Disclaimer; If I owned anything, I wouldn't be here.

Warnings; SLASH, AU, Rating may change.

Summary; Tom Riddle could conquer anything, conquerable or not. So how is it that Harry Potter kept slipping through his fingers? TRHP, SLASH, AU.

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Prologue ;

Lights flashed continuously, following the beat of the song. Red and blue and green and yellow blinked continuously, following the addictive beat of the song. Bodies were mashed close together, sweaty and slick.

Couples had tongues down each other's throats, hands groping and legs tangled as the night wore on and their liquor consumption increased. The bartender flirted with the drunk customers, eyes hungry as they surveyed their work place.

Truly, they all thought, this was the best place to earn money.

TellATale was a well known dance club, having the most scandalous reputation in Manhattan. Celebrities and common folk mingled, never having to worry over who was who and such.

Music blared through the speakers, amplified and ringing in ears.

Tom Riddle surveyed the room, dark eyes intense and observant. He must've spotted what he was looking for as his eyes brightened and he strode with purpose across the floor. The tall man slapped away the groping hands distractedly as he made his way to the object of his attention.

There, leaning against the counter was a very striking man. He looked to be quite young, probably just out of high school. He was not as tall as Tom—though hardly anyone was—but had long lean legs and a slender body. He was messy black hair that fell just to the nape of his neck. His face was heart shaped and tanned a beautiful bronze colour that girls would have killed to have.

Tom couldn't see much detail beyond that but he could always tell his type. And this one—was definitely his type.

He came closer, slowing down and straightening the blue long sleeved shirt he had picked for the night. He coughed into his hand, smoothing his voice before he slid into the stool next to the black haired stranger.

"Well, hello," he purred, letting his British accent come through, knowing how sexy an accent could be.

The stranger turned to him, and though he didn't feel his breath catch in his throat or sweat slide down his temple, Tom Riddle could, without a shadow of a doubt, say that he was more than a little excited.

The stranger had the greenest eyes he had ever seen. They were filled with mistrust and suspicion but beautiful all the same. Tom let his gaze travel downwards, to a pert nose and full pink lips. Definitely my type.

He got himself together within that second and shot the stranger a seductive grin. "Tom," he held out his hand, anticipating the feel of the stranger's skin against his. Even if was only their palms. "Jack," the stranger replied, though he didn't take the offered hand.

Tom let it slide, the night was young and before it was over, he was sure he'd be able to get this fine piece of meat into his bed.

He leaned forwards in his seat, touching his lips to the other man's ear, breath warm as he spoke. "How 'bout we get out of here?"

He smirked confidently. No one had refused him before, even when he wasn't being charming. But now, with his Riddle-Charm practically oozing off of him, there was no possible way—

"I think I'll pass," Tom took a moment to admire the soft voice before being distinctly offended. No one refused him.

He didn't let himself be deterred though. Determined to have this man warming his bed tonight, Tom plastered a smile on his face though he silently raged at the rejection. "Are you sure?" he whispered, making sure to drag his lips down the supple neck that was presented to him, intentionally or not.

Jack pushed him away, eyes flashing before dimming down again. "I told you, I'm not interested," he said, getting off the stool. Jack had a British accent, not bothering to hide it as he again rejected the taller man.

Tom glowered silently. But before he could pull more of his suave moves, a loud voice called out to Jack. "Harry! Mate, you okay there?" Wait a minute, Harry? Tom looked around but only saw a red head, who must've been the owner of the loud voice, focusing on Jack. Now that couldn't be right.

The red head approached them quickly, eyes worried. When he got to Jack, he put a protective hand on the green eyed male's his shoulder. "Alright?"

Tom sneered, eyes narrowing on the appendage before narrowing onto the owner the offending limb. Now this man was tall. Almost as tall as him though not even close to as good looking. Tom turned his dark eyes back to Jack, raising an eyebrow.

"Harry?"

Jack, now revealed as Harry shrugged. "I don't give out names to strangers," he said, patting the freckled hand still on his shoulder. The red head blushed before pulling his hand away, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck.

Hum.

"Apparently your friend does," Tom mocked. He couldn't help the jab that came automatically. It was as if it was programmed into his system.

Harry glanced at him uninterested and Tom felt himself bristle. He had never been on the receiving end of one of those glances. Usually it was either in heartbreak or lust or utter love. Never were they uninterested.

Harry shrugged his shoulders again, "Doesn't matter much anyway, does it?" He didn't wait for Tom's reply as he pulled his red headed friend away and onto the dance floor. He and his friend pushed their way through to the middle of the dancers, swaying and jumping to the beat.

Tom stared at them stoically, mind still processing the fact that he had been rejected. Twice. He knew he wasn't losing his touch, there was just no way. Why, just this morning he had shagged one of the most sexually challenged woman in his office. She was a great lay, no doubt. After all, he only went with the best.

And this Harry, my, he seemed like the best of the best and Tom wanted him. Tom licked his lips, desire pure on his face.

He watched enraptured as Harry swayed his hips, bodies close to him but never touching. Even that friend of his, the red head, wasn't allowed too close. He would move away slightly if someone tried to force their way into his little personal bubble and that was utterly fine with Tom.

The black t-shirt that Harry wore rode up his stomach a bit, giving viewers a teasing look at the toned abs that he was sure everyone wanted a taste of. Sweat ran down his neck, leaving a trail, and disappearing into the collar of the t-shirt, and Tom was sure he'd never seen someone sweat so sexily.

The green eyed male's hips moved left and right, left and right. It didn't look as if he were trying too hard, rather it made him look like he was too good for simple R&B music.

The sweat soaked black hair was thrown around his head carelessly, looking like he'd just got shagged and Tom wanted to be the person that shagged him. Harry's eyes were closed, a soft expression on his face. It was different than the indifferent one he has shown Tom and Tom wondered how many masks this one man had.

He felt the need to get to know all of them.

Determined, he took a glass from a seated customer, ignoring his indignant yell and drowned the alcohol in a single shot. He stood to his full height, straightened his shoulders, and pushed through the dancing crowd.

Halfway through, a woman wearing almost nothing with far too much make up stumbled into his side, grasping his arm tightly. She was clearly drunk, eyes unfocused and legs trembling. Tom scowled. This trash was holding him back from a very, very beautiful jewel that needed devouring.

He tried pushing her off, not putting much effort into it, she was drunk after all. Apparently though, there were strong drunks as she kept a tight grip around his bicep. His scowl deepened.

"Tom," she slurred. " 'member me, Tom? Y—you said you," she looked deep into his face, though he was sure she wasn't in the right state of mind to do anything but run her mouth. "Loved me," he snorted. No wonder she seemed so familiar.

"Let go, Bellatrix," he demanded, tugging his arm away. She kept hold of him however. "No! You stupid man! I love you!" she cried, mascara smudged and sliding down her cheeks.

Tom looked around. It seemed they had attracted quite a crowd. Though the majority of people were dutily ignoring them, there were a few who seemed to have nothing better to do.

Or got stood up.

He glanced off further to the side, towards where he last saw Harry dancing. The little minx paid him and the drama that was taking place next to no attention. Tom frowned.

He was quite something, this Harry. No one had resisted him, not even the coldest of the coldest. But here, a mere punk, barely an adult, a little green vixen was giving him the cold shoulder.

Tom's pride took another hit.

He sighed tiredly at Bellatrix. "Why don't you wait outside, Bella?" His cold eyes gave her the once over. She was much thinner than she used to be, though her bust seemed to have not lost anything. Her skin was a sickly pale and underneath al l the cosmetics he was sure to bet that she was carrying a load of eye bags.

She nodded enthusiastically, drunk eyes brightening in hope. Mentally Tom berated himself. How did he get caught up in such a psycho. When he took her to bed, she was merely someone he could play with from time to time.

It was always like that. Tom Riddle was a fuck 'em and leave 'em kind of guy. He had no excuses and he gave none. He was in America now, and wasn't America a free country?

Thankfully, she left, stumbling and cursing as she made her way outside. He didn't follow.

Tom straightened his shirt again, sighing. He pushed through the disappointed crowd waiting for some drama and the music seemed to get louder, pounding into his ears. When he finally got through the worst of the crowd, Tom felt his blood boil.

Harry had his arms around the neck of a blonde stranger, their bodies practically glued together. They swayed in time with the beat and Tom felt a flair of jealousy in his chest. What was so different from him and this low class vermin? Admittedly the blonde was good looking but Tom was sure that he beat the blonde to the ground.

So then, what?

He gritted his teeth before approaching them quickly. Harry had his back to him, and the stranger's head was bent and buried into Harry neck. As he got closer, the blonde lifted his head from the crook of the black haired man's neck, and raised an eyebrow.

Tom felt his irritation blaze. Who did he think he was?

And the blonde had the gall to smirk at him, running his pale hands up and down Harry's side.

Harry was still oblivious to all this as he danced with his smirking partner. Electricity of the not positive kind sizzled between Tom and blondie and only heated up to another degree when the blonde ran his tongue teasingly along the column of Harry's neck, still smirking.

Tom lost himself. He lunged forward, snatching Harry away and off to the side, where he lay on his arse, dazed. The blonde had his own angry frown at the interruption and Tom took the opportunity to lay a well aimed fist straight into the blonde's straight nose.

Well, it won't be so straight anymore, Tom thought viciously.

He was knocked off his pedestal when the blonde quickly recovered from the shock of being socked in the face and aimed a kick to Tom's unprotected stomach. People stopped dancing and gathered around them, each cheering and chanting as the two circled each other.

He saw Harry somewhere in the sea of people, face unreadable. He was tempted to wave cheerily but didn't want to risk getting kicked again while his guard was down.

The blonde had a strong leg, he'd give him that.

His eyes shifted from the blonde to his left, then to his right. He took a double take as he spotted two heavily built bouncer's make their way towards him. Well, let it never be said that Tom Riddle was a coward, but he knew when to put up a white flag. Besides, his strategies were much more . . . underhanded.

He gave a bow to the tense blonde, no doubt ready should Tom choose to go on the offense. Lucky for him, luck wasn't very generous with Tom tonight.

Rejection and a bruised stomach. No, luck was definitely a bitter little thing.

Quickly, he twisted through the gathered crowd—some of which had resumed dancing and dry humping when they realized no action would be going on (clearly they were disappointed) —pleased that the bouncers were far too big to give them much agility or stealth. Or they could be doing that on purpose, just to intimidate him. From where he was, they looked clumsy and disorganized as they tried to get to him.

Tom walked out of the club and onto the street, where the city bustled even at this late hour. Though not many cars came around this part of the block, there were many that were parked along the streets. They must've belonged to some of the partiers back inside.

He could hear horns and screeches and police sirens. Someone was always getting arrested over at New York City. Or dying. Dead or in jail, that's how it works.

Lucky for him—seems like luck had mercy for the man—Bellatrix was nowhere to be seen. She must've gotten tired of waiting. Or perhaps she passed out. She did look pretty wasted, Tom mused.

Not that he really cared, it was just curiosity. He might need a bed partner now that he'd lost track of the green eyed vixen.

His mouth watered at the image of the tanned body writhing beneath him. Tom shook his head. Riddles do not drool no matter how delicious the challenge.

And this is what it was. To get Harry was a challenge, and Tom welcomed challenges. It had been such a long time since the last one, and even that was a mere walk in the park. He'd decided.

He wouldn't rest until he had Harry's heart in his hand. He didn't know why he was so fixated on the other man. Perhaps it was because people always wanted what they couldn't have. He didn't know and he didn't care. He got what he wanted. And he wanted a certain green eyed, bronze skinned man.

"A bit young to be thinking so hard, no?" Tom whirled around, prepared to flee should the person have been one of the bouncers. However, he was pleasantly surprised to find that the object of his thoughts stood directly in front of him, nursing a glass of wine.

Tom smirked. Nevermind that Harry hadn't seemed interested back in the club, he was here now, and Tom was going to take full advantage of it.

He slithered up to the man, and slipped strong arms around the trim waist. "Couldn't help me, could you?" He sounded arrogant, he knew, but sometimes arrogance was the way to go. People wanted you more when you were confident, and Tom was more than confident.

Especially in bed.

Harry tilted his head up, and Tom was reminded of the kitten he used to have as a child. It died.

"My friend had a bloody nose."

What?

Oh, the blonde.

"He's pretty upset. It's all crooked now," Harry pouted. "And I liked it so much." Tom stared at the man. It seemed like Harry had taken a complete 360.

"Well, perhaps he should learn to keep his hands to himself," Tom retorted once getting over the slightly worrisome attitude change.

What if Harry was another one of those mentally unstable people? The one's that Tom always seemed to pick out. Maybe it was a sign.

"—broken," Harry glared at him.

Oops. Looks like he turned more than he should have. His gaze went back to the full lips and he felt all his blood flow downwards when a pink tongue peeked out. Harry definitely knew what reaction he was getting from the taller man if his expression had anything to say about it.

Now, hold up. Tom was the seducer, not the seduced.

Eyes glinting, the dark eyed man leaned down slightly, tilting his head as he looked into bright eyes. He dropped his gaze briefly to the tempting lips and up into Harry's green eyes again.

"Do you feel bad?" Tom whispered. The only sounds were slightly muted beats from the club and the cars at the other side of the block. Things had started to die down and Tom was surprised to find how much time had gone by.

"A little bit," he whispered back, just as soft against Tom's open lips. Tom shivered.

Tom slipped a tongue into Harry's mouth, closing his eyes. He felt Harry's lashes flutter against his cheeks and he deepened the kiss.

There were no fireworks and there weren't any birds singing.

But he knew this one would take time to get bored with.

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TBC.

Okay, I have no idea if there's even a club called TellATale. I made it up and it's so lame I find myself cringing. But I just had to give the club a name, so when I think of something better, I'll make sure to change it!

I've only ever been to NYC once, so please don't expect me to go into details about it. ;/

Suggestions are welcome since the plot of this TRHP fic isn't definite.

OH, please review, and let me know if I should continue on!