Chapter Text
Harry couldn't believe Tom Riddle was also a virgin.
The information was uttered between words, so casually as if it didn't mess with Harry's perception of the man, the perception he has to take anew from this moment.
He wasn't disappointed, just utterly shocked that in eighty-three years of living, Riddle was never....interested enough before now? Is it really true then, that no human has ever intrigued Tom as much as Harry did? And if so, should Harry be pleased or concerned?
It was hard to believe, really. The way Riddle kissed Harry, caressed his shoulders, and the way his knee was positioned tightly between Harry's legs that one night , never betrayed the fact that the man doing all this had actually never slept with a single person.
Harry had long ago come to terms with being a thirty-year-old virgin, a social recluse with a few messy dates that ended up way too awkward. He had even reconciled with his absence of real physical touch, while he spent all those years aboard a spaceship, only sharing it with an un-bodied version of Voldemort. He craved physical comfort for so long that when he finally got it from Riddle, Harry forgot to ask himself: wasn't this craving...way too amplified? Doubled, even?
How was it possible that the cold, calculating and unrelenting Voldemort could be so..untouched? Maybe that's why Riddle's fingers trembled, ever so slightly, over Harry's face, something so intense stirring inside of him that the slight shaking looked like an uncontrollable tick.
Tame me with your tenderness and break my brittle heart
Easily and elegantly tear my world apart
It was then that Harry realized that Riddle wasn’t just unused to simple intimacy, he was….utterly and desperately frightened of it. Harry knew the feeling all too well. The hugs he rarely shared with friends felt bittersweet, not comforting, and the fleeting first kisses of his teenage years could never fill the yearning inside.
The hardest thing to confront was that this clawing tug on his heart was shared by the most feared person in the world. The person who was staring back at him, listening to every fleeting emotion his partner had to let go into their linked pool of thought. Two frightened animals, studying each other.
We're damaged people, drawn together
By subtleties that we are not aware of
Harry struggled to find his voice, trying to sort through the thoughts that flooded him. *Should I be concerned?* The question echoed, though it felt less like a question now and more like a subtle warning. Harry didn’t want to voice that concern, though; he was still grappling with his own feelings. "I never imagined," Harry started, his voice quieter now. "I never imagined you’d be this fragile."
Riddle glared at him. “I am not fragile nor am I broken for you to fix with your golden heart, like one of those Japanese vases of yours. Don’t make this unpleasant.”
Harry let a bitter little laugh escape before he could stop it. "I wasn't trying to fix you," he whispered, shaking his head. "I just... thought you were untouchable. You walked through life without needing anything like the rest of people do. Without wanting anything."
Riddle's eyes darkened, something deep and scary gathering behind them. "That was the idea." His voice was smooth and measured. "Need makes you weak. Desire makes you reckless. Then you came along and destroyed the very stars in the sky.”
“You say it like it’s my fault,” Harry sighed, smiling softly. “I cursed you with something unbearable, didn’t I?”
Riddle tilted his head, a tap on a cheek. “And either must destroy all but a remnant of the other,
For those two different spirits cannot exist in the same world.” He chuckled, dismissive and almost bewildered at what he was going to say next. “Perhaps this is one of the many things you were fated to destroy. You’re the end of the world, after all”
Harry felt it then, more than ever—that amplified craving doubled, made unbearable by years of starvation. It wasn’t just his own loneliness that burned in his chest, it was Riddle’s too, tangled together, two snakes coiled in each other in a last attempt to strike with the final venomous blow. Maybe this wound they shared was, indeed, the next thing Harry would turn to ashes on his inevitable path of destruction.
This was the closest thing to a confession either of them would ever allow. A recognition of the inevitable. They will destroy one another again and again, just to build anew, castles on ashes.
Riddle’s fingers ghosted along Harry’s wrist, his hand neither demanding nor weak—just there . Anchoring. A silent plea he would never admit to.
Destroy me, then.
Laying on your holy bed by the hallowed door
Feeling like an infidel not worthy of your floor
Tom Riddle sat elegantly near the bed’s heading, with Harry sitting across, both bare-skinned. The removal of the clothes was methodical, slow, without the frenzy or madness Harry had always imagined this moment to be - if it ever happened. They were both starving, but they weren’t to die of a refeeding syndrome. The risks were taken into consideration.
This moment was the opposite of the stolen kisses they shared before in the dark corners, quiet offices, and empty balconies during long conferences. The rawness, almost harshness they treated each other with, was gone. An unbearable, thick stillness overwhelmed them now.
Harry had seen Tom naked before. After all, he was the one who conjured the man’s body into existence, a modern monster of Doctor Frankenstein. Natural politeness made him not stare, though; even in the moments of making the vessel for Riddle’s soul, Harry treated his body with the medical courtesy and respect of the doctor he was.
Riddle, in turn, has seen Harry naked before as well. He was washing blood and dirt out of Harry’s hair; helped the younger man throw up when the shock of pain was too unbearable to handle even in his magic-induced slumber, and sat near the bathtub, waiting for Harry to regain consciousness. He held the same respect for privacy, but more out of a general disinterest.
Right now they allowed themselves to stare. Observe. They sat in silence studying each other just with their eyes, not rushing to hold even a finger against the bared skin of one another. They had all the time in the world to break the stillness and fill the room's darkness with sound and movement, but they chose to measure and value each small step they took.
Harry focused the most on Tom’s face, trying to decipher the emotions the man had closed off from their link. Riddle’s eyes were scanning Harry not with hunger or lust. It was as if he was trying to learn a language he didn’t understand.
Before your touch
Never have i died so much
Harry knew that it took Riddle considerable strength to control his voice away from cracking when the man uttered: “Your scars have gotten better. Good job.”
Harry wasn’t sure how to answer. “There’s one that will never heal,” he said quietly, brushing his fingers against the Killing Curse mark running through his face. “But it’s not meant to, is it?”
They sat in silence for a few more moments, before Riddle finally reached out, undoing Harry’s hair, letting its length fall over the shoulders. A slow, deliberate action. No touch followed, and Harry realized such a shocking thing, that he couldn’t help but blurt out: “You’re actually scared, aren’t you?”
Riddle let out a humorless chuckle, his expression darkening: “If anything but death ever frightened me in this world, it would absolutely be you, the end of the world, the destroyer of stars. But it’s rich coming from you. Don’t you quiver whenever I come near?”
“I cannot decipher between the thrill and the fear.” Harry let a small smile make its way to his lips. They were absolutely equal, two mirrors facing one another.
I'm a man of flesh and bone
Rapture rushing through my veins
Even their physical stature reflected: both were slender and pale, with long ghoulish limbs. Riddle looked ethereal in the dim moonlight coming from the window. As if to prove to himself that the man before him wasn’t a ghost, Harry finally reached out, gently but firmly placing his hand against Tom’s chest. Against all expectations, the skin was warm and soft, and a raging heartbeat was pulsating beneath. Harry traced his fingertips higher, against the collarbone and up to the neck. Riddle was shaking, slightly enough not to notice, but Harry was shaking too, as if his body interlinked with something deep inside the other man, and synchronized the two of them. But Tom didn’t stop him, didn’t pull away, didn’t laugh, didn’t turn this into a game.
The knowledge that no one had ever done this before, that he was the first, the only, suddenly hit so strong that Harry’s vision blurred. Testing his permissions, he placed the hand over Riddle’s throat, not gripping, but daring. The man let himself smile for the first time in a while: “Don’t push your limits too hard. You might put yourself in serious danger”. The threat was said softly, with gentleness - Riddle was teasing him.
Can you really destroy me? The question wasn’t spoken, but it pulsed between them.
Harry took the dare. His fingers tightened slightly, not choking, not hurting, but grounding. You are here and you are alive. This is really happening. You are being touched in a way you never have before. Not even in a sexual sense - for the first time you are being touched like you are human.
A sharp inhale escaped Riddle’s lips. With darkness in the gaze - his pupils grew so wide that the white of the eye started to lessen - “I don’t think you realize what a dangerous thing you just did, Harry”. His pulse was wild under the other man’s fingertips. A storm was starting to form just out of their shared breaths. Slowly, Tom grasped the wrist around his neck. He squeezed it, but not to pull away, as Harry thought at first. It was an invitation.
When I am in your arms
Know I will come to harm
Harry’s own breath got stuck in his throat, now not only the fingers, but his whole body was uncontrollably shaking. Before he could think something rational, like if he should really do it, his second hand overlapped over the one gripping Riddle’s neck. He pressed harder, not enough to cause actual strangulation, but enough to make his partner’s breath uneven, harsh, and loud. They maintained eye contact throughout what felt like an eternity, but was only a few seconds. Harry pulled himself away, something akin to lightning striking his body, pulsating in his brain and the very soul. He knew that Riddle had experienced the same sensation. Their mental knot got tied stronger than before, and the shock of it made them both release - each their own - jumbled messes of emotions. What they have done could never be untangled, and the mutual understanding of what it meant made the space between them even thicker, even heavier than before.
They sat in an electric silence, back to studying each other. Only they weren’t as calm now, their chests raising and falling in heavy breathing almost at the same rate, both trembling, both wide-eyed. The self-restraint, though, was also shared, even though any reason for it was long gone.
Harry felt like he had broken another porcelain vase, pieces of it scattered around, edges now glinting slightly from the light reflecting off them. He always knew Kintsugi* would help him in one way or another.
Riddle lifted up his hand and pressed it against his own neck, as if to feel Harry’s touch still lingering there. As if it left him with a mark, a branding, an imprint. “This is a serious problem”, he murmured.
“You mean us?” Harry let out, knowing the answer. Of course it was them. It was always them, in the end.
Riddle’s eyes burrowed into his, gleaming with something sharp(as broken vases usually are) “This….” He gestured vaguely between them, fingers twitching, unsure whether to pull away or reach out again. He didn’t continue. Words were useless in this situation.
The shape of Tom’s throat was burning on Harry’s skin, as he grasped at the sheets at his sides, as if to try and keep steady, as if not to fall.The "phantom" pulse he felt under his fingers was still there. Harry held Riddle’s gaze well, but something cracked in him when he understood that Riddle wasn’t just holding at his own throat, and wasn’t subtly protecting it from Harry. He was trying to memorize the feeling of the grasp tight around his neck, too tight for his liking, but not a grasp that was actually trying to choke him.
While breaking the vase, Harry started to mend it at the same time. There was gold forming between the cracks, pulling the pieces together. He was undoing Riddle while making him back again and again. Breaking and building anew was their cycle, their nurtured ouroboros fed by the deadliest venom.
In your room
Where time stands still
Or moves at your will
A “problem” was such a clinical word for what was happening between them. A small word, compared to the weight of it.
Riddle’s fingers had left his throat and now reached into the space between them, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to touch Harry or shove him away. Harry watched Tom watching him, watching like he was something to be despised and worshipped at the same time. "You..." Riddle’s voice sharp and cold, betrayed an uncertainty beneath.
Harry didn’t move and didn’t breathe for a moment too long. Then, carefully, as though approaching a feral animal, he reached for Riddle's hand. Their fingers tangled, palms pressing together, the electricity spreading through their bodies.
They sat like this for a while, still at a distance, with just their hands interlocked. They both were no longer staring, or looking right in the eyes of one another - their gazes were fixated on their intertwined fingers.
Harry had held hands before, but not like this, not like the innocent touch would burn him alive. Not in a way that mattered. The air between them was still lviscous and electric, but now it felt like peace. Their twisted version of it. Harry was slightly holding his breath, as if not to ruin something so fragile that the smallest exhale could break it. This time though, it was Tom’s turn to ruin and tear apart - silently, with a trembling motion, he cupped the side of Harry’s face and kissed him.
It wasn’t like the kisses they shared before, raw with animalistic desire. They always kissed with a feeling of making a foolish mistake before, but they never burned like they did now. This kiss felt like they were learning how to breathe again. The warmth of lips on lips, of their hands still clutched together, of Riddle softly pulling the fingers of his spare hand through the length of Harry’s hair, and of Harry tracing the outline of Tom’s jaw, all of it was a forest fire engulfing them whole. Their minds bled into each other uncontrollably now, and somehow it felt more intimate than sex.
They were breathless when they finally pulled away, pressing foreheads together. Tom sighed and leaned back, falling on the sheets, but not letting their hands part. Harry followed him, welcoming the coldness of his bed against his bare burning skin. They lay there, side by side, without speaking. Their hands remained tangled between them, fingers brushing, barely touching, but still there.
"I don’t know how to want", Riddle whispered, so quietly that if they weren’t connected, the other man might have missed it. Harry closed his eyes for a moment, something twisting deep inside of him. "I don’t know how to be wanted", he admitted. There were still unanswered prayers in the air, but they had more than enough time to fulfill them.
In the morning, Harry woke up to a surprising answer to a question he never asked. Turns out, Tom Riddle was a small spoon.