Albus Severus Potter (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
honourbyname) wrote2014-06-29 02:06 pm
honourbyname) wrote2014-06-29 02:06 pm
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[OOM] Hogwarts Dorm Rooms
It's a peaceful Sunday mid-morning and the dormitories are nearly empty, save for one Albus Potter sitting up in his bed, doing something so incredibly predictable for a Ravenclaw student, it's almost downright cliche.
He's reading a book.
Oh, yes.
Most of his clothing is strewn about on the floor, and his other belongings - books stacked in piles of two - are perched precariously on the edge of his night-table. Albus has never been known to be particularly neat with his belongings but it could be worse.
(At least all of said clothing is clean, for example.)
He's flipping through pages, occasionally jotting down a note in the parchment beside him.
He's reading a book.
Oh, yes.
Most of his clothing is strewn about on the floor, and his other belongings - books stacked in piles of two - are perched precariously on the edge of his night-table. Albus has never been known to be particularly neat with his belongings but it could be worse.
(At least all of said clothing is clean, for example.)
He's flipping through pages, occasionally jotting down a note in the parchment beside him.
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(Adventurous, remember? And - why not.)
With some awkwardness and certainly not very graceful-like, being the first time and all, but - brilliant.
Scorpius has forgotten his worries and he'll accept whatever critique because it is just so - and Albus is - and he's grinning, after.
"Still with me?" he asks, when he clambers forward to kiss his ridiculously gorgeous boyfriend on the nose, cheek and chin, and everywhere.
"You'd better not be thinking about Potions."
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He feels spent and relaxed, more relaxed than he's ever been. Is this what it feels like? The pain mingled with the pleasure, and then suddenly he's aware of e v e r y thing.
"Who could think of Potions after that?" he asks, voice quiet, almost shy.
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What they've just done.
"I don't think it makes the memoirs, though."
He curls up beside Albus, sharing his pillow, and touching. He can't stop touching his boyfriend. Kisses here, and there. And hands everywhere.
"Unless it's a biography written by Rita Skeeter, maybe? I haven't read any of her works."
He realizes he's rambling now. It's just - And he's just - And what they did.
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Because ... yeah. After what they've done, which he's never ever done before, or ever even thought they'd be doing this morning, it's actually a bit exhausting.
"Maybe," he allows. "I've read plenty of Rita Skeeter. It's hard not to when your dad -"
There's a one-shouldered shrug but he doesn't finish the sentence. Scorpius knows about his dad. He knows how Rita Skeeter has pretty much made it her life's mission to go after him for ages.
"Mm. Scorp? Um. How do you feel?"
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And not who Scorpius wants to be thinking about right now, anyway. So.
"Uhm."
How does he feel? Besides brilliant, if a little flabbergasted as to how the morning took its turn. (He did not plan this. Handsy snogging, yes. That, no.)
"Honestly? Like I could go another round or two," he says with a laugh.
He glances at Albus, taking stock of his (sleepy-eyed) boyfriend - and, okay, getting another eyeful, too. It's just - yeah.
"Are you - ?" He sits up, propping himself on an elbow. "I mean - How do you feel?"
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He smiles and lets it sort of linger on his face.
Yeah, lets not talk or think about Albus' dad for a little bit. Talk about a moment-killer. (Sorry, dad.)
He traces the line of Scorpius' jaw with a finger, the motion entirely fond.
"We could go again. If you want. Before the morning's over."
... and everyone gets back.
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That smile.
His heart is skipping all over the place.
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He feels like he'd run a marathon, but that's just Scorpius' effect on him.
It's strange. Brilliant. He's honestly never felt anything like this before.
So ... yeah. Another round couldn't be a better idea.