Chapter Text
“Riddle,” Kingsley called as Tom stopped at the coffee machine. Tom withheld a sigh. He’d just finished his round, there was an hour left until the end of his workday, and he really just wanted a plain shot or three of espresso to tide him over until dinner.
“What?” he answered, careful to keep his tone level. “I’m busy.”
Kingsley raised his hands in a harmless gesture. “There’s a kid for you,” he said, still, just as Tom tapped the button for an espresso thrice. “Juvie. In for vandalising patrol cars.”
Tom’s brow ticked. “I don’t do arrests, Kingsley.” The coffee machine whirred and spat out a steady stream of dark brown gunk. Lovely.
“Don’t shoot the messenger, chief. Proudfoot delivered him to your office. We can’t ID him, but he said he’d talk if it’s you.”
“Me?” Tom asked. “What kids do I know that you don’t?” The whirring stopped and Tom took the cup, throwing it back in one.
“This one, apparently,” Kingsley said. “Look, just - I hate to ask you this, Riddle, I know just as well you don’t handle arrests, but when we told him no he got... y'know.” Kingsley made a vague gesture. “He put up a fuss.”
“A fuss,” Tom repeated flatly, placing his now empty cup with the dirty dishes.
“God, just-” Kingsley groaned. “He got violent, okay? Kid’s stronger than he looks.”
“And you put him in my office?” Tom asked calmly, swallowing past the bitter aftertaste of the gunk he put in his body to stay sane. “Proudfoot’s on paper duty for a month; you’re washing the dishes for a week.”
Kingsley groaned. “Come on, Sir! Don’t be so hard-”
“You broke protocol,” Tom interrupted him in deadpan. “You should have kept him in a cell or taken him to an interrogation room. I am capable of walking - you can request my presence.”
Kingsley grumbled something under his breath, but quickly followed up with a “Yes, Sir.” when he met Tom’s unimpressed gaze. “We did cuff him to your desk, though.”
“Well done,” Tom drawled, too tired to care about being nice at that exact moment. “Would you like a medal?” Predictably, Kingsley’s face reddened, his cheeks splotching rather unattractively. Tom sighed and turned, moving towards his office. He’d become chief of police for a reason , damn it, and it was not this.
On the way he encountered Proudfoot, whom he shot a withering glare. The man shrunk back. Good. Tom had never liked the bumbling idiot.
He opened his office door and moved inside, clicking it closed behind him. The kid was sitting on a chair, kind of awkwardly because of his cuffed hand, facing the door. His hair, which was dark and wild, covered his eyes and perhaps even most of his face, with the way his head was bowed. He’d turned the chair- Tom always kept it facing his desk. He narrowed his eyes.
Tom turned on the light with a flick of his fingers at the switch. The bulb above his desk flickered to life. The kid raised his head, one hand -wounded, blood drying on the knuckles- coming up to push his hair out of his face, smoothing it over his head. It slipped right back.
“Talk,” Tom said flatly to the boy draped across his visitor chair.
The boy tilted his head up, bright green eyes meeting Tom’s own. The boy grinned, and Tom’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Good afternoon, mister policeman, Sir!” the boy chirped.
Tom raised his eyebrows and rounded the desk, sitting down heavily in his chair and leaning his head against two fingers, elbow perched on the armrest, ignoring the way the boy’s head rolled as his eyes followed the motion until he was watching Tom upside-down from the back of the chair. “If you wanted to be polite you should have thought of that before you went ahead and vandalised government property.” Tom clicked on his computer. “What’s your name?”
The teen smirked, turning halfway in his chair and mirroring Tom’s movements. "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours," he purred.
He’d heard all this before. “Give me your name before I get them to put up posters asking people to identify you. I’m sure your parents will be thrilled to hear what you’ve been doing.”
The kid scowled. “Be a little sensitive, mister policeman. My parents are dead. It’s not like my relatives will care if I’ve done anything illegal. They’ve always told me they’d be better off with me locked up somewhere.”
“Name,” Tom said again, unwilling to listen to a sob story. It wouldn’t work on him- the kid had been caught, they weren’t going to let him off scot-free. Eighty hours of community service at the very least and probation should do it. When the boy just pouted at him, Tom sighed, dragging up the database. "Do you want to go in for vandalism and obstruction?"
The boy blinked, smiling. "It's a simple request, mister policeman, Sir. Equal exchange. I told your buddies I wouldn't say a word until I had Tom Riddle in a room with me, and I'll tell you the very same."
Tom rolled his eyes. One would think the guy who demanded to see him would know his face, but clearly he'd hoped for too much. He leaned forward, across the desk, and tapped the gold nameplate engraved into the front, then did the same to the silver badge on his chest. "In the flesh. Name."
The boy pulled a face. "That's too easy," he said. "Prove it."
Tom's brow ticked. "I don't have time for this, he muttered. "Fucking talk or I'll scan your prints in myself. Kid like you's definitely been arrested multiple times before." He started tapping into the database. "How old are you, anyway?"
"Are you married, mister policeman?" the boy said instead, completely ignoring him. "Got a pretty hole to fuck?"
Tom flashed him a glare, taking note of the split lip the boy sported. God, he'd have to investigate that as well, wouldn't he.
"No?" the boy guessed. "All on your lonesome, then, Sir?" He blinked up at Tom, pitying. "I imagine you've got to have a hard time getting the ladies to put out with that attitude of yours."
Tom closed his eyes, drawing on all the meditation techniques that had been taught to him over the years. "Mind your own, pipsqueak. I'm not the one under arrest, here." He continued waiting for the file to load. God, the internet sucked in his office.
The boy snorted. "Are you a daddy, then?" he continued smugly. "Is that why you're here, making the world a better place for your spawn?"
"Watch yourself," Tom warned breathlessly, hitting the enter button a bit harder than he should to confirm. Between Lily's orphaned son and Petunia's whale spawn, he didn't exactly think himself genetically predisposed for raising his own child.
"Are you?" the teen pressed, leaning forward with a glint in his eyes.
Tom breathed in slowly. "No," he said shortly, then turned his screen around, showing the boy his file, picture and all. "Tom Marvolo Riddle, thirty-one, employed for fifteen years. That's me. Happy?"
The boy sat back, looking satisfied. "Quite." He stuck out his hand, fingers grazed and knuckles turning a bloody blue. "Harry Potter, at your service."
Tom froze as he righted his screen, eyes wide. They flicked to the boy's face, his eyes, his wild hair - "You've got to be fucking kidding me."
Harry Fucking Potter smiled innocently. "What, were you thinking of letting me off the hook with a quick shag? I'm not opposed, you know."
Tom closed his eyes. "Someone else will deal with you." He reached for the phone - Harry slapped his hand down on top of it, effectively blocking Tom from accessing it. Tom glared at him. "Cease," he hissed.
Harry snorted. "No," he said, face going serious. "I didn't get myself arrested just for you to bullshit conflict of interest, uncle."
Tom sneered. "If you want to talk, then talk."
Harry brightened in a blink, grinning and leaning back again, phone clutched in his hands. "Yes, Sir!" he chirped. "Are you always this bossy?" he asked, blinking innocently at Tom.
"Pardon?" Tom grit out.
"Well," Harry sighed, eyes wandering around Tom's office dramatically, "With your snappy attitude and your high rank, I can imagine you're a terror during sex." Tom froze, struck speechless. "Or," Harry continued, "maybe you're compensating, you know? Maybe you're a big bitch who likes getting railed - !"
Tom lunged across his desk and grabbed the boy by the jaw, pulling him forward and up and effectively shutting him up. He leaned down, face contorting into a snarl. "Watch. Yourself," he growled, getting right up in the boy's face.
"Why," Harry said breathlessly, eyes searching Tom's as he licked his lips, "want to prove me wrong?"
Tom released him as if burned, pulling back and sitting back down in his chair. He pushed his fingers through his neatly-arranged hair, no doubt completely messing it up, then pressed his palms over his eyes as he sat back. "What the fuck is wrong with you," he croaked.
"Would you like a list?" Harry offered. Tom ignored him. "Well, if you really want to know, it sort of started with Auntie Tuney always bragging about how her big brother was a cop, and how he’d lock me away if he ever met me. So here I am.” He gestured to himself with his free hand. “Do your worst.”
Tom didn't move, trying to compute what the fuck was going on. Then he slowly lowered his hands, squinting at his nephew. "You'd honestly rather go to juvie than - are you staying with Petunia?"
For the first time since the start of their... conversation, Harry's eyes flickered with unease. He shifted, toying with the phone in his hands and spreading his legs a little. It faded as fast as it came, though, and in another blink his nephew was looking up at him through his lashes again, sly as can be. "Why, are you jealous?"
Something snapped in him. "Sit up," Tom ordered. Harry raised his eyebrows testingly, and Tom stood, rounding his desk. "Sit. Up," he hissed, grabbing the back of Harry's chair and yanking it back into its proper position. Harry scrambled to pull his legs in before they could hit the table.
“Jesus, are you trying to break my legs?” Harry spat.
“Do as I say,” Tom said coldly, moving away from Harry and toward the corner of the room, crossing his arms. Harry tisked and shifted on the chair. A few moments passed, the earlier tension suddenly left the room, and Harry breathed out slowly, audible in the small space. Then he grinned at Tom, tipping his head back so he could look at him upside-down over the back of his chair.
"Am I in trouble, mister policeman sir?" Harry drawled.
Tom refused to answer, brow ticking as he stood, arms crossed. Harry still had his phone hostage, so he couldn't call for someone, and he wasn't about to yell for assistance through the entire damn building, so he just had to... wait it out. Ensure he wouldn't strangle the little shit.
"Hey," Harry said, expression souring. "I asked you a question."
"You vandalised a police car, what do you think," Tom hissed, leaning back against the wall to restrain himself.
"Fair," Harry said, shrugging. He turned to face forward again, before looking back slyly, smile back in place. "Hey, if I suck your dick, will you let me off for free?"
Tom froze. "What?"
Harry raised his eyebrows. "C'mon, I swear I'm good at it. Had loads of cops to practice on, you know how it is."
Tom firmly ignored him, and Harry sighed dramatically.
“Not even if I let you fuck my face? No? My ass?”
Tom, pale-cheeked with mortification, rushed over to Harry and grabbed him firmly by the jaw, leaning down to hiss in his face. "Are you out of your mind?"
"Damn, that usually works," Harry said, rolling his eyes, not at all intimidated- but Tom could feel his heartbeat accelerate under his fingers, could feel the way Harry went slightly more slack. "Maybe it's for the better," his nephew hummed, eyeing Tom distastefully. "I bet you have stinky balls."
Tom grit his teeth and dug his fingers into Harry's face, hard enough to bruise. Harry winced, then grinned, tongue darting out to chase the blood welling on his lower lip. He laughed, low and breathless.
"God," he cooed, "three sentences and you're already resorting to police brutality."
Tom stilled for a long, quiet moment, then pushed the boy's face away and got back behind his desk, lacing his fingers together. "Right," he said, adopting a faux, mildly pleasant - customer service - expression on his face. "This is what will happen; we will drag you to court, where we will present the video evidence and the testimony of Lockhart," - another aim-big hotshot Tom didn't give a shit about - "the officer you so kindly beat up during your arrest, and you will go back to Petunia with an ankle bracelet and community service for the next six months."
Harry pouted . "No juvie?" he asked. "Can't bear sending the living reminder of your dead sister off to prison?"
Tom's smile froze on his face. Then he tilted his head, turning ice cold. "If you're really that keen," he said softly, dangerously, "I can arrange that, no problem."
Harry's mouth twisted, and he fidgeted, crinkling his nose. "I need to piss," he announced.
Tom took a deep breath, closing his eyes once more before opening them again and glaring at Harry. "Very well," he forced out. "Cooperate."
"Yes, Sir," Harry said, blinking innocently.
Tom got up slowly and uncuffed his nephew, grabbing him by the back of his shirt collar and leading him out of his office and toward the large, handicap-friendly bathroom at the end of the hall - the cleanest in the building. "Make it quick," he ordered, shoving Harry inside. "Don't lock the door." The boy scoffed but went, the door clicking closed behind him.
Some time passed without any noise, and Tom checked his watch every so often. When five minutes had ticked by, he knocked.
"Hurry up," he called.
"Just a moment," Harry replied, sounding a little bit short of breath. Tom frowned, suspicious, but gave him the time.
When a loud crash sounded, Tom knocked again, harder this time. "Hey!" he demanded. "What are you doing in there?"
Harry didn't answer, and Tom shoved open the door and marched inside, finding - the toilet seat missing. What the - where was -
The door clicked closed behind him, locking, and Tom turned just in time to get pushed back against the wall by a significantly smaller body. Tom hit the tiles with a grunt, grabbing for his CS spray. In the next moment it was wrenched out of his hands and sent rolling across the floor, skittering to a halt in the far corner next to the shower drain.
Tom's wide eyes met Harry's, which burned with exhilaration. He tensed when he felt a hand roughly squeeze the front of his trousers, fingers digging into the soft flesh of his clothed cock.
"What," he began softly, "the fuck are you doing?"
Harry grinned and dropped to his knees fluidly, one hand already undoing the front of Tom's trousers. Tom froze.
"No," he said clearly. "No."
Harry smiled innocently up at him. "Sorry, was that a boundary?" he began, voice oozing insincerity. "I can't tell, you see; Auntie Tuney never did teach me those very well." Then he pulled both Tom's trousers and his pants down and wrapped his lips around Tom's cock.
The sudden sensation of a wet heat on his soft flesh snapped Tom back to his senses and he cursed, grabbing the boy by his hair to yank him off. A hint of teeth made him stop short, however, eyes snapping down as the boy hummed around his cock, his tongue working at the underside of it - and to his dismay, he could feel himself begin to harden in the boy's mouth. Harry made a noise and got off him, grabbing Tom's hips firmly as he pressed a wet kiss to the side of his growing shaft, sucking the saliva off before moving back to the head of his cock.
Tom's breath stuttered to a halt when his nephew began working him down again, pushing his still hardening cock deeper inside Harry's mouth, bit by bit until the boy choked and pulled back again.
He took the opportunity and quickly yanked the boy off, pulling him up so they were face to face. "What the fuck are you doing?" he repeated, breathing a little heavier.
Harry grinned that horrible grin of his and pushed his hips forward, the fabric of his jeans rubbing harshly against the tip of Tom's bare cock. "Is it working?" Harry asked, voice rough.
Tom looked at him for a long, silent moment before he snarled and pushed the boy back on his knees harshly, prying open Harry's jaw by putting harsh pressure on the sensitive spaces in front of the boy's ears with his thumbs before he forced his cock back inside, shoving all the way back in until the head pushed into his nephew's tight throat. Tom breathed raggedly, leaning heavily on the wall behind him as he forced Harry's face flush to his crotch, his cock lying heavy in the boy's throat. Harry whimpered through his nose, the sound shooting up Tom's cock and Tom groaned, hips jerking forward slightly. The movement made Harry gag, throat convulsing around Tom's cock in an absolutely maddening way, the boy's hands scrabbling against his trousers to push him away as tears leaked down his face, Harry's own hardness pressing insistently against Tom's covered shin, rubbing against the fabric of his trousers with every twitch of Harry's hips.
"No, no," Tom said softly when Harry attempted to push away, the words a rumble in his chest, fingers tightening in Harry's hair, his voice raw with restraint once more, "you wanted this, so now you're going to take it."
Harry whimpered and tried to swallow, the boy's breathing coming laboured through his nose when Tom pulled back slightly once more, and Tom hissed in pleasure at the tightness the movement created. He retreated a bit more then pushed back in, setting a punishing pace, arousal spiking further at the sight of tears rolling down his nephew's cheeks, more joining every time the boy gagged when Tom hit his throat.
Tom's pleasure built and built and he sped up, feeling his back and abdomen tighten gradually as he chased his own release, keeping a tight grip on Harry's hair as he fucked his nephew's face. The boy had gone limp, jostling slightly with every thrust, hands clutched loosely at the fabric of Tom's trousers and his eyes half-closed, hitching breaths escaping his throat whenever Tom pulled back far enough to let them.
Then Harry made a soft, almost desperate little noise, and it pushed Tom right over the edge - cock throbbing as he came inside the boy's mouth, thrusts going sloppy as he rode out his orgasm. Some way through, half hunched over the boy, breathing hard, he accidentally pulled out of his nephew's mouth and spilled the rest across the boy's cheek, a stripe of come almost reaching up to his eye.
Harry spluttered, pulling away, thick ejaculate spilling past his lips, and Tom let him, too preoccupied with trying to catch his breath. God, it'd been far too long since he'd last done something like that. He leaned back against the wall again, trying to steady his breathing as his cock softened. Glancing towards his nephew, he found the boy in a similar state of disarray, sprawled on his arse with only his arms under him to keep his head up. Come covered his chin and one side of his face, yet Harry didn't seem to want to do anything about it.
A few minutes of silence passed, filled only by the sounds of slowly steadying breathing, and all the while Harry stayed as he was, seemingly not bothered at all by the come drying on his face.
"Aren't you going to clean that off," Tom said roughly, swallowing to get the dryness out of his throat.
A lingering sense of now-familiar irritation Tom was starting to associate purely with Harry bubbled up when the boy smirked, teeth showing. "Not yet," his nephew purred, voice sounding rough and used and yet miles better than Tom's own. "Gotta ensure something first."
Something like dread crept up Tom's spine, and he quickly tucked himself back into his pants, pulling his trousers back up and yanking the zipper up then closing the button. "What?" he asked apprehensively. Harry raised his eyebrows and licked his split lip, getting up from the floor and walking closer until he had Tom almost crowded against the wall.
"When you inevitably drag me to court for my ankle bracelet and community service," Harry murmured, tracing Tom's collar with his index finger, "you're going to do whatever it takes to assume custody over me. If you don't," he continued before Tom could say anything, smiling innocently, "I'm going to walk out of this police station, exactly like this, and take a cab to the nearest hospital to get a kit done."