Work Text:
It’s a quiet Friday morning when Tom Apparates to the master bedroom of Grimmauld Place, only to find it empty.
The large bed is neatly made for once, and Harry is nowhere in sight. But there are familiar sounds drifting up from the ground floor. The hour is early, so Harry must be having breakfast.
Tom takes the stairs two at a time, golden chain dangling from his clenched fist, following the scent of breakfast. In the kitchen, Harry is sitting at their dining table with some toast and eggs. Tom’s heart flips at the sight, a combination of exhilaration and arousal flooding through his veins.
“Come,” Tom says excitedly as he marches into the room. He grabs Harry’s arm and hauls him to his feet.
He plans to announce his findings to the Ministry on Monday, which leaves him with one final weekend before the veil of secrecy around his work is at last dissolved. Being the delightful partner he is, he’s come directly to Harry so they can enjoy his ‘official’ success together.
“Where?” Harry grumbles, grabbing his toast from the breakfast table before he’s dragged out of reach.
Tom doesn’t offer any explanations. Harry will find out soon enough. “Stand still,” he says and sets the long golden chain around their necks. He looks at Harry’s half-eaten toast and snatches it from Harry’s unsuspecting fingers only to throw it away.
“Hey!” Harry snaps frustratedly, wiping at his sleepy eyes with the sleeve of his pyjama shirt. Then he blinks, staring at the hourglass in Tom’s hands. “Is that a Time-Turner?”
Tom moves the small clock hands into place, and soon the world around them starts to spin. Faster and faster, the bright morning turns into dark night, and then back into morning—over and over again, speeding up until everything stops.
“Yes,” Tom breathes as his eyes find the calendar on the wall. A different calendar for a different year, but still kept in the same place. His Harry is a creature of habit, after all, and Tom knows him so very, very well.
“Why—What?” Harry asks, looking around the kitchen. Then his eyes follow Tom’s gaze to the paper calendar. “You can’t just kidnap me into the past!”
“Who’s going to stop me?”
Harry lets out a frustrated groan. “Why are we here? What time is it?”
“Time for fun. Come,” Tom says again and starts dragging Harry upstairs, towards their bedroom.
Or maybe he should call it Harry’s bedroom, since they’ve just travelled back in time. It will be their bedroom eventually but not for another three years. Tom chooses his dates carefully—today is a warm summer morning when the house is quiet and empty save for its single occupant. After all, he doubts running into his past self with his current intentions will go over very well.
Or maybe it would, with the right scenario—but that’s an idea for the future.
Tom stops a few metres before they reach the bedroom door. He pushes Harry gently against the wall, making sure to keep the noise to a minimum. It won’t do to ruin the surprise for their waiting guest, either.
“Remember when you told me I can fuck you whenever I want?” he murmurs, petting Harry’s cheek with the back of his finger.
“I told you you can fuck me while I sleep,” Harry answers, glancing around sceptically. He still doesn’t realise.
Tom presses a hand against Harry’s crotch and massages gently, his breaths quickening as Harry responds to his touch. “So I can fuck you without your consent.”
“I—I suppose?” Harry croaks, lost between the confusion and the pleasure that has taken him by surprise.
Tom quirks a smile and kisses Harry’s open mouth before continuing to the door and pushing it open. The hinge creaks in a soft, eerie way; Tom casts a stunning spell at the bed before he pulls Harry into the room with him.
The bedroom is messier than normal, which Tom attributes to his own absence. But the state of the room doesn’t matter—what matters is the innocent, unconscious body lying in the bed.
“What the fuck?” Harry exclaims as his eyes stop at the sleeping copy of himself.
Tom’s feeling giddy. He swirls his wand between his fingers as he imagines the things he’s going to do. He nods his head towards the armchair in the corner. “I want you to sit down and stay still. Quietly.”
Harry’s still staring at himself. “Why?” he asks, though he sounds like he already knows why.
“Because I’m going to fuck you in front of you,” Tom declares with a wide grin.
Harry’s eyes go wide. “You have lost the plot if you think I’m going to let you do that,” he says, crossing his arms. He furrows his brows. “You have. Do you know how crazy you sound right now? Stop it! Did you modify the Time-Turner just for this?”
“Yes,” Tom says easily, grabbing Harry’s waist and pressing their chests together. “I did. This is how much I care for you. I’ve put a great deal of effort into making this happen for us. So don’t be rude and accept my gift.”
“This isn’t a gift for—” Harry’s whiny noise gets cut off by a forceful kiss. He relaxes under Tom’s touch and answers the kiss, hands tentatively settling against Tom’s back. It’s almost too easy to make him agree. That’s what makes this fun—it’s something Harry thinks he doesn’t want, only Tom knows better. Harry does enjoy this; he just doesn’t know it yet.
“We’ll do something you like next time,“ Tom promises. Next time he’ll put his Harry to sleep and fuck him in front of past Harry. Harry likes that, waking up in dirty sheets with Tom’s cum dripping between his thighs. He’ll like it more when he knows someone was watching.
Harry bites his cheek and peers over Tom’s shoulder to look back in the direction of the bed. “Why can’t I remember this? It’s already happened to me, right? So I must have stopped you since I can’t remember it.”
“You’re asleep. Of course you don’t remember.”
“Right,” Harry says, unconvinced. “But I always feel it the next morning when you have—” He clamps his mouth shut and his cheeks redden a little. It’s kind of pathetic how his Gryffindor bravery disappears when he talks about his secret little kink.
Tom smirks. “Who said I’m going to touch your arse?”
“You better make sure I won’t choke if you’re planning to shove your dick down my sleeping throat.” Harry frowns. “Have you done that before?”
Tom ignores him and pushes him backwards until the back of his knees hit a chair. A slightly harder shove makes Harry fall down on it. “You will sit here,” Tom says, hand wandering through Harry’s soft hair. “You’ll be quiet, and you won’t touch yourself.”
“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem. This is too weird.”
Harry will change his mind very soon, Tom thinks. He starts removing his clothes, piece by piece. Those sceptical eyes predictably turn interested as Tom’s erection bounces free.
“Won’t it be a problem?” he teases and moves closer until Harry's nose is almost touching the wet tip of his cock.
Harry licks his lips. He’s so used to being aroused by the sight that Tom doesn’t even have to try very hard to get him interested.
“Would you like to suck me off?” Tom asks, breathless with excitement, his fingers sliding back into Harry’s hair.
Harry swallows and nods. He opens his mouth and tries to lean forward to capture Tom in between his lips, but Tom stops him by tugging his hair and tilting his head back until green eyes lock with his.
“Stay,” Tom commands and pushes Harry’s forehead to add space between them before turning around. A stifled, exasperated whine makes him smile as he leaves Harry behind and approaches the bed with light steps.
A thick blanket covers the sleeping version of Harry almost completely. His face looks peaceful and unsuspecting, and each slow intake of breath makes Tom’s heart pound harder.
The soft mattress dips when he rests his knee on the edge to reach for the blanket and drag it off, revealing an oddly familiar naked chest. The sleeping man looks like Harry but he also doesn’t—his muscles are less defined and he’s missing a scar on his left shoulder. This body is different in other ways, too. It doesn’t know Tom yet, doesn’t know who it belongs to.
Tom likes that. He likes knowing the Harry he touches is new, untouched territory. He runs a finger over the unmarked skin and glances back at his own Harry, who seems to be holding his breath.
"Are you imagining what my touch feels like?" Tom asks as his hand finds the sleeping Harry's nipple. He rubs it gently, pinching it between two fingers until it hardens. "I know you love it when I do this to you. Look."
Harry is looking. He’s staring at himself, how he reacts to Tom’s touch even in an unconscious state. His oversized pyjama shirt and slumped posture hide the evidence, but Tom knows he’s already hard.
Tom wants to make the other Harry hard too, to show how beautiful he is. He lets his hand travel lower, following the fuzzy trail that leads under Harry’s loose boxer shorts. Then he spreads Harry’s legs, shoving one bent knee until it falls to the side, leaving the small bulge of his erection on display.
Tom hasn’t been very gentle, but the rest of the body doesn't even stir. Tom has never stunned Harry before, even after Harry’s fallen asleep and Tom has his way with him. He always needs to be careful to avoid waking him up, which means going slow and avoiding too much movement.
Usually, Tom needs to restrain himself but now he can do anything.
He can turn Harry around and arrange his relaxed limbs however he wants. He can prop his arse in the air and tie him up, keep using him all day as the perfect fuck toy, stretching him and filling him with cum over and over again.
But that’s not why they’re here today.
Tom’s hand is trembling. He realises he hasn’t been breathing in a while, so he inhales sharply and steadies his fingers. With a light touch and a determined thought, the thin fabric vanishes and reappears neatly folded on the edge of the bed, leaving the sleeping body completely uncovered. Almost vulnerable.
The other Harry is uncharacteristically quiet. He bites his lip when Tom’s hand wraps around his past self’s cock and starts pumping slowly, squeezing and rubbing gently until that one part alone wakes up. It swells under Tom’s fingers, growing into perfection, and when Tom’s tongue sweeps a drop of precum away, a strangled whine escapes from his Harry’s mouth.
“Would you like to touch yourself now?” Tom asks, clearing his throat as a sudden dryness threatens to stick the words in place.
“This is insane,” Harry says, stubborn as always. “Maybe?” he admits after a moment, his white fingers digging into the armrests.
Tom smiles innocently.
And then he points his free hand towards the armchair, casting an Incarcerous. The ropes wrap around Harry’s wrists, strapping his hands against the chair, rendering him unable to move.
“Fuck,” is all Harry has to say. It’s not an angry curse—it’s so loaded with sexual frustration it makes Tom lose his mind.
He turns his eyes back towards the bed. His hand is still moving, keeping sleeping Harry’s cock hard and ready. Harry’s chest is moving faster now, his parted lips expelling warm air almost excitedly. Tom wonders if he’s dreaming of someone else’s hand on his cock.
He better not be.
Tom straddles Harry’s chest and leans in to steal his breath with his mouth, to remind him who he belongs to. Who he will belong to.
The unresponsive kiss isn’t very thrilling. Harry’s kisses are always needy and urgent, and for a moment, Tom considers waking him up to get one of those instead. But his head is too fuzzy to think about the timeline and consequences right now, so it’s easier to stick to the plan.
He sits down and scoots forward until the tip of Harry’s cock presses against his arse. A quick flick of his wrist coats it with warm oil. Tom reaches down to spread it all over the long shaft before pressing a slick finger against his own entrance.
“Are you—” Harry’s strangled voice comes from the corner of the room. “But you’ve never let me—”
“Haven’t I?” Tom asks, working his finger deeper into his untouched arse. “But darling, we are in the past, so this has already happened before.”
Harry squints his eyes and tries to pull his arms free, but the spell holds the ropes in place and the chair under him only sways a little. His pathetic struggle and restless movements fuel Tom’s excitement more. A bit too much, perhaps.
“I’m going to wake him up,” Tom decides out loud as he rubs the slick cock against his hole, slowly teasing himself open. “I’m going to make sure he won’t see you, but you’d better keep your mouth shut. Recognizing yourself could be disastrous.“
“But I would remember if that happened,” Harry says uncertainly and tries to yank his arms free again. “And isn’t that rape?”
Tom stops. He grabs the pillows from under sleeping Harry’s head and throws them away before arranging his body into a nice starfish. “No,” he says and casts a few spells, conjuring ropes that wrap themselves around the bedposts and then Harry’s ankles and wrists. “You told me I can fuck you any time. Has that changed?”
Harry doesn’t answer. Tom knew he wouldn’t. Deep inside, he’s just as depraved as Tom is, and his silent, bashful approval is proof enough. He needs this, needs Tom. It doesn’t matter where or when.
“Rennervate.”
Both Harrys gasp in unison. Cold shivers travel through Tom’s body as the younger Harry is rudely awakened from his magical slumber. He looks just like Tom’s Harry does in the morning—it’s visible on his face when the cogs in his brain start turning and confusion quickly turns into dread.
He tries to say something, but Tom slaps his hand over his mouth to muffle him. The struggle is always so exhilarating. Harry isn’t very good at acting—they’d tried that a few times before—so this is much better. Puffs of air warm Tom’s hand when Harry tries to shout something, so Tom pushes his head harder against the mattress.
“Good morning, darling,” Tom leans down to whisper in his ear. “I have a gift for you. A gift you have begged me to give you. Will you be a good boy and keep quiet if I take my hand off?”
Harry squints his eyes and nods as much as he can under the weight. Tom knows it's a lie, but he raises his palm from Harry’s mouth anyway.
“Who the fuck are you?!” Harry shouts and tries to fruitlessly pull his hands free just like the other Harry had tried. “Get off me—!”
Tom wants to let him scream. But he also knows his Harry could try to put a stop to this if it becomes too much. This is a trial run for him, so Tom can’t risk too much if he wants to do this again in the future.
Harry's so fucking hot when he's angry, though.
"—you're going to regret—!"
Tom slaps his hand on Harry’s mouth again and lets the magic flow through his fingers, silencing him. “Shh,” he hushes quietly. “Relax and enjoy. You're going to love this. You always do.”
Harry’s lips move but the room stays silent. His eyes are burning with emotions. Tom enjoys seeing the hint of fear but doesn’t miss it when the frustrated rage takes over completely. He keeps his gaze locked on Harry’s hateful eyes and touches himself, unable to stifle a moan as he squeezes the tip of his cock between his fingers.
The sight is so beautiful. Harry’s at his best when he thinks he's in danger, and Tom loves having him under his mercy like this. It makes him feel powerful. And having two of them here, with one of them tied up and forced to watch quietly, is even better.
Tom tears his eyes away to glance back at the corner of the room. His Harry doesn’t look as agitated, but he’s as helpless as the other one. His mouth is open and his shaky fingers are still trying to crush the chair. He’s probably leaking precum into his pants right now.
“You look very sexy like this,” Tom breathes before turning towards the bed again.
Younger Harry doesn’t take the compliment very well. He growls and spits on Tom’s face.
It’s not unexpected, but Tom freezes when the warm saliva lands on his cheek. He lets out a little laugh as he sweeps it with his finger before licking it off it. “You’re so perfect for me. So dirty,” he whispers, wiping the rest of it on the stubble on Harry’s clenched jaw.
Tom reaches behind and grabs Harry’s cock again. It has softened a little, but it's okay—with a few strokes the blood returns, no matter how much Harry fights it. He can't stop the physical reaction his body has to Tom's close proximity.
He can't stop himself from wanting him.
Tom casts another lubricating charm before sitting back and adjusting himself until the blunt head is nestled between his legs. The pressure feels good against his wet, waiting hole, so he spreads his cheeks and pushes down, forcing the ring of muscles to give in.
It burns just perfectly. When the wide tip dips into him, prying him open, Tom exhales and throws his head back and turns just enough to see Harry’s conflicted stare. Betrayal, mixed with uncontrollable desire. A hint of guilt. Tom loves them all. He revels in them as he lowers his hips, slowly filling himself with that unwilling cock.
Harry feels so much larger than before. Tom has had him in his mouth countless times, but even when he’s lodged deep in his throat it never feels like this. Every time he thinks he can’t possibly fit in more, he raises his hips and sinks back down deeper than before.
He’s so full he can’t breathe. He wants to tell Harry how good it feels, but he can’t speak.
It’s so much better than his own fingers, or even the conjured toy he’d tried. It’s so much more. Tom’s own cock bounces freely as he impales himself over and over again, marveling from under his hooded lids at Harry’s tortured face.
The overwhelming bliss blurs his senses. He can barely think about anything other than the burning heat inside him until he hears a sound from the corner of the room—heavy breathing and poorly suppressed whines. Tom knows those sounds. He hears them every time he fucks Harry within an inch of his life, to the point where he can’t hold any of it in anymore.
Tom glances back again. Harry’s squirming on the chair, chasing for even the slightest friction his tented pyjama bottoms can provide him. He’s falling apart, and Tom hasn’t even touched him.
Each desperate inhale sends Tom closer to orgasm, filling him with even more pleasure than the impossibly large cock inside him. He slams his hips down one more time and starts grinding against Harry’s trembling body, holding the full length inside him. He feels it move, brushing against his prostate over and over again, building up pressure until it starts to become too much.
Tom grabs the reluctant Harry’s chin and turns him to face him. “Come inside me,” he whispers breathlessly. “I need you to fill me up. I want to feel your cum leaking out of my gaping hole.”
And just like his Harry, the younger version of him responds easily to Tom’s dirty tongue. He whimpers and squeezes his eyes shut and holds his breath, trying desperately to escape the inevitable.
“Everything about this is wrong,” Tom continues, knowing exactly which buttons to press. He keeps rocking his hips and moaning freely, knowing it will drive Harry insane. “But you’re enjoying yourself anyway, you filthy little deviant. You want this. You fantasise about this. You want to be used.”
Cold ripples run down Tom’s spine when the body under him starts to thrash, and a moment later the cock inside him pulses violently, expelling warm cum deep into his arse.
Tom barely needs to touch himself—two strokes is enough to send him over the edge and spill himself all over Harry’s rapidly rising chest.
It feels like the breath has been knocked out of him. Tom sags a little to find some relief from the pressure. The sweat on his body runs cold as he catches his breath and runs a hand through his hair, shoving the damp curls back.
Beneath him, Harry’s eyes are clenched shut. Out of shame, most likely. Tom drags a finger through his own cum and smiles, pleased. All Harrys are his, and this one is no exception.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Tom asks both of them—the Harry underneath and the Harry still strapped to the chair.
Neither of them answer. His Harry hasn’t broken free of his restraints yet, though he certainly could have. It is easier for him to pretend he doesn’t want this, that he’s being forced to watch. Tom spares a glance and notes that yes, Harry’s pants look uncomfortably tight.
The sight makes Tom’s cock twitch with renewed interest. He wants to fuck his Harry, to make him beg and admit that he’s as slutty as his younger self looks right now, covered with cum and still buried in Tom’s arse.
Tom slides off of Harry’s cock. His body misses the stretch and recoils slightly at the discomfort of liquid trickling down his thighs. But magic takes care of that, vanishing the mess.
The Harry on the bed finally opens his eyes and moves. Quickly, he rolls off to one side, reaching for his wand. For a moment, Tom is tempted to let him. Would his Harry intervene? Stop himself from harming Tom? The idea of watching them fight over him sounds like fun.
But unfortunately, this isn’t the time for that. The laws of time travel won’t allow the younger version of Harry to set eyes on the future version. Tom will have to plan more carefully in the future if he wants to play with both of them together.
Tom banishes Harry’s wand from the side table and stuns him in the same second. This younger Harry is less experienced with magic and has none of the training that Tom will eventually provide him.
From behind his shoulder, Harry croaks, “Untie me.”
Tom doesn’t turn around, but he does summon his wand from his discarded trousers and send a burst of magic in Harry’s direction.
Harry rises from the chair and approaches. He comes up behind Tom’s shoulder, almost shy, then slowly makes his way around the bed to examine his unconscious self.
“This is so weird,” he mutters. His bottom lip settles under his front teeth for a moment before he asks, “Can I… Can I touch him?”
Harry’s fascination with his own debauchery is pleasing. Tom nods. “Go ahead.”
Harry tentatively lays a hand on his own shoulder, then yanks his hand back. “Too weird,” he repeats.
“You could fuck him too, if you wanted,” Tom suggests.
Harry’s face flushes. “No!” he says. “Why would I want that?”
Tom shrugs as if the refusal doesn’t matter to him. “You don’t need your own permission. Besides,” he adds in a low voice, “I’d like to see it.”
“That’s not how consent works,” Harry says, but it sounds half-hearted. Doubly so as his eyes drift back to his younger self as if he can’t help himself. “I can’t believe you just—” He shakes his head. “What will you do with him now?”
“Obliviate him,” Tom says. He picks up his clothes and starts to put them back on. “Unless you’ve changed your mind about fucking him?”
“I’m not doing that,” Harry says. Except he’s still staring, so he’s clearly thinking about it.
“I could get him hard again,” Tom says idly. “Plug him with one of your magical toys until he comes and comes and comes. Maybe he’ll come so hard he’ll wake up.” When he does wake, memory wiped and cock aching, he won’t even know it was Tom who touched him. Not consciously, anyway. His body will remember.
Harry makes a strange sound, and Tom is reminded that unlike the Harry passed out on the bed, this Harry is still aroused.
“He’d like that,” Tom continues. He’s done it before. Left Harry stuffed with a vibrating dildo and tied to their bed, on the edge for hours, begging and begging for Tom to fuck him.
“Maybe,” Harry says, voice unsteady. He’s likely remembering the same thing and wishing that Tom would do that to him right now.
“Next time,” Tom concedes. He aims his wand at the sleeping Harry and says, “Obliviate.”
Harry pulls a face. “That’s going to leave a mark, you know.” Obliviation may leave gaps in the memory, but the effects of those missing memories remain. Given enough repetition, those effects can become… permanent.
“It’s just the one time,” Tom says easily. “There’s always Dreamless Sleep. Or I could pretend to be one of those one-offs you had before you met me.”
Every one-night stand Harry has ever had could be replaced with Tom, given sufficient preparation and use of Polyjuice. Those nameless strangers from seedy bars that offered pathetic, meaningless thrills in comparison to what Tom can provide.
Harry turns to eye him with suspicion. “What would you do with them?”
“Knock them out somewhere where they won’t cause trouble, obviously.”
“That could work,” Harry agrees, probably because he thinks it’s the least immoral option available.
It’s funny, Tom thinks. The unconscious Harry face down on the bed would likely never agree to Stunning and trussing up some random strangers to facilitate a fucking, but his Harry is all too eager for it.
“Then that’s what we’ll do,” Tom says, injecting a note of sweetness into his voice. He pulls Harry into his arms and presses a kiss to his cheek. He’s gotten what he wanted today. He can afford to be a little generous for now.
Besides, it’s not as if he needs to take Harry with him when he time travels. Tom has blanket permission to do what he likes, and after today, he even has explicit acceptance.
With one last glance back at the body in the bed, Tom slips the Time-Turner back around their necks. Harry seems happy with their new compromise. He’s so riled up he might even let Tom go a little further than usual in bed tonight.
When they arrive back at Grimmauld, Harry presses his face to Tom’s neck and starts to wander his hands over Tom’s body.
Tom lets him for a few seconds, then steps back, one hand firm against Harry’s chest.
Harry glances up at him, clearly bewildered. He assumed that they would be having sex. But that wasn’t the point of today’s little adventure. Today’s adventure was meant to prove that all versions of Harry—past, present and future—belong to him. Tom will visit them when he wants to and fuck them when he wants to.
And Harry has already agreed, will always agree—because he’s been conditioned to. To crave Tom no matter what. Maybe he’d even sought out those questionable bar fucks because he’d been unknowingly searching for Tom. Searching for the one person who has owned his body so utterly and thoroughly that no other sensation can compare.
Tom leans in for another kiss, this time a brief peck on the lips, then pulls away again. “Maybe later,” he says casually. “I have brunch plans with Malfoy.”
He leaves Harry there, slack-jawed in the dining room.
Upon exiting the house, Tom picks a random direction to start walking in. He doesn’t actually want to have brunch with Malfoy anymore.
What he does want, right this moment, is to visit another Harry. An even younger Harry to stick his cock into and mould into a perfect fuck. And he could do that. He could revisit their Hogwarts years—the years before he realized that Harry was meant for him—and claim all of Harry’s firsts. First kiss, first fuck. Give him a taste of what awaits him in the future.
Harry would fight back, of course. He would scream and cry even while impaled on Tom’s cock, shaking with pleasure all the while until he learned it was where he belonged.
Absently, Tom raises a hand to finger the gold chain still looped around his neck. It’s as they say: what Harry doesn’t know won’t hurt him, and what he doesn’t remember…
Tom smirks to himself.
…won’t matter.
After all, this has already happened before.