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“-And if you are not sure you will be able to meet my standards for this class, then you would be better off dropping my course and trying again next year with a different professor. I will not put up with subpar results. I will destroy you, your work, and your confidence in your own capability both in and out of my classroom. Do I make myself clear?“
Tom threw a final piercing gaze at the students before sitting down at his desk. He picked up his red fountain pen, put his reading glasses on, and started grading. In his mind, he counted to 100 before once again looking over the rim of his glasses at the mass of pale and terrified students.
“When I said ‘drop the course’ I was serious. If you leave now, your name will be left out of my official roll call, so none of those who leave will suffer repercussions for their choice. If you stay you will be held responsible for your choice to remain. I do not feel bad for idiots who cannot decide what is best for themselves. You have ten minutes left to make your choice.“
Tom brought his attention back to the papers on his desk as he heard the telling sound of packing students. He stifled a smirk. The speech worked every time. He wondered how many would be left and if they would meet his exacting expectations.
The shuffling died down. All those that wanted to leave had probably done so, but Tom was a man of discipline, so he let the remaining students stew in their discomfort for another two minutes of strained silence until his time limit elapsed.
Tom took off his glasses, capped the pen, and brought his papers back in order. He then placed his chin on his closed fist and smiled charmingly but with a steely gaze into the audience. “Well, should we begin?“
oOoOoOo
Wow. What an arse.
Harry watched as many of his peers packed up and tried to leave the room with as much dignity as possible, which wasn’t much in such a situation.
Professor Riddle sat at his desk without a care and was engrossed in his paperwork while many students' dreams went up in flames around him.
Admittedly, the man was a hotter than hell arse.
Professor Riddle exuded a controlled air as he sat at his desk with a ramrod-straight back and sorted calmly through some papers. He had dressed in a smart three-piece suit, and it worked with his whole persona.
The man’s appearance explained the unholy amount of giggling females in the room. Well… at least they had been giggling before the seminar had started and Professor Riddle had opened his mouth to deliver his inspiring speech. They had daydreamed that the Professor would actually be their Professor Daddy of all things. Harry felt a shudder of second-hand shame tingling down his back. If the Professor had to deal with this behaviour in the past, he couldn’t even be salty anymore over the impressive opening lecture.
Harry let his eyes dwell a bit longer on the Professor. On the well-cut suit clinging to broad shoulders. The wavy brown hair above an aristocratic face, only marred by the reading glasses perched on his straight nose. Harry wouldn’t mind taking a bite out of this fine exemplar of a man, but since he had neither a daddy kink nor would he ever submit to anyone… it wouldn’t happen.
His mind latched on to the idea of possible kinks and remembered his plans for the weekend. After turning the thought over and over again in his head, Harry had decided to visit the upcoming BDSM convention this weekend in the neighbouring town. He had desires which he couldn’t quite satisfy while also trying to fulfil those his ex-partners had for themselves. After another failed relationship due to different interests, Harry was aching to meet people befitting his chosen lifestyle. Maybe even for a more private get-together.
“Well, should we begin?“
The deep voice of his professor brought Harry back to the present. He looked at the devilishly handsome face and had the strong urge to rid the man of his smirk.
What an arse.
oOoOoOo
Harry was having a blast.
The convention was awesome. All the different displays of various bonding and service scenes had his blood pumping. He ached to participate in one. Harry could barely imagine what it would be like to finally have a partner who desired what he had to give. Who would offer him what he desired in return.
Chances were high that he would find someone here. The amount of numbers he had gotten was insane. Sadly they were mostly from sub girls, dom men, and the occasional sub twink. The occasional bottom sub twink. Urgh.
All he wanted was a grown-ass man who ached for his cock to be put to use. Was it really that much to ask for?
Grumbling internally, Harry went to the next room. The sign at the door indicated an ongoing scene, so he entered silently to not disturb the participants.
And, oh yes. This was his kind of room. The dom, a tall and slender man in nondescript but tight-fitting street clothes, was adjusting his sub in his bindings.
Harry watched as the sub got rearranged. While the man had been held up and spread out on a St. Andrew’s Cross - showing off the muscles of his naked back, the firmness of his strained arms - he was now getting bound into a kneeling position. He was a vision with the dark green rope arranged in artistic knots and contrasted against the smooth pale skin of his upper body. The colour was very fitting with the black tight leather pants the man wore.
Harry enjoyed the view of the rippling back muscles. A nice back like his invoked Harry’s desire to bite into that neck hard and lick down the man’s spine until Harry reached his firm ass and ate it out without stopping, leaving the man a sobbing mess. And it was a man instead of a tiny twink like they had strung up everywhere else. A man, exactly how Harry liked them.
Slowly and with measured steps, he made his way around the setup to see the front of the show.
The dom acknowledged Harry with a nod as he finished up the new bindings of his sub. The sub’s head hung low, but it was easily recognizable that he was deep under already.
Harry’s eyes tricked him into thinking the sweat-mused dark hair reminded him of someone, but he got distracted from that thought by the sight of the man’s delicious bare chest and leather-clad thighs.
“He's a nice view, isn’t he?“ The dom laughed impishly at Harry’s distracted nod. “Let me show you something even more enthralling.“
Harry watched with rapt attention as the dom loosened one of the knots he had just finished and looped the rope differently before pulling slow and steady at it.
The sub’s back was slowly being arched until the light of the room fell reflected at a different angle on the rope, making it shine brighter. Harry could see the sub’s thighs tensing as he tried to keep his balance in the new position.
“He is beautiful.”
Upon the praise, the man made a low, pleased noise and threw his head back. There was a faint blush on his cheeks and his eyes were closed but even still… Harry knew they would be dark.
The half-naked, tied-up man deep in subspace was none other than his strict, almost brutal, Professor Tom fucking Riddle.
Harry’s mind was reeling to the point that his only coherent thought was what the girls would say about their Professor Daddy now- which just… Urgh.
The dom laughed as he patted Professor Riddle’s hair, and Harry wasn’t prepared for the spike of envy that ran through him.
“Doesn’t matter how deep under he is, this one reacts strongly to praise. Someday I’ll have to try getting him into subspace through just talking. But for now, enjoy the arching. It’s one of his favourite positions because of the restrictions of his day-to-day life.” He laughed as if he had made a funny remark, so Harry expected it was an inside joke, which somehow irked him even more.
“You guys are exclusive?”
“No, no. Nothing like that. He allows me to tie him up sometimes. It helps him when he’s stressed out. But he’s not big on touching outside of bondage, so I can’t allow you to touch either.“
Harry held his hands up. “No worries, I’m big on consent myself. I wouldn’t want to take advantage of someone who is obviously not all there when I propose to them.“
Oh, and how he would propose to him. Professor or not, Tom Riddle was perfect. And Harry wanted him.
oOoOoOo
“Dismissed.“
Tom watched the few remaining students of his seminar pack up their stuff and prepare to leave for the weekend.
He left them to it and turned around to start clearing the blackboard. Tom liked to end his seminars with such mundane tasks to help his always-working mind calm down. As he stretched to reach the far corner of the blackboard, Tom felt the restrictions of his clothes which, along with the knowledge of what laid beneath, made his breath hitch softly.
“A moment of your time, Professor.”
And there went his calm mood. Tom turned around to meet the green, steely-eyed gaze of one of his students.
Harry Potter, one of the countless trust fund babies attending this expensive university. As far as Tom could tell, Potter at least seemed to have the brains to deserve his place here instead of having it bought for him as so many other students had.
Although calling this student a baby was a stretch. Potter was older than his peers and, as Draco - Tom’s assistant - wouldn’t shut up about, already a seasoned athlete who was now pursuing higher education for use after his eventual retirement. Quidditch was a brutal sport, barely anyone was able to play beyond their mid-twenties; the better the player, the sooner they had to retire. As far as rumours went, Harry Potter was one of the best and his team's captain to boot.
Potter sure had the athletic stature and calm confidence to match his chosen profession. A combination not easy to find, but this was neither the place nor the time.
He needed to call his acquaintance again soon. The convention had been fun, but it had left Tom aching for more. He felt the need itching under his skin - their little scene had just enlivened his craving rather than sated him of the desire. Tom was barely able to hold himself together anymore. He needed to get out of here.
“May I help you?”
Potter’s expression was usually friendly and open as a default, but now it turned almost arrogant. He seemed the picture of easy confidence as his smile stretched out and his eyes stayed locked on Tom’s.
“Why, yes you can. You will help me if you dress up nicely when we go out this weekend.”
Tom had busied himself with packing up but halted at such a bold statement. And it was a statement, not a question. A demand. When they would go out, not if.
This wasn’t good. It was- anything but good. Tom really wasn’t in the right mindset to handle demands now. To withstand orders.
“Potter-“
“Oh please, you'll find that I’m more than just my family name. Call me Harry, Professor.“
Tom felt his blood pressure rising and a fine layer of sweat mist over his neck and lower back. This is what he got for always dressing in full attire.
“Why would I do such a thing? I am your Professor, not your friend.“
“Oh, you will be much more than just that.“ Ha- Potter smirked knowingly and stepped closer to Tom. Tom was tempted to step back and put more distance between them, but he didn’t dare to do so. Harry was just slightly smaller than he was, but Tom felt dwarfed by his presence regardless. “But you’re right, you are my Professor. So it would be a bit much to expect you to call me Sir, wouldn’t it?“
Tom didn’t like where this conversation was heading. He swallowed to get rid of the rapidly-increasing saliva preventing him from speaking. Har- Potter‘s - get a grip Tom, dammit - eyes zoned in on the movement of Tom’s throat.
“I have no idea what you are talking about.“
“No? Ah well, you were rather out of it, weren’t you?“ Potter took another step and stood now directly before him. He had tilted his head back slightly to look demandingly into Tom’s eyes. “As you kneeled there, tied up all pretty, blushing and glowing under my praise.“
Tom felt his hands start shaking. This wasn’t a conversation he was prepared to ever have with one of his students. This wasn’t a conversation he was prepared to hold now with anyone, period. His mind was reeling. He felt stress building up greater than ever before. His hidden restrictions were all but forgotten, bringing him none of the comfort he usually counted on to ground him.
“I- I don’t-”
Potter all but cooed at his distress. “None of that now. Kneel down. I want to see your pretty eyes peering up at me from under those long lashes.“
The unexpected praise did things to Tom’s already heated body and overtaxed mind. Things he really didn’t want to dwell on right now.
“I-”
“Kneel, Tom.“
While the man had been playful before, his tone didn’t tolerate opposition any longer. And Tom wasn’t able to keep his resistance up anyway. His mind blanked, and, as if he were a marionette with cut strings, he dropped to his knees, barely avoiding Harry’s shoes in the process due to their nearness.
“Very good, Tom.“ Harry purred. Ever so slowly, he raised a hand towards Tom’s head. While a nearly drowned part inside Tom’s mind appreciated the gesture as the opportunity to back off that it was, he just tilted his body a bit more to meet it. Harry threaded his fingers into Tom’s perfectly arranged hair and scratched his scalp lightly. Tom’s face flushed at the sensation, and he closed his eyes, trapped between fast-dwindling embarrassment and sheer need.
“None of that now, Tom. I said I wanted to see your eyes, didn’t I? Look at me.”
It took Tom a moment for Harry’s command to register as he drowned in his feelings. He blinked his eyes open and peered up from under his lashes, as Harry had told him to do.
He saw Harry smiling fondly down at him, and he felt the calm settling securely over his high-strung mind. He straightened up to press his head more firmly into Harry’s hand, earning himself a few more scratches that made his eyes fall halfway shut again in contentment. He never ceased his eye contact with Harry though - the order had been clear and pierced his fogged mind.
“I’m glad to see you so agreeable. Do you want to show me how eager you really are? You arched so prettily before. Show me if your expensive suit is able to keep up with you. Arch back.”
Harry's hand in his hair tightened at his order. He slowly pulled Tom’s head backwards to guide his upper body into an arch. He didn’t move far before he met resistance. Harry tuted. “Such an easy order and you’re already fighting me, Tom? Don’t you want to comply - to let go and just be?“
If he were in his usual day-to-day mind, Tom would fight anyone who dared suggest he was capable of whining but he did, in fact, whine at the underlying disappointment he heard in Harry’s voice.
“I want to, but I- I can’t.”
Harry furrowed his brow. “I saw that you’re able, Tom. Are you lying to me right now? You’ll find I don’t tolerate liars.”
“No, I just-“
Tom felt the calmness of subspace start to retreat, and the intensity of his constantly churning thoughts returned. He could not get the words out. He was barely able to keep himself together. He needed to show Harry for him to understand.
Tom’s hands flew to the buttons of his jacket. He didn’t notice the bafflement on Harry’s face as his shaking fingers hurried to undo one button after another before he was able to shrug his jacket off.
Or rather he tried to. He must have missed the last button, for his jacket caught in the crook of his arms, restricting them to his upper body and giving Tom a much-needed feeling of security.
The convenient burst of calm gave him the confidence to lean forward, rest his forehead on Harry’s thigh, and present his back for Harry to see.
He heard Harry’s breath hitch, and the now-relaxed hand in his hair gripped tighter once again, pulling his hair and making him fight down a moan at the feel.
“Do you wear one every day?” Harry’s voice was rough, deeper than before. Tom relished in the feeling that Harry approved.
“Yes.”
It earned him another forceful tug at his hair. “Yes, what, Tom?”
Tom’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. He knew this was important. As much as he wanted to let go of the last strand of his awareness, he couldn’t allow himself to make this decision without conscious thought.
On the one hand… Harry had seen him at the convention. He had brought him to his knees in the middle of the university where someone could walk in any time. Tom had shown him his coping mechanism of all things and done so without prompting.
Tom knew what Harry saw when he had tried to remove his jacket. His crisp white dress shirt, partly hidden under the back of his black mesh vest. The material was the only concession he allowed himself during the summer heat. Tom needed the vest. And he needed the jacket to hide it, to hide the tight lacing on its back. How it restricted his upper body while he was at work, giving him a feeling of calm safety when he had to portray a strict and demanding professor.
Hadn’t he already made his decision?
“Yes, Harry.“
Due to Tom’s position on his knees, he didn’t need Harry to say anything for Tom to recognize Harry’s excitement at Tom’s words. Surprisingly enough, Tom didn’t mind such a reaction. Just like he didn’t mind Harry’s hand in his hair, which now slid down to cup his chin and pull his head back up to meet Harry’s gaze as he said.
“Tomorrow evening, at 8 pm. You’ll meet me for dinner, and we will discuss this further. You’ll dress up nicely, including your pretty corset vest, do you understand?“
Tom wanted to close his eyes at the contentment he felt at hearing Harry’s simple orders, but he didn’t dare. He wasn’t allowed.
“Yes, Harry.“