A/N:

so this was originally mostly funny and then i was like hm. this isn't just joking anymore this is for real, tom and harry are going to have a full-blown quidditch kink by the end of this.

revisiting this universe was a lot of fun tho. love me some healthy relationship tom and harry, especially when tom is a little shit lmao.

if u haven't read 'darling, can i call you home?', then you should do that first because this will be funnier if you do.

anyways this is baby's first smut :( be nice to me sdgsfghdfh

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A Daring Escapade into the Realm of Quidditch

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"This is a bad idea," said Draco.

"It is not," Tom retorted. "It's a perfectly good idea, you just have no vision."

Draco, clad in his Quidditch gear, the Captain's badge pinned to the left side of his chest, leveled Tom with a stare. "You told me you were only doing this because you think Potter will find it attractive."

"He has a type," Tom insisted. "And I, as the consummate Slytherin, must do whatever it takes in order to secure my desired ambition, which is to have Harry. To do that, I have to be his ideal boyfriend! And that means playing Quidditch."

"Tom," said Draco, exasperated. "I play Quidditch. Do you think Potter is going to suddenly decide he finds me attractive—? Actually, don't answer that. I don't want to know. I'm nauseated just thinking about it."

Tom scowled. The two of them were currently walking across the grounds of Hogwarts towards the Quidditch pitch so that Draco could hold the tryouts for the Slytherin team.

"This is all really unnecessary," Draco continued. "You're already dating Potter. For reasons which are still unclear to me, by the way."

"I think I'll decide what is and is not necessary," Tom said sharply.

Draco rolled his eyes. "The rest of the Slytherins are going to accuse me of nepotism."

"And?" Tom said. "I'm a Prefect, and I get the highest marks every year. It's not as though it's unexpected for me to be good at things."

"Tom," said Draco, stopping directly in front of Tom, as though this would help make his point more clear. "You've got about as much of an affinity to Quidditch as Longbottom probably does."

"Hey," Tom said angrily. "I know how to fly."

Draco blew out a huff of hot air, then swung away from Tom and continued walking. "You know how to hover and move at low speeds. That's not the same as Quidditch."

Tom rolled his eyes at this, not deigning to dignify the taunt with a response.

"Not to mention you originally wanted to try out for Beater!" Draco said, still frustrated, waving his left arm wildly in the air as he spoke. "You watch all of Potter's matches. How did you not know that Beaters are supposed to hit Bludgers at the Seekers?"

"I don't pay attention to the other players," Tom said defensively. "I'm only there to watch Harry."

"You've watched him play Quidditch for five bloody years," Draco snarled. "And you didn't realize that playing Beater meant you'd have to whack Bludgers at him. If I had let you play as Beater? Against Potter? All of Slytherin would have had my head on a platter. And after they were done with that? They still would have pissed on the remains."

"All of you Quidditch fanatics are equally insane," said Tom. "It's all just flying with a ball, how hard can it possibly be? Most of the points are earned by one player. None of it makes any sense at all."

"You just don't understand, Riddle." Draco sniffed, switching his broomstick to his other shoulder. "Anyway, if you outfly the rest, fine, I will put you on the team. But don't expect any special favours. Malfoys have a reputation to uphold."

"That statement in itself is contradictory."

"Shut up."

Just then they arrived at the Quidditch pitch, where there were already a number of people sitting in the stands. Tom's eyes sought Harry out in the crowd, and he was pleased to see that Harry was seated in one of the bleachers that had a good view of the pitch. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were also with Harry, although Ginny was the only one of the three who seemed actually interested in being there.

Tom's eyes narrowed as he spotted Ginny, but he quickly decided that he had no reason to be jealous anymore. Soon enough, Tom would also be in the air on a broomstick, and Harry would be satisfied that choosing Tom also meant he was choosing someone who could play Quidditch.

So Tom continued to watch the stands, waiting for Harry to notice that he and Draco had arrived. Any moment now… ah, yes. Tom could tell exactly when Harry had spotted him, because Harry's mouth fell open rather adorably, his green eyes widening as his gaze followed Tom's progress towards the edge of the pitch.

Draco held his wand to his throat and began to speak, his voice amplified so that the entire gathered crowd of applicants and viewers could hear him.

"Listen up! We are holding tryouts for two Chasers and one Beater." Draco paused, then looked around to make sure everyone was paying attention to him. Then he continued, "We'll be doing three rounds of elimination. The first round will be flying drills around the pitch, which I will divide you into small groups for. The second round will be drills for the position you're applying for, and the third round will be a trial-run with a practice game."

Very straightforward. Tom stretched, rolling his shoulders, his eyes still fixed on his boyfriend in the crowd. Truthfully, Tom thought he looked rather dashing in Quidditch gear. Harry certainly did, especially when he took the time to polish and shine it all properly, so Tom assumed he would look just as good, if not better, because green and silver were colours that suited him very well.

Resisting the urge to preen, Tom strode confidently up to where his competition was waiting for Draco to begin the first round.

"Riddle?" asked Astoria Greengrass, eyeing him skeptically. "What are you doing here?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Tom drawled. "I'm trying out for Quidditch."

Her face scrunched up oddly, and Tom was reminded that she was only 14, and therefore not nearly as smart as he was. "For Beater?"

"For Chaser," Tom corrected, scowling. He mounted his broom, turning his head away from her. He wasn't here to be mocked, he was here to win and to impress Harry, exactly in that order.

"That's bold of you," Greengrass said. "Didn't know Quidditch was one of your many talents, Riddle."

"Well, it is," Tom said. He adjusted his hold on the broomstick handle and shifted his weight until he was seated properly.

Draco came over and directed them all into small groups of four, which meant Tom ended up standing with Greengrass and two other Slytherin students. They were group number two, so they got to stand around while the first group took off for their lap.

However, once the first group reached the halfway point, Draco gestured for Tom's group to get into position.

"Alright," Draco shouted. "Kick off on my count, and do a standard lap around the pitch! Three… two… one… GO!"

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were climbing the steps up to the bleachers to watch the Slytherin Quidditch Team tryouts. They were early, and it seemed that Malfoy, who was the new Captain for the Slytherin team, had not yet arrived.

The weather was fairly nice out, if a bit cloudy, and there was minimal breeze to interfere with the trials. The sun was mostly out, so Harry was only wearing his usual jeans and jumper, seeing as it wasn't quite cold enough for robes or a jacket.

"Remind me why we're here again?" Ron asked. "Or why Malfoy's not going to hex us into oblivion for trying to spy on his team?"

"Tom told me to come," Harry said. "He said, very explicitly, that if I did not come, that he was going to be very sad. But don't tell him I told you he said that, or he'll kill me. He still thinks that kind of threat works on me, and I'm not about to convince him otherwise."

"This is ridiculous," Hermione said. Her arms were wrapped around a particularly large novel that she probably intended to read for the duration of the tryouts. "It's only a game. It's not as though they'll be practicing their special tactics or anything when they're only picking new players. We're perfectly entitled to be here."

Ginny only snorted. "I think I know what Tom's up to, and it's nothing to do with sabotage."

The four of them sat down and waited for something to happen. A few of the Slytherins in the stands shot them dirty looks, but thankfully no one came over to try and start any trouble. There were also a few Slytherins standing around on the pitch down below, ostensibly waiting for Malfoy to show up as well.

Eventually, two figures appeared at the end of the pitch.

"Bloody hell," said Ron. "It's Riddle."

Harry looked up, not quite believing his ears, and saw that Malfoy had arrived at the pitch with Tom by his side.

Then Harry's brain did a sort of backflip, because Tom was wearing Quidditch gear. Tom had the shin guards and the arm guards and the cape and he was wearing the green and silver uniform that denoted a Slytherin Quidditch player, and he was carrying a broomstick.

Harry dragged his eyes over Tom's tall, lanky form, the form that was currently encased in the most appealing outfit Harry had ever seen his boyfriend wear, and tried not to gawk too openly. Tom was looking back at him, and there was a familiar smirk curling the right side of his lips that made Harry's heart beat a little faster.

"Harry, you're drooling," Ginny said teasingly.

"Is he trying out?" Ron demanded. "Harry, why didn't you tell us he was trying out?"

Harry forced his mouth to move. "I didn't know," he said honestly. "He didn't tell me."

"Harry, if he plays against us, I swear to Merlin you better not go easy on him," Ron continued, as though Harry was not in the middle of a rather visible crisis at seeing Tom dressed in Quidditch attire.

Then Malfoy started talking, his voice ringing out across the pitch as he called the tryouts to order. Tom walked his way over to where the other Slytherins were standing, and then mounted his broom.

"He looks really good," Harry said, without thinking.

Ron threw up his hands in despair. "We're doomed," Ron said dramatically. "There goes our chance at the Quidditch Cup this year. I knew nothing good would come of you and Riddle dating, Harry. Clearly this was all just a ploy to make sure Slytherin wins at Quidditch—"

Ginny smacked her brother's shoulder roughly. "Don't be a git, Ron. Obviously Tom asked Harry to be here so he could watch him try out."

"I don't think I've ever seen Tom fly," Hermione said idly. She had not looked up from her book for the entirety of the conversation. "Is he any good?"

Harry blinked. "Erm, he's… he's alright. He knows how to fly."

"He knows how to fly? What's that even mean?" Ron complained. "Is he going to be a threat or not?"

The only times Harry had seen Tom on a broomstick had typically involved the two of them flying around on the grounds together on Harry's Firebolt, usually after hours, and usually underneath his Invisibility Cloak. Harry tried to think back to a time when he'd seen Tom on a broomstick by himself and…

"Oh," said Harry. "Oh, no."

Tom had read a lot of books on Quidditch to prepare for today. That, and he'd forced Draco to give him a private tutoring session last week, when everyone else had been at Hogsmeade and Harry'd had detention with Snape, who was their DADA professor this year.

So even though Tom was not someone with an aptitude for broomstick flying, he felt as though he had prepared more than adequately for this endeavour. It was also because of his preparations that he was reasonably confident he would be able to outfly anyone here who was not a natural talent.

So Tom kicked off with a smooth start, and he was able to lean forward and direct his broomstick in the direction he wanted to go in.

There was cheering coming from the stands, but Tom made himself focus on keeping his broom steady as he continued to make his lap around the pitch. It would do no good to look up to see Harry if it meant that he got kicked out after the first round for being distracted.

Tom navigated the path that led around the pitch, weaving around the goal posts as they passed the halfway point. He could feel the wind ruffling his hair. He resolved to fix it next time with a spell, so that it would maintain its shape during flight, because this was ridiculous.

One of the Slytherins behind him crashed into the bleachers. Tom was tempted to turn around and see the commotion, but he restrained himself. There was about a quarter of a lap left to go, and he could see the place where they had started.

Then, eventually, finally, the lap concluded. Tom noted that the only person in his group that he'd finished before was a second year girl by the name of Jean Nettle. But he had not crashed into anything or anyone, unlike the people who he could now see standing up from where they'd landed on turf, and that ought to have counted for something.

Draco was rubbing at his face with his gloved hand, but he sent the last group on its way, and they all waited as the first round finished.

"Alright," Draco said tiredly, once it was done. Three students had already been sent down to the Hospital Wing for minor injuries. "Everyone who made it in one piece separate yourselves into Chasers and Beaters. We're going to do drills next."

"Excellent," Tom said, dismounting his broom and moving to stand over next to Greengrass, who looked at him oddly.

Tom had done some practice with Chaser drills, mainly the passing and shooting parts, and he thought he was fairly good at them.

Draco had just finished instructing the potential Beaters, and was now coming over to address the Chaser group. "Pair off," Draco said, "and then we'll wait until the Beaters are done before we start, so no one gets knocked off their broom by mistake."

"I'll pair with you, Riddle," said Greengrass.

Tom eyed her with suspicion. She'd come in first in their flying group, which meant that she was likely good at Quidditch. If they were doing passing drills, then she would be useful to have as his partner, so he nodded his agreement.

Looking up at the stands, Tom could see that Harry was paying rapt attention to the tryouts. The Weasley siblings were clearly arguing about something in the background, but instead of playing awkward mediator like he sometimes tried to do, Harry was looking at Tom, which made Tom swell a bit with pride. Then Harry waved, looking excited, so Tom waved back, even though it was not something he normally did, just so everyone knew exactly who Harry was waving at.

They watched as the Beaters ran through their drills, which mainly consisted of aiming and dodging. Draco narrowed down his choices to four, and sent the rejects off with their heads hanging.

"Chasers next," Draco barked. "We're going to start with passing."

Tom smiled with relief. This was going to work out.

This was not working out. Harry was going to die from anxiety, or sexual frustration, or both, before Malfoy managed to choose anybody for any position at all.

"He came in second to last in his group, Ron," Ginny was saying. "You saw how slow he was going. That's hardly cause for worry."

"But what if Malfoy picks him because they're friends," Ron said. "Then he's going to distract Harry during matches! They'll be making those weird eyes at each other from across the field—"

"You're horrible," Ginny said. "You're never going to get a girlfriend at this rate."

At this, Hermione made an odd choking noise that Harry seemed to be the only one to notice.

The Beaters concluded their trials, and Harry watched as Draco dismissed all but four of the prospective Beaters from the field. The Slytherin team was certainly more popular this year, perhaps more so because Draco was running the team, and people probably wanted to suck up to him.

Tom was standing off to the side next to a younger, dark-haired girl. He'd done a lot better during the first round than Harry had expected him to. Even if Tom didn't make the team, Harry was still impressed that he'd put so much effort into trying. Though exactly why he was trying at all was still a bit of a mystery to Harry.

Although Tom dutifully attended all of Harry's Quidditch matches, Harry had never gotten the impression that Tom was at all interested in Quidditch.

In fact, Malfoy frequently complained that Tom had never attended his matches, despite the fact that they were supposed to be friends, which Harry thought was quite hilarious. Tom said he was only friends with Malfoy because of his connections, but truthfully Harry thought that Tom was just living in a state of constant denial when it came to his friendships.

"Tom's actually doing pretty well," Ginny said to Harry, apparently having grown tired of trying to argue sense into her brother.

"Yeah," Harry said, eyes still fixed on the scene below. "He is. I think he's been practicing, though I've no idea when." Harry saw Tom look up at him just then, so he waved wildly to make sure that Tom knew that he was there. Tom waved back, smiling, and Harry felt a dopey smile spread across his own face.

Then Harry felt Ginny pat him on the shoulder as she said, "I'll make sure to lead Ron and his easily-scandalized sensibilities back to the common room once the trials are done."

"Thanks," Harry said automatically, and then his brain caught up with what she'd just said. "Wait, what?" He turned around to look at her.

"So you can, you know," Ginny said, and made a motion with her hands that probably would have scandalized Mrs. Weasley for the next decade at the least.

Harry went red. "Ah," he said, then shifted back to face the Quidditch pitch so he didn't have to see Ginny laughing at him.

Down on the field, Tom had paired with the dark-haired girl, and they were now tossing a practice Quaffle back and forth. Harry noticed that they were going a little bit slower than the rest of the pairs, but seeing as neither of them had dropped the Quaffle, Harry thought Draco might decide to keep them over the faster pairs that fumbled with it.

If Tom did make the team, Harry honestly had no idea what he was going to do, because Ron was right, seeing Tom in Quidditch gear was distracting. And, because Harry was captain of the Gryffindor team this year, his ridiculously attractive boyfriend—who was apparently now also a jock on top of being perfect at everything else—was going to be a massive problem.

Once the passing drills were completed they had moved onto shooting. Now, this was something Tom could do, and could do well. Putting a ball through a hoop was the same thing as aiming a spell with a wand—you just had to have the coordination for it. The part of Quidditch that Tom struggled with was the flying, but since Draco had lined them all up in stationary positions in front of the hoops, this was going to be easy.

Tom scored all of his goals, one after the other, a smug smile on his face.

"Nice one, Riddle," Greengrass called. Maybe she wasn't so bad, he thought. Even if she was a bit snarky for such a small girl. Tom could admit that she had talent: she was an excellent flier.

Draco dismissed more of the Slytherin hopefuls until only Astoria, Tom, and two others were left. Even Draco seemed bemused that Tom was still in the running for a position, but he said nothing to Tom about it as he called everyone back to the center of the field.

"Now we're going to play a practice game," Draco said, looking around at the eight remaining players. "Two Chasers and two Beaters to a team. No Keepers and no Snitch. I want to see how well you do when you have to work together with no one else around. First team to three points ends the match."

It was a surprisingly sound strategy coming from Malfoy, and Tom adjusted his mental evaluation of Draco in light of this. The Slytherin team usually focused on brute strength and speed rather than intelligence and coordination, so this was an interesting change of pace.

Draco put Tom and Astoria in the same group again, leaving the other two Chasers to make up the other team. Tom's team was then joined by two Beaters, both of whom had done decently enough in their trials.

"Ten minutes to talk strategy," Draco said. "Then I'm starting, whether you're ready or not."

Strategy was something that Tom knew, even if he didn't have all of the proper Quidditch knowledge to go with it. But, come to think of it, Astoria definitely did… Tom looked over at her as their group of four pulled into a huddle.

"I have an idea," Tom said, gazing directly at her. "And I want to know if you think it will work."

"I'm listening," Astoria said, a wide grin on her face, and that was when Tom knew they were going to win this.

"I wonder what they're talking about," Harry said, watching as Tom's team bent their heads together to talk strategy.

"Tom's smart," Ginny said, "so I'm guessing he has a plan."

"But he knows nothing about Quidditch," Hermione said, finally looking up from her book. "So that puts him at a disadvantage."

"He goes to all of Harry's Quidditch games," Ron said. "He knows Quidditch."

"He goes to Harry's Quidditch games to watch Harry," Ginny said, rolling her eyes. "But he has Astoria on his team, so I think they're going to win."

"No way," Ron said. He shook his head emphatically. "You saw them doing the drills; they were pretty slow. No way they outfly the other team."

"Bet you five Galleons," Ginny said immediately, holding out her hand.

Ron smacked it with his own, and they shook. "You're on."

When Draco released the Quaffle and the Bludgers, Harry watched as Tom took off directly for the goal posts. The other team seemed unsurprised at this, as they had all seen that Tom was better at putting the Quaffle through the hoops than he was at flying, but Harry had an inkling that this was a calculated move on Tom's part.

Astoria took to the Quaffle like a natural, quickly gaining possession and moving nimbly up the court. The Beaters on her team hovered near by, close but not too close, deflecting any shots that approached her, and only leaving her side when they spotted an errant Bludger that they could take an advantage of.

When the opposing Chasers tried to approach Astoria, they were checked by the Beaters. Not to mention that when the opposing Chasers did try to do that, it meant their own Beaters couldn't attack, lest they accidentally hit their own players.

So that meant they all had to wait until Astoria got close enough to pass to Tom.

Tom was still hovering around the goal posts, weaving around and around in circles. He was smirking as he flew, as though he was in possession of a great secret.

What happened next was so incredibly fast that Harry barely had time to process it.

Astoria drew closer to the goals, close enough that it would be possible for her to pass to Tom if she wanted to.

Then, suddenly, one of the Beaters shadowing her broke off, rushing at the Bludgers and managing to smack one them far down to the opposite end of the field, far away from where Astoria was now rapidly approaching the goal posts. It was apparently his new mission to keep all of the Bludgers as far away from the goal-end of the pitch as possible.

Upon seeing this, the opposing Chasers switched tactics, choosing instead to crowd around Tom in the hopes that they could block a pass.

Tom swooped around almost randomly, positioning himself at a weird angle. Harry couldn't quite figure out how he planned to score from where he was floating, but then he noticed that the Chasers that were attempting to block him were now squinting in the direction of the sun.

Astoria swerved, dodging one of the opposing Beaters as they tried to check her. The Beater that was still protecting Astoria deflected another attempt to knock her out of the air, and then Astoria lifted the Quaffle in her arm, as though she was going to try to pass it.

It was then that Tom shouted something unintelligible, and Astoria cackled in response, moving so fast that she knocked one of the opposing team's Beaters into a tailspin.

Things escalated quickly from there.

Tom, still holding the attention of the two Chasers following him, shot suddenly into the air, drawing them all upwards—

Astoria dodged the remaining Beater that tried to lunge for her and then—

She hurled the Quaffle—not at Tom, who was hovering above and to the right—but directly at the center hoop.

Despite the distance being longer than usual for a goal, the clear path meant that her toss sailed straight across the empty air and directly through the hoop.

The small amount of students gathered in the stands went wild. Harry had stood at some point during all of this, without even realizing that he'd done it, and was now shouting his own ecstatic approval.

The rest of the match went by without a hitch.

Tom and Astoria were an excellent team, by virtue of simply being smarter than their competition, and their sly, often underhanded tactics led their team to success. During his daring attempts to distract the opposite team, Tom had actually wiped out once onto the turf, but since he had the sense to roll with the motion, he was perfectly uninjured. He even got to score a goal, as Astoria had passed him the Quaffle when the other team had been least expecting it to happen.

Once all three goals had been scored by Tom's team, Draco called them all back to the center of the field.

"Alright," Draco said. He looked like someone had just told him that he needed to RSVP to his own funeral, scheduled Friday. "Based on what I saw, I've decided on the new members."

There was a pause.

"Well?" Astoria demanded. "Spit it out, Draco."

Draco scowled at her, then continued, "Greengrass, Riddle, you have the Chaser positions. Vaisey, you have the Beater position."

"Yes!" Astoria did a pumping motion in the air with her fist, and then held up her hand for a high five. "We did it, Riddle!"

Ah, to hell with it. Tom slapped her hand, smiling.

"Right," Draco said, still looking grumpy. "So, practices are scheduled twice a week on Mondays and Thursdays, no exceptions—"

Tom coughed, and Draco glared at him. "Malfoy, I'd like to cede my position."

Draco's eye twitched. "You what."

"I mean, this was great fun, but I don't really have time for Quidditch on top of all my other responsibilities," Tom explained. "Especially with my Prefect duties, but I suppose you wouldn't know since you didn't get the Prefect spot—"

"Riddle, I'm going to hex you into oblivion," Draco said bracingly, between gritted teeth. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides. "If you do not leave my pitch. Right. Now."

"You should pick Urquhart," Tom added, "I think he was next best after me. If I'm being honest, I really didn't expect to make it this far—"

"Leave the pitch!" Draco shouted, pointing, and Tom sauntered off towards the locker rooms.

As soon as Malfoy had dismissed Tom from the pitch, Harry had stood up and started making his way down the stairs.

"Be safe!" Ginny shouted after him. "Use protection!"

Ron made a retching sound at that, and then there was a bang as Ginny must have hit him with a spell in return, but Harry was already too far away to bother turning around to see what had happened. He wanted to catch Tom before he made it to the Slytherin locker rooms.

Harry jogged down the length of the pitch, heedless of the people who were probably staring at him. Though he was only part way to the change rooms, Tom paused in his walking and turned around. Tom had sometimes said that he had a sixth sense in regards to where Harry was, but Harry had never quite believed it until now.

"Tom!" Harry said, panting as he caught up.

Tom grinned rakishly, leaning on his propped-up broomstick like he was being paid to model with it. "Yes, Harry?" His hair was a mess of dark curls dampened with sweat, and there was even a bit of dirt smudged on his cheek. The uniform he was wearing was still intact, but it did have grass stains all over it from when he'd landed on the pitch, and it was probably soaked in Tom's scent.

"You—" Harry said, stomping up to his boyfriend, but then he promptly lost his train of thought as he continued to stare at Tom, at the sharp line of his jaw, at the teasing look in his eyes.

"I… I what?" Tom asked, his grin widening further.

"Fuck you," Harry said, and then tackled him in a kiss.

Tom toppled over in surprise, though his arms reflexively moved to wrap around Harry as they landed on the grass with a thump. The kissing was about as coordinated as anything else, though Harry did note that Tom seemed just as riled up as he was, if the way he was gripping fervently at Harry had any meaning at all. Harry could feel heat radiating from Tom's body, just like he could feel all of the different places where they were pressed together, just like he could feel the hard press of Tom's erection against his thigh.

So it was with great reluctance that Harry pulled away, licking his lips as he looked down at Tom, who was flushed and gasping for breath, likely winded from getting bowled over by Harry and then assaulted with a bout of snogging.

"We should stop," Harry said, though he was still straddling Tom's hips.

Tom's brows knit together in consternation. "Why in Merlin's name should we do that?" he asked, sounding annoyed. His grip on Harry's hips tightened, as though daring Harry to try and slide off of him.

"Well," Harry said, still looking at Tom. "First of all, we're technically still halfway on the pitch."

Tom looked around. From the center of the field, Malfoy was shouting and making a rude hand gesture at them. "I suppose," Tom said reluctantly.

So Harry got up, pulling Tom along with him. The rough feel of Tom's hand encased in Quidditch gloves did not do much to alleviate the restraint problem that Harry was having.

As they stood, however, Tom tugged hard on their joined hands, sending Harry stumbling into his chest. His arm wrapped itself tightly around Harry's waist as he grinned, seemingly unbothered by their public indecency.

"So," Tom said alluringly, his gaze heavy and possessive, "where are we taking this?"

"You are being more smug than the situation calls for," Harry said to him, squirming out of Tom's grip and dragging him towards the changing rooms. "Considering this was all just one of your complicated plots for attention."

"But it worked, right?" Tom asked, still smirking.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes, it worked, you smarmy git."

"I do think I look very excellent in this outfit—"

"Less talking, more walking," said Harry sharply, shooting Tom a look, and Tom shut up.

They reached the locker rooms—Harry had taken them to the Gryffindor ones, so they wouldn't get walked in on—and Harry shut the door firmly before casting the standard Locking Charm on it. Then he pivoted to look at Tom, who was still wearing the same smug expression he'd had on since they'd kissed, though he did seem a little less confident than before as Harry took a few steps closer to him.

"Wha—" Tom started, but Harry cut him off again, closing the distance between them and seizing Tom's left arm so that he could start to undo the straps of the arm guards. Tom stood very still as Harry efficiently dismantled both arm guards, and then sucked in a breath as Harry dropped to his knees and repeated the process with the shin guards.

Then Harry straightened back up and surveyed his work, both of his hands holding Tom's shoulder firmly in place. Harry could feel Tom flexing and unflexing his muscles beneath Harry's steady grip.

"The cape?" Tom asked, voice oddly meek. His cheeks were now infused with a rosy hue.

"No," said Harry absently, now focused on the lean lines of Tom's body. "Leave it for now."

Tom shifted his weight from one foot to the other, clearly restless, but also pinned in place by the force of Harry's gaze. Then Harry took Tom's left hand in his and carefully unbuckled the glove. Harry ran his fingers over Tom's palm, lingering for a moment before he moved to undo the glove on the other hand.

Once both gloves were off, Harry tucked them neatly into the back pocket of his jeans.

Tom was still watching Harry, as though he was mesmerized. Harry smiled and reached up to possessively slide his hand around the back of Tom's head, pulling him down so that their mouths could meet, rough and hot and wet.

As they kissed, Harry shoved them both forwards, backing Tom right up against the wall. Tom's shoulder blades collided with the solid surface, and Harry felt a bit of breath escape from between their lips.

Pulling away, Harry looked up to see that Tom was visibly struggling to focus. His pupils were blown wide, his mouth was swollen nearly red, and his breathing was uneven. It gave Harry a thrill, to be the only one who saw Tom like this: needy, aroused, and completely undone.

Harry bent his head and licked a hot stripe up Tom's neck, and Tom made a noise halfway between a moan and a plea, his throat arching into Harry's touch, his hips bucking up against Harry's thigh. So Harry placed a hand on Tom's hip, holding him in place against the wall, and then continued pressing his mouth against Tom's throat, kissing his way down and sucking temporary marks onto Tom's pale skin as he went along.

"Harry," Tom whined, inhaling raggedly, his hands tugging at where he had the hem of Harry's jumper bunched up in his fists.

Hearing Tom sound so desperate was making Harry's head dizzy. So he lifted his head up to capture Tom's lips in a fierce kiss, moving his hand from where it was holding Tom's hip to the bulge between his legs.

Tom shuddered, trying to move again. Harry kept him still, sucking on Tom's tongue and rubbing firmly at Tom's growing erection. But the kiss was getting sloppy, because Harry was quickly losing any finesse he'd possessed in favour of making Tom lose control as quickly as possible.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" Harry panted, pressing his face against the side of Tom's head, scraping his teeth against Tom's earlobe. "You wanted me—all riled up—seeing you—play Quidditch—so that we could do this." To punctuate his statement, he slid his hand down Tom's trousers, taking him in hand and giving him a squeeze.

"H-Harry," Tom said, groaning softly as he tried to roll his hips. Harry gave Tom's cock a firm stroke, and he watched greedily as Tom's head lolled back, thumping lightly against the wall. "Fuck," Tom choked out, and his dick twitched in Harry's now-loose grip.

Teasingly, Harry brushed his lips against the underside of Tom's jaw, his hands now working to shove Tom's pants and trousers down. "Is this what you wanted, Tom?" Harry repeated slowly, knowing his breath must have felt hot against Tom's already-flushed skin.

"Yes," Tom ground out, and though Harry had him practically pinned to the wall, he was still desperately trying to grind himself into Harry's hand.

"Then you'll take what I give you," Harry said, and dropped to his knees for the second time. He laid a hand on Tom's thigh, squeezing it gently as he eyed Tom's erection. Then Harry gave the skin of Tom's inner thigh a bit of a pinch, and Tom yelped softly.

"Harry," Tom said, gasping, "Please."

Harry only smiled in response, because Tom was now, at last, holding very still as he waited for Harry to do something else. Tom's hands were clenched into white fists at his sides, but he wasn't moving and he wasn't speaking, and Harry was unbearably pleased at the mess Tom was going to become under his careful ministrations.

There was already precum gathering on the tip of Tom's cock, and Harry reached out to swipe at it with his thumb. "You wanted my attention," Harry continued sweetly, still holding Tom steady and upright with his free hand, "and now you have it."

Tom said nothing, merely watched with wide eyes as Harry licked his lips. The tension in the air was so thick that, for a moment, Harry could do nothing more than simply observe as Tom's body twitched occasionally, as Tom was resisting the urge to move, as though he knew Harry wouldn't give him what he wanted if he so much as jerked an inch in any direction.

Placing both his hands on Tom's hips, Harry slowly palmed his way up Tom's torso, under his Quidditch jersey, feeling at the abdominal muscles that clenched up under Harry's touch. He ran his fingers over the dips and valleys, enjoying the feel of Tom's sweat-dampened skin under his fingertips.

"Please," Tom moaned again, his voice strangled with lust. "If you don't—"

Harry pulled both hands away and Tom actually whimpered at the loss of contact. But Harry thought that Tom had maybe learned his lesson, so he leaned in and pressed his lips to Tom's dick, sucking lightly at the head and then lapping gently at the tip with his tongue.

Tom's hands flew down to grip Harry's shoulders. It sounded as though he was holding back another whine as Harry slowly squeezed his right hand around the base of Tom's cock, drawing his hand halfway up the length of it before sliding it back. Then he dragged his mouth down Tom's length, chasing the motion of his hand, and Tom groaned again, his head tipping back into the wall.

The tip of Tom's cock was bumping up against the back of Harry's throat as he sucked, and he could hear the sounds of Tom's laboured breathing roaring in his ears, sending waves of heat rolling through his body.

"Harry," Tom rasped, "you're so good, so good… keep going, I'm—ah…fuck..." His right hand slid into Harry's hair, his fingers curling into the strands, guiding the motion of Harry's head bobbing up and down.

The praise soaked right into Harry, warming him up from head to toe. Harry looked up at Tom from beneath his lashes; Tom in his Quidditch uniform, practically slumped against the wall, his entire body trembling, his face sheathed his sweat, his jaw slack as he watched Harry swallow his cock down again and again.

Harry dragged his tongue heavily along the underside of Tom's dick, pulling off with a wet pop. He kept his hand stroking, though, because Tom would have killed him if he didn't. "Feels good?" Harry asked. He could hear the hoarseness of his own words as he blinked to clear his vision properly.

Tom tilted his head down, his eyes so dark that Harry could barely see the irises in them. "So good," Tom crooned, his words slurred, his hand now gentle as he threaded it through the soft mass of Harry's hair. "Always—so fucking incredible."

Twisting his wrist, Harry gave Tom's cock another firm pull, and Tom's hips stuttered with the movement. Harry ran his mouth along the length again, licking and tasting as he went. He could tell Tom was close, but he wasn't sure exactly where he wanted Tom to finish yet, and his own throbbing erection was starting to drive him to distraction.

"I—" Tom started, but it came out more like a grunt, so he groaned and tried again, "I'm—I need you to—"

Decision suddenly made, Harry slid Tom back into his mouth, all the way down to the root, and this time Tom actually knocked his head backwards into the wall out of pure reflex, his back arching. Harry hummed loudly, the vibrations low and deep in the back of his throat, and heard Tom cry out, his hand clutching weakly at Harry's shoulders as he came.

Harry coughed a little, trying to swallow, and eventually pulled away, stroking Tom through the remainder of his orgasm with a gentle hand.

As soon as Harry was done, however, Tom dropped down into a crouch, nearly falling over as he rushed forward to press his mouth to Harry's. It was only Harry's reflexes that managed to keep them both upright, his hands moving automatically behind him to brace for impact as Tom crushed their lips together.

Then Tom's hands were pawing at Harry's jeans, undoing the button and unzipping the fly. Lightheaded at all the sudden movement, Harry could only moan into Tom's mouth as Tom shoved his hand down Harry's jeans and pants, grasping Harry's hard cock and starting to stroke it.

Sparks of pleasure erupted everywhere that Tom touched him, and Harry felt unbearably hot, like a switch had suddenly been flipped inside of him. Tom was jerking him off methodically, perfectly, pulling and rubbing in the way he had that drove Harry insane. So it didn't take long for Harry to come, rocking his hips wildly into Tom's fist as Tom continued to plant messy kisses all over Harry's jaw and neck.

When Harry's vision finally returned and they had both come back to their senses, Harry realized that he was now lying flat on his back with Tom half on top of him. Both of them still had their trousers undone, and Tom's hair was tousled beyond belief.

Tom shifted, wriggling closer, so that he could plant a kiss on Harry's cheek. Though he looked a little sleepy, as he usually did after they'd had sex, Harry could once again sense the aura of smugness that radiated off of his boyfriend.

"Yeah, yeah," Harry said breathlessly, huffing. "You got what you wanted."

Tom snorted, flopping his head back down onto Harry's chest, his hand rubbing slow circles against Harry's waist. "I hit my head on the wall," he said, pouting. "More than once."

"You deserved that," Harry said. "Arrogant prat." But he wrapped an arm around Tom's back and shoulder anyways as they continued to catch their breaths.

"Mmmm." Tom snuggled even closer, tucking his head under Harry's chin. "But you like it."

Harry was too tired to roll his eyes, so he simply pressed a kiss to the top of Tom's head and said, "Yes. For some reason, I really, really do."

Tom had shown up to the Gryffindor Quidditch team tryouts wearing a brilliant green jumper that he'd borrowed (stolen) from Harry. He must have cast a temporary Enlargement Charm on it, though, because Tom was taller than Harry was, and the jumper was looking like it fit him.

"I've decided he's alright," Ron said, as he watched Harry wave to Tom in the stands. "Because anyone who makes Malfoy that mad can't be that bad of a person. But I don't think I could stomach seeing the two of you go at it in public again, so please don't do that this time."

Harry refused to let Ron's comment get to him. He was wearing his full Quidditch uniform for the first time this term, and, even from this distance, he could see that Tom was noticeably enraptured by the sight. Harry wondered if Tom was also thinking about the last time they'd been on this pitch together, and then decided that he probably was.

"Ugh," said Ron, catching the expression on Harry's face. "You know I don't care what you two get up to in your spare time, Harry, but seeing it up close still puts me off."

"You say that now," Ginny said, interjecting her way into the conversation. "Just wait till it's your turn. I think I see Hermione waving at you from the stands, Ronniekins."

Ron scowled, but then his gaze flickered over to where the Gryffindor contingent was seated. Ginny snickered, walking back over to where Demelza Robins was standing.

"If Ginny makes the team," Ron said, "she's never going to let me catch a break."

"Nope," said Harry. "She won't."

Ron sighed, as though resigning himself to his fate, and trudged over to the rest of the Gryffindor hopefuls.

Harry cast the Voice-Amplification Charm he'd asked Tom to teach him, and then turned to address the crowd, already eager to be done, because he knew that once this was all over, Tom was probably going to drag him into the Slytherin locker rooms for an encore of their previous performance.

A/N:

thus is the start of tom's newest bad habit: coming up with complex, convoluted plots for harry's attention.