Both obsessed/Tom Riddle (completed)

014 Start of 5th year. 💥

Two years had passed since they left the walls of Hogwarts, but the bond between Ernesh and Tom had only deepened, the darkness growing more pronounced with each passing day. Their time at the Leaky Cauldron had been a constant reminder of how much power they had amassed—together. Their bond, once something that could be written off as obsession, had become a tangible force, one that Ernesh felt in every fiber of his being, especially as the lines began to appear.

They left the wools orphanage. They are now too old for it now. At 15- and 16 years of age, in this time. It is completely common for kids to be on their own.

It started slowly at first, the faintest tracings of green and gold running across his skin whenever Tom touched him. Over the months, however, they had become something else entirely—something darker. The lines now resembled something more sinister: thin, slithering patterns, like the scales of a serpent, winding their way up his arms, his neck, his back. They burned with a strange, almost painful pleasure each time Tom made contact. The more Tom touched him, the more the lines responded—stretching, twisting, pulsating beneath his skin.

The night before, Tom had pushed him to his limits. Every brush of his fingers, every whispered word, had sent those lines racing beneath Ernesh's flesh, a sensation that tore through him, sharp and sweet. He had been left trembling in their wake, his body aching with need, feeling a mix of fear and desire that only Tom could stir in him.

The morning came quickly, and with it, an overwhelming sensation that jolted Ernesh awake. It started like a whisper at the edge of his consciousness—a sharp tug of something dark and powerful that made his entire body ache in the most exquisite way. It was as though every nerve in his body was alive, thrumming with power.

His first instinct was to move closer to Tom, who was already stirring beside him. Tom's presence was like an anchor in the storm of emotions that Ernesh couldn't control. As he crawled toward him, the lines across his skin flared to life, the serpent-like pattern pulsing beneath the surface. They were more pronounced now, more visible, a constant reminder of what he had become.

The pain—sharp and raw—was met with pleasure, a rush that forced him to press himself against Tom's warm body. Every inch of his skin that made contact with Tom's seemed to crackle with a dark energy.

Tom's eyes opened slowly, and when they met Ernesh's, there was a dark gleam in them—a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. He could feel the change in Ernesh's skin, see the way the lines now appeared more clearly. "You're so eager this morning," Tom murmured, his voice low, almost like a command. "What's got you worked up, Ernesh?"

Ernesh couldn't form the words. Instead, he let out a soft, breathless sound, his hands trembling as he clutched at Tom, pulling himself impossibly closer. The sensation was too much—the power, the burn of the lines, the way they seemed to come alive beneath his touch.

Tom watched him with a mix of amusement and something darker, something possessive. His fingers traced over the lines on Ernesh's arm, watching as the patterns twisted under his touch. "These marks," Tom muttered, more to himself than to Ernesh, "they're becoming more... intricate. More real. You know what that means, don't you?"

Ernesh didn't answer. The words were impossible to speak, choked by the overwhelming desire that was flooding him. He only nodded, his head tilting forward as he pressed his face against Tom's chest. The pleasure was all-consuming, every inch of his skin burning with the need to be closer to Tom.

Tom chuckled softly, his fingers continuing to trace the serpent-like patterns across Ernesh's skin. "You're so obedient," he whispered, his voice laced with dark satisfaction. "You crave this more than anything. More than life itself, don't you?"