To Catch the Snitch
Jan. 30th, 2011 08:17 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
talekaylerTitle: To Catch the Snitch
Rating: R
Challenge/Prompt:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
okydoky 's The Everything But... comment meme she has going on. EDIT: Forgot to post the link to the prompt itself! And it's not the only one written for it! Check out sabinefrappe 's too!
Word Count: 1831
Summary: Scorpius has always found the time to watch Al's Quidditch games and even his matches. But not once has he approached him.
A/N: This stupid bloodgery ending. It was so frustrating I had to make a word for it. Thanks to all the lovely folks at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
hd2o , especially thepretender501 , kitty_fic , and curiouslyfic ! Thank you for making me write stalker Scorpius! Also, check out Oky's comment thingy-ma-jigger! It goes until all the prompts are claimed! \o/
The Harry Potter 'Everything But...' Comment Fest ♥
And without further ado...
--
Scorpius shivers, pulling his robes closer around him and huddles further into the protection afforded by the Quidditch stands. His eyes scan the pitch, heedless of the rain that falls onto his face and into his eyes, running down his cheeks like tears. His eyes don't leave the lone figure racing around on the pitch, throwing a ball through hoop after hoop.
Scorpius is content to just watch sometimes. He was never fond of flying himself, mostly because his father was always pushing it on him, trying to get him to beat the Potter boys. But Scorpius likes watching Al fly. Sometimes, he takes out his own broom and tries to replicate the moves he's watched Al do. They never turn out as smoothly as they do for Albus though, and Scorpius always feels a little awkward on a broom.
The practise ended half an hour ago, but Al remains, even after the light drizzle had turned into a downpour. Scorpius admires this about him, his single-minded determination, the focus he puts into things. Scorpius hopes that someday this determination will be focused on other things -say, Scorpius himself for one- but with them being in different houses, the ground is a little thin there. Though, Scorpius thinks brightly, they don't have a volatile relationship. There is a chance that something could work out between them.
Scorpius watches as Al heads for the ground, most likely headed for the showers to warm up. Scorpius has guidelines in place; he may watch the practises, attend every one of Al's games, but staking out the showers goes too far. He lingers in the shadows of the stands, watching as Al crosses the pitch and heads towards the changing rooms, his Quidditch uniform clinging to his body in the most mouth watering way.
Scorpius moves away from the stands, taking care to place his feet well away from mud or puddles. There wasn't as good a spell for removing mud as there was for drying.
He is only ten feet away from the pitch when he miscalculates and slips on the slick mud. His feet fly out from underneath him, and he flails, trying to find something to hold onto. He falls onto his arse with a pained grunt, sending mud and water splashing up on to his face and all over his robes. He grimaces, shaking his sopping hair from his eyes and stamping down on the urge to brush it away from his face with his hand, lest he smear mud over his cheek.
"Malfoy?"
Scorpius freezes, half in the process of pushing himself up, and looks over his shoulder. Al stands behind him, his broom propped on his shoulder. His hair is flattened by the rain, sticking against his forehead and it is just long enough to hang into his eyes. His robes are like a second skin, clinging to his body and tight around his hips, his shoulders and his chest. Scorpius' mouth runs dry.
Al's brow furrows. He walks over to Scorpius and offers his hand. Scorpius stares at it, at the warmth it promises and the strength he knows it holds, and grasps it with his own, his fingers wrapping around Al's, palm to calloused palm. A shiver runs up his spine that has nothing to do with the cool rain.
Al pulls him to his feet and stares into his eyes. He squints, trying to see properly through the sheets of rain, and Scorpius feels a thrill of pleasure. "You're around here an awful lot," he says. He leans back, dropping Scorpius' hand and leaving him slightly bereft. "You're not spying on my teams’ Quidditch techniques, are you?"
Scorpius rears back, slightly hurt. "N-no," he says, denying the accusation vehemently. "Of course not!" But he's not about to tell Al what the real reason for coming down to the pitch is, nor is he about to tell his about what he does afterwards.
Al gives a sweet smile that makes Scorpius' insides knot. "Good," he says, happy despite being drenched to the core and shivering.
Scorpius notices and nods towards the direction of the changing rooms. "You look cold. It would probably be a good idea to hit the showers to warm up, and besides, you don't want detention with Filch for tracking mud through the castle, do you?"
Al gives a small laugh. "You look as wet as I do. You're also covered in mud from head to toe." There's a brief pause until Al breaks it with a shy, "Why don't you come join me?"
Scorpius swears his heart has stopped. He has to swallow several times before he can say a rough, "But I don't play Quidditch," instead of the "Yes, of course!" he would have loved to say.
Al gives a careless shrug. "Showers are showers, aren't they?" He gives a lopsided grin and tugs on the hand Scorpius hadn't realised he had reclaimed, leading him towards the changing rooms.
They're halfway towards the door when Al slows and looks coyly over at Scorpius. He has his bottom lip between his teeth, the pearly whites making a small indentation in the flesh and Scorpius' entire attention is riveted on that sight. He completely misses what Al asks him, and shakes his head, tearing his eyes away from Al's mouth and looks into his eyes instead. There's a flare of victory there, but it's gone so quickly and Scorpius can't be sure.
Al stops completely and tugs on Scorpius' hand until they're facing each other, the rain falling down around and on them, a rumble of thunder in the distance. The lights from the nearby castle are reflected in Al's eyes, making the green brighter. He shifts, tucking his broom under his armpit and brings his hand to Scorpius' face, cupping his cheek. Scorpius' breath stutters and Al smiles.
"I knew it," he says and leans forward to press their lips together.
Scorpius closes his eyes, melting into the sensation of Al’s lips –finally– pressed against his own. He may have whimpered softly, but the thought was dashed as Al’s lips slide over his own, and there is the faint sensation of a tongue on his bottom lip. Scorpius raises a hand and clutches at Al’s shoulder, pressing himself to him. The mud squelches under his boots.
Al draws back, grinning at him and grabs his hand again. “Showers,” he says happily, and Scorpius couldn’t think of a place he would rather be. He allows himself to be pulled behind Al, the rain entirely forgotten.
No sooner are they within the shelter of the room then Al is tugging at Scorpius’ drenched robes, peeling them off his body to land in a heap on the floor. Water drops from Al’s Quidditch robes to land on the tiles, drop after drop to form a small puddle at his feet. Scorpius fumbles with the row of fastenings down Al’s chest, his fingers numb. Al all but rips Scorpius’ shirt off, the wet material clinging to his skin and leaving the buttons to hang on loose threads.
Al’s hands are covered in the mud from Scorpius’ robes, leaving small dirt tracks on his chest. “Shower,” he breaths, pulling Scorpius into another kiss. He pulls on the remains of the shirt, tugging Scorpius over towards the row of shower stalls, kicking his shoes off on the way. Scorpius follows his example, his hands pushing Al’s robes off his shoulders and moving onto his belt.
By the time they make it into a stall, they are both shivering from the cold air, their skin damp from the rain. Al twists the controls for the shower, sending a spray of hot water down on them. Scorpius groans as the pressure from the water beats at his back. He grabs at Al’s hips, bringing their groins together and making their arousals slide against one another. Al gasps into his mouth. He shoves Scorpius into the separator between the stalls, then wraps a hand around them both, squeezing and making Scorpius buck his hips into the grip. He claws at Al’s back.
Al groans, kissing him deeply, their tongues tangling and dancing together. Scorpius clutches at Al, gripping first at his shoulders, then to his hips and ending up on the firm globes of his arse, pulling Al forwards as he thrusts against him. Al whines into his mouth and tightens his grip, his hand moving faster on their cocks.
Scorpius is massaging Al’s arse now, pushing them both into Al’s grip around their cocks. His thrusts become jagged, sporadic and messy and desperate. Al has his other hand fisted in Scorpius’ hair, pulling his head back so he can lick and suck at Scorpius’ throat. Scorpius’ breath hitches, his grip tightens and then he’s coming, covering Al’s hand. Al shudders, gives a last biting kiss to Scorpius’ throat and then kisses him, thrusting his tongue into his mouth, an echo of the thrust he’s doing with his hips. Scorpius squeezes his arse again encouragingly and Al groans into his mouth.
Al collapses into him, and Scorpius is thankful for the stall wall for the support, because otherwise, he and Al would have fallen to the floor in a tangle of limbs. Which doesn’t sound so bad actually.
He is just about to lower them to the slick tiles when Al’s arms come up and wrap around his waist. Scorpius gives a content little sigh and buries his face in Al’s neck. He’s still able to smell the sweat from the Quidditch practise, along with Al’s natural scent. He licks the skin at Al’s neck and places a small kiss there.
Scorpius feels a small huff of breath against his shoulder. He twists his head to the side, and Al raises his own to meet his gaze.
“What took you so long?” he asks. “You’ve been coming to our practises for two years now, but you’ve never approached me. I was beginning to wonder if you ever would.”
Scorpius is frozen, his grip on Al tightening. “You were expecting me to talk to you?”
“Well, yeah,” Al says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. His green eyes blink at Scorpius, and Scorpius feels his stomach flip. “And I finally figured that if you didn’t, I would.”
Scorpius bites at his lip. “Oh,” he says hesitantly. He smoothes his hands once more over Al’s arse before he wraps his arms around Al’s waist, pulling them closer together. He walks them backwards and into the spray, erasing the lingering traces of their coupling. Al murmurs something against his collarbone. He shifts and rubs his hand over Scorpius’ stomach, wiping off the sticky come there.
Al looks at him from under his eyelashes. “Although, I must say that there wasn’t much talking going on, was there?”
Scorpius stares at him for a second before his mirth over takes him and he laughs. “It was better than talking too,” he says.
fin
Now I totally have to go to bed. *totters off to sleep*
Rating: R
Challenge/Prompt:
okydoky 's The Everything But... comment meme she has going on. EDIT: Forgot to post the link to the prompt itself! And it's not the only one written for it! Check out sabinefrappe 's too!Word Count: 1831
Summary: Scorpius has always found the time to watch Al's Quidditch games and even his matches. But not once has he approached him.
A/N: This stupid bloodgery ending. It was so frustrating I had to make a word for it. Thanks to all the lovely folks at
hd2o , especially thepretender501 , kitty_fic , and curiouslyfic ! Thank you for making me write stalker Scorpius! Also, check out Oky's comment thingy-ma-jigger! It goes until all the prompts are claimed! \o/ The Harry Potter 'Everything But...' Comment Fest ♥
And without further ado...
--
Scorpius shivers, pulling his robes closer around him and huddles further into the protection afforded by the Quidditch stands. His eyes scan the pitch, heedless of the rain that falls onto his face and into his eyes, running down his cheeks like tears. His eyes don't leave the lone figure racing around on the pitch, throwing a ball through hoop after hoop.
Scorpius is content to just watch sometimes. He was never fond of flying himself, mostly because his father was always pushing it on him, trying to get him to beat the Potter boys. But Scorpius likes watching Al fly. Sometimes, he takes out his own broom and tries to replicate the moves he's watched Al do. They never turn out as smoothly as they do for Albus though, and Scorpius always feels a little awkward on a broom.
The practise ended half an hour ago, but Al remains, even after the light drizzle had turned into a downpour. Scorpius admires this about him, his single-minded determination, the focus he puts into things. Scorpius hopes that someday this determination will be focused on other things -say, Scorpius himself for one- but with them being in different houses, the ground is a little thin there. Though, Scorpius thinks brightly, they don't have a volatile relationship. There is a chance that something could work out between them.
Scorpius watches as Al heads for the ground, most likely headed for the showers to warm up. Scorpius has guidelines in place; he may watch the practises, attend every one of Al's games, but staking out the showers goes too far. He lingers in the shadows of the stands, watching as Al crosses the pitch and heads towards the changing rooms, his Quidditch uniform clinging to his body in the most mouth watering way.
Scorpius moves away from the stands, taking care to place his feet well away from mud or puddles. There wasn't as good a spell for removing mud as there was for drying.
He is only ten feet away from the pitch when he miscalculates and slips on the slick mud. His feet fly out from underneath him, and he flails, trying to find something to hold onto. He falls onto his arse with a pained grunt, sending mud and water splashing up on to his face and all over his robes. He grimaces, shaking his sopping hair from his eyes and stamping down on the urge to brush it away from his face with his hand, lest he smear mud over his cheek.
"Malfoy?"
Scorpius freezes, half in the process of pushing himself up, and looks over his shoulder. Al stands behind him, his broom propped on his shoulder. His hair is flattened by the rain, sticking against his forehead and it is just long enough to hang into his eyes. His robes are like a second skin, clinging to his body and tight around his hips, his shoulders and his chest. Scorpius' mouth runs dry.
Al's brow furrows. He walks over to Scorpius and offers his hand. Scorpius stares at it, at the warmth it promises and the strength he knows it holds, and grasps it with his own, his fingers wrapping around Al's, palm to calloused palm. A shiver runs up his spine that has nothing to do with the cool rain.
Al pulls him to his feet and stares into his eyes. He squints, trying to see properly through the sheets of rain, and Scorpius feels a thrill of pleasure. "You're around here an awful lot," he says. He leans back, dropping Scorpius' hand and leaving him slightly bereft. "You're not spying on my teams’ Quidditch techniques, are you?"
Scorpius rears back, slightly hurt. "N-no," he says, denying the accusation vehemently. "Of course not!" But he's not about to tell Al what the real reason for coming down to the pitch is, nor is he about to tell his about what he does afterwards.
Al gives a sweet smile that makes Scorpius' insides knot. "Good," he says, happy despite being drenched to the core and shivering.
Scorpius notices and nods towards the direction of the changing rooms. "You look cold. It would probably be a good idea to hit the showers to warm up, and besides, you don't want detention with Filch for tracking mud through the castle, do you?"
Al gives a small laugh. "You look as wet as I do. You're also covered in mud from head to toe." There's a brief pause until Al breaks it with a shy, "Why don't you come join me?"
Scorpius swears his heart has stopped. He has to swallow several times before he can say a rough, "But I don't play Quidditch," instead of the "Yes, of course!" he would have loved to say.
Al gives a careless shrug. "Showers are showers, aren't they?" He gives a lopsided grin and tugs on the hand Scorpius hadn't realised he had reclaimed, leading him towards the changing rooms.
They're halfway towards the door when Al slows and looks coyly over at Scorpius. He has his bottom lip between his teeth, the pearly whites making a small indentation in the flesh and Scorpius' entire attention is riveted on that sight. He completely misses what Al asks him, and shakes his head, tearing his eyes away from Al's mouth and looks into his eyes instead. There's a flare of victory there, but it's gone so quickly and Scorpius can't be sure.
Al stops completely and tugs on Scorpius' hand until they're facing each other, the rain falling down around and on them, a rumble of thunder in the distance. The lights from the nearby castle are reflected in Al's eyes, making the green brighter. He shifts, tucking his broom under his armpit and brings his hand to Scorpius' face, cupping his cheek. Scorpius' breath stutters and Al smiles.
"I knew it," he says and leans forward to press their lips together.
Scorpius closes his eyes, melting into the sensation of Al’s lips –finally– pressed against his own. He may have whimpered softly, but the thought was dashed as Al’s lips slide over his own, and there is the faint sensation of a tongue on his bottom lip. Scorpius raises a hand and clutches at Al’s shoulder, pressing himself to him. The mud squelches under his boots.
Al draws back, grinning at him and grabs his hand again. “Showers,” he says happily, and Scorpius couldn’t think of a place he would rather be. He allows himself to be pulled behind Al, the rain entirely forgotten.
No sooner are they within the shelter of the room then Al is tugging at Scorpius’ drenched robes, peeling them off his body to land in a heap on the floor. Water drops from Al’s Quidditch robes to land on the tiles, drop after drop to form a small puddle at his feet. Scorpius fumbles with the row of fastenings down Al’s chest, his fingers numb. Al all but rips Scorpius’ shirt off, the wet material clinging to his skin and leaving the buttons to hang on loose threads.
Al’s hands are covered in the mud from Scorpius’ robes, leaving small dirt tracks on his chest. “Shower,” he breaths, pulling Scorpius into another kiss. He pulls on the remains of the shirt, tugging Scorpius over towards the row of shower stalls, kicking his shoes off on the way. Scorpius follows his example, his hands pushing Al’s robes off his shoulders and moving onto his belt.
By the time they make it into a stall, they are both shivering from the cold air, their skin damp from the rain. Al twists the controls for the shower, sending a spray of hot water down on them. Scorpius groans as the pressure from the water beats at his back. He grabs at Al’s hips, bringing their groins together and making their arousals slide against one another. Al gasps into his mouth. He shoves Scorpius into the separator between the stalls, then wraps a hand around them both, squeezing and making Scorpius buck his hips into the grip. He claws at Al’s back.
Al groans, kissing him deeply, their tongues tangling and dancing together. Scorpius clutches at Al, gripping first at his shoulders, then to his hips and ending up on the firm globes of his arse, pulling Al forwards as he thrusts against him. Al whines into his mouth and tightens his grip, his hand moving faster on their cocks.
Scorpius is massaging Al’s arse now, pushing them both into Al’s grip around their cocks. His thrusts become jagged, sporadic and messy and desperate. Al has his other hand fisted in Scorpius’ hair, pulling his head back so he can lick and suck at Scorpius’ throat. Scorpius’ breath hitches, his grip tightens and then he’s coming, covering Al’s hand. Al shudders, gives a last biting kiss to Scorpius’ throat and then kisses him, thrusting his tongue into his mouth, an echo of the thrust he’s doing with his hips. Scorpius squeezes his arse again encouragingly and Al groans into his mouth.
Al collapses into him, and Scorpius is thankful for the stall wall for the support, because otherwise, he and Al would have fallen to the floor in a tangle of limbs. Which doesn’t sound so bad actually.
He is just about to lower them to the slick tiles when Al’s arms come up and wrap around his waist. Scorpius gives a content little sigh and buries his face in Al’s neck. He’s still able to smell the sweat from the Quidditch practise, along with Al’s natural scent. He licks the skin at Al’s neck and places a small kiss there.
Scorpius feels a small huff of breath against his shoulder. He twists his head to the side, and Al raises his own to meet his gaze.
“What took you so long?” he asks. “You’ve been coming to our practises for two years now, but you’ve never approached me. I was beginning to wonder if you ever would.”
Scorpius is frozen, his grip on Al tightening. “You were expecting me to talk to you?”
“Well, yeah,” Al says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. His green eyes blink at Scorpius, and Scorpius feels his stomach flip. “And I finally figured that if you didn’t, I would.”
Scorpius bites at his lip. “Oh,” he says hesitantly. He smoothes his hands once more over Al’s arse before he wraps his arms around Al’s waist, pulling them closer together. He walks them backwards and into the spray, erasing the lingering traces of their coupling. Al murmurs something against his collarbone. He shifts and rubs his hand over Scorpius’ stomach, wiping off the sticky come there.
Al looks at him from under his eyelashes. “Although, I must say that there wasn’t much talking going on, was there?”
Scorpius stares at him for a second before his mirth over takes him and he laughs. “It was better than talking too,” he says.
fin
Now I totally have to go to bed. *totters off to sleep*
