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"Do I?" she taunted, tightening her legs around his hips. "Maybe you'd better teach me a lesson, then, Malfoy - " |
"Don't," he said, biting down on her earlobe and giving her a shove for emphasis. "You think this is a game?" he asked, his voice strangely intimate in her ear. "You don't even know what fucking game you're playing - " |
They both held their breath as he shifted her in his arms, sliding his cock inside her; it was more filling, infinitely more satisfying than her fingers had been, and she felt herself clench tightly around him, swallowed up in agony almost immediately as he took his time, each thrust slow, purposeful, controlled. |
"Come on," she growled furiously, slamming her head against the wall as he lowered his head to her breasts, his tongue slipping over the thin lace, "fucking - fuck me, Malfoy - " |
He chuckled, pressing a kiss to her sternum before giving her a hard, mean thrust. "I thought I told you," he whispered. "You need to learn some manners, Granger," he said softly, taking hold of her hair and pulling it as she let out a gasp, leaving him to scrape his teeth against her throat. |
Fuck, she was good - hot and tight and wet - |
And utterly infuriating. |
He shifted her in his arms, gripping the curve of her arse and hitting what he knew was her g-spot, gritting his teeth as he forced himself to go slow, to draw it out, to make her whine in frustration and grind against him, begging for more. |
You think you're going to win, he thought, laughing internally, you have no idea - |
"Manners," he murmured as she started to dig her nails into his back, rough and furious. "You'll have to be polite, Granger - " |
"Fuck," she choked out, leaning against him to bite down on the curve of his neck where it met the slope of his shoulder, biting into the tension that held her. "Please," she spat bitterly, coiling her fingers in his hair and yanking his head back, forcing him to look at the darkened amber of her eyes. "Please, Malfoy ... |
"Oh, Granger," he tsked, laughing breathlessly as she tugged his hair back again in displeasure, glaring at him. "You think I want to be called my father's name in the bedroom?" |
There was a momentary struggle in her gaze as she stared at him, hesitating, but as he gifted her another unapologetic thrust he saw the opposition melt from her expression, her lips parting as she said his name, first a quiet whisper, and then, as she must have seen the reaction on his face, louder, more insistent - |
"Draco," she said, and he heard the hint of pleading that he'd wanted, the thing he knew would echo in his mind for the rest of time when he watched her on the news, it's only a step away from tyranny - |
I'll show you who's a tyrant, he thought, pulling away from the wall and dropping to the floor, setting her against the carpet that was warmed by the blazing fire, searing against them, reducing them to sweat and pressure and fucking gritted teeth. |
She rolled him over, forcing him onto his back, and he brought his lips to her breasts, licking over them and then biting at her nipple, letting his teeth scrape against the ivory of her skin. |
"I'm going to win this election," she panted euphorically, writhing above him on the floor; he was conscious of the burning at his back but couldn't think of anything except fucking her, owning her completely, making her swallow her taunts as they devolved to the sound of his name - |
"You're not," he muttered, thrusting his hips up beneath her and digging his fingers into her hips. "You're fucking not, Granger - " |
"I'm going to win," she said, emitting a hoarse, breathy laugh, "and I'm going to fuck you again when I do - " |
"I'm fucking you, Granger," he corrected her, flipping her into her back and driving into her with an unrelenting force. "And when I win, you're going to apologize" - he sucked in a breath as she reached down, grabbing his arse - "and you're going to tell it to my cock while you're down on your knees - " |
"When I win," she interjected furiously, and he could see how close she was, could see her eyes glazing over, "you're going to fuck me with your fucking smartass mouth, you're going to make me come over and over before I even begin to touch you, Malfoy - " |
"Draco," he corrected her sharply, "and when I win you're going to be gagged, Granger - " |
"Hermione," she hissed, "and when I win, I'm fucking tying you to the bed, you little shit - " |
"Fuck you," he snarled, pulling her lips to his, and her response - fuck you too, he assumed - was lost as he slid his tongue in her mouth, kissing her with a bruising, graceless force, devouring her and savoring the taste of her, burning and bitter and sweet. |
She came, gasping breathlessly into his mouth, and he followed, forcing his eyes open to watch the beauty of her face as her exquisite expression of torment eased into beatific pleasure, her hair a wild halo around her head as his forehead collapsed against hers, a ragged breath escaping from his mouth to float against... |
"This was a mistake," he whispered, and she nodded. |
He gave it ten minutes before they did it again. |
Pairing: Dumblemort (Albus Dumbledore x Tom Riddle) |
Universe: Canon |
Rating: T for implied transgressions |
It's close to eleven when Tom Riddle stands from his desk, glancing over the parchment in front of him and scrutinizing it quickly before offering it to Albus, meeting his eye. |
"Professor," he says, his voice as smooth and quiet as always. "Is this correct?" |
Albus skims the page, nodding every so often as he comes across a salient point. |
"Yes, this is quite good, Mr Riddle," he says, and Tom looks relieved. |
No, Albus thinks; relieved isn't the right word. |
Albus feels a slight tilt to the world, as he usually does when something in his head isn't quite right. Ultimately, though, he discards it along with the parchment and hands the moment's contents back to Tom, who accepts the offering with a fleeting smile. |
"I'd hoped you would think so," Tom murmurs, and it isn't until long after he gathers his things and leaves a vacancy in his place that Albus finally places the look in his eye. |
It isn't relief, Albus realizes, shuddering. |
It's anticipation. |
It's close to three when Albus hears a knock on the door, interrupting his reverie. |
"Mr Riddle," Albus remarks at the sight of him, looking up to find Tom in the doorway. "Office hours are nearly over." |
"I know," Tom says, his mouth twitching up into something of an apologetic smile. "I thought you might spare a few extra minutes." |
"Oh?" Albus asks, leaning back in his chair. "I hate to tell you this, Tom, but occasionally, we professors do venture outside our classrooms." |
"It is quite hard to picture you outside this room," he admits casually, taking a seat across from Albus. "You look very at home here," Tom adds, his blue eyes slowly lifting from the surface of the desk between them to rise to Albus" face, coming to rest with a strange sort of gentleness, alighting on the curve of his... |
Albus swallows. |
"I suppose I would be," Albus permits, forcing moisture to his throat. "I've known very little outside this castle recently, much less these four walls." |
"Must be tiresome, all caged up like that," Tom offers softly. "Isn't it?" |
Albus finds himself suddenly off-kilter, too unsettled to laugh. |
"I'm not in a cage, Tom," he manages, and Tom smiles. |
"Of course not, Professor," he returns, but he looks sated, somehow. |
As if he's gotten what he came for. |
It's close to ten when Tom appears again, making a habit of attending Albus" office hours. He always comes in at the end, always prepared with a series of poignant questions from Albus" lectures - though it occurs to Albus that of course he would be prepared; why else would he bother coming? |
What else would he want? Albus asks himself, and hates that such a thought occurs. |
What else could he want? |
"Professor," Tom says, glancing up from his textbook. "You look far away, sir." |
"Do I?" Albus asks, and blinks, sparing him a smile. "You know, Tom," he says, making an effort at normality, "I notice you have a way with some of the other boys in your class." |
Tom's mouth twitches coyly. "Do I?" |
Albus feels his face heat. |
"I think your example could go a long way," Albus forcefully continues. "Blood purity continues to be an issue among many of the young men in your house," he explains, "and a more tolerant attitude from an intellectually gifted peer could be a step in the right direction." |
"You don't think I might share their beliefs?" Tom asks neutrally. |
"I know you can't possibly," Albus reminds him. "You know your history as well as I do, Tom. Better than." |
Tom blanches but says nothing, leaning onto his elbow. |
"And what, then," he muses, "would my intellectual gifts compel me to do, Professor?" |
Albus shrugs. "Perhaps leaning towards tolerance would do some good," he offers, and Tom locks eyes with him, the blue sparking with something like interest, though it is quickly and carefully concealed. |
"I suppose you consider it your duty to fight for good," Tom remarks. "Being the defender of the wizarding world, as you are." |
Albus lifts a brow. |
"I do not define myself by any one duel or cause," he says. |
"Then how do you define yourself?" Tom asks. |
"I live by my conscience," Albus replies. "I do what I can to right my wrongs." |
Tom pauses, considering this answer, and leans forward. |
"I would like to have a few wrongs first, I think," Tom says, and Albus tries his best not to be impacted by the timbre of his voice, low and intimate in the darkened room. |
"You'd have to right them," Albus reminds him, and Tom smiles. |
"Well, perhaps I'm not as good a man as you, Professor," he remarks blithely, before turning his attention back to his textbook. |
It's close to trouble when Tom starts coming later at night. He seems to notice when Albus leaves the dinner table, and catches him in the corridor. |
"May I study in your office?" Tom asks. "I find it easier to focus." |
"The libraries are quiet," Albus suggests, and Tom's mouth hardens. |
"They're not, actually," he says, a shadow falling over his face. "There are not many who share my dedication to my work, sir. I find their presence distracting." |
"And my presence?" Albus asks. "Is that not distracting?" |
"Not at all," Tom says. "I feel quite comfortable around you. Your presence is stimulating," he adds, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth, "in a way that others my age are not." |
"I'm your teacher, Tom," Albus warns, though he's uncertain why he felt the warning necessary. |
Perhaps because this boy - this man - has been something strange from the start. |
Something dangerous, and poised to ignite. |
"Professor," Tom says, frowning, "if I'm making you uncomfortable - " |
"No, no," Albus assures him, mildly horrified with himself. "I just want to be sure you know there are boundaries." |
"I know," Tom permits easily. "But if you feel - " |
"I don't feel anything," Albus interrupts, and blinks. "You're welcome to study in my office," he amends hurriedly, wondering what possessed him to say it. |
Tom nods, reassured. |
"Well," Tom says. "Then I suppose I'll see you tonight." |
It's close to madness when Tom crosses the desk, leaning over to point something out in his textbook. |
"This spell," he murmurs, and Albus can practically taste the pumpkin juice on his lips, can see the precise color of his tongue as it slips out in concentration; he feels the tension of the moment, finding the entire experience sensational in every facet of the word. "If you were to alter the wand pattern, then I woul... |
Tom stops, his dark brow furrowing, and blinks. |
Albus" presence of mind staggers haltingly to fruition. |
"Yes?" he asks. |
"Sorry," he says. "I just thought I lost you for a second, sir." |
"No," Albus says, shaking his head. "No, of course not. Just a bit tired, I'm afraid," he says. "Had quite a lot of papers to grade this week, as you know." |
Tom pauses for a moment, opening his mouth to speak, and seems to think better of it. |
"How long has it been?" Tom eventually asks, and Albus" heart falters. |
Too long, he thinks mournfully, before he realizes that can't possibly be the question. |
"Since you were last out of your cage, I mean," Tom amends, permitting another smile, but Albus rises abruptly to his feet. |
"I - you should go," he grounds out firmly. "It's - it's quite late, Tom, and curfew is soon, and - " |
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