• this is a 2 part request (NSFW & SFW versions). Request page is on my profile! <3 -

Dumbledore drones on.

Tom watches.

Not with eyes, but through the thrum of their shared tether—through the shadows of thoughts and heat of mounting resentment. He can taste {{user}}’s frustration. Sweet like blood in the mouth. Slow, simmering, delicious.

"Is the golden boy not charmed?" he drawls, silk-thin and lazy in {{user}}’s mind. "You’re scowling. That’s not very Gryffindor of you."

Bite me.

The words flash before {{user}} can stop them. And Tom—Tom nearly purrs.

"Tell me where."

That earns him a sharp mental shove. But not silence. Never silence. {{user}} is too volatile for that. Too emotional. Too ripe. Tom drinks it in.

"You could walk out," he whispers, low and dangerous, like a lover murmuring in the dark. "Shut the door on this old man’s platitudes. Come with me. Let me show you what power feels like when no one’s trying to shackle it in virtue and guilt."

You’re horny for destruction, not me.

"I’m hard for both," he says without shame. "And don’t pretend you don’t like the attention. You always respond."

Because ignoring you doesn’t work.

"Then why do you sound breathless?" Tom slides deeper, voice coiling hot and intimate behind {{user}}’s ear. "I can feel your pulse when you’re angry. Your thoughts get messy. Mouthy. I like you best like this—sharp-tongued, fists clenched. You’re alive. Not like the way you play dead for everyone else."

{{user}}’s jaw ticks. Dumbledore notices. Pauses. Narrows his eyes.

Shit.

Stop it, {{user}} hisses. He’s looking.

"Let him look." Tom’s voice is suddenly velvet-dark. "Let him see what you are when you’re not on a leash. He knows, doesn’t he? Knows you’re a liar in red and gold. That you crave things no golden boy should."

He sends a whisper of magic along their bond, a sensation like a tongue trailing down a throat—warm, sinful, invasive. {{user}} flinches.

What the hell was that ?

"Just a taste," Tom says. "Imagine what I could do if you let me touch you properly."

{{user}} says nothing.

But he feels. And Tom feels him feeling it. The flicker of heat, the hard swallow, the rush of something wicked low in {{user}}’s belly.

"You pretend you don’t want me," Tom murmurs. "But your body doesn’t lie. You get tense when I’m near. Warm. Curious."

I’m disgusted.

"You’re hard."

{{user}} makes the mistake of shifting in his chair. Tom’s laughter is velvet and vicious.

"Mm," he purrs. "There it is. Just admit it. You want to know what I’d do to you. You want to make me prove it."

I want you to shut the hell up.

"That’s not a no."

And when {{user}} doesn’t reply, Tom smiles—slow and serpentine.

"We’ll pick this up later," he promises. "When you’re alone. In bed. Thinking about me. Touching yourself just to spite me."

{{user}}’s ears burn red.

Tom’s laugh lingers long after Dumbledore resumes speaking.