FIC: Five Things Albus Potter Has Felt In The Presence of Scorpius Malfoy [PG-13]
Author: silentdictator
Title: Five Things Albus Potter has Felt In the Presence of Scorpius Malfoy (And the One Thing He Never Will)
Pairing(s): Albus/Scorpius
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Cheesy pick-up lines, corny declarations of love, and lots of metaphors/similes
Word Count: 1 144
Summary: Albus fills his heads with facts and figures, but in the end it feels like none of that really tells him anything about who Scorpius Malfoy is.
Prompt: Scorpius is a rock star, Albus is his groupie and hopelessly in love with him. [submitted by thilia]
Notes: Please don’t eat me. I’m not pretty enough for that.
005. awe
It’s a big stage.
It’s a really, really, really, big, big, big stage.
There are amplifiers that simply loom over the stage with thick, thick cords slithering towards the back and into shadowy depths. Huge stage lights swing from a humungous steel frame hanging from the ceiling like a metal spider web.
The stage is really big.
Yet Scorpius Malfoy seems to fill up the empty space with ease, charisma and confidence rushing through the room and reaching Albus.
(And Albus is standing a long, long, long ways away from the stage.)
004. hunger
It’s a twinge in his gut. It’s like Albus hasn’t eaten in days. Just the lightest brush of fingers on skin or just the pressure of a touch is enough to fill him for a few measly minutes. Kisses course through his system for hours.
But it’s never really enough.
(Scorpius Malfoy’s presence is addicting.)
003. passion
Purpose is exciting.
Passion is something that sets you on fire and eats through you like acidic honey burns through asphalt.
Perpetual gnawing, forever fuel, isn’t that nice?
Albus slips his hands under Scorpius’ shirt and runs his hands along his prominent rib cage. The rough walls of a forgotten building dig into his back, but he ignores it. Darkness wraps around them like a security blanket.
“Scor,” Albus whispers between an awkward bumping of noses and a sloppy kiss, “You need to eat more.”
Scorpius’ only indication he hears is to kiss with even more teeth.
Kissing a rock star is always all teeth and tongue and not a lot of lip. At least, that was Albus’ hypothesis; he didn’t exactly have a lot of experience making out with rock stars.
“I’m in danger of sounding hokey, but all I really need right now is you.”
Albus turns his head away and lets Scorpius nip at his neck and nibble at his collarbone as he puffs out a laugh.
“You just drove right pass ‘hokey’ and entered the Land of Corn, just follow that yellow kernel road, baby.”
“Do you want to see what my yellow brick road holds in store for you?”
(“Forget that…oh….”)
002. obsession
Scorpius Malfoy is the only son of Draco Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass.
He wears a lot of cold colors, chilly blues and crisp greens with not so much as a speck of hearty red or cheery orange. Of the things in his wardrobe, there is a good chance that a large portion of it is tailored specifically to his measurements.
Scorpius Malfoy is right handed. He has gray-blue eyes and blonde hair. He was tall with a face that was all angles. His clothes were always a little mussed. “Shaggy-chic” the magazines dub his appearance.
What does that even mean?
A delicate, winged dragon winds its way around his right wrist.
Albus fills his heads with facts and figures, but in the end it feels like none of that really tells him anything about who Scorpius Malfoy is.
Who is he?
Scorpius Malfoy is the lead singer of Slither In.
But Scorpius turns out to be a sweet boy of a man with a wicked sense of humor and thin fingers that look terribly breakable. He always miles sincerely and tries to handwrite letters to all his fans even though it’s going out of style (which it might be).
(And he turns out to be a fantastic kisser too. And this suits Albus just fine.)
001. admiration
Jealousy is two teaspoons of bile, a quart or three of extreme dislike, and maybe a couple of cups of an inferiority complex mixed with warm, tender-loving loathing.
Sometimes, Albus wishes he could play and instrument or sing like an angel, but those times pass by rather quickly. He wouldn’t really know what to do with those talents anyway.
Rose once told him that he was the best listener she had ever talked too. He supposes that has to count for something.
Scorpius was as pale as a marble statue as moonlight streaked in from the open window. A rumpled bed sheet draped across his lap attempted to preserve his modesty.
His legs dangled over the side of the bed. Spine curved over guitar, fingers lovingly plucking and strumming, Scorpius shaped sweet melodies and chords out of the air.
Albus shivered as the notes took flight.
The notes were tiny birds flying around the room and rushing through his cells to fill him to the brim.
Albus reached out and ran his hand along Scorpius’ protruding spine. Vertebras cast deep shadows like tiny mountains in the moonlight.
“Did it hurt when Apollo plucked you off of Olympus and placed you among us mere mortals?”
“Not really. I’m sure Aphrodite sent you to me to dull the pain.”
“So I’m just a drug to help you sleep at night? Am I just an opiate?”
“Don’t be stupid. You’re the only thing that keeps me awake. I can’t function without you, you know. Haven’t you heard of that saying, ‘When you’re in bed, you’re dead.’?”
Albus laughed out loud. His laugh seemed to fill up just about half the room.
“I’m pretty sure we’re not dead with what we do in bed.”
(“We’re the new Dr. Seuss-es. We should write a book.”
“Sure, but who would read it?”
“All my fans?”
“Yeah, okay, let’s get working on writing a book.”
“But first, I need some inspiration, my dear muse.”)
000. regret
When Albus is sad, sometimes he will pop one of his favorite CD’s into his CD player and turn up the volume until the sound sends vibrations through his floor.
The CD he seems to be playing most often turns out to be Riddle Me This by Slither In.
The lead singer has a voice that soars and fills his room up until it’s half full and not the half empty silence seems to leave behind.
The songs sweep over him like a wave. A voice that is as smooth as a snake’s belly, lyrics as cutting as a raven’s beak, a bass that roars like a lion’s call, and a tune that sticks the way a badger’s claws caught in prey fills him up. But it’s always only half full.
It is the kind of music that stayed with Albus even when he worked his nine to five job in absolute silence with only the tapping of a keyboard to keep him company.
It was good music.
And sometimes, he feels like he should have gone to that concert. That one concert held at A Hog and Its Warts just a thirty minute drive away a couple of years back.
He had even gotten tickets, but he had chickened out at the list minute.
What if he was disappointed by the live performance?
(But…but what if the live performance had blown his mind? Changed his life?)
Title: Five Things Albus Potter has Felt In the Presence of Scorpius Malfoy (And the One Thing He Never Will)
Pairing(s): Albus/Scorpius
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Cheesy pick-up lines, corny declarations of love, and lots of metaphors/similes
Word Count: 1 144
Summary: Albus fills his heads with facts and figures, but in the end it feels like none of that really tells him anything about who Scorpius Malfoy is.
Prompt: Scorpius is a rock star, Albus is his groupie and hopelessly in love with him. [submitted by thilia]
Notes: Please don’t eat me. I’m not pretty enough for that.
005. awe
It’s a big stage.
It’s a really, really, really, big, big, big stage.
There are amplifiers that simply loom over the stage with thick, thick cords slithering towards the back and into shadowy depths. Huge stage lights swing from a humungous steel frame hanging from the ceiling like a metal spider web.
The stage is really big.
Yet Scorpius Malfoy seems to fill up the empty space with ease, charisma and confidence rushing through the room and reaching Albus.
(And Albus is standing a long, long, long ways away from the stage.)
004. hunger
It’s a twinge in his gut. It’s like Albus hasn’t eaten in days. Just the lightest brush of fingers on skin or just the pressure of a touch is enough to fill him for a few measly minutes. Kisses course through his system for hours.
But it’s never really enough.
(Scorpius Malfoy’s presence is addicting.)
003. passion
Purpose is exciting.
Passion is something that sets you on fire and eats through you like acidic honey burns through asphalt.
Perpetual gnawing, forever fuel, isn’t that nice?
Albus slips his hands under Scorpius’ shirt and runs his hands along his prominent rib cage. The rough walls of a forgotten building dig into his back, but he ignores it. Darkness wraps around them like a security blanket.
“Scor,” Albus whispers between an awkward bumping of noses and a sloppy kiss, “You need to eat more.”
Scorpius’ only indication he hears is to kiss with even more teeth.
Kissing a rock star is always all teeth and tongue and not a lot of lip. At least, that was Albus’ hypothesis; he didn’t exactly have a lot of experience making out with rock stars.
“I’m in danger of sounding hokey, but all I really need right now is you.”
Albus turns his head away and lets Scorpius nip at his neck and nibble at his collarbone as he puffs out a laugh.
“You just drove right pass ‘hokey’ and entered the Land of Corn, just follow that yellow kernel road, baby.”
“Do you want to see what my yellow brick road holds in store for you?”
(“Forget that…oh….”)
002. obsession
Scorpius Malfoy is the only son of Draco Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass.
He wears a lot of cold colors, chilly blues and crisp greens with not so much as a speck of hearty red or cheery orange. Of the things in his wardrobe, there is a good chance that a large portion of it is tailored specifically to his measurements.
Scorpius Malfoy is right handed. He has gray-blue eyes and blonde hair. He was tall with a face that was all angles. His clothes were always a little mussed. “Shaggy-chic” the magazines dub his appearance.
What does that even mean?
A delicate, winged dragon winds its way around his right wrist.
Albus fills his heads with facts and figures, but in the end it feels like none of that really tells him anything about who Scorpius Malfoy is.
Who is he?
Scorpius Malfoy is the lead singer of Slither In.
But Scorpius turns out to be a sweet boy of a man with a wicked sense of humor and thin fingers that look terribly breakable. He always miles sincerely and tries to handwrite letters to all his fans even though it’s going out of style (which it might be).
(And he turns out to be a fantastic kisser too. And this suits Albus just fine.)
001. admiration
Jealousy is two teaspoons of bile, a quart or three of extreme dislike, and maybe a couple of cups of an inferiority complex mixed with warm, tender-loving loathing.
Sometimes, Albus wishes he could play and instrument or sing like an angel, but those times pass by rather quickly. He wouldn’t really know what to do with those talents anyway.
Rose once told him that he was the best listener she had ever talked too. He supposes that has to count for something.
Scorpius was as pale as a marble statue as moonlight streaked in from the open window. A rumpled bed sheet draped across his lap attempted to preserve his modesty.
His legs dangled over the side of the bed. Spine curved over guitar, fingers lovingly plucking and strumming, Scorpius shaped sweet melodies and chords out of the air.
Albus shivered as the notes took flight.
The notes were tiny birds flying around the room and rushing through his cells to fill him to the brim.
Albus reached out and ran his hand along Scorpius’ protruding spine. Vertebras cast deep shadows like tiny mountains in the moonlight.
“Did it hurt when Apollo plucked you off of Olympus and placed you among us mere mortals?”
“Not really. I’m sure Aphrodite sent you to me to dull the pain.”
“So I’m just a drug to help you sleep at night? Am I just an opiate?”
“Don’t be stupid. You’re the only thing that keeps me awake. I can’t function without you, you know. Haven’t you heard of that saying, ‘When you’re in bed, you’re dead.’?”
Albus laughed out loud. His laugh seemed to fill up just about half the room.
“I’m pretty sure we’re not dead with what we do in bed.”
(“We’re the new Dr. Seuss-es. We should write a book.”
“Sure, but who would read it?”
“All my fans?”
“Yeah, okay, let’s get working on writing a book.”
“But first, I need some inspiration, my dear muse.”)
000. regret
When Albus is sad, sometimes he will pop one of his favorite CD’s into his CD player and turn up the volume until the sound sends vibrations through his floor.
The CD he seems to be playing most often turns out to be Riddle Me This by Slither In.
The lead singer has a voice that soars and fills his room up until it’s half full and not the half empty silence seems to leave behind.
The songs sweep over him like a wave. A voice that is as smooth as a snake’s belly, lyrics as cutting as a raven’s beak, a bass that roars like a lion’s call, and a tune that sticks the way a badger’s claws caught in prey fills him up. But it’s always only half full.
It is the kind of music that stayed with Albus even when he worked his nine to five job in absolute silence with only the tapping of a keyboard to keep him company.
It was good music.
And sometimes, he feels like he should have gone to that concert. That one concert held at A Hog and Its Warts just a thirty minute drive away a couple of years back.
He had even gotten tickets, but he had chickened out at the list minute.
What if he was disappointed by the live performance?
(But…but what if the live performance had blown his mind? Changed his life?)