Both obsessed/Tom Riddle (completed)

023 More and more

The nights were longer now, the castle plunged into an unrelenting cold that seemed to seep into the very stone. Snow fell outside the windows in soft, relentless sheets, blanketing the grounds of Hogwarts. But within Salazar Slytherin's private office, the chill didn't dare linger. Here, the air was heavy with power and blood, alive with the pulsating darkness that swirled between Tom Riddle and Ernesh.

Weeks had passed since Tom had first allowed Ernesh to drink from him, and the act had become both a necessity and a ritual. Ernesh's hunger had grown sharper, more urgent, and no other blood could satiate him now. Not the animals in the Forbidden Forest, not even the clumsy magic of lesser wizards. Only Tom's blood seemed to calm the gnawing need that threatened to consume him, and only Tom seemed to relish the exchange as much as Ernesh did.

Tonight, they were alone in the chamber once more, the faint flicker of emerald fire casting their shadows on the walls. The room was ancient, lined with relics that hummed with forgotten magic, their presence a silent witness to the darkness unfolding. Tom sat on the heavy, carved chair behind the desk, his posture relaxed yet commanding, his presence filling the space with an authority that was impossible to ignore.

Ernesh perched on his lap, delicate as a doll. He moved with an unnatural grace, his pale hands resting lightly on Tom's shoulders, his head tilted in curiosity as he studied Tom's face. His skin was almost porcelain, smooth and flawless, as though he were some fragile, lifeless thing crafted by a master. But there was nothing fragile about Ernesh—not when his emerald eyes glowed with a hunger that could devour the world.

"Are you tired?" Ernesh asked, his voice soft and lilting, almost childlike, but there was an edge to it—a sweetness that carried the promise of something darker. He leaned in, his cold fingers curling in the hair at the nape of Tom's neck, his lips hovering close enough to feel the warmth of Tom's breath. "I could make you tired."

Tom's lips curved into a faint smile, though his eyes held their usual calculating sharpness. "You always want something from me," he murmured, his voice low and smooth, as though speaking to a child playing a game they could never hope to win. His hands rested on Ernesh's waist, firm but unthreatening, and his fingers absently toyed with the fabric of Ernesh's robe. "What is it this time, Ernesh? I can see it in your eyes. You're starving."

Ernesh's fingers tightened in Tom's hair, his gaze dropping to the pale column of Tom's neck. The veins beneath the skin called to him, pulsing faintly with the promise of life and power. His lips parted, his tongue darting out to wet them, leaving a faint sheen that caught the light. He looked up at Tom through his lashes, his expression almost pleading, but his eyes glinted with something ravenous.

"You know what I need," Ernesh whispered, his voice trembling with a dark, eager excitement. His hands slid down to Tom's chest, his delicate fingers splayed against the fabric of Tom's shirt. "Please, Tom. It's been too long."

Tom tilted his head slightly, exposing his neck with a languid ease that was almost cruel. "And you think I'll just give it to you?" he asked, his tone teasing, though there was an edge of amusement in his words. "You're more spoiled than I thought."

Ernesh whimpered, the sound soft and pitiful, as though he were on the verge of tears. His hands trembled where they rested on Tom's chest, his small, doll-like frame trembling with need. "Please," he repeated, his voice breaking. "I'll be good. I promise. Just... please."

Tom's smile widened, dark and knowing. "Very well," he said finally, his voice dropping to a dangerous purr. "But don't waste a drop this time. You know how I hate waste."

At those words, Ernesh's demeanor shifted. His hands moved to cup Tom's face, his touch gentle but trembling with anticipation. He pressed his lips to the corner of Tom's mouth, a fleeting kiss that left a faint smear of crimson where his lips had already begun to crack with hunger. Then, slowly, reverently, he lowered his mouth to Tom's neck.

The first bite was brutal.

Ernesh's fangs tore into Tom's flesh with a feral desperation, sinking deep enough to hit the vein with a sickening crunch. Blood erupted from the wound, hot and thick, spilling down Tom's neck in a torrent of crimson. The first taste sent a shudder through Ernesh's entire body, his back arching as the power of it overwhelmed him. His lips latched onto the wound, his tongue darting out to catch every drop, his throat working furiously as he drank.

The blood was magic itself, dark and intoxicating. It burned as it slid down his throat, pooling in his veins and setting every nerve alight. Ernesh whimpered as he drank, his small body trembling with the force of his hunger. His hands clung to Tom's shoulders, his nails digging into the fabric of Tom's robes hard enough to tear.

Tom's body jerked under him, the pain and the pleasure of the act intertwining in a way that made his breath hitch. His hands tightened on Ernesh's waist, holding him in place as the blood spilled between them, soaking into Tom's shirt and dripping onto the stone floor.

"Slower," Tom commanded, his voice strained but steady. "Don't get carried away."

But Ernesh couldn't slow down. The hunger inside him was too great, too wild, and Tom's blood was too perfect, too rich. It coated his lips and chin, dripping down his throat in dark rivulets, staining the front of his pristine robes. He looked like something out of a nightmare—a doll drenched in blood, his emerald eyes glowing with unholy light as he fed.

Tom let out a sharp gasp as Ernesh bit down harder, his fangs tearing deeper into the wound. Blood flowed faster now, pooling in the hollow of Tom's collarbone, and Ernesh let out a soft, keening sound as he licked it up, his tongue dragging over Tom's skin in frantic, hungry strokes.

"Enough," Tom growled, his voice cutting through the haze of Ernesh's hunger. His hand tangled in Ernesh's hair, yanking his head back with a force that made Ernesh gasp. "I said enough."

Ernesh whimpered, his lips still stained with blood, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. His hands trembled as they clutched at Tom's shoulders, his body shaking with the effort of holding himself back. Blood dripped from his chin, splattering onto his lap and smearing across his pale fingers as he wiped at his mouth.

"I'm sorry," Ernesh whispered, his voice trembling. His eyes were wide and glassy, his doll-like features streaked with crimson. "I couldn't stop. I—I just..."

Tom's grip on his hair loosened, his fingers moving to brush a stray lock of blood-streaked hair away from Ernesh's face. "Shh," he murmured, his voice softer now, though his eyes still glinted with that dark, calculating edge. "You're stronger now, aren't you?"

Ernesh nodded, his lips still parted, his fangs glinting faintly in the dim light. "Yes," he whispered, his voice almost inaudible. "So much stronger."

Tom smiled, his fingers brushing against Ernesh's cheek, smearing blood across his porcelain skin. "Good," he said. "Because we'll need that strength. The road ahead is long, Ernesh. And we're just getting started."

Ernesh leaned in, pressing his bloodied lips to Tom's in a kiss that tasted of magic and violence. "Together," he whispered against Tom's mouth, his voice carrying the weight of a promise.

"Together," Tom echoed, his voice dark and steady, his hands tightening around Ernesh as if to anchor him.

And in the shadows of Salazar Slytherin's office, surrounded by blood and ancient magic, their bond grew stronger, darker, and more unbreakable than ever.