Both obsessed/Tom Riddle (completed)

029 Showing off

The room was thick with anticipation as Tom stood at the center, his presence dominating the space. The knights around him shifted uncomfortably, their eyes flicking between each other, unsure of what to expect. It had been a few hours since Tom had first spoken about Ernesh, and now they were about to see him in the flesh.

The moment Ernesh entered, the air seemed to change. It wasn't just the intensity of his beauty, though that alone could have stopped time. It was his aura—something darker, more dangerous. His beauty was not soft or delicate, but sharp, sculpted, and undeniably potent. Ernesh's figure was flawless, with a waist so slender it could have been carved from marble, yet strong and capable of carrying the weight of his power. His pale skin gleamed under the flickering torchlight, almost glowing, and his raven-black hair cascaded down around his shoulders in waves of inky silk.

But it wasn't just his looks that struck terror into the hearts of the men watching. It was the predatory energy that radiated from him, the way his every step felt deliberate, calculating. His eyes, a dangerous green flecked with black, were mesmerizing, and every glance felt like an invitation into an abyss that few would return from.

Tom didn't speak as Ernesh made his way toward him. His eyes were fixed solely on him, filled with an almost imperceptible hunger. He reached out to grab Ernesh's wrist as he came closer, a touch that was both familiar and possessive. His grip tightened just enough to send a silent message to those watching.

Ernesh didn't flinch, his gaze never leaving Tom. The bond between them, deep and unspoken, was evident in the way they moved together. Tom's fingers curled around Ernesh's wrist like a claim, subtle yet undeniable. He didn't need to speak—his proximity and touch made it clear that Ernesh was his, and there would be no challenge to that. He said nothing aloud, but his silent assertion hung in the air.

"Ernesh is mine," Tom murmured at last, his voice low, for no one but the knights to hear. There was no anger in his words, only a cool certainty, a quiet dominance. His eyes swept across the room, challenging anyone who might dare to question his statement.

The knights, uneasy at his command, glanced at one another, but no one spoke. Ernesh simply stood at Tom's side, the sharp beauty of his form causing a ripple of unease among them all. There was something inherently dangerous about him—something untouchable, a raw power they could feel in their very bones.

"Don't forget that," Tom continued, his gaze unwavering. His fingers continued to lightly grasp Ernesh's wrist, a silent show of ownership. His words weren't forceful, but the power behind them was clear—Ernesh was his.

Ernesh's lips curled into the faintest of smirks, a look of satisfaction in his eyes as he scanned the room. But it wasn't directed at Tom; it was directed at the knights who now realized the depth of the bond between them, and the dangerous nature of their relationship. Ernesh's gaze was cold, calculating.

"There's a spy in this room," Ernesh announced suddenly, his voice cutting through the tension. His eyes swept over the knights, not missing a single movement, and he pointed directly at the newest member of their order—Corbin.

The young knight stiffened, panic flashing across his face. He had joined only a month ago, and now he stood before Ernesh, frozen in place. He tried to deny it, to stand his ground, but the trembling of his body betrayed him.

Ernesh stepped forward, moving with the grace of a predator, and the room seemed to shrink around them. Without a word, Ernesh's fingers slid onto Corbin's neck with a deadly precision, his touch cold as ice. The knight's breath hitched, his pulse quickening under the pressure.

Tom watched, his presence calm and still behind Ernesh. He didn't speak, didn't make a move to intervene. His hand, still holding Ernesh's wrist, tightened slightly, but that was the only sign that Tom was even remotely invested in what was happening.

Ernesh's voice dropped to a low, lethal whisper as he whispered into Corbin's ear. "I can hear your heart beating, can you feel it? It's racing, frantic with fear." His lips brushed against Corbin's neck, and the knight trembled even more.

In one swift motion, Ernesh sank his fangs into Corbin's neck, his eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction as he tasted the blood that poured from the wound. The knights watched in frozen horror, unable to look away. The sheer brutality of it—the raw, primal act—made them feel small and powerless.

Tom's grip remained on Ernesh's wrist, though now it was almost an anchor, grounding them both in the chaos of the moment. He didn't smile, didn't show any outward sign of satisfaction. But his posture, the way he held Ernesh close, was all anyone needed to understand: he was unbothered by the violence, because it was Ernesh's way of showing dominance—and it was Tom's, too. Ernesh was his creation, and he was proud of it.

As the bloodletting continued, Corbin collapsed to the floor, his body limp, the last remnants of his life drained away. Ernesh stepped back, wiping his lips with the back of his hand, his expression uncaring as he surveyed the room.

Tom moved slightly closer, pulling Ernesh back against him, his hand resting lightly at the small of his back. There was no need for words—his touch spoke volumes. It was possessive, but subtle; an unspoken claim, a reminder to everyone in the room that Ernesh was not just a weapon or a tool. He was Tom's.

"Do not forget this," Tom whispered, his voice dark with an unspoken warning. "You've all seen what he is capable of. He is mine. And this is the price of defying me."

The knights remained silent, their fear palpable. They had witnessed the depths of Ernesh's brutality, but it was the bond between him and Tom that terrified them the most. It was too strong, too unyielding for anyone to challenge.

Ernesh leaned slightly into Tom's touch, his lips curling into a faint, satisfied smile. There was something unsettling in the look he gave the knights, something that promised there would be no mercy for those who crossed them.

And Tom, ever still, merely watched, his hand never leaving Ernesh's waist, the unspoken promise of control and dominance hanging thick in the air.