elysium | tom riddle

49 | act ii, scene xxiv

W A R N I N G

Mature content.

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𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖙𝖞-𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖊

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𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏 even if he wanted to.

Tom tossed and turned all night, and he grew frustrated, his nails digging into the mattress as he huffed. He ran a hand through his hair and threw his arm over his eyes, wishing that sleep could claim him, but it never did.

His body was restless and hungry. But not the kind of hunger that made him yearn for food. No, Tom Riddle knew that feeling too well to know what it was immediately when his stomach growled. In the years he had spent in that God-forsaken orphanage, he had starved several times due to the lack of food supplies for all the children, and since he was the oldest, the Matrons had never cared to feed him, giving that food to the younger ones.

But this hunger, in particular, wasn't the one he knew. He yearned for something, someone perhaps, though he could not pinpoint exactly what it was that he wanted. He did not know this feeling very well; he had never experienced it before until a Hispanic witch entered and wrecked all his plans.

There was no doubt of that as the images played in his mind repeatedly. His bare body moved over a lithe feminine form, his hands stroking and holding the skin of an unnamed lady.

He felt against his skin the exquisite tangle of arms and legs, he listened to the noises of ecstasy radiating from both her and himself, and the images were pressing against him like branding with a scorching iron, hot and vivid.

He'd been tossing and turning, trying to get the image out of his head. He didn't have time for such frills now that it was too late. In his imagination, however, he had shifted slightly to the side, possibly to kiss or whisper something in the faceless woman's ear. When he moved, she was no longer faceless.