nursedarry | How about a piece of AS/S?

Title: Hold the Phone
Rating: R
Word Count: ~6700
Pairing(s): Albus Severus/Scorpius
Warnings: None
Summary: The prompt was a very drunk Scorpius dials Al and tells him dirty/lame jokes and it leads to something more. No prior relationship, preferable.
Author Notes: Many thanks to my lovely betas,

delphipsmith and

groolover. Written for the 2011

hp_nextgen_fest. Thank you, mods - this was great fun!

o0o0o0o0o0o

“Brilliant! I’ve always wanted one of these!” Scorpius Malfoy whispered loudly. Too loudly.

“Shhh. You’ll get us in trouble,” cautioned Heather Flint. “I don’t want to lose house points this late in the term.”

Albus listened to the conversation taking place from the desk behind him and agreed with both Slytherins. It was going to be cool to get a mobile phone and yes, the snakes couldn’t afford to lose any more house points. Gryffindor had already kicked their arses at Quidditch — twice — this year. And as poor a show as Albus’ own house had had against them, they were in danger of losing the Cup if Hufflepuff were victorious on the morrow. Not that Albus would admit to harbouring any deep-seated interest in Quidditch. However, he did have an interest in certain aspects of the game, one that brought him to the stands more often than not.

Albus let his attention drift back to the lecture in Muggle Studies. They’d each be given a mobile phone to use over the summer holidays. They were going to be matched with a partner in class with whom they were to share text messages, conversations, music — whatever the phone was capable of — and then report back at the start of seventh year.

“They won’t work yet,” the professor said, and a few people groaned. “You’ll have to wait until you’re away from Hogwarts before they will. Your partner and you will be sharing a specific magical link, and you’ll also need to enter a special password for your phones to work. This way, no one else should have access. Right, I’ll be calling your names in pairs, and as I do, please come up and get your phones and passwords…”

o0o0o0o0o0o

By the time they had reached the border, Albus had grown tired of talking about Quidditch with Hugo. Yes, the game had been exciting, yes, it was terrible that Slytherin had prevailed, and yes, it was rather stupid of Hugo to have put all his money on Hufflepuff.

“Have you used your phone yet?” Hugo asked suddenly.

Albus blinked. He’d forgotten about it. He remembered mentioning it to Hugo after class; Hugo and his sister had been using mobile phones since they were little, but Albus hadn’t really paid much attention to them, being more into potions kits and duelling. Besides, his owl was fine for delivering messages. James was the one with all the Muggle friends, anyway. Albus had never seen the need for a phone, even when James had shown him all the gadgets on his. It was hardly a wand, after all. But now the novelty seemed more exciting.

Albus reached for his rucksack and opened it, dug around briefly, and withdrew the gleaming device. “I’m not even sure how to turn it on.” He showed it to Hugo.

“Here,” Hugo said, showing him where the on/off switch was. “It’ll probably turn itself off anyway, if you don’t use it for a while.” He pressed the switch and the phone glowed to life. “Can you tell me your password, or do you want to enter it?” Hugo held the phone out to Albus.

“You can do it,” Albus said. He had little fear that Hugo would care to use his phone, anyway, having one of his own. “It’s Charity.”

Hugo tapped in the word and the phone responded with a Bing. "Oh, look!" Hugo exclaimed. "You’ve got a text! Seems as though Malfoy has something to say to you already." He looked down at the screen and then scowled. “Hmmm…”

“What?” Albus asked.

“That doesn’t sound like Scorpius Malfoy to me, but then I don’t know him very well…” He handed the phone to Albus.

Albus looked at the screen and read what he assumed would be the first of many messages from his partner.

The sole purpose of a child's middle name, is so he can tell when he's really in trouble.

“What…?” Albus said.

“I know,” Hugo affirmed. “Wonder what that means?”

Albus started fiddling with the phone. “I may as well ask,” he said. “Show me how to reply.”

Hugo moved over to Albus’ side of the compartment, sitting down next to him. “Here, watch me. What do you want to say?”

“Uh… How about ‘Everyone knows I have a middle name. Do you?’ That seems safe and on-topic enough, don’t you think?” Albus asked Hugo.

“Works for me,” Hugo said, typing in the message.

By the time the train arrived in London, Albus had learned that Scorpius’ middle name was Hyperion, that he didn’t often get into trouble, and that he’d be spending his holiday on Corsica. He promised to owl a postcard and send Albus a photo from the phone.

Albus began to look forward to this assignment.

o0o0o0o0o0o

A clean desk is a sign of a cluttered desk drawer.

Lily giggled and passed the phone back to her brother. “Funny how you got paired with the one guy at school you fancy,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Lils, shut up!” Albus hissed. He looked around quickly, but no one seemed to have heard her. The rest of the family was in the kitchen or the dining room of the rented holiday house, busying themselves with getting tea on the table. “And that’s not true.”

“Oh?” His sister’s eyebrows shot up. “There’s other blokes you fancy? I mean, aside from Professor Lupin?”

“LILY!” Albus lunged.

A loud maternal voice echoed from the kitchen. “Albus Severus Potter! Stop strangling your sister this instant! And help James set the table!”

Albus paused before doing as he was told. All thoughts of his Defence instructor disappeared from his head and were firmly replaced by visions of Lily’s blond house-mate and the joke he’d sent on the train. Sighing, he stood and went to help his brother.

o0o0o0o0o0o

Albus sat on the Welsh beach looking at a postcard of the Corsican countryside. Just after the owl arrived that morning, Scorpius had sent a text saying that his parents thought the idea of learning to use mobile phones was charming. They evidently thought the assignment a quaint diversion during the holidays, when after the first few days of freedom’s excitement had worn off, the boys would be faced with hours of ennui until the start of the new term.

According to the card, Scorpius’ birthday would come shortly after his return from the Continent, in the third week of August. Albus wondered if he should get him something, now that they were correspondents. Albus’ birthday fell at the end of August, two days before their return to Hogwarts. Would Scorpius know that? Maybe he should send a subtle hint.

Scorpius had signed the card and then written a post script. Wish you were here. Albus pondered the meaning. It was a standard enough comment from a holiday postcard, but it still seemed a little out of place coming from someone he didn’t know very well, and with whom, up until that summer, he had barely conversed. Admittedly, Albus had spent no small amount of time looking at Scorpius out of the corner of his eye during lessons. And, of course, there were all those times he’d pictured the lanky blond in his mind’s eye, sequestered behind his dark blue bed-curtains, sweat on his brow and hand in his pyjama bottoms —

Albus stood and decided it was time for a long, head-clearing stroll down the beach.

*

Did you get my postcard? was the text waiting for him when he had retrieved his phone from his room on his return to the house.

Yes, thank you very much. It looks beautiful.

That’s nothing — you should see some of the bodies on the beach!

Oh, um…?

Will test out the camera, one second…

Albus sat down on the sofa. He pulled the phone to his chest conspiratorially as James and his father strode by, brooms in hand, and then peeked back at the phone when he heard the bing alerting him to an incoming message.

Not bad, eh? was accompanied by a picture of a group of men playing volleyball in the sand. Behind them were several women, all sunbathing topless, as far as Albus could make out, but as the volleyball players were in the foreground, it was hard to tell. Albus immediately wondered which bodies Scorpius had thought were not bad.

It was several minutes before he came up with a reply that was both politic and not a complete give-away. Yes. Great legs.

The reply, when it came, was a surprise. It was another picture, this time of just the bottom halves of the four male volleyball players. With it was the message Are you sure it’s their legs you’re looking at?

Albus gasped and sat up a little straighter. How did Scorpius know? Then he sagged. Lily, of course. Most of Slytherin must know he was gay by now, then. At least he could count on his own house to keep a secret. Not that it was a secret per se, just nothing he cared to advertise. It wasn’t as though anyone would give him trouble over it, but Albus’ sexuality was something he’d prefer not to be the topic of conversation at the dinner table. Any dinner table.

Albus settled for LOL. Hugo had said that was a good fall-back text should he ever be stuck for a pithy comment.

*

During tea, Albus’ phone binged again. He was keen to see how Scorpius would follow up on his earlier messages; they would be hard to beat. Albus knew his parents weren’t thrilled with gadgets and games at the table, so he took his phone from his pocket and looked down at the screen under cover of taking a sip of water.

“Ppsppsshhht!”

Water shot from his nose which prompted huge fits of giggles from his siblings and glares from his parents. He coughed several times and blew his nose with his serviette. “Okay, okay,” he said to no one in particular. “I’ll put it away.” He stuffed the phone back in his pocket and returned to his dinner.

Afterwards, as he set the washing-up spell going, Lily came along and asked what all the fuss was about. He fished out the phone and handed it to her.

Whoever coined the phrase ‘Quiet as a mouse’ has never stepped on one.

o0o0o0o0o0o

“Al, what exactly is the purpose of carrying this phone around?" Harry asked. "It won’t work in the Muggle world, will it?” Albus’ father hadn’t said anything directly to him about the experiment up to now, but after last night’s performance at tea, he’d started taking an interest in the object.

“Well, sort of. I mean, I can take pictures and record stuff, but I can’t make phone calls or text any Muggles, or anything,” he explained. He sat down next to his father on the cottage steps.

“Just his boyfriend,” James said, as he came outside and handed his father a pair of twig clippers.

“James!” both the other Potter men scolded.

“It’s true. It’s some assignment for school. Lily told me you were texting each other.” James picked up a Quaffle and began tossing it from hand to hand.

“You have an assignment to text your boyfriend? What boyfriend? And what class is that for?” Harry asked. He set down his clippers and broom and looked earnestly at his younger son.

Albus rather hoped a tidal wave would wash in from the nearby beach and drag him out to sea. “He’s not my boyfriend, and it’s for Muggle Studies. We’re supposed to be texting or talking to each other and using the phone to send pictures back and forth. You know, just stuff about our holidays. Nothing special. So shut it, James!”

“I wasn’t going to say anything!” James said quickly.

“Who is it you’re doing this with again?” Harry asked.

“Scorpius Malfooooooooooooy,” James sang out.

“Yes, him,” Albus said calmly, completely ignoring his brother.

“James,” Harry warned. “Was he the one who sent you something funny last night? That doesn’t sound like any Malfoy I know.” He went back to his broom clipping.

Albus watched his father work. “Yes, that was him. He has a… bizarre… sense of humour, but I suppose it could be worse.”

“Has he asked you out yet?” James asked with a huge smile.

“James!” Both Harry and Albus cried in unison again.

“Sorry, sorry.” James’ eyes twinkled. Albus stood and strode back inside the house. He could hear his father and James talking. Albus was pretty sure it was about him. He was also pretty sure he didn’t want to know what they were saying.

*

God, you’re so lucky you’re an only child! Albus hit Send as he flopped onto his bed.

That bad, is it?

Worse.

Want to tell me?

There was no way Albus was going to be sharing anything of the previous conversation with Scorpius. No… Not really.

I’m sorry. Here: What do you call a dog with no legs?

Albus thought for a moment, but his heart really wasn’t in it. I don’t know. What?

Doesn't matter what you call him, he isn’t going to come.

It was a bloody awful joke, but Albus couldn’t help but laugh.

o0o0o0o0o0o

The rain seemed never-ending. Wales was beautiful, of that Albus had no doubt, but the weather was fickle. It had turned two days ago, and rained heavily. Now it showed no signs of letting up. Still, it didn’t spoil his view of the beach as he sat on a long sofa drinking tea and watching his father and sister play chess.

No one would play Albus; he always won. His father gamely had a go every few months, but Albus was tired of letting him win. Plus Albus knew he was pants at disguising the subterfuge when it came to his father, so usually their games were called to a halt in favour of more esoteric pursuits such as Muggle Monopoly, which all of the Potters enjoyed immensely.

“Your grandfather would love to have a phone like that,” Ginny said in passing. “The ones he gets to play with aren’t nearly that flash.” She picked up the others’ empty mugs and took them back towards the kitchen to refill them.

Albus grinned. He knew his class had had a special dispensation for top-of-the-line models. Too bad he had to return it at the end of the summer; he was becoming fond of corresponding with Scorpius, even if it was just stupid jokes and the occasional picture. So far the best of those had been the men on the beach, and several — which Albus was sure he was never supposed to show anyone else — of Scorpius’ father attempting to water ski.

His phone binged and he looked down.

Never hit a man with glasses. Hit him with a Beater’s bat instead.

Albus grinned and looked over at his father, who chose that moment to push his glasses up his nose.

Brilliant timing, Malfoy, he replied somewhat cryptically, as obviously Scorpius would have no idea what the elder Potter had done. He turned his gaze back to the game.

Bing.

“Dad,” Albus cautioned. “Your queen’s in danger.”

“Shut up, Al!” Lily chided him with a smile. Everyone in the room knew no amount of coaching was going to help their dad.

Albus looked down at his phone.

I want your cock. I’d like to suck on it.

What the hell? Albus’ face went crimson and he pushed the phone face-down into his chest. That couldn’t have been right, could it? His brain tried to rationalise the irrational message. Scorpius must have sent another joke, and he’d only read the punch-line. Albus scrolled back up. No, nothing but the glasses joke was above the latest text.

His skin prickled. Maybe Scorpius had tried to send this to someone else, forgetting that he couldn’t use the phone to send texts to anyone else. But then who would he be trying to send it to? Someone male, obviously. Albus wasn’t sure he should respond. It might only serve to embarrass Scorpius if he’d meant to send it to someone else, so Albus ignored it.

Ignored it, as in, looked at the phone’s screen every few seconds, reading the message over and over and completely forgetting about the chess game, the new cup of tea his mother set down next to him, and indeed, his entire family.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, but was only a quarter of an hour, Albus couldn’t stand it any longer; he had to know what that message was about. He sent a text back. It was lame, but harmless.

LOL.

*

Safely sequestered in his room, Albus had heard nothing from his texting partner for the remainder of the evening. Worried that his response might have somehow upset Scorpius, he asked his sister and brother for the best jokes they knew. Maybe if Albus lightened the mood, Scorpius would forget that he’d sent something in error — something hot, something dirty, something so bloody arousing...

The suggestions he got from his siblings were all completely inappropriate. Or rather, completely appropriate to the tone of the last message Scorpius had sent, which meant there was no way Albus was sending them.

His mother had come up with a good clean joke, or so he thought. He wasn’t sure he got it, since he’d never been that keen on Muggle motorcars, but when she had told it, his father had burst out laughing. Once it was explained thoroughly, Albus could see the humour in it. He wondered if Scorpius would understand, but he had to send something impersonal and mood-lightening.

In the darkening gloom of his bedroom, the rain still pelting against his windows, he withdrew the gadget, quickly re-read Scorpius’ last message, just to be completely sure he hadn’t misread it the first hundred times, and texted: I couldn't repair your brakes, so I made your horn louder.

Then he waited.

o0o0o0o0o0o

Bing.

The soft noise woke Albus. With a rush of adrenaline that overrode his sleepiness, he quickly reached for his phone. He noted the time: 1:14am. Then he read the message, although focussing on the brightly lit screen was difficult at first.

It took me a while to understand that. I had to look up a couple of things, but that’s very funny. Did you get my earlier message?

Albus’ pulse shot up. No way he’d be getting back to sleep now. Confounded, he spent several long minutes panicking. He wanted to respond; the last thing he wanted to happen was to have Scorpius get tired of waiting for a reply and go to sleep, but what could Albus say? LOL wasn’t going to suffice this time. Finally he sent:

Yes. But I think it might have been only part of a message or joke. Maybe you should send it again. There. That put the onus very much on Scorpius to reply with the entire message. Or to explain the meaning of the one he’d sent. Albus tried not to hold his breath as he waited.

I said, I want your cock. Can I have it? Will you let me suck it?

Albus’ cock certainly thought the answer should be yes; he was instantly hard. He tried to ignore the wayward organ long enough to aim a locking charm at the door. There was no way anyone was coming into his room now. No way. He tried to control his shaking hands as he responded. Scorpius, is that you? Are you drunk?

Yes, it’s me. I might have had a little bit to drink. It’s my birthday.

Yes, of course. Happy birthday.

Did you get me something?

Albus thought about the autographed Harpies pennant he’d found for Scorpius’ birthday, intending to give it to him when they met again at school. He began to doubt his choice of gift in light of the recent photos, and now this conversation. An all-female Quidditch team probably didn’t hold as much appeal for Scorpius as Albus had previously thought it might.

Yes. I got you something. He'd go shopping again tomorrow, the next to last day of their holiday, and try to find something… better.

Is it your cock?

It was dark and raining outside, but the texted fireworks that kept going off in Albus’ bedroom were doing nothing to keep him cool. He had to start over three times with his next message, and finally disabled the predictive text. He figured Scorpius being drunk was reason enough for them being unable to hold a totally coherent conversation. They didn’t need Albus’ poor typing skills to hamper them further.

Why the sudden interest in my cock? As he hit "send", Albus undid the top button of his pyjama top.

It’s hardly sudden. Doesn’t your sister tell you anything?

What??? Albus tried to digest this message without getting upset or excited. He failed at both. Scorpius had been entertaining visions of his… cock since... since when? And told Lily?! He’d never be able to face her again. Which was nonsense as they’d no doubt see each other at breakfast in the morning. If Albus ever came out of his room again.

No. She didn’t. Was she supposed to? Albus rose a little painfully from the bed and opened one of the windows. The curtains blew around in the breeze, and he cast a Repelling Charm to keep the rain off the sill. No message came for the next five minutes, during which time Albus tried to keep his hand off his dick and wondered if Scorpius had passed out.

The phone rang, startling Albus so much he thought his heart might stop. He quickly burrowed under the duvet and pressed the Answer prompt, completely at a loss as to what to say besides the obvious nervous “Hello?”

“Hello, gorgeous. I’m not sober enough to keep texting properly, and I’m in bed now, so no one can hear me.”

Albus brain had stalled at gorgeous and he struggled to recall the rest of Scorpius’ sentence. He was pretty sure the word "bed" was in it somewhere.

“Are you still there?” Scorpius' voice came through the tiny phone.

“Yeah, I’m still here." Albus tried to make small talk. "It’s your birthday today, right? Did you get an early start?” His cock twitched, urging him to reconsider the direction of the conversation.

“Yes. Don’t worry; I didn’t drink that much. It’s bad form to start one’s birthday with a raging hangover.”

“That’s good, I guess,” Albus babbled.

“What are you wearing?”

Albus started at this abrupt change of topic. He pulled the covers further over himself, despite the heat underneath them. “My pyjamas. How — how about you?”

He heard Scorpius chuckle. “Nothing. Take them off — your pyjamas. Slowly. And tell me what you’re doing as you’re doing it.”

“Scorpius? Are you mad? Why? What…?”

“Albus.” Scorpius’ voice sounded like it never had before — coaxing, persuasive. Tender. Could it be the connection?

“What?” Albus nearly whispered.

“It’s my birthday. I want you as my present.”

“I don’t… I don’t understand.” Albus couldn’t believe he’d just said that and slapped his palm against his forehead. What would Scorpius think? He had no sex drive at all? Although, Scorpius seemed pretty sure of himself that Albus would capitulate.

Albus cock twitched again, painfully now. If he didn’t have a wank or a very cold shower quite soon, he knew he would be in for a long and agonising night. And considering he’d never get back to sleep even if he should hang up, what did he have to lose? Aside from never being able to face Scorpius again.

Scorpius had yet to respond to his last comment, so Albus took a deep breath. “Okay,” he said huskily. “You can have me. But first — tell me what you and Lily talked about.”

Once again, Scorpius chuckled. “I may have told her I fancied you.”

Albus let that sink in. The texts and the conversation up till now had made that rather obvious, but it was another thing to hear Scorpius say it, even if it wasn’t to his face.

“And…?” Albus prompted. He imagined Scorpius smiling, that lazy intoxicating smile he’d watched for whenever they were together. The Malfoys didn’t smile often, but when they did, they lit up the room.

“And I may have asked her if it was true that you liked boys. And what you might think about me.”

The hand Albus’ wasn’t using to hold the phone opened another pyjama button. “What did she say?” He tried to make his voice sound sexy but worried he came across as having a sore throat.

“She said you never miss a game.” Scorpius didn’t elaborate, but Albus knew what he was talking about. Albus might not be into Quidditch, but he did like Quidditch players. Particularly this one.

Perhaps the truth was best. As if Scorpius would believe any lie he could fabricate about what compelled him to attend all of Slytherin's Quidditch matches. “I don’t just watch you, you know.” Albus could have slapped himself again. He immediately wondered if he’d hurt Scorpius’ feelings.

“But you’re talking to me now. That’s as good as an admission of something.” Scorpius tone brooked no argument and Albus couldn’t formulate a plausible retort in his current state anyway. “Come on, Albus… I’ll make it good.”

For a moment, Albus’ lungs forgot how to work. But his hand knew what it was doing; his shirt forgotten, he reached into his pyjama bottoms and gripped his swollen cock.

“Albus…?” Scorpius said his name like a prayer.

“Scorpius,” Albus replied, real desire in his voice. “I can’t wait. I’m not bothering with undressing if that’s okay.”

He heard Scorpius laboured breathing for a moment and then, “Are you touching yourself?”

“Yes, I am.” Albus wasn’t sure what was redder at that moment, his face or his cock. He couldn’t believe he was having… phone sex? How could he ever walk into Muggle Studies again without getting an erection?

“Good. So am I. What does it feel like? Are you big? Are you long? Do you hold it tightly or loosely? Tell me what you’re doing.”

“Will you… you tell me what you’re doing, too?” Albus asked, and tried not to come instantly. Suddenly, he heard a door open in the cottage and someone walk into the hall. His hand came to a stop, and he held his breath. He heard the loo flush and feet padding back the way they’d come.

Distracted, he’d no idea if Scorpius had responded. “Sorry?” Albus asked, hoping Scorpius would repeat himself.

“I said yes, I will. I’ve got my hand — your hand — I’m imagining it’s yours — wrapped around my cock. And I’m leaking all over it.”

Albus made an inarticulate sound; he could feel his need mounting to new levels. This was crazy! A boy with whom he’d exchanged a few words, whom he’d only admired from afar, was telling him that he was picturing Albus’ hand on his erection.

“Uh… yes, your— your hand is on my… on me, too,” Albus faltered, heady desire beginning to replace crushing embarrassment. “It feels good.” That much was true. “I’m biggish, I guess. But your hand fits round it nicely.” Albus began pumping his cock, thinking of Scorpius holding it in his Seeker’s gloves.

“I’m going to put my mouth on you now,” Scorpius whispered, and Albus lost his battle with self-control. Semen spurted into his pyjama pants and all over his belly.

“Oh gods,” Albus moaned into the phone. It was a wonder he hadn’t dropped it by now.

“Did you come?” Scorpius’ voice was low and breathy. “Albus?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Albus chanted, as the last of the aftershocks faded.

“I’m going to, too. Your hand is just too good, you know exactly how I like it…”

Recovered slightly, and emboldened from his experience and the knowledge that he could say something that might tip Scorpius over the edge, Albus said, “Long and slow, just like that smile. But I’m holding it firmly, so you can’t escape.”

“Alllllbusssss…” Scorpius hissed into the phone.

Albus didn’t think he’d ever heard anything as wonderful as that sound. But what to do now? The embarrassment was back with a vengeance. Not for what they’d done, no, that had been… well… amazing. It was all about where they’d go now. To save himself any embarrassment, he quickly muttered a Cleaning Spell and put the phone back to his mouth.

“Happy birthday, Scorpius.”

“Thank you, Albus.”

Albus hung up before either of them could say anything else.

o0o0o0o0o0o

“I’ve got one! I’ve got one!” Lily called as Albus came down the cottage’s stairs the next morning. Naturally, the first person he’d meet was the one he was hoping to avoid.

“One what?” Albus asked as nonchalantly as he could. There was no way Lily could know what he’d done last night, surely. He didn’t make eye contact with her or anyone else in the kitchen as he headed for the worktop to make himself a cup of tea.

“Joke, stupid,” Lily said, as if it should be obvious. “A joke for Scorpius.”

Just hearing the name spoken aloud made Albus flush. He hoped his colour could be explained away by the steam from the boiling water which rose from the kettle. “Oh, okay,” Lily was beaming; she was obviously very pleased with herself. “Let’s hear it.”

“Does this rag smell like chloroform to you?”

Albus just stared at her. From the dining table, James laughed his head off.

o0o0o0o0o0o

Try as he might to do otherwise, Albus spent most of the following day thinking about Scorpius. He hadn’t heard anything from the other boy, but he was busy himself, packing and helping to clean the rented holiday home.

Now he waited on Platform 9¾, trying (without being obvious) to see if Scorpius and his family were anywhere nearby.

“C’mon, Al! We’re not going to find a seat if we don’t get on now!” Hugo was already on board and motioning frantically to his cousin.

Albus both wanted and feared to see Scorpius. What could he possibly say after the amazing — there was no other way to describe it — phone sex they’d had? Of course, he couldn’t avoid Scorpius forever. He’d just have to think of something. The lower half of his body could probably suggest a few things. But not on the train, his brain supplied.

Feeling butterflies in every corner of his body, Albus took one last glance around. Instead of Scorpius, Albus saw Scorpius’ father. He was looking at Albus’ father, shrugging and rolling his eyes in a kids-what-are-you-gonna-do-with-them-thank-god-summer-holidays-are-over kind of way. Albus’ father smiled back with the same look in acknowledgement. Obviously, the novelty of mobile phones was wearing thin for the older generation in both families.

Albus boarded the train, easily locating Hugo by following the chanting of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He squeezed inside the compartment, the lone eagle among a pride of lions. He vaguely heard the chattering around him and answered queries about his holidays in a dull monotone. His mind wasn’t on Quidditch, NEWTs, or even the idea of leaving Hogwarts at the end of next year, something that at the beginning of summer had excited him no end.

He’d be training as a Healer after leaving school, if all went to plan, and in the past he’d been eager to get his hands on the newly published medical spell books. Now all he wanted to do was get his hands on Scorpius Malfoy. Or himself. Or both.

But it looked as though Scorpius had had his fill of Albus. They’d not exchanged a text or anything else since that fateful phone call. Albus’ mood didn’t improve as they reached Scotland.

Bing. His phone drew him quickly from his dark musings. He pulled it from his robe — he’d not put it down once in the last few days — and read the words on the little screen.

Whenever I fill out an application, in the part that says "In case of emergency, notify:" I put "Healer". What's my mother going to do?

Albus laughed. Whether it was in relief or because the joke was actually quite funny, he wasn’t sure; he was just chuffed to hear from Scorpius again. He decided then and there that he never wanted to feel uncertain about their relationship again. He quickly texted back.

Want to go to the Three Broomsticks with me first Hogsmeade weekend?

The phone was stalwartly silent. Albus feared he might have taken things too far, and then Bing. He held his breath and looked down.

YES! Also, happy late birthday.

Albus spent the remainder of the north-bound journey with a bright smile on his face. He carried that smile with him through the feast, the Sorting, and long into the night. That one text and the secret shy glances passed between the Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables sustained him through to lessons the following day.

*

"And I suppose you all had a chance to send each other holiday snaps? Does anyone want to show them to the class?"

Albus nearly choked with laughter and he tried very hard not to look at Scorpius, whom he was sure was trying to get his attention. Muggle Studies was never going to be the same. Luckily, Joseph Finnigan and Ivy Stuart were happy to show off their shared photos of the Lake District and Bavaria, and the class were treated to those, rather than Scorpius' tits and arses on the beach in the Corsican sunshine.

o0o0o0o0o0o

The Three Broomsticks was heaving. Hogsmeade Weekends were, of course, popular, and the older students particularly favoured the pub, having tired of the twee atmosphere of the other establishments somewhere between fourth and fifth year.

There was no way Albus and Scorpius would be able to have a private conversation, and since the day after their return to Hogwarts, and the sad surrender of their phones, they’d not communicated at all. Being busy nearly every day with lessons, drawing up revision timetables, Quidditch, and catching up with house business, left little time for fraternisation. Of any kind.

So here they sat, at a large weather-beaten table surrounded by friends and classmates, discussing career choices and the latest fashion trends.

Scorpius had arranged things so that he and his group of housemates followed Albus and his friends down into the town, and he’d suggested starting out at the pub, reminding his friends that there would be no tables available if they went elsewhere first. The Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs usually started their weekends by shopping at Albus’ uncle’s store before descending en masse on the pub. So it seemed only prudent to secure a table at the Broomsticks before that large rowdy group arrived.

And it just so happened that, when returning from the bar with a round of butterbeers for himself and his friends, Albus had no choice but to squeeze himself into the last remaining space at the table between Scorpius and one of his own housemates.

A quarter of an hour later, Albus wondered if Scorpius had noticed he was there. They’d not looked at each other since Albus had sat down. This was no good. Wasn’t this supposed to be a date? Didn’t one talk to one’s date? Maybe hold his hand and exchange a meaningful glance or two?

Albus wondered if Scorpius' bravado and forthright demeanour on the phone had been solely fuelled by lust and alcohol. The thought made him sad. Determined not to let this opportunity slip away and spend another fortnight sharing shy glances across the space of the Great Hall, he casually dropped his hand under the table and onto Scorpius’ thigh.

Scorpius’ face didn’t change, his speech didn’t falter, but he reached down casually, perhaps to take a few Sickles from his pocket. Instead, he threaded his fingers through Albus’ own.

Immediately, the temperature in the pub rose — or so it felt. Albus glanced around, but no one seemed any the wiser about the romantic gesture. Conversation continued around them, though for ten minutes or so Albus would have been hard-pressed to recall any of the salient points. Not even the raucous entrance of the Gryffs and Puffs took his focus from the long fingers playing lightly over his palm and wrist.

Finally, the students were encouraged to leave. As much business as they brought in, they took valuable space away from the patrons arriving for an early supper, and soon Albus and Scorpius found themselves lagging behind the fragmented group of students slowly making their way back towards the castle.

Albus, still feeling high and a little brave from the afternoon’s furtive activities, murmured, “Where can we go when we get back?”

Scorpius actually blushed in the sweetest way, and Albus felt a rush of fondness. “Potions store room?”

That didn't sound like a very romantic spot for what Albus had in mind. After all, wasn’t this a date? He decided to trust Scorpius with something which, up to now, only his family and a few friends knew about. But if this wasn’t one of the times his father’s Invisibility Cloak was made for, Albus didn’t know what was.

“If you give me the password or let me into the dungeons, I can sneak into your room without being seen,” he confided.

Scorpius stopped. He leant down and pretended to tie his shoelace. “Really?”

“Really,” Albus replied, looking off in the other directions, affecting an air of patient boredom.

Scorpius looked up, his smile turning night into day. He stood and the two continued their journey up the hill.

o0o0o0o0o0o

“I wish I knew another joke I could tell,” Scorpius said, blushing again. He looked so nervous that Albus nearly felt sorry for him. He barely recognised the boy who’d brazenly said such wonderfully indecent things to him over the phone.

The two sat on Scorpius’ bed, surrounded by green bed-curtains and the strongest privacy charms they knew.

“You don’t need to tell any more jokes,” Albus assured him. He was probably more nervous than Scorpius, but he was determined not to let that derail this experience. He’d tasted this once, albeit from afar, and he was damned if he’d let himself feel that crushing uncertainty again. Albus just hoped he could carry it off without Scorpius sensing his insecurity.

He reached out and pulled Scorpius’ shirt off him. He trailed his fingers over the smooth chest as Scorpius eyes tracked every motion. Then Albus watched as Scorpius’ nipples hardened and he quickly moved his fingers to brush lightly across one and then the other.

Scorpius gasped quietly and grabbed Albus’ wrist. He pulled gently and Albus fell into him, their mouths meeting for the first time in an awkward but most satisfying joining of lips and tongue.

They kissed for what felt like hours, slowly learning each other’s tastes and textures. Finally, Albus pulled free and peeled off his jeans, the process made difficult and slightly painful by the raging erection he could no longer ignore.

After helping Scorpius do the same, Albus lay down beside the other boy and resumed kissing and caressing him.

Later still, and breathless, Albus whispered into the darkness, “Still want my cock?”

Scorpius let out a sheepish-sounding laugh. “God, I was drunk. I’m so sorry about that, Albus.”

Albus held him tighter. “I’m not. It was…” He searched for the perfect word. There was none, so he settled for “brilliant,” which was pretty much what the experience had been. “So, do you still…? Want my cock?”

Scorpius rolled over and pressed a kiss to Albus’ neck, and another to his chest, and another lower still. He stopped this path of kisses to whisper into the soft trail of hair below Albus’ navel. “You know I do.”

Albus gave it to him.

The End