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Harry was fucked.
No one could convince him otherwise. He had made a huge mistake. The greatest blunder since accidentally walking in on Ron and Hermione back in college. He had assumed that nothing could top that image—the burning and horrifying sight of them in throes of passion on his dorm room couch. But he supposed that life had a funny sense of humor.
This could cost him his job. This could cost him that nice car he’d been eyeing for weeks now. Hell, he’d have to move back in with his parents if his boss decided to fire him right then and there.
As he had the right to, Harry thought. If he were in his boss’s position, Harry would have done the same. Of course, Harry'd be more polite about it, but nevertheless, he’d still fire his subordinate for what he’d done.
It certainly didn’t help that Riddle had the nasty reputation to punish for a lot less.
Harry groaned and pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes hard enough to hurt.
I can’t fucking—
“Potter,” intoned a familiar and annoying drawl from the intercom. It was enough to tear Harry away from his internal suffering.
Harry frowned, irritated that Draco Malfoy saw the need to ping him again over the intercom. Once was more than enough, thank you. He’d heard him the first time he’d told him that Riddle wanted him in his office. He didn’t need the bloody reminder.
Jaw tensed, Harry tried to twist his pained expression into one that looked...less guilty. He’d have to pass by Malfoy’s office on his way to Riddle’s...he didn’t need that sort of attention from Malfoy of all people. Not when he was already in trouble. Malfoy was a pain in the arse, and giving him that sort of ammunition was the last thing he needed.
Harry’s job was on the line. He didn’t need Malfoy to hound him about the situation either, even if he had no bloody idea. There was no smug and malicious glee in his tone when he’d contacted him, so it was safe to assume Malfoy had no idea.
That was a small mercy Harry would not take for granted.
Let the arsehole think that their boss was calling him for something standard. It would make the whole humiliating meeting less insufferable that way.
“Oh, shove off, Malfoy, I heard you the first time,” Harry snapped after hitting the “call button” on his monitor.
He stood from his desk chair and grabbed his notepad from off the desk. Harry was never without it. A call into Riddle’s office always required a notebook to keep track of the list of duties the man would undoubtedly assign. Any deviation from this habit would immediately alert the blonde that something was amiss.
“You know how Riddle gets, Potter. If I have to sit through another meeting getting grilled about our lack of professionalism, I will hunt you down and murder you in your sleep,” Malfoy threatened, the sound of his gravelly voice enough to stoke Harry’s ire.
Not everything is about you, Malfoy, Harry thought spitefully, before heading out of his small office and down the hallway to his left.
It was deathly silent, the fluorescent lights above casting the white walls in an eerie glow. It was sterile. More like a morgue than a business office. All it was missing was the dead bodies to fit the morbid picture. Though, arguably they, as overworked employees, could fit the bill. They were practically walking zombies with how little time they had for their social lives.
Their boss wasn’t exactly the most accommodating man. Riddle didn’t believe in giving them breaks unless the emergency was dire. He was ruthless and no one was suicidal enough to get on the man’s bad side. How Harry was still employed was a miracle in and of itself.
Riddle was an arse, and Harry made his instant dislike for him known. That didn’t mean Harry went out of his way to insult him, but he never bothered to be polite to the man either. He was too expressive, too. Horrid at masking just how much he wanted to punch the man in the throat. And no one, especially Riddle, was blind to this fact. Harry’s contempt stuck out like food stains on ivory bed sheets.
But none of that anger, that righteous indignation, was present now. His stomach was in knots, the back of his mouth dry with nerves. Everything about him in that moment screamed discomfort, and stank of regret.
A feeling he never thought he would experience when it concerned Riddle. All of his quips and insults had been justified.
But this was different. Everything about the current situation was different.
What he had done was inexcusable, and that was perhaps why, with each step he took, the set of double doors growing nearer and nearer, made him want to run in the opposite direction. Why he wanted to barricade himself in his office and never come out. Anything would be better than facing Riddle because Harry knew just how awkward and embarrassing the interaction would be.
So distracted was he by his unease, Harry barely noticed when he passed Malfoy’s office, the loud classical music drifting from out of his office, and the vicious tapping on a keyboard when the blonde typed up his reports, drowned out by the chaos in Harry’s mind.
Calm down, Harry. It can’t be that bad.
No, that was a lie. A vicious, horrendous lie.
The situation was not just bad, but absolutely awful. Those lies didn’t make him feel better, didn’t ease the apprehension lodged in his throat. None of his words could soothe the hysteria that blossomed in his gut, the horror that had dawned in his mind, when he realized who he had accidentally sent that message to the previous night.
What had he been thinking? What could have possessed him to send that message? Why did he have to name Riddle “git” on his contacts? Ginny was his intended recipient. She was who he had intended to reach, who he had intended to see the message he had sent.
Now, there was simply no telling what would happen.
God, please let him not fire me.
Then, before Harry knew it, before he was even ready to face his boss, he was standing right in front of Riddle’s double doors. The exit was to Harry’s right, the red of the “EXIT” sign radiating an almost ethereal glow. It was tempting him, beckoning him to step right out and never come back.
Harry’s humiliation knew no bounds. It was a writhing, living thing. A monstrosity that leached away at his common sense because of course, he couldn’t really leave. Not now. He had bills to pay. He was an adult, and this job paid exceedingly well.
To leave right then, to try to salvage a part of his dignity, would come at too steep a price. One that he wasn’t willing to pay at the moment. And there was always the slight chance, the meager hope, that Riddle would wave his hand and make this all go away. Simply pretend that Harry had not, in fact, sent him a message at 3 a.m. on a Wednesday evening.
Riddle was rude and tactless when he wished to be, but what if? What if he let this all slide?
Harry shifted his weight to one leg and then the other, and paused, reaching hesitantly for the handle. His emotions were wild, his fingers shaking with the strain, but Harry did not hesitate. Better to get this over with now than prolong the inevitable.
Fingers clasped around the handle, the metal cold to the touch, before Harry twisted it. The door gave a loud creak, breaking the heavy silence that settled around him like a second skin. He couldn’t help but flinch at the sound, anxiety twisting in his gut because no one, save for a deaf man, could miss that.
Calm down, Harry thought, shoulders tense, before he stepped into the room and surveyed his new surroundings.
The first thing he noticed was the wide hallway, and how a series of paintings were tastefully hung on the walls on either side. Some were simple landscape paintings, and others portraits of people Harry did not recognize. They were black and white, not a hint of color in any. It suited the soft green of the walls, giving the room a kind of sophistication that all the offices in the rest of the building lacked.
Harry shifted his gaze from the hall, almost reluctantly, and then turned to take in the rest of room. Hoping, at least, that Riddle won’t notice that he was admiring the decor more to put off the inevitable than sate his artistic curiosity.
Beyond the hall was Riddle’s mahogany desk with a massive window behind it. Perhaps, Harry’s favorite part of the whole office. It overlooked the downtown area, and sometimes, when lost in thought, he could even imagine he was flying when he looked beyond the thin glass. Cars and people looked like ants from all the way up here; as if with just the touch of a finger, he could reach out and touch the white clouds dotted along the blue sky. It was a breathtaking image, but in that moment, all Harry felt was apprehension.
There was no comfort in that view. This wasn’t a typical visit to Riddle’s office. No talk of stocks and business trips were going to be addressed in this meeting. No, this was all about stupid Harry’s blunder.
It took him a moment to realize that Riddle, having expected the man to be sitting at his desk as he always did, wasn’t there. Harry paused, unsure of what to make of this small detail. Never, in the few months he’d been employed at the firm, had he ever been to Riddle’s office without the man in it. It was...unheard of. He was a notorious workaholic—sparing no one a break, and working himself to the bone as well.
And now, the man was not even there. He had asked for Harry to come to his office, but it was empty. Everything in this office was as Harry remembered, but everything about the situation was wrong: Riddle was not even there and Harry’s job was on the line. The wrongness couldn’t have been more obvious.
It made his fingers twitch, and Harry, for all his tenacity, immediately shoved his hands into his pockets to stifle their trembling. It wouldn’t do to seem guilty, or to look as ruffled as he was. Riddle was a shark, and if there was even a sign of weakness in his presence, well.
Things never ended well.
The bastard had a knack for expertly needling through that weakness and breaking a person open. Silver tongued with clients, but a demon with his employees. It was like there were two different Riddles. Two different bosses rather than one.
It was disorienting, but Harry treated them the same: like they were arseholes with power. Now, Harry was entirely out of his comfort zone. He was used to self-righteous fury, to insults of all variety with Riddle. The man was often in the wrong, and Harry never hesitated to show him. Always straddling that line; it was a wonder how Harry hadn’t been fired all those times before.
The same couldn’t be said now. Harry had been the one to fuck up this time and he didn’t know what to do with himself.
Another moment of silent passed, and Harry, deciding that he’d rather wait for him at his office, made to turn back.
The sound of footsteps stopped him in his tracks, the source of them from somewhere beyond the hallway and just out of Harry’s direct line of vision to the desk.
Harry’s heart stopped when he heard the faint sound of clinking glass, recalling just then that Riddle had a kitchen, in his office. It was the only part of the building that had one. It was one of the reasons Harry disliked the man as much as he did—Riddle was the only one that had access to it when all others were stuck with the microwave and old coffee machine down in the lobby on the opposite side of the building.
“Harry? I’m glad you decided to join me,” a baritone voice said, before Riddle came into Harry’s direct line of vision, carrying two empty wine glasses in one hand and a bottle of red wine in the other.
“What is all this?” Harry asked, unnerved, after a brief pause when Riddle stopped by his desk and placed the glasses. The wine bottle followed after, and Harry, unable to help his curiosity, stepped further in the room to note that there was a corkscrew just to the left of the bottle. It seemed that Riddle had placed that there earlier before gathering his things from the kitchen.
“Please, have a seat,” Riddle said, ignoring Harry’s question altogether to grab the corkscrew and begin opening the bottle. Harry, unsure of what else to do, did as Riddle asked and sat on the chair, the polished wood of the armrests beneath his fingers gleaming brightly beneath the office lights and the sunlight filtering into the room.
What is this? Harry wanted to ask a second time, but then, the bottle opened with a loud pop and Harry lost his nerve.
“Do you know why I called you here?” Riddle asked, after grabbing one glass and filling the glass halfway. The liquid sloshed gently when he set it down a few inches from where Harry sat, the soft clink like the sound of a gun shot in the silence that settled between them.
Harry noticed none of it, attention drawn by the question Riddle had asked him. Nearly panicking because of course he knew why he had been called in. There could be no other reason than the stupid picture he sent.
Dread curled in his stomach, fingers digging harshly into the armrests, before opening his mouth to speak.
“...because I accidentally sent you a dick picture?”
A hush fell between them, the sound of Riddle pouring himself a glass abruptly cutting off at Harry’s words.
Harry winced, but didn’t look away from Riddle’s hands, unable to find the courage to look the man in the face. He hadn’t look at him since he walked in, eyes focusing entirely on the bottle and wine glasses in hand.
He simply couldn’t. This was too embarrassing.
“Accidentally?” Riddle asked, voice so soft that if it weren’t for the silence that had fallen between them, Harry would not have heard it at all.
Then, realization dawned on Harry. The wine and the glasses. The urgency in Malfoy’s demands that he go to Riddle’s office. The strangeness of the whole affair.
Oh my fucking god.
Harry forced himself to look up at Riddle for the first time that night and nearly choked on his saliva.
Riddle was staring at him, leaning over the desk. He was closer than Harry had assumed, one hand clasped around his wine glass and the other pressed onto the desk. His eyes were gleaming with an unspecified emotion, one that Harry could not make sense of when his heart felt as if it might burst.
Did Riddle really think?
And then, against all reason, Harry was laughing. His embarrassment momentarily forgotten, his amusement at the utter ridiculousness of the situation too much for him to handle.
“D-did you really think I sent you that on p-purpose?” Harry said between wild bursts of laughter, breath hitching uncontrollably when Riddle’s eyes narrowed and his lips turned into a thin line. It only made him laugh harder.
This was just precious.
“O-oh goodness, Riddle. Is that why you never fired me? Because you found me attractive despite my attitude?” Harry rose from his seat, unable to stand sitting any longer when Riddle’s shoulders began to grow more and more tense the longer Harry laughed.
“Not in a million years, Riddle. I would rather tongue kiss Malfoy than sleep with you,” Harry said, tone growing nervous when Riddle abruptly released the wine glass and stood, his height easily towering over Harry’s mere 5’ 6.
“Oh?” Riddle said before stepping away from his desk, lips twisting into a beatific smile that made all the hairs on Harry’s arm stand on end. Even in his jumper, the warm wool protecting him from the harsh air condition of the building, couldn’t protect him from the chill in Riddle’s voice.
“So you would rather kiss Malfoy?” Riddle hissed, and Harry was too stunned to move, eyeing Riddle warily when the man’s smile only grew at Harry’s silence. “How cruel of you, to make me think that you would finally acknowledge the tension between us.”
Harry opened his mouth to protest but something in the way Riddle’s head tilted, in the way his eyes gleamed, stopped him. It was a warning and a threat woven into one. The seemingly innocuous gesture enough to make even him, hesitate.
“Is this what we’re going to do? Play this little game of cat and mouse? Harry, I never took you as one to run.”
Harry stiffened at the knowing tone in Riddle’s voice, anger quickly eroding the anxiousness that had stolen his tongue. He knew that Riddle was simply goading him. He could tell by the challenging tilt of his lips and the way he slowly prowled over to where he stood beside the desk.
Riddle always knew how to push him the wrong way. They’d been working together for long enough for him to know.
It only made Harry angrier that it was working.
“Run? I’m not a bloody mouse, Riddle. If you think you could goad me into doing what you—”
“Coward.”
Did he just call me a coward? Harry sputtered, and then a rage like one he had never felt before overcame him.
Harry stormed forward and grabbed Riddle by the collar of his freshly pressed shirt, fingers digging into the material. He didn’t care that he looked ridiculous gripping Riddle by the collar, when Riddle was at least a head taller than he was.
None of that mattered. Riddle had crossed a line.
Harry wasn’t a bloody coward.
“Call me that one more time. I fucking dare you,” Harry hissed, staring into Riddle’s dark eyes, noticing how long, almost spider-like the man’s lashes were. They were almost like Ginny’s, almost like his mum’s, feminine in its softness.
It looked strange on Riddle’s face, added an element of humanity to the man that Harry wasn’t comfortable being aware of. The man was already beauty personified with his smooth, pale skin, full lips, and sharp nose. Harry didn’t need a reminder of this fact, didn’t need to be made aware that Riddle was just so fucking pretty when Riddle had no right to look this beautiful, to look like he’d been carved by Michelangelo himself.
It was unfair, but Harry paid this fact little mind. He wasn’t there to ogle Riddle. No, that wasn’t the point of him getting into the man’s personal space.
Harry absolutely refused to be intimidated by anyway. Ever. He didn’t allow it from Malfoy, and he definitely wouldn’t allow it from Riddle. No one called him a coward and got away with it. He’d taken far too many risks, made too many brash decisions to be called one.
Then, two arms snaked themselves around his hips, and he was suddenly pressed flush against Riddle’s chest, his heat seeping through Harry’s jumper.
Harry shivered, despite himself, but did not otherwise react. Riddle had challenged him and he refused to back down. Not until he made his point.
“Show me you’re not a coward, Harry Potter,” Riddle said, dark eyes leaving Harry with no choice but to look into them. They drew him in, and Harry noticed, for the first time, that Riddle’s eyes weren’t black, but a deep brown. The sort that few could notice, not unless you were close enough to look. Drawn in, forced into the man’s orbit with no way of getting out.
Riddle’s arms were a cage, and Harry wanted to step out of them, but there was a challenge in Riddle’s eyes, in his voice. Harry could taste it, practically feel it lapping at his flesh. Riddle was goading him; everything from the sharp twist of his lips to the dark curl pressed against his forehead, a provocation. Everything about the man's face practically screamed it; he didn’t even bother hiding it.
If Harry stepped back, he’d lose. He would not back down. He’d fucking show Riddle.
Harry yanked on Riddle’s collar, and before Riddle could open his mouth to speak, to incite him further, Harry was kissing him. Lips like velvet brushed along his, and Harry took in a sharp breath when Riddle’s grip became excruciatingly tight. Fingers dug into his sides, but Harry ignored the twinge of pain that came with it, tongue sliding against Riddle’s bottom lip.
All while he stared intently into Riddle’s eyes.
Riddle’s lips parted, and Harry, emboldened, slid his tongue inside to tease at Riddle's tongue, to tease at the gums of his mouth. Harry suddenly wanted to see Riddle tremble in front of him, for his cool mask to fall apart because he wasn’t in control. Never would be.
Harry was not his, and although Harry was kissing him, there was no desire in this. There was nothing but pure spite in the way he pressed his lips with Riddle’s, in the way his tongue coaxed Riddle to touch his.
Riddle released his hip when Harry sucked Riddle’s tongue into his mouth, enraged by the passivity in Riddle’s own kiss, wanting to provoke him now.
Then, before Harry knew it, fingers threaded into his hair and yanked. A sharp pain jolted from the base of his skull down to his tailbone, but still, Harry did not relent. Not until Riddle suddenly smiled into the kiss, the ice in his eyes melting away into something hot and mischievous. A something that made Harry’s stomach plummet with both dread and excitement.
Teeth caught Harry’s tongue, the nip enough to draw a whine from his mouth that he hadn’t known he was capable of. It was embarrassing, enough to make a bright flush stain his cheeks when Riddle practically purred into the kiss, now returning Harry’s ferocity with his own.
The kiss changed dramatically.
Riddle forced Harry’s face closer to his own by his hair, ripping a loud gasp from Harry’s mouth that he could not contain. Riddle chased after it like a hungry predator, teeth releasing Harry’s stinging tongue to tease along the seam of his mouth, to coax it open and slip inside in a similar fashion to how Harry had done to him.
But this, this was not the cold, angry press of lips. Everything about it was hot and sensual, even if aggressive in the way it exposed him to a desire Harry didn’t care to admit. Would never admit if he had it his way.
Riddle kissed him like a man possessed, and Harry grasped onto his shoulders to find balance, feet unsteady beneath him when Riddle did not relent, did not give him a chance to breathe. There was no pause, no reprieve. It was merciless, and Harry, in that moment, wondered if this had been a mistake.
If Riddle, from the very moment he had opened his mouth, had done this to reach this very result.
There was no time for Harry to pursue that thought when the fingers digging into his hip dropped lower, sinking into the tight outline of his arse to palm and knead at the flesh through his slacks.
Pleasure shot up his spine, and Harry arched into it, noticing the hard outline of Riddle’s crotch against his navel and how it almost pulsed in time with the rapid thrumming of his heart.
Harry tore his mouth from Riddle’s lips to moan, unable to curb it when Riddle began to kiss along his exposed throat, sucking red welts into the skin that Harry was certain would bruise by the next day.
What are you doing, Harry? A voice whispered, almost accusingly as Riddle fisted his hair and forced his head to one side to suck harder into his neck, to dig his teeth into the flesh until Harry could think of nothing except for the feeling of Riddle’s heat against him.
It felt so good. Better than Harry had ever imagined, than it should be.
“You taste so sweet, Harry…”
The sound of his voice was like being doused with cold water.
Harry pushed away from Riddle, nearly tripping when Riddle released him. His lips felt hot and puffy, and his neck. It stung where Riddle’s mouth had been, where his teeth had bitten him.
Embarrassment and astonishment like no other made him stumble further back, and away from Riddle’s face, which was now flushed with his own desire. His eyes heated, the promise of finishing what Harry had started so obvious Harry couldn't take it.
Oh god, what have I done?
Harry ran.
He couldn’t bear through the weight of his embarrassment and the knowledge of what he had done with his boss. The boss he hated. The boss he fucking kissed with wild abandon and actually enjoyed.
It didn’t matter that he was only proving Riddle’s point. That he was being a bloody coward, but toss it, he couldn’t take this. He wasn’t supposed to enjoy it. He was supposed to meet his challenge and then quit his job, right then, in a dramatic fashion.
That had been the plan, but now—
Harry pushed past the double-doors, and turned into the exit with a velocity he never thought he possessed.
He’d deal with this the next day. He’d hand in his resignation letter tomorrow. He’d move in with his parents, he’d stay jobless for another few months. There was no way he was going t-to let whatever happened between them careen out of control.
Not now, and certainly not ever.