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Title: Synchronicity (Side B)
Characters: Tom Riddle/Harry Potter
Rating: NC-17 (just smut)
Themes/kinks chosen: psychic orgasm, docking (not on the list, but yay, docking!)
Word Count: ~ 1,350
Summary: Harry should probably learn to control his unconscious mind when it comes to Tom Riddle.
Author's notes: My![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif)
daily_deviant piece for June 07.
Synchronicity (Side B)
Many miles away
Something crawls to the surface
Of a dark Scottish loch
At the sound of his bed curtains being drawn slowly back in the middle of the night, Harry opened his eyes. He tried to move, but he must have been under a spell because he could not sit up, could not even turn to pick up his wand and glasses. He tried to call out, and with a great effort he managed to open his mouth, but not even the slightest whisper escaped him.
The red drapes parted one bare inch at a time, allowing a dim light to invade his bed. The moments dragged past until the shadow of the intruder cut himself into the rectangle of light, finally visible but only as a shadow. Impossible to discern who the tall dark figure was without his glasses, and he still could not move.
He was not left to wonder. A voice he had heard before called out softly: "Harry," and he finally understood that he was dreaming, because Tom Riddle had destroyed himself decades ago. With the realization came clarity of thought and then through a simple act of will, clarity of vision.
"Hello, Harry." Young, handsome, Tom Riddle smiled at him encouragingly and his heart fluttered.
Wrong.
Harry focused, and for a second there was a flicker of pale, melted, ruined skin and a warped and ruined body. But it didn't stay that way; within moments, Voldemort had returned to his beautiful, teenaged form.
Riddle laughed, soft and rich, but his eyes glittered black as though faceted, alien and cold.
"I'm dreaming," Harry said bluntly. Such a statement should have made him wake up; it always had before.
"Yes." Riddle's shadow moved in perfect synch with his body as he slipped into the bed, but the too-soft mattress did not sink beneath his weight.
"So, leave. You aren't wanted." But oh, how Harry did want, and so he focused, trying to concentrate on Ginny, on their special place near the lake.
Riddle didn't appear to move at all; Harry just looked over and there he was, stretched out next to him, sharing his space. It felt oddly comfortable. Balanced.
Unsure what do to with the unfamiliar feeling, Harry looked down, focusing on the small distance that lay between them. The spread of white sheet seemed to widen under his gaze, expanding to something vast and brightly lit like a projection screen. Upon it, the distinct outlines of their shadows had somehow switched so that Harry's now was the more filled out, larger and wearing robes, and Riddle's outline was the one that was all rumpled with thin soft wrinkled lines of pajamas.
Warmth suffused Harry at the sight; he'd never been a part of anyone else before, not since his parents had died.
Wrong.
He tried as hard as he could to just wake up and found himself staring at the canopy of his bed. Everything was dark and fuzzy again without his glasses.
He breathed a sigh of relief, only to draw that breath back in so sharply he nearly choked when a warm hand lightly stroked his jaw.
"I've been thinking," Riddle said, conversationally. He did not continue. His touch began to wander, long fingers gently stroking the sensitive skin of Harry's neck.
"I don't want this," Harry replied, though in the naming he knew he had just given himself away.
"It certainly wouldn't have been my choice," the answer came dryly. "Sex is a poor, cheap sort of power. Unreliable."
Despite the words, Riddle's hand moved downward surely, knowingly. Harry shuddered, his cock hardening. It was just a dream, so why not? He wanted everything that the sick bastard lying next to him had not already taken and everything Riddle could not give back because he'd been broken before he'd ever been born. He'd broken the same day Merope's spell had gone and wasn't that sad?
One little orphan boy touching another, Harry reached out and thought wouldn't it be better if Riddle was naked and it was so. When he touched skin, he expected it to feel smooth and cool and strange, and was vaguely shocked by the sensual normality of human skin, the reaction of Riddle's body to his touch just as normal.
Just a man, then.
As one, they inched closer, on their sides and facing each other now, their shadows blended erotically. So inexorable. So restful.
Wrong.
Like fighting off Imperius, Harry chased that little voice, but it was like running through quicksand. He focused, ignoring everything else, refusing to see the beauty that was in front of him or the way Riddle was unbuttoning his pajamas now – the slow way, because it was Harry's dream, and Harry wanted it slow like that.
Harry closed his eyes and concentrated fiercely, almost regretting his wasted Occlumency lessons, trying to block himself from his own mind. He was the one in charge, and he would wake up.
He found himself staring at the canopy of his bed. Everything was dark and fuzzy again without his glasses.
This time, he knew he had to check, to roll over and look at the mattress next to him before he'd be able to begin to try to relax. His body mocked the very thought of rest, still craving the twisted psychopath who had once worn a pretty face.
Looking at the space beside him may not have been quite as hard as battling a dragon, but it wasn't very far behind.
The bed was empty. Just him, and no one else.
He breathed a sigh of relief, then rolled over to grab his wand. "Lumos!"
He wasn't really surprised when he rolled back over to find Tom Riddle right where he had been, naked and impossibly beautiful, dark and enticing. His cock was full, averaged sized and straight, perfectly formed.
"You can touch it," Riddle offered.
Harry lay back down on his side, his wand forgotten, vanished, although the light had remained and he could see quite clearly. He licked his lips.
"Are you sure you won't mind?" Harry asked. What he really wanted to know was, And will you touch mine, too?
He reached over to Riddle, traced the length of his cock carefully with a single finger, curious. Riddle watched him with those black, black eyes and did not move. Comforted by that, Harry wrapped his hand around it, squeezing gently, but only once and then he let go. He took hold of his own cock instead, repeating the gesture.
Remembering the shadow play he'd seen on the mattress, Harry looked down. The silhouettes were still there, and they were doing any number of filthy and exciting things. He watched himself sucking and being sucked, being fucked and fucking, until he nearly forgot which of them was who.
"Yes," Harry said, and he moved forward, lining up their bodies so that the sensitive head of his cock bumped up against Riddle's.
Riddle wrapped his hand around his cock, sliding his foreskin up so that it swallowed the head of Harry's. It was so sensitive there, and the wetness built between them, their heads slipping sliding against each other, his held captive, surrounded, penetrating.
Harry could only watch as Riddle began to stroke them both, firmly sliding his hand all the way from the root of his cock to the root of Harry's and back. Desire and the dark perfection, Harry had given himself up until, trying not to come too soon, he looked down at the shadows between them and saw a snake coiled, wrapped around their joined cocks, binding them together.
He looked back up, concerned, and saw that Riddle's eyes were red.
WRONG!WRONG!WRONG!WRONG!WRONG!
His own voice was screaming at him, finally loud enough, and he wrenched himself awake, but it was too late; he was already pulsing, coming hard all over himself, crying out in pleasure stolen from the darkest corners of his own mind.
Many miles away, Voldemort woke up. His own body had long since evolved beyond the human need for sexual release, but he had achieved his objective using it all the same. In the darkness he remembered Harry's need for his touch and Harry's helpless sincerity, and he laughed.
~ End
(Lyrics taken from Synchronicity by The Police)
Characters: Tom Riddle/Harry Potter
Rating: NC-17 (just smut)
Themes/kinks chosen: psychic orgasm, docking (not on the list, but yay, docking!)
Word Count: ~ 1,350
Summary: Harry should probably learn to control his unconscious mind when it comes to Tom Riddle.
Author's notes: My
daily_deviant piece for June 07.Synchronicity (Side B)
Many miles away
Something crawls to the surface
Of a dark Scottish loch
At the sound of his bed curtains being drawn slowly back in the middle of the night, Harry opened his eyes. He tried to move, but he must have been under a spell because he could not sit up, could not even turn to pick up his wand and glasses. He tried to call out, and with a great effort he managed to open his mouth, but not even the slightest whisper escaped him.
The red drapes parted one bare inch at a time, allowing a dim light to invade his bed. The moments dragged past until the shadow of the intruder cut himself into the rectangle of light, finally visible but only as a shadow. Impossible to discern who the tall dark figure was without his glasses, and he still could not move.
He was not left to wonder. A voice he had heard before called out softly: "Harry," and he finally understood that he was dreaming, because Tom Riddle had destroyed himself decades ago. With the realization came clarity of thought and then through a simple act of will, clarity of vision.
"Hello, Harry." Young, handsome, Tom Riddle smiled at him encouragingly and his heart fluttered.
Wrong.
Harry focused, and for a second there was a flicker of pale, melted, ruined skin and a warped and ruined body. But it didn't stay that way; within moments, Voldemort had returned to his beautiful, teenaged form.
Riddle laughed, soft and rich, but his eyes glittered black as though faceted, alien and cold.
"I'm dreaming," Harry said bluntly. Such a statement should have made him wake up; it always had before.
"Yes." Riddle's shadow moved in perfect synch with his body as he slipped into the bed, but the too-soft mattress did not sink beneath his weight.
"So, leave. You aren't wanted." But oh, how Harry did want, and so he focused, trying to concentrate on Ginny, on their special place near the lake.
Riddle didn't appear to move at all; Harry just looked over and there he was, stretched out next to him, sharing his space. It felt oddly comfortable. Balanced.
Unsure what do to with the unfamiliar feeling, Harry looked down, focusing on the small distance that lay between them. The spread of white sheet seemed to widen under his gaze, expanding to something vast and brightly lit like a projection screen. Upon it, the distinct outlines of their shadows had somehow switched so that Harry's now was the more filled out, larger and wearing robes, and Riddle's outline was the one that was all rumpled with thin soft wrinkled lines of pajamas.
Warmth suffused Harry at the sight; he'd never been a part of anyone else before, not since his parents had died.
Wrong.
He tried as hard as he could to just wake up and found himself staring at the canopy of his bed. Everything was dark and fuzzy again without his glasses.
He breathed a sigh of relief, only to draw that breath back in so sharply he nearly choked when a warm hand lightly stroked his jaw.
"I've been thinking," Riddle said, conversationally. He did not continue. His touch began to wander, long fingers gently stroking the sensitive skin of Harry's neck.
"I don't want this," Harry replied, though in the naming he knew he had just given himself away.
"It certainly wouldn't have been my choice," the answer came dryly. "Sex is a poor, cheap sort of power. Unreliable."
Despite the words, Riddle's hand moved downward surely, knowingly. Harry shuddered, his cock hardening. It was just a dream, so why not? He wanted everything that the sick bastard lying next to him had not already taken and everything Riddle could not give back because he'd been broken before he'd ever been born. He'd broken the same day Merope's spell had gone and wasn't that sad?
One little orphan boy touching another, Harry reached out and thought wouldn't it be better if Riddle was naked and it was so. When he touched skin, he expected it to feel smooth and cool and strange, and was vaguely shocked by the sensual normality of human skin, the reaction of Riddle's body to his touch just as normal.
Just a man, then.
As one, they inched closer, on their sides and facing each other now, their shadows blended erotically. So inexorable. So restful.
Wrong.
Like fighting off Imperius, Harry chased that little voice, but it was like running through quicksand. He focused, ignoring everything else, refusing to see the beauty that was in front of him or the way Riddle was unbuttoning his pajamas now – the slow way, because it was Harry's dream, and Harry wanted it slow like that.
Harry closed his eyes and concentrated fiercely, almost regretting his wasted Occlumency lessons, trying to block himself from his own mind. He was the one in charge, and he would wake up.
He found himself staring at the canopy of his bed. Everything was dark and fuzzy again without his glasses.
This time, he knew he had to check, to roll over and look at the mattress next to him before he'd be able to begin to try to relax. His body mocked the very thought of rest, still craving the twisted psychopath who had once worn a pretty face.
Looking at the space beside him may not have been quite as hard as battling a dragon, but it wasn't very far behind.
The bed was empty. Just him, and no one else.
He breathed a sigh of relief, then rolled over to grab his wand. "Lumos!"
He wasn't really surprised when he rolled back over to find Tom Riddle right where he had been, naked and impossibly beautiful, dark and enticing. His cock was full, averaged sized and straight, perfectly formed.
"You can touch it," Riddle offered.
Harry lay back down on his side, his wand forgotten, vanished, although the light had remained and he could see quite clearly. He licked his lips.
"Are you sure you won't mind?" Harry asked. What he really wanted to know was, And will you touch mine, too?
He reached over to Riddle, traced the length of his cock carefully with a single finger, curious. Riddle watched him with those black, black eyes and did not move. Comforted by that, Harry wrapped his hand around it, squeezing gently, but only once and then he let go. He took hold of his own cock instead, repeating the gesture.
Remembering the shadow play he'd seen on the mattress, Harry looked down. The silhouettes were still there, and they were doing any number of filthy and exciting things. He watched himself sucking and being sucked, being fucked and fucking, until he nearly forgot which of them was who.
"Yes," Harry said, and he moved forward, lining up their bodies so that the sensitive head of his cock bumped up against Riddle's.
Riddle wrapped his hand around his cock, sliding his foreskin up so that it swallowed the head of Harry's. It was so sensitive there, and the wetness built between them, their heads slipping sliding against each other, his held captive, surrounded, penetrating.
Harry could only watch as Riddle began to stroke them both, firmly sliding his hand all the way from the root of his cock to the root of Harry's and back. Desire and the dark perfection, Harry had given himself up until, trying not to come too soon, he looked down at the shadows between them and saw a snake coiled, wrapped around their joined cocks, binding them together.
He looked back up, concerned, and saw that Riddle's eyes were red.
WRONG!WRONG!WRONG!WRONG!WRONG!
His own voice was screaming at him, finally loud enough, and he wrenched himself awake, but it was too late; he was already pulsing, coming hard all over himself, crying out in pleasure stolen from the darkest corners of his own mind.
Many miles away, Voldemort woke up. His own body had long since evolved beyond the human need for sexual release, but he had achieved his objective using it all the same. In the darkness he remembered Harry's need for his touch and Harry's helpless sincerity, and he laughed.
~ End
(Lyrics taken from Synchronicity by The Police)