Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/411495.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Albus/Scorpius
  Character:
      Scorpius_Malfoy, Albus_Severus_Potter
  Stats:
      Published: 2009-12-20 Words: 1875
****** Stopping Time ******
by snarkyscorp
Summary
     When the tremors cease, Scorpius is slumping against Albus, mouthing
     warm nothings against his red neck, kissing the thick-pulsing veins,
     licking the love-bites he left behind. Albus slides his fingers
     through Scorpius' soft hair. They kiss. Time stops.
Outside, it is raining on a cold October evening. The clouds are dark, looming
over the castle and casting angry shadows across the floorboards.
Inside, the mood is tremulous. Albus and Scorpius stand separated by surprise
but nearly nose-to-nose.
"Did you..." Scorpius begins, awkwardly. "I mean—we could—again—if you want."
Albus is stone-faced, his skin blotched with red and his trousers tight and his
head spinning. Whatever Scorpius has done to him, he knows there is no going
back from it, no getting over it, no forgetting. Whatever he decides—and
Scorpius is making it perfectly clear that he must decide—will become their
future. Albus doesn't like the pressure pounding down over his shoulders like
dull weights snapped from their bonds.
"What if I didn't like it?" Albus asks, taking one small step back in defeat,
his green eyes defiant.
The color is sucked out of Scorpius' face like a whip cracking in the air. He
opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens it again, and finally chooses to
scowl with his fine blond brows knitted tightly together.
"It's bloody clear that you liked it, Al," he says tersely. "But it's fine. If
you don't want to do it again, then fine."
"You're angry."
"Just disappointed."
Albus feels guilty and in pain, like someone has just wrenched his heart
straight out of his chest and tossed it to the sea. Scorpius turns away and
lifts one foot to start his journey back to Ravenclaw. Albus stops him on
impulse, fingers catching Scorpius' pale skin at the jut of his bony elbow.
"Don't go," Albus says.
Scorpius turns back, slowly. They stare at one another. It is clear that
Scorpius is expecting Albus to say more, to either say he wants another kiss or
he just wants to stay best mates, but Albus' throat is dry and his dick is
pulsing something awful and he can't barely hear over the dull throb of his
heart.
Inside, Albus is pleading: don't go, Scorpius, don't go. Outside, he is stoic
and stiff. He just grips Scorpius tightly and hopes Scorpius can read the
expressions flickering obviously in his eyes.
Scorpius moves forward suddenly, takes Albus' wrists and pins them to the wall
above his head.
"What are you doing?" Albus snaps, eyes wide and body arching. He is so much
stronger than Scorpius, and he knows he can pull away if he wants. Maybe he
doesn't want that.
"Showing you," Scorpius says, eyes dark. "This is what I want." His free hand
swims over Albus' body, sending rippling shudders through Albus' lithe form.
"This is what I've wanted since the first day I met you on the train, since the
first time you said my name, since the first time I snuck into Slytherin
dormitories and slept there beside you, since the first time you touched my
shoulder or clasped my hand or hugged me or whispered a secret in my ear. Do
you know how often I think about kissing you?"
"Scorpius, don't," Albus says, wincing a little. He has never…but of course
he's thought about it, too. Since the first time Scorpius crawled into his bed
after sneaking out of Ravenclaw for the night. Since the first time Scorpius
gripped his hand at a Quidditch match on impulse, since the first time Scorpius
spent a summer at his house, since somehow the first time they met, even before
Albus knew what it was he felt. But his fear laced through him like a thing
untamed: what if this ruined everything?
"Do you mean that, or are you just scared?"
Albus looks up. Scorpius is a head taller than him since his growth spurt the
previous year. His hair is sweetly swept over his forehead, his eyes are the
palest blue, and his features are pointed and angry—only Albus can soothe them.
"I just want you," Scorpius adds. "All the time. Please, let me."
Scorpius dips his face, kisses the line of Albus' strong neck with tentative
sincerity. Albus cannot help the moan that roars from his throat in bestial
timbre.
The passion that swells up between them is sudden and explosive. Soon,
Scorpius' hands are everywhere, and Scorpius has his mouth, and Scorpius has
his dick, and Scorpius has all of him that he craves and desires. They are
rutting, rubbing, panting, right in the middle of a darkened hallway, right
where anyone could stumble upon them, but they are the only two people in the
entire world.
Albus grips all of Scorpius he can manage, learning the angles of his body and
the things that drive him to the brink. All clothes remain on, save a stray tie
or two, but their first orgasms together wrack their bodies like nothing else.
When the tremors cease, Scorpius is slumping against Albus, mouthing warm
nothings against his red neck, kissing the thick-pulsing veins, licking the
love-bites he left behind. Albus slides his fingers through Scorpius' soft
hair. They kiss. Time stops.
~*~
Outside, it is snowing. The winds are howling through the castle walls, beating
against the windowpanes, rattling the rooftops. Along the perimeter of the
grounds, the poinsettias are frozen over, coated with crystal-white snowflakes,
happily slumped from the weight.
Inside, it is warm. There is a makeshift fire roaring in the Prefect bathroom,
contained in a fireplace that has never been there before. The fire casts stray
red and orange shadows across the room and onto two boys who are kissing in the
tub. The water splashes, the bubbles slither and float, and the fire crackles
with the scent of cinnamon.
Albus pulls away first to raise himself out of the water, wearing nothing but
his Slytherin tie, which is drenched from being in the water. The tie is fitted
tight around his neck, and it is clear it is not being used for a fashion
statement. The bubbles in the water cling to Albus' broad chest, crawl down his
taut stomach, and drizzle over his toned, olive-skinned thighs.
Albus lays himself out on the porcelain, laughing breathlessly. Scorpius
follows but a moment later, crawling like a cat on the prey from the tub and
over Albus' body. Scorpius' Ravenclaw tie is wrapped three times around his
neck and loose now though there are loving red lines wrapping around his throat
from how tight it was earlier. The water and bubbles drip between their bodies,
dissolving into skin and pooling around them like a halo.
"Once more?" Scorpius asks, blue eyes bright and nostrils flared. Albus knows
this means he is aroused. And if he couldn't tell by the expression, Scorpius'
hard length is prodding him in the thigh to second his conclusion.
"Yeah," Albus says, reaching up to grip the loose ends of Scorpius' tie to tug
them. Well, he cannot resist Scorpius like this, all soapy and pruned and
unkempt with water flooding his slim body.
They kiss first. Always kissing, their lips should be one by now, as they
always meet first at the mouth, then at the throat, then down the chest, and so
on, as if there is a formula for these things. But it is never formulaic, never
boring, always new, always something to discover and claim.
This time, Scorpius whispers the spell and Albus bucks wordlessly into it.
Albus lets loose a whine, throat bared and begging for Scorpius' mouth.
"Oh," Albus grunts, "Merlin."
This will not be a first. Albus usually does the taking, but he is not averse
to the other way around, and the two boys are constantly flipping coins for who
gets to do what and the new things they should try. Still, it is surprising to
Albus, and he loves it and reaches above his own head to stretch his body out
beneath his lover's. Scorpius takes full advantage of the wet planes of Albus'
body, sucking and mouthing and licking all the water until Albus is air-dry and
covered with Scorpius' scent.
Scorpius penetrates swiftly, the full length sliding in with a single buck.
Albus grunts again—Scorpius knows how he likes it, how it gets him off to feel
every inch rubbing and pressing and filling. Albus has to bite his lip to hold
back the scream, even when he knows Scorpius would love to hear it let free
from the confines of his tight throat like a howl to the moon.
Now Scorpius is lifting Albus' legs. This is new. At first, Albus feels
uncomfortable as Scorpius presses his knees nearly to his shoulders, but then
he feels it—Scorpius slides out, slides back in, and there it is, white-hot
pressure rubbed raw somewhere within. Albus shouts—this time he cannot help
it—and then he grips his dick and then he abandons his own building climax in
favor of holding his legs for Scorpius. Albus can barely breathe, but he is
swaying in ecstasy as Scorpius rides into him and comes inside him and pants
over him.
Albus does not ask. When he is sure Scorpius is done and Scorpius begins to
pull out, Albus is on him, pressing Scorpius down against the cold, wet tiles
with two fingers seeking penetration. Albus finds the target when Scorpius
shifts, and shoves both fingers in hard. Scorpius makes a high, pitched noise
like he is in pain, but Albus knows his body well enough by now—that is what
Scorpius likes, the rush of it all at once, the firm and unyielding thrusts to
the hilt.
"Gods," Scorpius pants. "Gods, yes, Albus, yes, fucking Merlin yes."
Scorpius has a dirty mouth when they fuck, and Albus gets off on it. He
continues to thrust in and out, watching the emotions flicker over Scorpius'
pointed face—a snarl, a grunt, a laugh, a parting of his lips, a squeeze shut
of his eyes, the jut of his bones, the pulse of his heart right there in his
throat.
Then Albus is inside him. He feels a little rushed, a little frantic, and he is
sweating, and the fire casts them in the perfect light. It does not take long
to finish, but Albus drags it out, slow and long and beautiful, until Scorpius
is hard again and jerking himself with sobs and thrashing pleasure.
Albus comes with a jolt, and Scorpius follows him over the edge. Albus lays on
top of Scorpius, panting quietly as they both wind down. The strange thing
about sex with Scorpius is that Albus feels he could go on for days and never
wear himself out. He kisses Scorpius' chest where his head is resting, hoping
this says more than his words ever could.
~*~
Outside, it is snowing—the poinsettias in the garden are dusted and matted with
white-silver winter.
Inside, everything is perfect in a brand-new London flat. Albus and Scorpius
are on their knees at the hearth, smiling and looking worried and nervous and
exhilarated.
Scorpius goes first. There is no ceremony or crowd as he presses the slim,
silver band with small diamonds to Albus' finger. Albus grins like an idiot,
beams like the happiest man on earth, and follows suit.
They hold and pause, just a moment, and then kiss.
"Happy Christmas, Scorpius," Albus whispers.
"Happy Christmas, Al."
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