingly, Harry leant in to kiss Tom of his own accord this time, his hips jerking back and forth slightly as he did so, as though he was trying to restrain himself from being too wanton. Tom let Harry enjoy himself, choosing instead to roam his hands over Harry’s back and shoulders. Eventually, he pulled away, because he wanted to try something else.
Harry peered at Tom, dazed. Tom slid his hand into Harry’s soft, messy hair, tilting Harry’s head back gently but firmly. The column of Harry’s neck was begging to be marked. Harry must have thought so as well, because he caught Tom’s line of sight and then, quite deliberately, licked his lips.
Tom went to suck and nibble at the places he’d been so close to marking earlier, and was delighted to feel Harry shudder underneath his touch.
“Tom, Tom,” Harry chanted, and Tom was drunk on the sound of it.
“Oh, Harry, I’ll take excellent care of you.” Tom retreated so he could gaze adoringly at Harry, pleased beyond measure at Harry’s beautiful smile. “You needn’t worry about anything at all.”
When Harry woke later that day, Tom was curled up behind him, his thumb tracing slow patterns on Harry’s bicep.
“Tom?” asked Harry, yawning. The room was mostly dark, but that could have just been because of Tom’s dark green curtains.
“Yes?” Tom asked, his voice a low murmur. “Did you sleep well?”
Harry nodded, then remembered that Tom couldn’t really see him. “Yes,” he said. Then he added dozily, “Your bed is really great.” It was warm here, and all the sheets and pillowcases were so soft. Harry felt as though he’d been sleeping in a bed made of marshmallows while floating on a cloud.
Tom’s arm tightened around Harry’s waist, and he could feel Tom press his face against the back of Harry’s head. “I’m glad to hear that,” Tom said.
Though he was still rather sleepy, Harry wiggled himself loose of Tom’s grip so that he could roll over and put a bit of distance between them. He wanted to see Tom’s face properly, so he could maybe try to memorize how it looked. Tom seemed to dislike the distance, but his face did relax when he caught sight of Harry’s smile.
“What time is it?” Harry asked curiously.
“It’s still Christmas Eve,” Tom said, reaching up to stroke Harry’s cheek tenderly. “I’m afraid we may have missed lunch, and we’re well on our way to missing dinner.”
“Oh,” Harry said sheepishly. “Sorry. You must be hungry.” He’d forgotten that his odd working hours meant that his meals tended not to line up with everyone else’s.
Tom placed a soft kiss on Harry’s lips. “Not to worry, Harry,” Tom said soothingly, his eyes soft and comforting. “We can order in some food. I told you, I’m going to take care of you.”
Harry smiled tentatively, hardly able to believe his luck. Tom was so understanding and patient and handsome. Harry had never been told by anyone that they wanted to take care of him before, but coming from Tom it was suddenly plausible.
“I’m really happy we’ll be spending Christmas together,” Harry said, hoping it didn’t sound too desperate or overeager.
Tom hummed, running the fingers of his left hand through Harry’s hair as he said, “The first of many, I should hope.”
“First of many,” Harry repeated, and let himself be pulled back into Tom’s embrace.
