Both obsessed/Tom Riddle (completed)

036 realization.

The flat was heavy with silence, save for the crackle of a single candle that burned low on the table. The shadows stretched across the walls, shifting and curling like silent witnesses to something sacred. Ernesh sat on the floor, cross-legged and pliant, his head bowed slightly, his posture relaxed but deferential. Tom stood behind him, his presence overwhelming, the weight of it pressing down like a storm about to break.

In his hand, the comb moved methodically through Ernesh's hair. Every stroke was slow, deliberate, the rhythm hypnotic. It wasn't about taming Ernesh's unruly locks—it never was. It was about control, about the intimacy of this quiet ritual. The brush of the comb against Ernesh's scalp, the soft tug of strands caught between Tom's fingers, the faint hitch in Ernesh's breathing when Tom lingered too long.

Tom's lips curled into a faint smile. His fingers paused, still tangled in the strands, as he let his thumb brush lightly over Ernesh's crown. "You've grown into something remarkable," he murmured, his voice low and dark, more to himself than to the boy sitting at his feet. "I don't think you even realize it."

Ernesh didn't respond. He rarely spoke during these moments, and Tom preferred it that way. Silence suited Ernesh; it left space for Tom to observe, to feel the weight of his own power reflected in the boy before him.

When Tom finally finished, he set the comb aside, his hands immediately replacing it. His fingers sank into Ernesh's hair, the touch less calculated now, more instinctual. He leaned down, his breath warm against the back of Ernesh's neck. The faintest tremor ran through Ernesh, a subtle but unmistakable reaction that sent a jolt of satisfaction through Tom.

"Good," Tom murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper.

He didn't bother explaining what he meant. Ernesh knew. He always knew.

Tom straightened, his hands still buried in Ernesh's hair, and without a word, he bent down and scooped the boy up as though he weighed nothing. Ernesh's legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, his arms slipping around Tom's neck. His head came to rest on Tom's shoulder, his breath hot against Tom's skin.

Tom tightened his grip, his hands pressing against Ernesh's back as though he could pull him even closer, fuse him into himself. He carried Ernesh across the room with slow, measured steps, his eyes dark and unfocused, his mind lost in the gravity of the moment.

"You fit so perfectly," Tom muttered, his voice barely audible, as if speaking the thought aloud made it too real. His hand drifted to the back of Ernesh's head, fingers slipping through his hair and massaging the base of his skull. Ernesh shivered, his face buried deeper into the crook of Tom's neck.

The sensation sent a flood of warmth through Tom, a heady mix of possession and something deeper, darker. He tilted his head, pressing his cheek against Ernesh's temple, his lips brushing lightly against the boy's hair. His breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, he simply stood there, holding Ernesh as though the world itself might tear him away if he loosened his grip even slightly.

"You've changed me," Tom said softly, his voice a low rumble that barely cut through the silence. His hand stilled at the back of Ernesh's head, his fingers curling into a fistful of hair. "More than I thought possible."

Ernesh didn't stir, didn't make a sound. His silence was absolute, as if even the slightest noise would shatter the moment.

Tom's eyes drifted shut, his thoughts spiraling into a place he rarely let himself visit. He had always been aware of his own brilliance, his power, his inevitability. But Ernesh... Ernesh had slipped through the cracks of his carefully constructed world and lodged himself somewhere deeper than Tom's heart—he was embedded in his very soul.

"You're more than mine," Tom murmured, his voice thick with emotion he couldn't name. "You're part of me. You've carved yourself into me so deeply I couldn't undo it if I tried."

He tilted his head, his lips brushing against Ernesh's temple in a feather-light kiss. The warmth of the boy's skin against his own sent a shiver down his spine. He wanted more. He needed more.

Tom's grip tightened, his fingers pressing into Ernesh's back with enough force to leave marks. He didn't care. Ernesh didn't complain. He never did.

"You're everything," Tom said, his voice low and fervent, each word laced with an intensity that bordered on madness. "Do you know that? Without you, there's nothing. Without you, I'm nothing."

Ernesh shifted slightly, his arms tightening around Tom's neck, his face burrowing deeper into his shoulder. Tom felt the faint brush of his breath against his skin, warm and steady, a silent reassurance that he was still there, still with him.

The thought of losing this—of losing him—sent a spike of panic through Tom's chest. His fingers tangled in Ernesh's hair once more, his grip almost desperate. He pressed his lips against Ernesh's temple again, this time with more force, as though the act could bind them together more tightly.

"You've made yourself indispensable," Tom whispered, his voice trembling with something raw and unguarded. "Do you understand that? Do you even realize what you've done to me?"

Ernesh didn't respond. He didn't need to. The faint rise and fall of his chest against Tom's own was answer enough.

Tom closed his eyes, his head tilting until his lips brushed against the boy's ear. "You're not just mine," he murmured. "You're part of me. Forever."

The words hung heavy in the air, the weight of them pressing down like a physical force. Tom held Ernesh tighter, his hands possessive, his body trembling with the sheer force of his need.

And Ernesh, silent and still, gave himself over to it completely.

...