volumetwo | (no subject)

"Shirts need to stay on," he mumbles, but his head tilts to the side to give Scorpius better access to his jaw. His lips are warm, and the heat of his breath so close to his ear might actually render him speechless. His thumbs begin to stroke against his hips, sincere if a little awkward, and he finally exhales a low, deep sigh.

Reluctance, so much reluctance.

"...should probably, uh. Stop, too."

"Oh....Right."

Stop?! Is James serious here?? It was just getting good! James couldn't very well have sobered up...but maybe Scorpius freaked him out with trying to take his shirt off. Shit. That's got to be it.

"Probably." He leans back, looking down at James and runs both hands through his hair.

James sighs, leaning forward and impulsively kissing the side of Scorpius's neck. It's a gentle, fond little gesture, his own breathing still a little shallow, but there's nothing wrong with that, is there? He's not doing anything bad... just showing a little measure of gratitude for the kisses earlier.

"Should probably go back to Al's room 'fore he finds you gone," he murmurs, but it's with his lips against his pulse point.

Goosebumps race down Scorpius's spine, his sides, and bubble up beneath James's breath, hot on his skin. Scorpius is dying here. The kisses, the tenderness. If this is what James Potter is like when he's a little drunk, Scorpius is going to cling to him with a bottle of alcohol at every chance. It's...nice. More than nice.

It's fantastic.

"Probably," Scorpius agrees. But he doesn't move away to leave.

"This doesn't mean anything," he adds again, but there's something a little unsure about his tone. He's trying to convince himself just as much as he's trying to make Scorpius believe it, and that much is evident. He snuffles his face against his throat, and then adds: "You smell like my soap."

He might be imagining it, but god, the thought is embarrassingly appealing.

Scorpius can't help the smile that lifts onto his thin, boyish lips. They're still tingling from the kiss, and he's having other issues with James's breath wafting over his skin as it is.

The smile wavers a bit, falls, at James's words: This doesn't mean anything.

Slowly, Scorpius untangles himself from James's lap and sits back on the bed, glancing aside. This was a stupid idea. It was stupid to kiss James the first time, but it was even more inexcusable the second. If Al found out... Hell, if anyone found out...

"Yes, well, I do have to shower on occasion," he murmurs coolly.

"-hey," James says before he even realizes that he's complaining, reaching out for Scorpius before his hand falls short. Right. They weren't supposed to be doing this. They would probably be mutually disowned by their families if they were discovered like this.

Fuck it.

James turns, shifting toward the other boy and sort of just reaching out, an attempt to grab him, to pull him against his side. It's not a sexual gesture as much as is it an almost lonely one. "...just shut up and come here, would you?" It seems like he's clumsily trying to hold him.

"...Didn't you just say I should go back to Al's room?" Scorpius murmurs, but with James reaching for him, he's a little sluggish to pull away. James has no idea what he wants is the moral of this entire story, and Scorpius really should just step away. He doesn't need more complications in his life.

But he doesn't. He settles in where James tugs him, trying not to read into it.

"Hey. All right, Potter?"

"Yeah, you probably should. But just- be quiet for a second, like I said."

No, that was unfair to say: James, especially under the careful self-scrutinization that sometimes came with alcohol's assistance. He just didn't want to voice it, couldn't handle admitting it to himself more than briefly. This is what he wants. This is more comfortable feeling, more natural feeling than anything else has been, and he's still often torn between deciding if he wants to punch or kiss Malfoy's stupid face.

He drops his own face into his hair, exhaling lowly.

"Shh."

Complications.

James Potter is one big fucking complication. The single thing Scorpius does not need right now in his life. Especially when he's getting on well with Al and his family, perhaps mending a bridge between his family and the Potters that has been broken for years.

Still, he wraps his arms slowly around James, closes his eyes, and draws him close. Quiet.

And James has a life to figure out. He has to decide where he's going, where he wants to go - has to make sure that he'll make his parents proud. Sure, he's good at speaking big, boasting about big plans and goals on the horizon, but the truth is that he's lost.

"I'm sorry about everything," he murmurs, right into his hair. "I'm sorry about- me."

Merlin.

Scorpius doesn't say anything for a while. He remains quiet, letting James speak, but it's soon clear that that's maybe all the other boy had to say for now. So with a sigh, Scorpius moved, tugging the covers back and squirming the both of them under.

"Why?"

James is visibly surprised, before he sighs and follows suit, keeping his arms around Scorpius as they get beneath the sheets. "You know why. -- for being drunk." For being confusing, he wants to say, but his tongue is too heavy to figure out how to phrase that.

Scorpius shrugs, stifling a yawn into the pillow. He really is tired now. A few hours ago, he couldn't fathom sleeping, but now? Now, it seemed like it could be easy.

"It's fine."

"... won't say this tomorrow, but-" He swallows hard, tugging him closer. "...doesn't mean nothing."

"Shh," Scorpius grumbles, cutting him off. He doesn't want to hear this kind of thing when James is still obviously drunk. He doesn't really want to hear it sober either, but at least then he could tell if the other boy was being truthful or not.

Tucking close to James, Scorpius's breath evens out. He should get up. Go back to Al's room. But... Well...

Staying is easier.

"No-" James shakes his head slightly at the grumble, his fingers flexing a little in Scorpius's shoulder. He needs to take his glasses off; they're smushed uncomfortably against Scorpius's hair, but it takes more effort to move than he's willing to expend right now. "No, I mean- I was lying earlier. It doesn't mean nothing."

Because it was too hard to say "it means something." That felt like it carried more implications.

James Potter will be the death of him.

Honestly.

On his tombstone, it's going to read: James Potter murdered him with sweet, stupid words and confusion.

Another sigh. Scorpius breathes in the scent of James, his eyes and limbs growing heavy, and then, almost just that quickly, he drifts off.

He'll cling to him all night, James thinks numbly. He can't imagine not clinging to him, right then - fingers pressed numbly into the other boy's arm, fit snugly against him. How am I supposed to sleep like this?

And then, just like that, he's out too, arms falling limp eventually, rolling off of him at some point. James will sleep a deep, heavy sleep, both from being out so late and from the liquor both, and it will be almost noon before he wakes.

The house is oddly quiet when James wakes. Too quiet, maybe. It's Saturday, and normally at this hour, there would be commotion. Harry and Ginny banging around in the kitchen, Al and Lily arguing about something or another, Teddy propping his feet on the table and Victoire demanding he take things more seriously. Maybe even Hugo and Rose adding their voices to the crowd, and Hermione and Ron arguing about Ron growing a beard.

But today? Nothing. Silence.

Just the sound of Scorpius Malfoy, breathing heavily, tucked in close to James with sleep lines all over his pale face from James's shirt.

James knows something is wrong when he wakes to the sounds of birds outside. It's hot in his room - the sun, filtering through the windows, seems to suggest that it's way, way past morning. He lies there, some of Scorpius's hair in his mouth, and he tries his best to spit it out silently as he stares up at the ceiling with a feeling of utter and sincere terror. His chest tightens. No one has woken him up. Al hasn't come looking for Scorpius. The house is silent- why? Had someone come in, seen them- were they having a family meeting, trying to determine what they were going to do with this, do with him?

The rush of fear that hits him is almost enough to make him dizzy.

He stares down at Scorpius, eyes bleary and red-rimmed from sleep and hangover, before he tries to pull himself out of the bed as silently as possible. If he's able to get out of it without waking Scorpius up, he'll be trying to investigate the silence of his house as quietly as humanly possible.

Scorpius hums in loss, but he doesn't quite wake. He'd been having trouble sleeping in the Potter house, but last night, that hadn't been much of a problem, and his sleep-deprived body wanted him to stay out for a few more minutes to catch up.

Outside the room, the house is empty. There's a half-finished breakfast on the table, leftovers on the stove. Nobody bothered to clean them up when they were done, it seemed.

There's a note hastily scribbled on the back of James's door if he manages to see it: Malfoy's gone. Went out looking. Owl if you see him. It's in Harry's writing. It looked like Al must have panicked when he'd woken without Scorpius in the room and they'd gone to search for him.

And he can't help it: the first reaction there is just relief, pure and absolutely. It's not great that the rest of the family is needlessly worried, but...

He heads to the table, scribbling out a quick note- (Malfoy's here, he's fine, come home) -before sending it off with his owl to wherever Albus might be. Grabbing two glasses of orange juice, he heads back to his room and seats himself on the edge of the bed.

It's tempting to wake him up with a kiss. He's fluffed, asleep, appealing, but he bites it back - focuses on the shame he'd felt minutes ago - and instead moves to shake him awake.

"Oi. Malfoy. Everyone thinks you're a runaway."

Shaken awake, Scorpius licks his dry lips and blinks blearily up at James. His first thought is: why the bloody hell am I waking to James touching me? but the memories of the previous evening soon filter through.

Drinking. Snogging. James's drunken apologies. Falling asleep in his arms.

Sitting up, he rubs his eyes, frowning. "Well, that's just wonderful." His voice is groggy with sleep, breath still heavy. He looks up at James dully, waiting for further explanation. Like why is the house so quiet? Not that he's complaining. It's nice to have a little calm in this madhouse.

"They're out looking for you now."

He passes the orange juice over, but he can't let his gaze linger on him - he has to look away, staring at the door, his shoulders set a little stiffly. "I owled 'em to let them know you're here, so they'll be back home soon. You'd better start thinking of an excuse."

James is left chewing on his lower lip, bouncing one leg restlessly.

"Better start thinking of an excuse."