Scorpius' nerves are incinerated by the flare of fire in the pit of stomach, and he shivers at the suddenness of it.

"Okay."

He worries at his bottom lip, if only in restraint, and oh-so-carefully follows the curve of Albus' collarbone with his fingers.

Down then, across his chest, and lower still to skim the waist of trousers. But there he stops, paused.

"Maybe we should, uhm - Lie down?"

(It'd be more comfortable. Or something.)