Beautiful Thing: Chapter Four
Story Title: Beautiful Thing
Chapter Four: Sin City
Characters: Albus Severus/Scorpius (with a side of George/Lee)
Rating: PG-13ish
Word Count: ~3500 words
Prompts used: All of them
Warnings: Boy love… Mentions of attempted unwanted sexual advances, and of boys getting drunk.
Summary: Night one in Vegas, bloody disaster.
Notes: America at last! This is early, but also slightly rushed - apologies :)
They stay a few more days in Paris, enjoying the city by day and squashing up on Bill and Fleur’s couch by night.
Scorpius spends a lot of time thinking about what Jacques said, but every time he resolves to do something about it he sees Al’s face in his minds eye, staring at the men in Le Marais. It isn’t until they’re on their way to the Portkey Station, bound for Las Vegas, that something happens to put his mind at rest.
On the metro there are two old men, holding hands. They have matching wedding bands, and they seem to talk little during the journey - the one on the right is engrossed in a copy of Le Monde. They stand to disembark at the same time as Al and Scorpius, and as they brush past he overhears a snatch of their conversation.
“I don’t know where we’re going,” the one in front says in French, “you go ahead and I’ll follow you.” The man behind rests a hand on his husband’s shoulder, all grey hair and calm smile. “Don’t worry,” he says softly, “I’ve been following you for forty-two years. Wherever we end up will be fine with me.” Scorpius smiles, touched, and relays the translation to Albus.
Al looks at the old couple, and Scorpius thinks he sees him smile. When they head into the station, he reaches over and squeezes Score’s hand.
They arrive into the sweltering, dry heat of Vegas to find George Weasley waiting for them at the Portkey Station, grinning and freckled. Lee Jordan is standing beside him, both of them dressed in shorts and T-shirts. Lee has his arm slung around George’s waist. “God,” Scorpius whispers, “Tour of the gay uncles.” Al glances over at him and bursts out laughing.
Actually, Scorpius thinks as they follow George and Lee out to their car, he finds the couple almost as sweet as Seamus and Dean. He never gets tired of hearing the story of George and Lee heading over to the States for a holiday, a few years after the Battle, and returning tanned, engaged, and sporting matching star tattoos on their ankles. Granny Weasley, he hears, had almost had a heart attack.
That night, George and Lee make them swear not to tell their parents, and then take them to a casino. Scorpius wanders into the living room of their flat, tugging self-consciously at the tie of the old suit he borrowed from Lee. Suddenly, he hears a gasp. Al is standing in the doorway of the kitchen, and the glass he was holding a moment ago is lying shattered on the floor beside him.
Scorpius looks at him in confusion. “Alright, Al?” he says, and Al stares at him. Scorpius thinks for a moment that Al might be blushing. “Yeah, ‘course,” Al says, “You, uh... You look good.” Scorpius grins, and thinks that he might be blushing as well. He looks Al up and down, dressed as he is in one of George’s old suits. “You too,” he smiles. At the moment, Lee walks into the living room. He doesn’t say anything, just ushers them out the door, but as Scorpius walks past him he winks.
George shows them through the doors of the casino, into the expansive hall. They walk down one of the central aisles, pausing beside one of the tables. Al leans into him, watching the well-dressed croupier shuffle a deck of cards. Another man pushes a pile of poker chips across a table. Scorpius frowns, recoiling a little from the empty desperation and greed on the faces of the players standing around, and from the frighteningly made-up faces of the waitresses wandering around.
A few moments later, George and Lee stop in front of yet another one of the poker tables. “Right,” George whispers to them, “Watch this.” Lee steps forward and starts a conversation with the croupier. “You just need luck and intuition to play the game.”
They watch as Lee smiles, starting to chat with the man. “Here are the rules,” George tells them, “You look down, they know you're lying and up, they know you don't know the truth. Don't use seven words when four will do.” He looks at them to check they’re listening, and Scorpius nods. “Don't shift your weight, look always at your mark but don't stare, be specific but not memorable, be funny but don't make him laugh. It’s all about signals. He's got to like you then forget you the moment you've left his side. And for God's sake, whatever you do, don't, under any circumstances..." He is interrupted by Lee cheering.
“See,” George confides, smug, “That’s a signal too.”
Scorpius stares at him. “Of?” he says, and George looks over at him and winks. “Hitting the jackpot,” he says.
Lee swaggers back to them, leaning over to kiss George on the lips. “Sleeping at the hotel tonight, lads,” he grins, waving a slip.
They walk together towards the bar. “You used magic to fix that,” Scorpius accuses, “Didn’t you?” George winks at him. “That’s illegal.” He snaps, and George shrugs. “It’s not illegal,” he assures them, “Just immoral.”
Scorpius decides that it would take too much effort to argue, and they end up sleeping in a room in the hotel (how Lee and George always celebrate after a win, apparently).
When they arrive, Al flips on the TV and they sit on the end of the bed. After a few moments of conversation, they arrive at the conclusion that they’re both too tired to sleep, and head back downstairs.
They sit down together at the bar, just observing the crowd. A good-looking man in a blue shirt turns to them, smiling. “I’m Mark,” he says, his American accent broad. He offers his hand to Scorpius to shake, blanking Albus entirely. “Score,” he says, a little disarmed by the man’s grin, “And this is Albus.”
The man offers to buy him a drink. Scorpius doesn’t drink much, but the man is insistent, and the drinks are pink and girly and don’t look like they’ll do too much damage.
As it turns out, Scorpius somewhat underestimates the punch the girly cocktails seem to pack. His first drink tastes… Odd, sour and tight on his tongue, but a couple later the room is hazy and he feels confident, warm despite the air conditioning. A few more drinks later three girls have sat down beside them, giggling and tossing back their hair. The man - Mark - is still here, talking to him and smiling at him, reaching out to touch his arm. The room is spinning, or possibly it’s just him, Scorpius no longer cares.
When he glances over to Al, yet again, to smile at him and see if he’s having as much fun as Scorpius is, he finds his friend scowling. “What’s up, Albus?” he asks, concerned, but his words are slurred and the name comes out as “Albush” and it only seems to make his friend frown more.
“I think you’ve had enough, Score.” Al says quietly, leaning in towards him.
“Score,” Mark interrupts, “Can I have a word?” Scorpius looks at him, curious, and then shrugs his acquiescence. He’s surprised when Mark takes hold of his elbow, pulling him outside.
In the corridor, Mark’s arm slips around his waist. “So, Score,” he says, and his voice is low-pitched but sounds… Close. When Scorpius turns round, a little unsteady on his feet, he sees that Mark’s face is right beside his. One strong arm tightens around him, and the sensation sends a jolt of panic through him, and suddenly he just wants to leave and get back to…
Albus.
“Scorpius!” he hears, turning to see Al striding towards them, “What the Hell’s going on?” Mark moves quickly away, thank Merlin.
Al looks handsome in his suit, Score thinks as he approaches, slim and strong and lovely, and… Angry, it seems. There’s something about Al’s expression that he finds amusing.
“I’m fine, Al,” he giggles, feeling high. Albus looks angry, and when Mark puts his hand back on Score’s waist Albus leans forward and grabs his arm. “Score,” he hisses, “you’re coming back to the room with me. Right now.”
Al’s nails dig into his forearm and he jerks backwards, gasping a little at the pain. “No,” he snaps, suddenly angry, “I’m not.”
“Looks like he’s made his choice, Sunshine.” Mark says from beside him, and without looking Scorpius knows that he’s smirking. Al looks shocked, and Scorpius remembers lazing about avoiding homework under the lake at Hogwarts, and Al sometimes-occasionally-when-he-was-in-a-good-mood calling him ‘Sunshine’. He feels sick.
“Looks like he has.” Albus says, and his voice trembles a little, but his eyes are hard as he turns to walk away. Scorpius thinks he might have made a huge mistake, but his head is still spinning and everything’s moving so fast and by the time he realises that to go after Albus he’ll need to start walking, Al is gone.
“So,” he hears, and looks round to see Mark turned towards him. “Where were we?” The man moves his hand to rest on Score’s shoulder, and then the fingers start edging round to the back of his neck. Mark starts leaning closer, and through the haze Score’s mind screams at him.
“Sorry,” he gasps, ducking out of the way and fighting down nausea at the movement. “I’m not… I don’t… Sorry.” He turns quickly and hurries away, pausing after a few moments. The tight fear in his chest relaxes a little when he realises that Mark hasn’t followed him.
Scorpius tries to walk on a little further, but dizziness has joined the nausea now. He feels himself listing from side to side and soon gives up, stumbling over to sit down at another bar until the worst of the disorientation passes. Before long a pretty blonde waitress slides another cocktail in front of him with a wink and a smile.
Score sits at the bar, staring miserably at his drink. A middle-aged man, dressed in a slick suit and with scraped-back hair, looks over at him and smiles. He tries to smile back, but it feels tearful and false, and he soon gives up.
“Lost a lot?” The man asks a moment later, low and rasping. Scorpius sniffs, and thinks of Albus. “Feels like everything.” He mumbles.
“I’m sorry.” The man offers, and Scorpius smiles weakly. “Thanks.” He says, looking away. He jumps a moment later, when he feels the man’s hand settle on his thigh. “I could, uh… Give you some help getting over it?” The man suggests, and Score’s eyes widen in horror. He shakes his head dumbly, but the man keeps leaning towards him and his hand slides further up his thigh.
“He has all the help he needs, thanks.” He hears from behind him, and whirls round to see Albus. His voice is icy and his fists are clenched, but when Scorpius half-loses his balance from turning he steps forward quickly to steady him.
“He’s yours?” The man asks, eyeing Scorpius in a way that makes him feel distinctly uncomfortable, and when he looks up at Albus again he almost leans away from the fury in his eyes. “Yes.” Al says stiffly, “He’s mine.”
The man’s eyes sweep over Scorpius again, but when Al tucks a hand under his elbow and helps his to his feet, he looks away. “Come on.” Al hisses, sounding absolutely bloody livid. Scorpius should be scared, he knows, or at the very least quite worried… But God, all he can think about is the sheer, overwhelming relief of having Al here, with him, looking after him, not hating him forever or leaving him alone in this bloody hell-hole.
Al isn’t looking at him, but when he stumbles for the third time he slips an arm around his waist, keeping him upright. By some miracle they end up alone in the lift, and Scorpius huddles closer to Albus. He feels sick and shaky and miserable, and when Al flinches away from him the tears that have been threatening since Albus left build up and spill over.
“Oh, Jesus, Scorpius,” Al says at once, putting his arm around him again, “Don’t cry.” But now he’s started Score finds he can’t help it, and the off-balance feeling from the alcohol and the residual panic from Mark and the man and the total, blind relief at having Al back are making him tremble.
“’M’sorry,” he whispers, sniffing, “I’m really sorry.” Al wraps his other arm around him, pulling him in to a tight embrace. “That’s alright,” he whispers, “Me too.”
Al rocks them back and forth a little until Scorpius gets a little closer to breathing normally. He rests his head in the curve of Al’s neck and closes his eyes, and finds that he’s exhausted all over again.
When they reach their room, with Al barely moving more than a hand’s breadth away from him the entire journey, Score has almost stopped crying. The odd, hiccupping sob still makes his shudder, though, and Al leads him straight to the bathroom and conjures him a glass of water.
“Right, drink this.” He says, gentle now, and Scorpius obeys at once. Al props him up and runs a face-cloth under the tap, wringing it out and resting it on Score’s sweaty forehead. He can feel a headache building up already, and his stomach is twisting in funny ways, but it helps.
When he’s finished the water Al steps closer to him and starts undressing him, removing his tie and then unbuttoning his shirt. Any other night Score would be thrilled, and Al’s fingertips grazing his collarbone still sends a strange jolt through him, but he finds that he’s too drained and nauseous to really enjoy it.
Al removes his shirt and jacket, so he’s naked from the waist up. As they slip off his shoulders he hears a gasp, and follows Al’s gaze to the ugly reddened hand-print encircling his forearm.
“Oh, Jesus, Score.” Al whispers, loud against the sudden silence, and when he looks up his eyes are filled with tears. He traces his fingers across the marks on Scorpius’s arm, and Score sees him swallow heavily before he can speak. “I’m so sorry.” He breathes, “I didn’t mean to - God, I’m so sorry.”
A tear tracks its way down Al’s cheek, and Scorpius suddenly feels very sober. “It’s alright, Al,” he tries, but Al shakes his head.
“I’m so sorry,” Al whispers again, and he reaches for his wand and presses it to his own palm, muttering a spell that Scorpius is still too fuzzy to catch. Then Al strokes his fingertips over the marks, and then lays his whole hand over them. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back, and Scorpius has to swallow hard when he sees another tear track unheeded down the side of Al’s cheek. He reaches up quickly, brushing it away with the thumb of his free hand.
Al smiles tearfully then starts muttering again, and Scorpius jumps when the skin on his forearm starts to tingle. Barely a moment later Al moves his hand gently away; Score stares in wonder at the newly-healed skin.
Al smiles tremulously at him, lifting his arm and pressing his lips to the place where the bruising had been. Score smiles back, his breathing quickening as Al leans back a little and looks up at him, the hand holding his arm slipping down to grasp his hand.
Then, unfairly, Score’s stomach rolls. He barely makes it across the room before he starts throwing up in the toilet, and the thought crosses his mind that Al is well and truly never going to be interested in him now.
With that in mind, it makes him jump when he feels Al’s hands running through his hair, gathering it at the nape of his neck.
Albus holds his hair back, rubbing circles between his shoulder blades, until he feels able to stand up straight. It’s comforting, and he silently thanks the Gods that Al is still looking after him when, really, he’s brought this all on himself.
Whenever he tries to walk away, another wave of nausea washes over him. It feels like ages before he’s finished being sick this time, and when it’s over he’s almost too exhausted to move. Instead, barely conscious, he curls up in Al’s arms on the bathroom floor. Just as he drifts off to sleep, he thinks he feels Al pressing his lips against his hair.
Score half-wakes up, and wishes he hadn’t. His head is pounding, his stomach roils, and his mouth feels like a small nargle just crawled into it and died. He groans, and jumps a bit when he feels a hand brushing his hair back from his forehead.
“Alright?” He hears, a whisper from Al. He groans again in reply, forcing his eyes open to smile half-heartedly at Albus, who is perched on the edge of his bed in pyjama trousers and T-shirt.
“What happened?” He manages, slurring a little, and Al chuckles. “I carried you to bed.” He smiles, and Scorpius shakes his head. It hurts like Hell, so he stops quickly.
“Nah,” he says, “I mean... generally. Last night.”
“I’m sure you remember.” Al replies, with a note of something strange in his voice, and Score forces his eyes totally open to stare at him. “No,” he says honestly, “I don’t.”
Al looks genuinely concerned. “Are you joking, Score?” He whispers, and Scorpius shakes his head. “Right,” Al says, reaching swiftly for his wand. He touches it to Score’s temple and mutters a spell.
After a moment, it all comes rushing back. Scorpius winces as he recalls the look on Al’s face last night. “I’m so sorry.” He whispers, knowing it’s not enough, but Al doesn’t look angry.
“I don’t mind,” he says. He sounds distracted. “Score, I was thinking...” Al begins, “You didn’t drink much more than me. How come you were so... I mean...” He shrugs. “Look, I’m worried about this. Especially the fact that you didn’t remember last night.”
Scorpius stares at him for a moment. His head still hurts.
“Did you notice any odd magic?” Al asks, and he shakes his head. “Eat anything funny, anything weird about your drinks?”
“Well, the first few tasted a bit sour,” he concedes, “But I’m sure yours did to.” When Score glances up Al has gone pale, and his eyes are wide with horror.
“No, Score,” He whispers, “they didn’t.”
Score is still feeling woozy enough that he doesn’t twig at first, not even when Al reaches down to take his hand, not until Al moves closer and gently tells him that his drink was probably spiked and that it was probably Mark and that he probably wanted to - to - Al breaks off there, running a hand through his hair. “I left you alone.” He whispers thickly, “I left you alone with him.” Al looks distraught, and Score quickly reaches over to take his other hand.
“It’s alright, Al,” he says, “Nothing happened, I remember.” Al swallows hard. “It could have, though,” he says, “He could have - God, Score, I’m sorry.”
Scorpius forces himself to sit upright, crawling forward to hug Albus hard. “It’s alright, Al,” he whispers, “It didn’t.”
After a moment Al returns the hug, nudging his nose into Score’s hair. “Right,” he sighs, “Night one in Vegas, bloody disaster.” Score nods, smiling against Al’s neck. Al chuckles a little. “Which do you need most,” he asks, “Food, water or sleep?”
Scorpius runs through every part of his body, checking for discomfort. “Sleep.” He decides, nodding, and Al clutches him even tighter for a moment and releases him. “Right,” he says, “Go ahead.” Scorpius pauses for a moment, and then crawls back under the covers. Al stretches out a hand to ruffle his hair, smiling when Scorpius scowls at him. He stands to walk away, and Scorpius suddenly feels cold.
“Al?” he calls quietly, mindful of his pounding head. Al turns round, smiling.
Scorpius shuffles over, moving the blankets to reveal the empty space beside him. “Fancy a nap?” he smiles, and Albus frowns slightly. His eyes flick from the top of Scorpius’ head to his toes and up again, and Score’s breathe catches in his throat. Al shrugs, and Scorpius thinks that he might have made a big mistake.
Then, Al smiles and walks back over to the bed. Scorpius smiles back.
Al slips into bed, lying down beside him. Score can feel the warmth from his body, smell his hair and his skin and the strange, comforting scent that’s just Albus. Scorpius turns towards the wall, content. A few moments later, Al slings his arm across his waist. In the morning half-darkness, Scorpius grins.