Fic: The More Things Seem To Change... (Albus/Scorpius, NC-17) for ladyhurt Author:accioscar Recipient:ladyhurt Title: The More Things Seem To Change (The More They Stay The Same) Rating: NC-17 to be safe Pairing(s): Albus Severus/Scorpius, (brief mention of James II/Scorpius, Scorpius/OMC & Scorpius/OFC) Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended. All characters engaging in sexual activity are 16 years or older. Summary: Being in love is hard enough, without having to watch the object of your affection 'love' everyone but you. Albus Potter takes it for as long as he can, until he just can't take it anymore... and then he takes the one thing he's wanted forever. Warnings: 1st person, rimming, allusions to het, very light bondage, implied underage sexual experimentation (But no actual underage sex. I cannot stress this enough! The sex scenes ALL involve characters that are both OVER the age of 16.) Word Count: 3,500 approx Author's Notes: Many thanks to my beta and dear friend, T. *loves*
Scorpius Malfoy was a slut. A man whore, a player, a slag, a slapper, a philanderer, a Casanova, a Lothario, a tart. Well, you get the idea – he liked to sleep around. And around and around and around...
Everyone at Hogwarts knew this, the students, the professors, the house-elves. Even the portraits - Merlin only knew the things they must’ve seen!
This universal truth was practically the first thing the first years learnt, after which house they were in. Wait. Not like that! Scorpius may have been a little perverted at times but he wasn’t a pervert!
No. It was because every year (since he was fourteen years old, anyway), at the sorting ceremony, there was at leastone witch or wizard from each house crying and telling everyone their tale of woe about how Scorpius had had his wicked way with them and broken his or her heart. Well... every house except perhaps Slytherin. Because everybody knew that Slytherins DID NOT CRY. In public. Instead, Slytherins simply smiled their saccharine smiles as they secretly plotted their swift and humiliating revenge on, and I quote, “the poncy blond wanker”.
Which is why I was kind of glad I wasn’t sorted into Slytherin after all, despite what my father said. No, Hufflepuff suited me just fine, thank you very much. Although... I’m not really sure how Scorp ended up there, too. And, boy, what an uproar that caused in the Malfoy family! I have to say I was inclined to agree with them (although, perhaps Malfoy Senior Senior threatening to sue the sorting hat for ‘defamation of character’ was taking it a little too far) because Scorpius really was the worst Hufflepuff EVER. I don’t know about you, but I don’t think the cold-hearted way that he brushed aside his latest conquest and swiftly moved on to the next equalled loyalty!
Sometimes I wondered why he was my best friend.
Except I didn’t.
We were best friends since the very first moment we met in first year. I knew he was a Malfoy and, as much as he’d insisted he really didn’t, he knew who I was, too. I’ve never met anyone who didn’t know immediately that I was the great Harry Potter’s son. It’s the hair, you see. But none of that mattered. We both knew the history our fathers shared (and oh how they bickered like an old married couple whenever they were forced to interact!) but it wasn’t important. Somehow we found ourselves sharing a cabin aboard the Hogwarts Express, and - after an hour or so of awkward silence - ended up spending the whole train ride laughing and joking and doing impressions of our fathers ranting about each other. I think I knew, even then, that Scorpius would end up being very special to me.
And he was. More than he knew. And I wouldn’t have changed that for the world. But sometimes, just sometimes (ok maybe all the time) I wished he wouldn’t talk so much!
You see, Scorpius - kind-hearted soul that he was - liked to share. Every. Tiny. Detail. And I, being his best friend in the entire world, got to be his lucky confidant. I should’ve known, back in third year when he came stumbling into the common room looking dazed with swollen lips, and told me he’d kissed Lisa Kettle. I should’ve known then, as he relayed the entire story from beginning to end, in all its glory. I should’ve known that the heavy feeling that grew in the pit of my stomach with every nauseating detail was jealousy. And hurt; hurt was there, too. I should’ve known then that I, Albus Severus Potter, was gay. I was gay and I had a huge crush on my best friend.
But I admit, I was a little naive back then. Naive and innocent. Unlike Scorp, obviously, who I think from that point on made it his life’s mission to sample the delights of all the witches in our year (and some from the years above). Thankfully, though, by the time he’d progressed from kissing to um... other things, I’d figured out what was going on with me and I managed to cut that conversation short. Before I was sick.
The cock sucking came later. For Scorp I mean, not me. I – well... let’s just say I came close, but I was always reminded that whoever I was with just wasn’t Scorpius. And I guess a part of me was still holding out, in the vain hope that he’d eventually come to his senses. Because it had always been him; he was always the one I thought about, the one I imagined my first time being with.
So, I’m sure you can imagine how I felt when Scorpius crawled into my bed one night, after he’d been off ‘entertaining’ and pressed his body against my back in a way that he couldn’t have known sent a sudden rush of arousal straight to my cock. His warm breath tickling my ear as he whispered, “Hey, Al. You awake?” didn’t help either. A soft whimper in the affirmative was all I managed to get out through my haze of arousal and the sudden sharp awareness of his crotch pressed against my arse. And I nearly jumped out of my skin when he suddenly snaked an arm around my waist, inadvertently pulling me closer against him. Merlin, I don’t think I’ve ever been as aroused as I was then without my cock actually being touched, and the next words out of his mouth both heightened my arousal and simultaneously broke my heart. “Guess what I did tonight, Al?” he asked, his voice thick in the stony silence of our dorm room. “I gave Fabian Mancueso a blow job.”
I don’t recall what my response was, and the name of the recipient was immaterial – for there have been many others since then – because all I remember is the heart-shattering realisation that I was hopelessly in love with him and that he obviously felt nothing for me beyond friendship. Sure he was affectionate with me (and oh fuck, the first time he gave me a friendly peck on the lips I thought I was gonna die), but I’m sure he was like that with all his friends. He always was overly affectionate, it’s just the kind of person he was. And still is.
Sucking cocks was different though, and if he was gay or bisexual (or even omnisexual, as he once told me he was), then why-oh-why couldn’t it have been my cock? (I’m not ashamed to say that many a spectacular wank was fuelled by that particular fantasy!) But no. It seemed Scorpius had the desire to suck just about everyone’s cock BUT mine, and although this ‘activity’ came (no pun intended) a little later than the ‘girly groping’, that didn’t stop him from being known as ‘Head Boy’ by the end of our fifth year.
By the end of sixth year, though, he was just known as ‘slut’ (or ‘poncy blond wanker’ and variations thereof if you were in Slytherin) and by then I was used to his ‘extra-curricular activities’. For the most part I just let him get on with it. I didn’t judge, I didn’t question; I just listened and kept my mouth shut. He was my best friend and he needed me, even if he would never know just how badly I wanted him. And I swore I’d never tell him. I couldn’t risk losing his friendship – it would’ve killed me. So friendship was enough for me. It had to be.
At least, that was until he messed with my family. And let me tell you - walking in on your best friend (who you happened to have been secretly in love with for years) with his hand down your brother’s trousers, was not a pleasant sight.
I was supposed to be at Hogsmeade and he was supposed to be catching up on his Potions homework. But I came back early to fucking help him study and he... well, he was obviously more interested in studying James’s cock. They both gasped in surprise when I came bursting into the dorm room unaware. James swore and pushed Scorpius away from him. It took me a second to register that what I was seeing was in fact really fucking happening (I mean, James wasn’t even gay!) before I was off. I ran as fast as I could, not really knowing where I was going, just that I had to get away. My chest hurt and my eyes burned and I was aware of Scorpius chasing after me - of him calling my name - but I didn’t stop.
Until I found myself atop the Astronomy Tower.
With nowhere left to run, I collapsed onto the cold stone, gasping for breath and with tears pricking the corner of my eyes. Scorpius was not far behind me, somehow far less out of breath than I was, and attempting to pick me up off of the floor. I pushed him away, fury beginning to burn in my chest where the hurt had been.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” I spat.
He backed off; he always knew when to. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. I knew if I did, everything would change. He waited, because he knew that giving me a moment was the right thing to. That only made me angrier. What right did he have, knowing me so fucking well but still NOT? How could he fucking do that, with him, of all people and not know? Not know how it would break my heart? I clenched my fists and bit my lip until I drew blood, attempting to get a hold of my anger (another thing I inherited from my famous dad) and pulled myself to my feet. I still couldn’t face him, so I stood looking out over the school grounds in silence. The Ravenclaw Quidditch team was practicing for the upcoming final game of the season, and I stared at the figures racing about on their brooms until my vision blurred with unshed tears.
I could hear him shuffling his feet nervously behind me, patiently waiting until I was ready. He knew not to push me, that given time I would be the first to speak. And I was.
“Why?” I whispered, almost too softly for him to hear. “Why him?”
I kept looking straight ahead as he spoke, words tumbling out of his mouth like water from a broken damn.
“I- I don’t know. I’m sorry. It- he- he was looking for you. He was waiting for you. It just happened. I – don’t know. It was the first time. I swear, Al. There’s nothing going on between us.”
I laughed then, and it sounded bitter even to my ears. “It’s always the first time with you, Scorp. You don’t do seconds, remember?”
It was the wrong thing to say. The infamous Malfoy defence mechanism kicked in and I could practically hear the sneer in his voice. “Why are you so fucking upset, anyway? What are you, jealous or something?”
I knew he wanted me to react, and I did. But not the way he expected or perhaps wanted.
“Yes,” I sighed, then immediately regretted it.
“Well – huh? What?” He stammered, completely caught off guard and suddenly back to the Scorpius I knew (and loved) – not the Malfoy Ice Prince he pulled out for special occasions.
“You really don’t get it, do you?” I asked.
“What? That you’re jealous of me? Surely you don’t want... he... he’s your brother, Al. It’s-” Merlin, he really was oblivious!
“It’s not you I’m jealous of, you idiot,” I said, before burying my head in my hands, half laughing, half crying. I still couldn’t bring myself to look at him. Any second the Knut would drop and he’d understand what I meant. And if I looked at him, I felt as though the very foundations of our friendship would crumble beneath us, and we’d never recover from the aftershock of my words. I just couldn’t face it. Him.
Until I felt his hand on my shoulder. “Al? Please. Al, I’m sorry. Please look at me.” I did then, because I never could deny him anything. His eyes were wide and nervous; two large pools of the clearest crystal blue I’d ever seen. You see, Scorpius had his mother’s eyes, not the cold, empty grey of his father and grandfather. Don’t get me wrong, he was his father’s son as much as I was mine. He resembled him in every way… except for his eyes. He had his mother’s eyes. And standing there - in the Astronomy Tower, on a warm Saturday afternoon - I suddenly remembered that they were the first thing I’d noticed about him. Years back - back when things had been far less complicated, I’d met a boy. A boy with the biggest, brightest, bluest eyes I’d ever seen.
And I’d loved him ever since.
So I kissed him. Softly at first, just the slightest brush of my lips on his. His eyes widened even more and I increased the pressure, one hand sliding up to cup the back of his neck as I pressed my lips firmly against his. It was barely more than a peck, a simple display of friendship, nothing he hadn’t done to me a hundred times before. But when I pulled away, his eyes were glassy and unfocused and he brought a hand up to his mouth, one finger gently touching the place where my mouth had been.
“Albus?” he whispered. He always called me Albus when he was serious about something.
I nodded. Slowly, the slightest of movements, and suddenly it was like something inside him snapped. He pushed me up against the wall, hands sliding into my hair as he attacked my lips furiously, slipping his warm tongue between them and into my mouth. He kissed me hard and desperately. And I kissed back, hardly believing that it was really happening, thinking that any moment I’d wake up and realise I’d been trapped in one of my uncle’s Daydream Charms. It was a glorious feeling, like I’d been living my entire life inside a bubble, deprived of all human contact. And now that I was free every touch was electric, like a fire burning through my veins, making me feel alive. His hands in my hair holding on for dear life, his lips against mine; kissing me as though his life depended on it, as though he could breathe me in, make us one whole person. Complete.
It was all I’d ever dreamed of, fantasised about. And so much more. Before I knew it, he was on his knees and mine were trembling, as he sucked my already achingly-hard cock into his mouth, right there at the top of the tower - in broad daylight. But I was too far gone to care. Years of pent up frustration, sexual tension and hot, molten desire came flooding out of me as he licked and sucked at my cock. My cock. Not Fabian’s, not James’s, not anyone else’s. Mine.
One hand gripped my hip, the other gently playing with my balls and I threw my head back, panting and moaning and crying out his name. Over and over, until our surroundings disappeared and it was just me and him and there was no one else in the whole world. Just Albus and Scorpius. Alone. Together.
He quickened his pace, sucking harder and faster, until I thought I would explode. And then I did. It was the most intense orgasm I’d ever had, helped by the fact that he didn’t pull away. He swallowed every drop, sucking until my knees gave way and I collapsed onto the floor, utterly spent. Then he was kissing me again; my lips, my face, my neck, mumbling against my skin words like love and you, always you and need and sorry and mine and only you. And love. I held onto him; ran my hands up and down his back, underneath his robes, touching skin. Flesh on flesh. I pulled him close, his chest pressed against mine. Heart to heart.
“Me too,” I whispered. And everything was alright.
*****
EPILOGUE
Five years later.
Scorpius gasps as I tighten the bonds around his wrists. School ties – Slytherin ones transfigured from our old Hufflepuff ones. A nice touch, I think, considering what an awful Hufflepuff he made! Plus the forest green does look very good against his delicate, pale wrists. I laugh to myself as I straddle his body - my cock already hard - and he looks at me questioningly.
“What’s so funny?” He asks suspiciously, blue eyes narrowing ever so slightly.
“Nothing,” I say. “It’s not important.”
Because the last thing I want to do right now is talk about our school days. Not tonight of all nights. Not when I have him here - spread out on the silk sheets, arms and legs tied to the bed, fully exposed and completely at my mercy. I move down his body, hands trailing down his torso, the softest of touches against his rib cage that I know make him squirm. My Scorpius is exquisitely ticklish; it’s one of the many things I’ve had fun discovering about him over the years. Who knew tying someone up and tickling him could be such a turn-on?
But that’s not what I have in mind right now. Right now I want to taste him; taste every inch of flesh that’s so familiar to me, yet can still me drive half-mad with desire. I think about that, about how I’ll never get tired of this. Of him. Us. I think about it, as I run my tongue slowly up and down the length of his swollen prick - so hard and leaking drips of pre-come onto the pale flesh of his stomach. I think about how much I love him, as I gently suck each of his balls into my mouth, my hand now stroking his cock, as he writhes about beneath me. I think about how far we’ve come to be here tonight, about how we’re a family now (even if our fathers do still fight like cats and dogs), as my tongue moves lower, tasting all of him, preparing him.
Until he’s thrashing against his bonds and begging for more and please and now, fuck me now. The lube is cool on my fingers, but it soon warms up as I slip first one, then two into the heat of his body. I slide them in and out, stretching him slowly, until he’s ready for a third. Then I hook my fingers, brushing against that spot. His whole body convulses, and I know he’s ready.
I smear some lube on my cock, position myself above him. His eyes bore into me, as though they can see straight into my soul, and sometimes I really think they can. I push into him slowly, like I have a hundred times before. But tonight it’s different. I think about it as I fuck him slowly, thrusting into his tight heat in languid strokes. I think about how so much has changed since we were at school, yet he’s still the same. He hasn’t changed, I think, as he tugs on the ties at his wrists and they come free. I never was much good at knots; he knows that. I think about how he’s still the same old Scorpius, the same boy I fell in love with all those years ago, as he pulls me into a desperate kiss, his hole clenching around my cock.
He kicks his legs free too and then he’s lifting them, spreading them wide open and clawing at my back, begging me to go faster, harder. And I do. Because I never could deny him anything. Never will. The room is hot and stifling as we move together, sweaty and urgent like it’s the last time. But it’s not. And he’s crying out, screaming my name as I pound into him, his legs thrown over my shoulders. And I’m thinking about how he’s still the same, as we’re both coming; him in thick, hot spurts all over his stomach, me inside him - where no-one else has ever been. Scorpius hasn’t changed. Expect now he’s mine. And I’m his.
For better, for worse. He’s still my best friend.
For richer, for poorer. He still likes to share just a little too much.
In sickness and in health. He’s still the worst Hufflepuff ever to have lived.
To love and to cherish. He’s still overly affectionate with his friends.
Till death do us part. He’s still a slut.
Only now, he’s my slut.
A/N: This ending was partially inspired by Prop 8 and other similar propositions that were recently passed in the USA, and I would like to dedicate it to all those affected by this ‘campaign of hate’ and everyone – regardless of sexual orientation - that continues to fight against it.