Invictus [Tom Riddle / Tomione]

Foul Play

At around nine in the morning the next day, Tom and Hermione still hadn't gotten out of bed. In fact, they hadn't rested much at all. They'd had sex twice more before finally calling it a night around four am, and they'd woken a mere few hours later, seeking out one another's bodies beneath the sheets.

Tom had pulled Hermione's legs around his hips and they'd kissed for the past hour. His hands explored every inch of her body, as if he were only just discovering it.

His teeth grazed her neck and he sucked on the skin over her jugular vein.

"Mmm," she hummed. "Tom, I'm going to have to wear concealment charms on my neck, you've covered it in so many blasted purple marks."

"Did I say you could conceal them, little witch?"

She rolled her eyes, but before she could respond, he kissed her again.

Hermione slid her fingers into his inky black hair. He tasted like cigarettes and whiskey, but she loved it, because it was the taste of Tom Riddle, and she loved Tom Riddle.

She'd never felt so giddy in her entire life. Not for Ron, nor Viktor, nor any boy she'd ever known.

Tom sucked on her lip, then tugged on it with his teeth before lowering his mouth to her chest, his tongue tracing the dip of her cleavage. He sucked on the skin there, determined to leave another mark.

Hermione bit her lip as she watched him. The muscles of his back and shoulders flexed, and in the bright morning sunlight, she realized that he looked more muscular than she'd seen him in months.

"Have you been working out, Tom?"

He slid his hand over her smooth stomach, and she admired the hard veins extending up his forearm, the long, sharp-jointed fingers ending in squarish tips, and his prominent wristbone, casually ghosting along her skin as if he were a cartographer mapping out the dips and planes of her body with a compass and a sextant.

"I have," came his reply, his voice rough with tiredness.

"When?"

His eyes flicked up to hers very briefly, but she caught the look of hesitation. "I've been training my... death eaters in dueling. Among other things."

"Oh." She'd almost forgotten that he did, in fact, still have death eaters. He still had a plan to take over the wizarding world. Their sexual escapades wouldn't change that. She felt his eyes on her, watching her carefully."Well, you look... very fit."

Tom hovered above her, his eyes raking her face and her naked form. He ran his knuckles softly along her jawline, then leaned down to kiss her once more. He hadn't been able to stop all morning. "Don't get weird on me, Hermione," he whispered. "You're mine. Stop thinking."

Her lips parted as if she would say something, but really, what was there to say? She could tell him she loved him, but what would it change? He wanted her to 'stop thinking.' How could she? How could she ever stop thinking about the things he was capable of doing? How could she just pretend that he wasn't even now searching for objects to make into horcruxes? How could she turn a blind eye to the fact that he would probably murder Hepzibah Smith in cold blood tomorrow if he knew she had the objects he desired?

She shivered, then flicked her eyes back to his. He gazed at her intensely, as if he knew she was retreating once more into herself. She knew he hated it when she did, but she couldn't stop herself.

He ran his fingertips along her cheek. "Little witch..."

She lifted her eyebrows. "Hmm?"

"Stop thinking, or I'm going to ravish you again."