fic: The Other Thing
Day 2 of Advent Drabbles!
Title: The Other Thing
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 900
Pairing(s)/Characters: James/Scorpius
Warnings: none!
Summary: "My door is always open," he said, because saying the other thing that threatened to jump off his tongue would only complicate the ease of this, and the last thing either of them needed was complication.
Notes: For okydoky, who asked for James/Scorpius with "open door". I absolutely loved writing this, bb! Happy holidays :)
The Other Thing
My door is always open, James said. Unfortunately, Scorpius seemed to think that meant it was some kind of revolving door for his whims of fancy.
James liked him, of course. Who didn't like Scorpius? He was charming, had a cutting sense of humour with biting wit, was good at Quidditch, a brilliant wizard with a knack for knowing all the right spells, and it didn't hurt that he was good looking and played his angles for men and women alike. As it stood, James quite liked Scorpius.
But that didn't mean his door was really always open.
Scorpius took things literally, showed up at all hours, either sloshed out of his wits on the latest alcoholic fad or damnably conscious of his every action with that sneer on his face that twisted James' insides into tight-wrung knots. And if Scorpius expected James to sit idly by and let him abuse the privilege of passing out on his couch or crawling into his bed for a shag that left them both sweaty and panting and far too involved for things to remain an open-door policy…then he was most certainly right, because James had no spine where Scorpius was concerned.
So, when James heard the creak of his front door at three in the morning, he decided that this would be the last time.
Of course, his decision did not account for the pale line of exposed skin slithering down from the collar of Scorpius' open, starch-white shirt to the leather of his belt, which hung apart to either side, his smooth, flat stomach exposed. James held his own under the spell of that skin that begged to be bitten and rosied, until the light, sparse trail of curls happily led his greedy gaze to where Scorpius' buckle and fly were undone-a promise of what Scorpius had come for.
It wasn't really anything specific that set him off, but James was sure that the clang and clip of Scorpius' belt buckle was his undoing. It was all he could hear, just that little tinkle of metal, and then Scorpius' drawling chuckle that told James he was drunk again but knew full well what the sight of him in such a state did to James, who was just a man who had a thing for blonds with no respect for open doors.
Everything seemed to add up quite quickly: Scorpius wandering in, the sight of his skin, the clink of his buckle, the lilt of his chuckle, and finally, the scent of his cologne. Expensive, worth more than anything James owned, and so, so dangerous, because it's all over his pillows and sheets and even wrapped in some of his shirts and a pair of his trousers, his socks, the top drawer where he kept his pants.
So James couldn't help himself. In the instant between Scorpius stumbling in and the clang of that damned buckle, James was on him: mouth, hands, a leg between his thighs, like a beast in his urgency, his desire a stringed puppet under Scorpius' talented mastery. And when Scorpius moaned at the bite James gave to his ear, it seemed like there'd be no stopping him tonight. Tonight, Scorpius wouldn't need to crawl into his bed-James would drag him there instead.
"Jamie," Scorpius hummed, tipping his head back.
"I hate that name," James snapped, greedily mouthing down the long column of Scorpius' pale neck. It seemed to go on forever, the softness of his skin increasingly frustrating when all James wanted to do was tear into it with his teeth.
"I know." Scorpius laughed and leaned back against the wall, throwing his hands up above his head and arching like Merlin only knew how many times he had brought men like James to their knees for him. "Are you mad?"
James wasn't quite in his right mind, so the question had to be repeated before he paused in his ravenous kisses and bites to ask, "Why would I be?"
"Because I'm here. You hate when I'm here." Scorpius let his arms drop, hands curling to slide through James' hair. "It's late. I don't even know how late." He laughed again, gentler this time. "But you are up. Waiting for me? Please don't be mad."
"I'm not." The words left James' mouth before he could bite them back. With a groan, he realised he really wasn't mad, that what had become a nightly tradition of Scorpius crashing on his couch or getting shagged silly in the bedroom was something James looked forward to. He was practically itching for it hours before Scorpius even showed up, thinking about him all day when he was at work, trying not to salivate at the thought of him when he was with his family or friends.
He realised that Scorpius Malfoy had stolen a place in his heart. How, he wasn't so sure; James only knew that it was done.
"My door is always open," he said, because saying the other thing that threatened to jump off his tongue would only complicate the ease of this, and the last thing either of them needed was complication.
Title: The Other Thing
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 900
Pairing(s)/Characters: James/Scorpius
Warnings: none!
Summary: "My door is always open," he said, because saying the other thing that threatened to jump off his tongue would only complicate the ease of this, and the last thing either of them needed was complication.
Notes: For okydoky, who asked for James/Scorpius with "open door". I absolutely loved writing this, bb! Happy holidays :)
The Other Thing
My door is always open, James said. Unfortunately, Scorpius seemed to think that meant it was some kind of revolving door for his whims of fancy.
James liked him, of course. Who didn't like Scorpius? He was charming, had a cutting sense of humour with biting wit, was good at Quidditch, a brilliant wizard with a knack for knowing all the right spells, and it didn't hurt that he was good looking and played his angles for men and women alike. As it stood, James quite liked Scorpius.
But that didn't mean his door was really always open.
Scorpius took things literally, showed up at all hours, either sloshed out of his wits on the latest alcoholic fad or damnably conscious of his every action with that sneer on his face that twisted James' insides into tight-wrung knots. And if Scorpius expected James to sit idly by and let him abuse the privilege of passing out on his couch or crawling into his bed for a shag that left them both sweaty and panting and far too involved for things to remain an open-door policy…then he was most certainly right, because James had no spine where Scorpius was concerned.
So, when James heard the creak of his front door at three in the morning, he decided that this would be the last time.
Of course, his decision did not account for the pale line of exposed skin slithering down from the collar of Scorpius' open, starch-white shirt to the leather of his belt, which hung apart to either side, his smooth, flat stomach exposed. James held his own under the spell of that skin that begged to be bitten and rosied, until the light, sparse trail of curls happily led his greedy gaze to where Scorpius' buckle and fly were undone-a promise of what Scorpius had come for.
It wasn't really anything specific that set him off, but James was sure that the clang and clip of Scorpius' belt buckle was his undoing. It was all he could hear, just that little tinkle of metal, and then Scorpius' drawling chuckle that told James he was drunk again but knew full well what the sight of him in such a state did to James, who was just a man who had a thing for blonds with no respect for open doors.
Everything seemed to add up quite quickly: Scorpius wandering in, the sight of his skin, the clink of his buckle, the lilt of his chuckle, and finally, the scent of his cologne. Expensive, worth more than anything James owned, and so, so dangerous, because it's all over his pillows and sheets and even wrapped in some of his shirts and a pair of his trousers, his socks, the top drawer where he kept his pants.
So James couldn't help himself. In the instant between Scorpius stumbling in and the clang of that damned buckle, James was on him: mouth, hands, a leg between his thighs, like a beast in his urgency, his desire a stringed puppet under Scorpius' talented mastery. And when Scorpius moaned at the bite James gave to his ear, it seemed like there'd be no stopping him tonight. Tonight, Scorpius wouldn't need to crawl into his bed-James would drag him there instead.
"Jamie," Scorpius hummed, tipping his head back.
"I hate that name," James snapped, greedily mouthing down the long column of Scorpius' pale neck. It seemed to go on forever, the softness of his skin increasingly frustrating when all James wanted to do was tear into it with his teeth.
"I know." Scorpius laughed and leaned back against the wall, throwing his hands up above his head and arching like Merlin only knew how many times he had brought men like James to their knees for him. "Are you mad?"
James wasn't quite in his right mind, so the question had to be repeated before he paused in his ravenous kisses and bites to ask, "Why would I be?"
"Because I'm here. You hate when I'm here." Scorpius let his arms drop, hands curling to slide through James' hair. "It's late. I don't even know how late." He laughed again, gentler this time. "But you are up. Waiting for me? Please don't be mad."
"I'm not." The words left James' mouth before he could bite them back. With a groan, he realised he really wasn't mad, that what had become a nightly tradition of Scorpius crashing on his couch or getting shagged silly in the bedroom was something James looked forward to. He was practically itching for it hours before Scorpius even showed up, thinking about him all day when he was at work, trying not to salivate at the thought of him when he was with his family or friends.
He realised that Scorpius Malfoy had stolen a place in his heart. How, he wasn't so sure; James only knew that it was done.
"My door is always open," he said, because saying the other thing that threatened to jump off his tongue would only complicate the ease of this, and the last thing either of them needed was complication.