part i scene ii: albus/scorpius [private rp]
AlScor Epic Log of RP D00M

Part I, Scene II: No Dinner, But Dessert
Whether fortunate or not, Scorpius had a few long hours before dinnertime to try and figure himself out. Six hours, to be exact, which would have been more than enough for Scorpius to think on something. However, this time around, it felt as if the minutes were just slipping past and soon it was already night fall, and dinner time and he couldn’t skip out on that, otherwise Albus would think all sorts of ridiculous things. He was always such a worrier, after all.

The real question was, though, what did Scorpius wish for Al to think? He realized how it might have looked, the way he just fled like that, but he needed to, otherwise he might have done something the both of them would only end up regretting.

He took his usual seat on the Slytherin table, looking up from his dinner every now and then as a student walked in. None of them turned out to be Albus, however, and by the time the students around him were already starting on their second helping, Scorpius felt a bit of his patience snap.

He was avoiding him.

With a faint scowl, Scorpius pushed away from the table and made a steady beeline towards the Hufflepuff commons, fists clenched tightly at his sides.

Al might have thought up dozens of ways in which to fill six hours: having a flight around the pitch to clear his head, or heading to the kitchens for something delicious and a bit of conversation with the house elves he had befriended, or even doing the studying that he hadn't gotten to that morning. And though he considered all of these, however briefly, Albus merely had a very guilty sort of alone time, rolled over in bed, and fell asleep atop his covers without even so much as bothering to button his shirt. He was wakened twice, each time by a kindly seventh-year prefect who had stayed behind for N.E.W.T. studying, who first gently informed him that Rosie had come calling, worried for him, and, later, when very rosy Al had refused to get out of bed to see his cousin, to ask him to come to dinner.

Al quietly refused this offer, as well, leaving the prefect to dine by himself, thinking his housemate ill, and Al to return to some extraordinarily Scorpius-filled dreams.

Scorpius passed by said Hufflepuff prefect, and did not so much as glance towards him as he did. He cared not for all other matters except for that concerning his best mate, and so he simply let himself into the commons using the password Albus had told him himself.

”Albus Bloody Potter!” he called as soon as he stepped in. Seeing that the boy was not in the common room, he quickly moved up to the fifth year boys’ dorms. “Get your ruddy arse out here!”

The prefect, however, did so much as observe the irritated Slytherin --Malfoy, of course, from Quidditch-- making his way down the same flight of stairs that he himself was climbing. Strange, as he had already seen him leaving once that day, and fairly quickly, at that. He did not, though, make any effort to stop him, for, in true Hufflepuff fashion, he had resolved to withhold judgment on just what that boy had been doing so frequently in the Hufflepuff dorms and why he was headed back there. In the meantime, he thought, he would bring home some soup for Potter.

Al, who had rather easily fallen back into sleep after said prefect's second departure, barely stirred when Scorpius slammed the portrait closed behind him, but at the sound of the familiar voice at his dormitory door, Al awoke gasping, once again from uneasy dreams. He immediately, though, shut his eyes again, though his chest heaved with the fright, hoping that Scorpius would figure him elsewhere and go off looking.

No such luck, unfortunately, for the next few seconds later, Scorpius appeared at the doorway, looking none too please that he’d been forced to come out all this way.

Gray eyes narrowed at the sight of the other boy, curled up in bed.

“Why didn’t you come down to dinner?” he demanded, with a tone that clearly said he was in no mood for lies.

Albus, despite his best efforts to fake sleep, winced visibly when the barrel-top door between the corridor and his room knocked open, and though he did not quite turn to face Scorpius, he did take enough care to open his eyes and drag a nearby pillow across his lap. Scorpius, he understood immediately, was more than a bit cross with him, and, not unlike an animal kicked by his master, Al couldn't bring himself to face him. "Wasn't hungry," he managed to lie, but only when the silence got so heavy that he could nearly hear Scorpius's annoyance mounting. "Didn't want to make you look like a pouf at dinner." That, despite the utterly defeated tone in which it had been mumbled, was about as bitter as Al Potter could ever get.

Scorpius actually sneered, and it would have been that moment above all the others in which he truly, truly looked like his father. “So you thought it better to make me look like a fool instead, waiting around for a best mate that never showed up?”

He shook his head, and crossed the short distance between them until he was right there, at the foot of the bed. “Why don’t you tell me what’s really bothering you?” he asked then, in a surprisingly soft tone. “Are you.. upset with me because of earlier..?”

To that first, rather loaded question, of course, Albus had no answer and was merely reduced to holding the pillow closer to himself and carefully dragging his yellow and white top into a position that more or less covered his chest. To the second, rather foolish question, Al let out a sad sort of humored grunt. "You just... left," he said bluntly, closing his eyes again. "Just... blimey. I don't even know."

The Slytherin didn’t miss that flash of hurt there, and it tore at Scorpius to realize he’d been the cause of it. He lowered his head, and found, for the first time, that it was he who couldn’t quite meet the other’s eyes.

“I’m—sorry.” It sounded awkward and unfamiliar on his tongue. “I just.. had some thinking to do. I didn’t want to—“ screw up, lose you, disappoint you. He shrugged.

"Yeah," Al breathed, finding himself, even in the face of his friend's uncharacteristic apology, not quite ready yet to discuss everything that had happened that day, everything that had been happening for the past week, or, for all Al knew, from the first time he had sat next to Scorpius on the train. Score's intentions had been in the right place, Al figured, but to run out like that? "Well."

Scorpius’ eyes narrowed. “’Well’?” he echoed. “Is that all you’ve got to say?” He just bloody apologized! Scorpius Malfoy never apologized!

It really was all he had to say. Al could appreciate the gesture, of course, and had he been more awake, not quite as stiff, and significantly less inclined to suffer a fit of tears or worse, he most likely would have been stunned by any sort of apology that came from Score. As it was, though, he had been very recently stunned out of a rather pleasant dream that had left him quite obviously rammy and felt for sure that he was about to cry, he merely worried his lower lip and curled his knees up as far as he comfortably could.

The Slytherin made a faint noise in the back of his throat, straightening as he stared in shock at the sight of his best friend.. pulling away. Withdrawing. From him.

“I left because I didn’t want to bugger it up, alright?” he practically shouted at the other, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “Blood hell, Al, you’re my best mate and we— kissing and—“

He trailed off, his keen eyes catching just the slightest bit of sparkle from the corner of Albus’ eyes. …Oh shite.

“Al—“ he walked around to the side of the bed, sitting down on the edge to reach out for the other boy. “I’m sorry, alright?”

Al silently hoped that that prefect had been the last of the few remaining Hufflepuffs to head for dinner, because Scorpius' raised voice would have been guaranteed to alert any other loyal housemates to brewing trouble. And Al, no matter how much he enjoyed the company of his housemates, hardly wanted them to see him cry. No matter how James teased, or how much Scorpius' fellow Slytherins scorned, Albus truly wasn't prone to tears, having always been a happy and well-adjusted sort of boy. But Score's tone, coupled with the events of the past few hours, was enough to make his eyes burn with barely suppressed tears, which he attempted to hide from Scorpius by burying his face in his elbow. "Just--" he sniffed, barely knowing how to begin. I'm sorry you had such a miserable time of it? Fine lot of good that did? "I wish you hadn't gone."

Though he’d certainly seen the boy get close to it, he’d never actually seen Albus cry before. It stunned him how the image of his best mate falling into tears affected him so much, even more so because he knew he’d been the one to cause it.

“Al..” His hand hovered over the boy’s shoulder, and it shook like it did the last time. He swallowed thickly, suddenly so unsure of himself—and that alone was enough of a red flag.

Fuck. He was in deep.

His hand drifted to just behind the boy’s neck, fingers curling in the unruly mess of hair there. Then, with a firm but gentle tug, Scorpius pulled Albus’ head away from his elbow, giving the Slytherin a clear shot at his lips. Again.

Al, though normally very good with words and generally a rather emotionally tuned-in person, struggled to put the whole situation into any sort of explainable perspective. Scorpius, he understood, had no idea how he was feeling, as Harry Potter's small, gay, Hufflepuff second son who had all at once come out to, admitted attraction for, and downright snogged his best mate. And he wanted Scorpius to know that he understood, and he wanted it to be all right, but all the same, he knew that it wasn't. And it hurt not to be able to explain.

When cool fingers brushed the back of his neck, Al couldn't help but recoil a bit, having not seen them coming, but likewise couldn't quite stifle an almost inaudible whimper. More of the same when he felt himself drawn up to Score's lips again; though his eyes fluttered shut and he outright groaned, Albus, sheepish, gently jerked his head away, turning his eyes down and clutching his pillow closer about his middle. "Don't," he breathed. "Not if you don't want it."

It surprised Scorpius how much it hurt to feel the other boy pull away, and he realized, then, how much he really hurt him earlier.

He licked at his lips, his breathing suddenly ragged, shaky. “Idiot,” he breathed softly, fingers faintly tightening around dark strands. “Since when have you known me to give out charity..?”

Albus winced a bit, first at Scorpius' poor choice in wording, second at hist faint tug on the curls at the nape of his neck that drew his head back just enough to make him face Scorpius nose to nose. Before, however, he could register anything more than a small glimmer of hope at Score's cryptic sort of question, they were once more mouth-to-mouth as opposed to nose-to-nose, and Al, trying his best to abandon caution, vowed to let himself enjoy it as much as he had the first time.

Just as Albus was making that vow, Scorpius was making his own. He would not be running away this time, not if he could help it. Albus was his best mate and nothing was worth losing him, not even his own uncertainties.

His kisses, this time, were harder, more frantic. Gone was the slow, sensual brush of lips that one might see in the movies or read about in novels—here was all passion and desperation and need. Scorpius was pushing Albus on to his back and climbing over him without so much as a word of warning, but Scorpius swore that this time, this time he’d do it right.

Having expected to pick up again with the same brand of slow, soft kisses he had so enjoyed hours earlier, Albus was more than a bit startled to find himself abruptly flipped onto his back and pressed down firmly between the bed and Scorpius. He struggled to match pace at first, knocking noses more than once and being forced to gasp for breath each time Scorpius, in his haste, pressed his lips to Al's chin or cheek rather than his mouth, but in time, the Hufflepuff more or less fell in with his friend's feverish pace. Reaching up to wind his fingers loosely through Scorpius' soft hair, Al returned his passionate kisses with an urgency and need that he himself hadn't even known he possessed.

Vaguely, Scorpius was thankful Albus decided on the holidays to do this—it was certainly a lot more comforting to know that perhaps only a handful of people could up and interrupt them. It certainly helped fuel the fire currently bubbling in the pit of the Slytherin’s gut, egging him on, encouraging him to kiss harder, better. He groaned into the Hufflepuff’s mouth, letting a hand trail down to push open his pyjama shirt again, passing his hand over skin he’d only just explored earlier that day.

The other hand dared to go where he’d been so afraid of earlier, fingers dancing along the edge of an elastic waistband. They teased at it, slowly burrowing beneath it before settling on a good grip. Tentatively, he tugged down.

Perhaps it was the near ferocity and force with which Scorpius was kissing him and he attempting to return to Scorpius, or perhaps it was the hand that set him shivering as it traced from his throat down past his ribs, or perhaps it was merely the feeling of having Scorpius atop him again, but Albus, in the moment, was feeling pleasantly lightheaded and— well, light all over, really. Nearly weightless. When Scorpius dared, however, to slip a cool hand under his pyjamas and to reenact what had become a part of so many of his recent dreams, Al came crashing down again, his barely-open eyes rolling back and his breath catching somewhere between his own mouth and Scorpius'.

Scorpius had felt the boy tense up beneath him, could even hear it in the way his breath hitched. He hoped it was a good sort of tensing, it had to be because he wasn’t doing anything to stop him right?

Whatever it was, Albus’ lack of protest only further encourage Scorpius. Groaning against the brunette’s mouth, he trailed his kisses down along a warm neck, all lips and teeth and tongue while his hands continued to roam, that one, very daring one tugging and tugging, until he felt the faint brush of curls…

Al's hands, which had been roaming around Scorpius' middle and down his back, balled tightly in his shirttails when he felt the brush of a hand much, much lower on his belly than he ever could have hoped or feared. Part of him, the sane, reasonable, and well— nearly every part of him, really, was screaming no. Nobody had ever— he himself had barely just begun to— and yet, Scorpius made it seem so right, like a natural progression of things between the closest sorts of best mates, and when Scorpius grazed his teeth right into the hollow between his collarbones, Albus was far too occupied in a moan to voice any sort of protest.

He was close. He could practically feel the heat emanating from that part of Albus’ anatomy. All he needed to do was move his hand down, just a few inches and then… then…

He chickened out. He actually chickened out, Scorpius Malfoy, who didn’t so much as bat an eyelid when that goon Ratterson dared to point his wand at him. His hand slipped out from under those pyjama bottoms, settling instead around a curve of a hip while he continued to lavish that spot that made Albus moan just so.

He needed to feel him though, he needed.. he needed something, and Melrin it was just right there he could just..

On a shaky breath, he shifted, both his hands palm-flat now on either side of Albus’ shoulders. His lips busied themselves with that one spot beneath Albus’ ear that had to be sensitive. He suckled on the skin just as his hips moved down and, and oh Merlin, friction…

In accordance with the expression, Albus might have sworn that he actually felt his toes curl when Scorpius, after drawing so close, pulled away with another soft snap of elastic. The ensuing groan started as one of total disappointment but, when Scorpius nudged his head back enough to graze his teeth between his collarbones again, turned into a pleased sort of cry halfway through. His hands fell away from Scorpius' shirt to land bonelessly by his sides. He couldn't think. Any part of his brain that might have been taking care of rational thought had been redirected to processing the almost unimaginably wonderful feeling that was Scorpius above him, Scorpius nibbling on his neck, Scorpius— oh, God— Scorpius pressing down into him, Scorpius making him cry out hoarsely.

Throwing his head back into his pillows, hastily threw his arms up back around Scorpius' waist, blindly arching his hips up to meet the friction and, of course, to meet Scorpius.

A hastily muttered curse fell from Scorpius’ lips when he felt the boy beneath him reply to his hips’ movements. It felt like an explosion of sensation, sudden and powerful and overwhelming, threatening to leave him mindless for hours. Without any sort of prompting from his mind at all, his hips ground down against Albus’, provoking groans of pleasure to spill out of his mouth.

Of the two of them, it was undoubtedly Scorpius who had the most experience in.. pleasures of the flesh. In fact he was quite sure he’d actually stolen his best mate’s first kiss, which was both troubling and pleasing at the same time. Scorpius has had his fair share of Astronomy Tower appointments, but he never bothered to go more than a snog or grope or two. He simply wasn’t that interested, and he always thought he had better things to do with his time.

Now, though… Now he couldn’t help but wonder why he denied himself such pleasures, but he had a strange feeling it only felt this good because of whom he was doing it with.

A shudder wracked his body, and he groaned aloud as their erections crushed together. “Oh—shite, Al—“

Poor Albus, when Scorpius ground his hips down against his own, nearly saw stars dancing dizzily around his limited field of vision. He couldn't be sure if he was making any noise at all, or if his arms were actually wrapped around Scorpius or merely resting on his back, or if, for that matter, he could even feel his arms. The whole ordeal was entirely new, as Scorpius must have known, and Al, in the thick of it all, was quite nearly mindless, and for once, couldn't be bothered to care. Score, he knew, had done this— or something like this, or at least something vaguely similar to this— multiple times before, and Albus let him lead, responding wordlessly with little groans or whimpers with nearly every movement. His eyes were closed, but he cold practically see Scorpius through the impossible darkness, so close he was to every single part of Al's own ultra-sensitive body.

In no time at all, Albus was shuddering pleasantly and crying out almost piteously as his hands —which, as it turned out, were still splayed over Scorpius' back— wrung through his shirt and jumper. With a gasp and rush of cool, foreign air to his head, Al lay back, lax, against the pillows, warm, sticky, and quiet scarlet indeed, staring with eyes half-lidded up at his best mate and considering that it had all lasted so much longer in his dream.

Scorpius didn’t even realize what was happening until it actually happened. One second he was moving, desperate and frantic and trying to reach some height he’d only ever gotten to by himself; and then the next Albus was crying out beneath him, tensing against him so suddenly and desperately, and then…

Scorpius was fairly sure it was more the knowledge that he’d done that to Albus that did him in, rather than the grinding he’d been doing so far. Just the idea that he brought that look on Albus’ face, that he was the one that took him there…

Let’s just say he regretted having worn his best slacks to dinner that night.

That, Albus considered, must have felt full dozens of times better than it ever had in a dream, even, in retrospect, if it had been rather prematurely truncated. Stifling a yawn between gasps, Al had the decency to blush up in Scorpius' direction and, as he had absolutely no idea how to even begin conversation after that, and offer Scorpius a lopsided sort of smile.

His breathing was labored, as if he’d just ran the entire Quidditch field. Twice. Looking down at the Hufflepuff, he couldn’t help but return that crooked smile, simply because Al looked so adorable with his.

He swallowed a few times, trying to gather his bearings again, before he gently rolled over the brunette, coming to fall on his back just beside him. His back was sweaty and his lower half was a mess, but damn did it feel good and worth it.

Turning his head, a corner of his lips quirked up in one of his trademark smirks, albeit a little tired this time.

“Believe me now?”

Al, while Scorpius tried to decide what to do and where to land, busied himself with the slow and clumsy process of wriggling out of his pyjama shirt, which besides being rather damp and sticky, had wrapped itself uncomfortably about one of his upper arms. By the time he had maneuvered free of the yellow an white stripes, Scorpius had made himself comfortable beside him, and Al couldn't help, while he caught his breath, nudging his head into Score's, if only a bit. "Yeah," he breathed, a rather lame response to a question whose source he couldn't quite remember and didn't quite care to think of. "Yeah, of course."

“Mm,” the Slytherin had said in reply to that, and shifted around on the bed, trying to make himself comfortable. He felt dog-tired, and boneless, and would really rather like stay there for the rest of the week.

“M’sleeping here tonight,” he announced, the decision already made.

"You can stay as long as you like," Al yawned, practically without thinking. "Hugh 'n Lucas 'n—" what was the name of the last fifth-year boy? The fellow who'd slept in the bed beside his for the past five years? "—Shannon... Patrick. They've all gone home on holiday, so—" Scorpius was smart; he could put it together. Yawning again, Al curled up on himself a bit, idly dragging a handful of comforter over top of them, though only to their middles, as he couldn't possibly be arsed to extend his arm the rest of the way.

Belatedly, Scorpius remembered to utter a cleaning spell for the both of them, before setting his wand on the bedside table. He turned to his side, curling up somewhat, then proceeded to properly knock out for the rest of the night.