Fic: A Gentle Empire O'er Fraternal Souls
Jan. 13th, 2011 06:02 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nursedarryHow much did I squeal with joy when I got the ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
thilia's prompt for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
hp_yule_balls? Tonnes! I absolutely loved writing for this wonderful lady!
Title: A Gentle Empire O'er Fraternal Souls
Rating: NC17
Pairings: James/Albus, AS/S
Summary: There’s always been a connection, but to whom?
Warnings: Incest
Word Count: ~3,700
Author's Notes: I was so pleased to get this prompt –thilia's Albus Severus is my Albus Severus, and it was her pictures of him that inspired me to write this. Thank you so much to my wonderful betas, cassie_black12 & delphipsmith and to the best emo cheerleaders, noeon and bryoneybrynn! The title is taken from the poem To My Brothers, by John Keates.
Additional: the Prologue and Epilogue are snippets of many conversations.
Prologue
“He follows him everywhere; won’t let James out of his sight.”
“They’re so like the both of you, aren’t they? James’ personality reminds me of Ginny when she was young. And I suspect Albus is the spitting image of you in more ways than one. Boys, who do you think your sister will take after?”
“…only one person in this house I can think of sneaky enough to have used my Cloak, and it’s you, young man, isn’t it?”
“C’mon, Albus. James already knew how to fly upside-down by the time he was this age. There’s nothing to be afraid of… You can’t just sit and watch forever.”
“Do you like the birthday card, Mum? Al helped me make it. It glows in the dark and everything!”
“…was heart-broken when James left for school. I think he cried more than Lily did.”
…and you’ll never guess what, Dad, I’m the reserve Seeker on the Gryffindor team!!! A First Year! Just like you! Can I borrow your old gloves? They might be lucky. Please send them with the next owl…and tell Al I’ll dedicate my first game to him. Maybe then he’ll think about trying out when he gets here. Can’t wait to see you guys!
“…I have such a thing for their dad; I don’t give a toss about the stupid war. And don’t you ‘shhh’ me, Daisy Flint. I’m sure they didn’t hear.”
“C’mon, we’re nearly there! You’ll love Sorting. And you’ll love Gryffindor House. We can do everything together.”
* * * *
When, in seventh year, Scorpius Malfoy asked Albus Potter to be his date to the Yule Ball, it felt as if the entire student body heaved a collective sigh of relief. The two boys had, as was regularly pointed out to them, been dancing around each other for so long in the figurative sense, it was about time they did it literally.
Any irony was lost on them and their friends. The war seemed so far away now, no matter how many times the teachers made reference to it in class or parents became nostalgic after too many glasses of wine. For this generation, history was just that – history; the poignancy of events was all but lost on them. After all, a relative who’d died before he was even born could only live in his imagination, despite having a breathing replica around at every holiday. And, Albus reflected, neither he nor Scorpius was responsible for anything that had happened. Regardless, there was, for some people, no way to overcome the past and he would just have to learn to live with his grandmother’s disapproval.
His mother was kind and smiled and took him to Madam Malkin’s for new dress robes. The ladies ooh’d and ahhh’d, yet again saying he was the spitting image of his father – blind, it seemed, to the freckles and the green and silver tie. Albus imagined that if he lifted up his fringe and showed them his forehead – marred only by one or two spots – they’d see something else entirely.
When he was younger, Albus was thankful for his looks. Following on from a popular older brother would have been difficult as a forgotten middle child. But he was never forgotten. From the shock of his Sorting to his desire to be an artist, Albus appeared to almost rail against his heritage, resigned to being the black sheep of the family. Later in life, Albus was grateful for his uniqueness. He forgot about his looks even if no one else seemed to.
Albus knew Scorpius wouldn’t see his father in him. He had no reason to, indeed no desire to. Scorpius was bright, in addition to being a well-liked Ravenclaw Prefect and talented Seeker. What Albus saw in Scorpius, as he told him after their first dance, was a good counterpoint to himself. Scorpius was the empiricism to Albus’ randomness, the control to his chaos. Albus didn’t mention how delicious he thought Scorpius looked whilst playing Quidditch.
They held each other closer with every dance. They smiled and looked into each other’s faces. They ran their hands up and down each other’s backs and later, when the dancing was over, traced patterns with their fingers through the cooling semen on their bellies. At the start of the new term, their friends watched in anticipation to see how wonderfully this budding relationship would flower. But it never did. Not the way everyone expected.
The gossip, of course, was centred (wrongly) on their families’ censure. Albus lost track of how many times his friends had asked him how upset his parents were when they found out about Scorpius. It didn’t matter to them that he’d had his parents’ approval. After all, his parents knew better than to tell him to obey the rules.
Albus was never sure what kept him at arm’s length from Scorpius. Maybe it was because Scorpius was frequently busy with studying and Quidditch, or Prefect duties. Maybe Albus had other things on his mind. He had enjoyed their few times together, but that never seemed reason enough to do it again, until pressed into it by need or pressure from others. Their relationship might have seemed natural to their friends, but never to Albus. And Albus suspected that nothing but Quidditch and numbers ever came naturally to Scorpius. Still, they made love in the Prefects Bath the night before the last day of school, promising to see each other regularly once Scorpius returned from his internship in Hong Kong and Albus returned from his gap-year travels in South America.
“I love you,” said Scorpius, as Albus collapsed onto his back. Any reply he may have uttered was lost in the soft blond hair in which Albus’ face was buried.
* * * *
Naturally, there was plenty of space for Albus and his things in James’ flat. And James said he was happy to have the company. Maybe he didn’t notice that Albus turned up the telly a little louder when James and his girlfriend had gone to bed, or care that Albus went running in one of James’ t-shirts. Albus himself didn’t even know why he did those things. But it made him feel better with Scorpius still so far away.
He had pictures to console him: Scorpius in business robes holding a briefcase and wearing a corporate smile, Scorpius posing with the Chinese national Quidditch team, Scorpius naked on a beach in the South China Sea. Albus wondered who’d taken the photo, but oddly, lost no sleep over it.
“Don’t wait up for me, bro,” James said. He was dressed for some fancy party the Tornados were throwing for their players and their partners.
Albus watched as James shut the door behind him and then looked down at the crescent-shaped marks in his palms that his nails had made.
* * * *
“God, was I wasted. Can you believe I kissed our Keeper?! Mmmm…now I know what you see in it,” James quipped. “Who knew stubble was so sexy?” He took another sip of the Hangover Potion Albus had handed him when James had stumbled into the kitchen.
“Dad will be so chuffed.” Albus had waited up, falling asleep in front of the telly, but hadn’t had to turn up the volume when James returned alone.
“Ha! I’m not seriously considering switching sides; it was a dare,” James said. He handed back the phial and accepted the coffee Albus held out. “But for a moment, I think Jennifer was torn between being really jealous and being very turned on.” James laughed.
“What did your Keeper think?” Albus held his breath.
James looked thoughtful for a moment. “Mostly surprised. But he did kiss me back. Then his wife took a picture and he pretended to hump my leg.”
Al was grateful that James rose to open the window for an owl that landed there a moment later. He wasn’t sure he wanted to stand up wearing only his dressing gown and an erection.
“It’s for you,” James said, throwing him the long-distance message capsule.
* * * *
“You’ve been sulking for days,” James observed over a beer and the X-Box. “Why don’t you just go and visit him?”
Scorpius’ decision to accept a position in Beijing had indeed brought Albus down. He’d been expecting to see Scorpius in the summer, and here it was October, and they’d only exchanged a handful of letters. Al couldn’t be sure what he missed about Scorpius, or indeed if he missed him at all. Perhaps it was just the idea of him.
He had truly loved Scorpius. But with that love came a need to stifle part of himself for the sake of propriety and tradition. Hadn’t that been the case at even Hogwarts? After all, the school had put them together even before they themselves had thought of it. Albus had once told Scorpius that they were perfectly matched. At the time, he’d been right. Now Albus obsessed over this but rarely reflected on it. In rare moments of insight, Albus had wondered if Scorpius’ steadiness would eventually shroud his individuality, the idiosyncratic nature that was the root of his art. It was different with James. When they were together, Albus felt loved and reassured, he always had. But he also felt able to give free rein to his mischievous and quirky side, with no apology.
Both James and Scorpius were probably the least self-aware people Albus knew, and yet they both shared a singular gift. Intuition took many forms. But they would never understand this, least of all how Albus could love two people. They would see no sense to it. So he tried to feel nothing for as long as he could.
“I can’t,” Albus lied. “My current project is at a crucial stage and it would ruin my concentration.” James had seen Albus’ latest project, a piece of sculpture commissioned by the Ministry for the Atrium. James had tried to be nice with his opinion. It had made Albus smile. Of the two, Scorpius was the better liar.
* * * *
“Teddy can drink, that’s for sure,” James said as they stumbled from the Floo into the flat. “Jennifer’ll be glad she’s not here to see me like this.” He weaved his way unsteadily to the sofa in the front room, Albus on his heels and in no better shape. “Course, she’ll be pissed all weekend on that hen-night. S’nice she can get out with the girls, though. Means I can get out with the boys.”
“Like that Keeper of yours?” Albus teased him. They sat down heavily.
“Ha! I’d forgot about that!” James let out a snort. “Sorry to disappoint you, Albus. He’s married.”
“So are you. Practically,” Albus countered.
“Not a chance. I’m not even thinking about it.”
Albus was surprised. He’d thought James and his latest lady were pretty serious. But then James had a way of throwing himself fully into any endeavour. That’s what made him such a good Seeker. To James, there was nothing less than one hundred per cent. With Scorpius — aside from the skill — it was tactics, strategy, and the relentless desire to succeed. But there was no passion; it was all very calculated.
“What about you?” James’ question jarred Albus from his reverie.
“What about me, what?” Albus said, turning to look at his brother.
“When are you going to get married?”
“Stop talking like Mum. She thinks I should be in Beijing right now, choosing a ring.”
James laughed, a sound that always made Albus smile. “I wonder if Mrs Malfoy feels the same way.”
“Are you kidding? She and Mum talk to each other more often than Scorpius and I do.”
James’ chuckled. The more Ginny Weasley professed to be very different from her own mother, the more she became like her. It would be endearing if it weren’t sometimes so annoying.
“Can I tell you something, James?”
James turned his head toward Albus, who got lost in the soft brown stare for a moment before giving himself a mental shake and getting back to the conversation.
“I don’t know if Scorpius and I were meant to be, you know?”
“Oh, come on! What a load of pish!” James admonished. “You’re perfect for each other!”
“But are we?” Albus asked. “Everyone says it — even me —yet, I’m not sure…”
“Don’t be silly!” James said. “Think about it. I know what you’re looking for in a lover.”
“You do? I never knew you thought about stuff like that.” Albus couldn’t keep a sappy smile off his face. He blamed the drink.
“Shut up and listen to me. You want handsome, right? Smart? Successful?” James ticked these off with his fingers. “Body of a Quidditch player?”
“Uh-huh,” Albus agreed. “You do realise you’ve just described yourself.” He leaned forward infinitesimally.
“I realise that. But…”
Albus blinked. “But what?” What was James saying?
The moment seemed to have passed. “I’ve already got a bloke, remember?” James joked.
“I bet I’m a much better kisser,” Albus replied, not joking.
James stopped smiling and stared into Albus eyes. “I’m not drunk enough to kiss my brother, no matter how much I want to,” he whispered.
“Yes, you are,” replied Albus. He leaned forward and closed the distance between them.
*
“You’ll have to talk me through this,” James said, without a trace of embarrassment. He fully acknowledged his lack of experience with men and Albus was quick to reassure him.
“You’ll know what to do. But I’ll help if I can,” he promised. Albus had prepared himself using a toy he’d bought with Scorpius. He loved the way James’ eyes widened at the sight, the way he would glance up at Albus and back down to the disappearing length, slick with lube and warmed by a charm.
After what seemed like an eternity waiting for the real thing, Albus reached for James. James lay over him and kissed him again, his cock like a steel rod against Albus’ thigh. Slowly, Albus turned and raised himself upwards. “It’ll be easier like this,” he said. He looked over his shoulder and watched as James sat back and applied lube onto himself.
“I don’t want to hurt you.” James pushed in slowly and slickly, being almost too careful.
Albus smiled at him. “You could never do that.”
“God, that feels so good.”
Albus had to turn his head and he rested it on the pillow. “Mmmmm...” He felt full. Filled with James’ cock.
“I can’t believe… We must be crazy…”
“Shhh… I want this.”
“But—”
“Give it to me.”
“Merlin, you’re so tight. And so hot. I love how it feels inside you.” James breath tickled the back of Albus’ neck. He began to slide slowly in and out. Albus moaned.
“Does that feel good?” James asked.
“Fuck, yes,” Albus gasped. It felt wonderful. James’ powerful body was taut and warm above his. That perfect chest pressed against Albus’ back and slid up and down it, mirroring the movement of the cock inside him.
James stroked Albus’ chest in time with his thrusts. He wrapped his other arm securely around Albus’ belly, holding him in place, holding them together.
“Oh, god, Albus, I never want to stop fucking you.” James’ hand now snaked downwards, first cupping and playing with Albus’ balls, then moving upwards to stroke him.
Albus was lost. “I don’t ever want you to stop.”
The bed below them began to creak and shudder. Albus fell to his elbows and James rose up behind him, instinctively grabbing Albus’ hips and slamming into him.
James’ voice was harsh as he pounded into Albus, aiming for the spot Albus had talked about. “Are you gonna come? Am I making you come?”
In answer to his question, Albus began spurting semen onto the bed. “Fuck James, yes,yes!” he shouted.
James let out a growl and with a final thrust, pulsed inside of Albus’. “Merlin…” he gasped a moment later. “It doesn’t get much better than that.”
Albus was just able to roll onto his back after James pulled out of him and before he collapsed onto the bed. He held James’ sweaty body very close, kissing his cheeks, his eyelids, his lips.
“Oh, yes it does, James. Yes it does.”
*
They didn’t leave the flat for days. Instead, they fucked. They fucked in James’ bed. They fucked in Albus’ bed. They fucked on the sofa and on the floor. They lived on Indian take-aways and the odd-coloured sports drinks they found in the back of the ice box, purchased months ago, but never drunk.
Finally, James — after two days of hearing Albus cry out in pleasure beneath him — asked Albus to take him. Following several false starts, lots of lubrication, and filthy suggestions whispered into James’ ear, Albus gratefully slid into him. He came almost immediately. But James didn’t laugh at him or even comment. Instead, he smiled and Albus smiled back, pulling out and re-inserting his fingers. He wrapped his other hand around James’ thick cock. He wriggled his fingers inside James, quickly locating the spot he’d found whilst stretching him earlier. Albus draped himself on top of James, kissing him long and slow, hands stroking and pressing. Albus’ cock might have been softening against James’ thigh, but he was as turned on as he’d ever been.
“I’ll fuck you again, James,” Albus promised, speeding up the rhythm of his thrusting and stroking. “I’ll last longer, I promise. You’ll feel me inside you pumping and coming…” He thought James may have felt that, however briefly, but Albus was keen to show him that he could be the kind of lover James would like. He could show James just how magical it felt to be truly possessed. Until then, his hands would and did suffice; James came moments later, hissing Albus’ name into his brother’s mouth.
* * * *
Jennifer never did come to understand how it was that two young men wouldn’t want to go out for New Years’ Eve. Already, she’d complained about James’ lack of attention and inability to remember any of the dates they’d arranged over the holidays. In the end, it was her friends’ suggestion that she could do better that removed her from James’ life. There was no gap to fill, no role to play in order for James to heal. Albus had always been there.
Albus’ sculpture slowly took shape, but always he found himself distracted, day-dreaming when he should have been focussed. James played the best Quidditch of his life. Scorpius’ letters punctuated the routine they fell into. And yet no one seemed the wiser.
At the unveiling in the Atrium, the Minister praised Albus’ talent and gentle nature. (What would he have said had he known Albus spent his nights whispering filthy things into his brother’s ear?) His family spoke of opportunity. Albus questioned all of this. His talent lay in secrets, in betrayal. He found it hard to face his parents and wondered if James suffered too. They never spoke of it — speaking was acknowledgement. Admission. And there could be none. It slowly palled. But Albus wore a brave face.
Sometimes he felt addicted. Other times he felt at home. He gloried in the confusion and welcomed the warmth and the sensation. It was passion without reason. It appealed to Albus’ disordered nature and he embraced it. It fulfilled him; James was like the clay beneath his hands. But, as the days blurred by, Albus could sense that it was nearing time to finish this creation.
*
It was Lily who finally gave them pause. The little touches, the glances, the smiles across the family table were not misinterpreted as brotherly affection. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” she said to James one cold February night. Had she assumed Albus did know and didn’t feel the need to ask him?
Scorpius’ owl continued to visit, and Albus continued to reply. Their relationship never grew, never changed, but it never faded. Slowly, Albus came to think of these letters as guilty pleasures. He stopped reading them in James’ presence; he only answered them whilst James was away. James stopped asking; there was no one but Albus in his world now.
I hope you know what you’re doing.
Albus thought this so many times he now knew Lily had said it for his benefit. The words flitted across his mind like James fingers across his back, new itches appearing the more James scratched. An owl tapped on the window. James fingers drifted down over Albus’ testicles until Albus rose to let the owl in.
* * * *
Living in the present had come easy to James. Now he’d be adrift, he said. Albus lost track of the times he’d asked for forgiveness, had given in. Had made it worse.
Lily put her foot down after James talked of running away. There could be no way of explaining. And Albus couldn’t break his parents’ hearts, even as he had to break James’. He tried to make it easy.
*
I can’t wait to touch you again. I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve touched myself as I’ve read your letters. You say such things to me and I lose control. I need that, like I’ve always needed you. I know how much you care for me; you’ve never stopped telling me. It’s what’s kept me going these months away. No one makes me feel the way you do. I can’t wait to make you mine.
James hadn’t torn it up or thrown it away, instead he left the letter where Albus had, under the pile of magazines on the coffee table. When they fought over it, he made reference to the date. There couldn’t have been any misunderstanding.
Epilogue
Lily picked up the pieces, of course. Years later, James and Albus thanked her for it. She smiled, straightened their ties, and said nothing.
“…didn’t see this coming? Hugo, just how blind are you?”
“I told you they were inseparable. Now, are you going to pretend this isn’t happening or are you going to go over there and wish them well, Draco?”
“…the sweetest thing with James reading his speech? I guess I’m not the only one that cries at weddings.”
Albus’ tears continued long after James’ had dried.
The End
thilia's prompt for hp_yule_balls? Tonnes! I absolutely loved writing for this wonderful lady!Title: A Gentle Empire O'er Fraternal Souls
Rating: NC17
Pairings: James/Albus, AS/S
Summary: There’s always been a connection, but to whom?
Warnings: Incest
Word Count: ~3,700
Author's Notes: I was so pleased to get this prompt –
thilia's Albus Severus is my Albus Severus, and it was her pictures of him that inspired me to write this. Thank you so much to my wonderful betas, cassie_black12 & delphipsmith and to the best emo cheerleaders, noeon and bryoneybrynn! The title is taken from the poem To My Brothers, by John Keates. Additional: the Prologue and Epilogue are snippets of many conversations.
Prologue
“He follows him everywhere; won’t let James out of his sight.”
“They’re so like the both of you, aren’t they? James’ personality reminds me of Ginny when she was young. And I suspect Albus is the spitting image of you in more ways than one. Boys, who do you think your sister will take after?”
“…only one person in this house I can think of sneaky enough to have used my Cloak, and it’s you, young man, isn’t it?”
“C’mon, Albus. James already knew how to fly upside-down by the time he was this age. There’s nothing to be afraid of… You can’t just sit and watch forever.”
“Do you like the birthday card, Mum? Al helped me make it. It glows in the dark and everything!”
“…was heart-broken when James left for school. I think he cried more than Lily did.”
…and you’ll never guess what, Dad, I’m the reserve Seeker on the Gryffindor team!!! A First Year! Just like you! Can I borrow your old gloves? They might be lucky. Please send them with the next owl…and tell Al I’ll dedicate my first game to him. Maybe then he’ll think about trying out when he gets here. Can’t wait to see you guys!
“…I have such a thing for their dad; I don’t give a toss about the stupid war. And don’t you ‘shhh’ me, Daisy Flint. I’m sure they didn’t hear.”
“C’mon, we’re nearly there! You’ll love Sorting. And you’ll love Gryffindor House. We can do everything together.”
* * * *
When, in seventh year, Scorpius Malfoy asked Albus Potter to be his date to the Yule Ball, it felt as if the entire student body heaved a collective sigh of relief. The two boys had, as was regularly pointed out to them, been dancing around each other for so long in the figurative sense, it was about time they did it literally.
Any irony was lost on them and their friends. The war seemed so far away now, no matter how many times the teachers made reference to it in class or parents became nostalgic after too many glasses of wine. For this generation, history was just that – history; the poignancy of events was all but lost on them. After all, a relative who’d died before he was even born could only live in his imagination, despite having a breathing replica around at every holiday. And, Albus reflected, neither he nor Scorpius was responsible for anything that had happened. Regardless, there was, for some people, no way to overcome the past and he would just have to learn to live with his grandmother’s disapproval.
His mother was kind and smiled and took him to Madam Malkin’s for new dress robes. The ladies ooh’d and ahhh’d, yet again saying he was the spitting image of his father – blind, it seemed, to the freckles and the green and silver tie. Albus imagined that if he lifted up his fringe and showed them his forehead – marred only by one or two spots – they’d see something else entirely.
When he was younger, Albus was thankful for his looks. Following on from a popular older brother would have been difficult as a forgotten middle child. But he was never forgotten. From the shock of his Sorting to his desire to be an artist, Albus appeared to almost rail against his heritage, resigned to being the black sheep of the family. Later in life, Albus was grateful for his uniqueness. He forgot about his looks even if no one else seemed to.
Albus knew Scorpius wouldn’t see his father in him. He had no reason to, indeed no desire to. Scorpius was bright, in addition to being a well-liked Ravenclaw Prefect and talented Seeker. What Albus saw in Scorpius, as he told him after their first dance, was a good counterpoint to himself. Scorpius was the empiricism to Albus’ randomness, the control to his chaos. Albus didn’t mention how delicious he thought Scorpius looked whilst playing Quidditch.
They held each other closer with every dance. They smiled and looked into each other’s faces. They ran their hands up and down each other’s backs and later, when the dancing was over, traced patterns with their fingers through the cooling semen on their bellies. At the start of the new term, their friends watched in anticipation to see how wonderfully this budding relationship would flower. But it never did. Not the way everyone expected.
The gossip, of course, was centred (wrongly) on their families’ censure. Albus lost track of how many times his friends had asked him how upset his parents were when they found out about Scorpius. It didn’t matter to them that he’d had his parents’ approval. After all, his parents knew better than to tell him to obey the rules.
Albus was never sure what kept him at arm’s length from Scorpius. Maybe it was because Scorpius was frequently busy with studying and Quidditch, or Prefect duties. Maybe Albus had other things on his mind. He had enjoyed their few times together, but that never seemed reason enough to do it again, until pressed into it by need or pressure from others. Their relationship might have seemed natural to their friends, but never to Albus. And Albus suspected that nothing but Quidditch and numbers ever came naturally to Scorpius. Still, they made love in the Prefects Bath the night before the last day of school, promising to see each other regularly once Scorpius returned from his internship in Hong Kong and Albus returned from his gap-year travels in South America.
“I love you,” said Scorpius, as Albus collapsed onto his back. Any reply he may have uttered was lost in the soft blond hair in which Albus’ face was buried.
* * * *
Naturally, there was plenty of space for Albus and his things in James’ flat. And James said he was happy to have the company. Maybe he didn’t notice that Albus turned up the telly a little louder when James and his girlfriend had gone to bed, or care that Albus went running in one of James’ t-shirts. Albus himself didn’t even know why he did those things. But it made him feel better with Scorpius still so far away.
He had pictures to console him: Scorpius in business robes holding a briefcase and wearing a corporate smile, Scorpius posing with the Chinese national Quidditch team, Scorpius naked on a beach in the South China Sea. Albus wondered who’d taken the photo, but oddly, lost no sleep over it.
“Don’t wait up for me, bro,” James said. He was dressed for some fancy party the Tornados were throwing for their players and their partners.
Albus watched as James shut the door behind him and then looked down at the crescent-shaped marks in his palms that his nails had made.
* * * *
“God, was I wasted. Can you believe I kissed our Keeper?! Mmmm…now I know what you see in it,” James quipped. “Who knew stubble was so sexy?” He took another sip of the Hangover Potion Albus had handed him when James had stumbled into the kitchen.
“Dad will be so chuffed.” Albus had waited up, falling asleep in front of the telly, but hadn’t had to turn up the volume when James returned alone.
“Ha! I’m not seriously considering switching sides; it was a dare,” James said. He handed back the phial and accepted the coffee Albus held out. “But for a moment, I think Jennifer was torn between being really jealous and being very turned on.” James laughed.
“What did your Keeper think?” Albus held his breath.
James looked thoughtful for a moment. “Mostly surprised. But he did kiss me back. Then his wife took a picture and he pretended to hump my leg.”
Al was grateful that James rose to open the window for an owl that landed there a moment later. He wasn’t sure he wanted to stand up wearing only his dressing gown and an erection.
“It’s for you,” James said, throwing him the long-distance message capsule.
* * * *
“You’ve been sulking for days,” James observed over a beer and the X-Box. “Why don’t you just go and visit him?”
Scorpius’ decision to accept a position in Beijing had indeed brought Albus down. He’d been expecting to see Scorpius in the summer, and here it was October, and they’d only exchanged a handful of letters. Al couldn’t be sure what he missed about Scorpius, or indeed if he missed him at all. Perhaps it was just the idea of him.
He had truly loved Scorpius. But with that love came a need to stifle part of himself for the sake of propriety and tradition. Hadn’t that been the case at even Hogwarts? After all, the school had put them together even before they themselves had thought of it. Albus had once told Scorpius that they were perfectly matched. At the time, he’d been right. Now Albus obsessed over this but rarely reflected on it. In rare moments of insight, Albus had wondered if Scorpius’ steadiness would eventually shroud his individuality, the idiosyncratic nature that was the root of his art. It was different with James. When they were together, Albus felt loved and reassured, he always had. But he also felt able to give free rein to his mischievous and quirky side, with no apology.
Both James and Scorpius were probably the least self-aware people Albus knew, and yet they both shared a singular gift. Intuition took many forms. But they would never understand this, least of all how Albus could love two people. They would see no sense to it. So he tried to feel nothing for as long as he could.
“I can’t,” Albus lied. “My current project is at a crucial stage and it would ruin my concentration.” James had seen Albus’ latest project, a piece of sculpture commissioned by the Ministry for the Atrium. James had tried to be nice with his opinion. It had made Albus smile. Of the two, Scorpius was the better liar.
* * * *
“Teddy can drink, that’s for sure,” James said as they stumbled from the Floo into the flat. “Jennifer’ll be glad she’s not here to see me like this.” He weaved his way unsteadily to the sofa in the front room, Albus on his heels and in no better shape. “Course, she’ll be pissed all weekend on that hen-night. S’nice she can get out with the girls, though. Means I can get out with the boys.”
“Like that Keeper of yours?” Albus teased him. They sat down heavily.
“Ha! I’d forgot about that!” James let out a snort. “Sorry to disappoint you, Albus. He’s married.”
“So are you. Practically,” Albus countered.
“Not a chance. I’m not even thinking about it.”
Albus was surprised. He’d thought James and his latest lady were pretty serious. But then James had a way of throwing himself fully into any endeavour. That’s what made him such a good Seeker. To James, there was nothing less than one hundred per cent. With Scorpius — aside from the skill — it was tactics, strategy, and the relentless desire to succeed. But there was no passion; it was all very calculated.
“What about you?” James’ question jarred Albus from his reverie.
“What about me, what?” Albus said, turning to look at his brother.
“When are you going to get married?”
“Stop talking like Mum. She thinks I should be in Beijing right now, choosing a ring.”
James laughed, a sound that always made Albus smile. “I wonder if Mrs Malfoy feels the same way.”
“Are you kidding? She and Mum talk to each other more often than Scorpius and I do.”
James’ chuckled. The more Ginny Weasley professed to be very different from her own mother, the more she became like her. It would be endearing if it weren’t sometimes so annoying.
“Can I tell you something, James?”
James turned his head toward Albus, who got lost in the soft brown stare for a moment before giving himself a mental shake and getting back to the conversation.
“I don’t know if Scorpius and I were meant to be, you know?”
“Oh, come on! What a load of pish!” James admonished. “You’re perfect for each other!”
“But are we?” Albus asked. “Everyone says it — even me —yet, I’m not sure…”
“Don’t be silly!” James said. “Think about it. I know what you’re looking for in a lover.”
“You do? I never knew you thought about stuff like that.” Albus couldn’t keep a sappy smile off his face. He blamed the drink.
“Shut up and listen to me. You want handsome, right? Smart? Successful?” James ticked these off with his fingers. “Body of a Quidditch player?”
“Uh-huh,” Albus agreed. “You do realise you’ve just described yourself.” He leaned forward infinitesimally.
“I realise that. But…”
Albus blinked. “But what?” What was James saying?
The moment seemed to have passed. “I’ve already got a bloke, remember?” James joked.
“I bet I’m a much better kisser,” Albus replied, not joking.
James stopped smiling and stared into Albus eyes. “I’m not drunk enough to kiss my brother, no matter how much I want to,” he whispered.
“Yes, you are,” replied Albus. He leaned forward and closed the distance between them.
*
“You’ll have to talk me through this,” James said, without a trace of embarrassment. He fully acknowledged his lack of experience with men and Albus was quick to reassure him.
“You’ll know what to do. But I’ll help if I can,” he promised. Albus had prepared himself using a toy he’d bought with Scorpius. He loved the way James’ eyes widened at the sight, the way he would glance up at Albus and back down to the disappearing length, slick with lube and warmed by a charm.
After what seemed like an eternity waiting for the real thing, Albus reached for James. James lay over him and kissed him again, his cock like a steel rod against Albus’ thigh. Slowly, Albus turned and raised himself upwards. “It’ll be easier like this,” he said. He looked over his shoulder and watched as James sat back and applied lube onto himself.
“I don’t want to hurt you.” James pushed in slowly and slickly, being almost too careful.
Albus smiled at him. “You could never do that.”
“God, that feels so good.”
Albus had to turn his head and he rested it on the pillow. “Mmmmm...” He felt full. Filled with James’ cock.
“I can’t believe… We must be crazy…”
“Shhh… I want this.”
“But—”
“Give it to me.”
“Merlin, you’re so tight. And so hot. I love how it feels inside you.” James breath tickled the back of Albus’ neck. He began to slide slowly in and out. Albus moaned.
“Does that feel good?” James asked.
“Fuck, yes,” Albus gasped. It felt wonderful. James’ powerful body was taut and warm above his. That perfect chest pressed against Albus’ back and slid up and down it, mirroring the movement of the cock inside him.
James stroked Albus’ chest in time with his thrusts. He wrapped his other arm securely around Albus’ belly, holding him in place, holding them together.
“Oh, god, Albus, I never want to stop fucking you.” James’ hand now snaked downwards, first cupping and playing with Albus’ balls, then moving upwards to stroke him.
Albus was lost. “I don’t ever want you to stop.”
The bed below them began to creak and shudder. Albus fell to his elbows and James rose up behind him, instinctively grabbing Albus’ hips and slamming into him.
James’ voice was harsh as he pounded into Albus, aiming for the spot Albus had talked about. “Are you gonna come? Am I making you come?”
In answer to his question, Albus began spurting semen onto the bed. “Fuck James, yes,yes!” he shouted.
James let out a growl and with a final thrust, pulsed inside of Albus’. “Merlin…” he gasped a moment later. “It doesn’t get much better than that.”
Albus was just able to roll onto his back after James pulled out of him and before he collapsed onto the bed. He held James’ sweaty body very close, kissing his cheeks, his eyelids, his lips.
“Oh, yes it does, James. Yes it does.”
*
They didn’t leave the flat for days. Instead, they fucked. They fucked in James’ bed. They fucked in Albus’ bed. They fucked on the sofa and on the floor. They lived on Indian take-aways and the odd-coloured sports drinks they found in the back of the ice box, purchased months ago, but never drunk.
Finally, James — after two days of hearing Albus cry out in pleasure beneath him — asked Albus to take him. Following several false starts, lots of lubrication, and filthy suggestions whispered into James’ ear, Albus gratefully slid into him. He came almost immediately. But James didn’t laugh at him or even comment. Instead, he smiled and Albus smiled back, pulling out and re-inserting his fingers. He wrapped his other hand around James’ thick cock. He wriggled his fingers inside James, quickly locating the spot he’d found whilst stretching him earlier. Albus draped himself on top of James, kissing him long and slow, hands stroking and pressing. Albus’ cock might have been softening against James’ thigh, but he was as turned on as he’d ever been.
“I’ll fuck you again, James,” Albus promised, speeding up the rhythm of his thrusting and stroking. “I’ll last longer, I promise. You’ll feel me inside you pumping and coming…” He thought James may have felt that, however briefly, but Albus was keen to show him that he could be the kind of lover James would like. He could show James just how magical it felt to be truly possessed. Until then, his hands would and did suffice; James came moments later, hissing Albus’ name into his brother’s mouth.
* * * *
Jennifer never did come to understand how it was that two young men wouldn’t want to go out for New Years’ Eve. Already, she’d complained about James’ lack of attention and inability to remember any of the dates they’d arranged over the holidays. In the end, it was her friends’ suggestion that she could do better that removed her from James’ life. There was no gap to fill, no role to play in order for James to heal. Albus had always been there.
Albus’ sculpture slowly took shape, but always he found himself distracted, day-dreaming when he should have been focussed. James played the best Quidditch of his life. Scorpius’ letters punctuated the routine they fell into. And yet no one seemed the wiser.
At the unveiling in the Atrium, the Minister praised Albus’ talent and gentle nature. (What would he have said had he known Albus spent his nights whispering filthy things into his brother’s ear?) His family spoke of opportunity. Albus questioned all of this. His talent lay in secrets, in betrayal. He found it hard to face his parents and wondered if James suffered too. They never spoke of it — speaking was acknowledgement. Admission. And there could be none. It slowly palled. But Albus wore a brave face.
Sometimes he felt addicted. Other times he felt at home. He gloried in the confusion and welcomed the warmth and the sensation. It was passion without reason. It appealed to Albus’ disordered nature and he embraced it. It fulfilled him; James was like the clay beneath his hands. But, as the days blurred by, Albus could sense that it was nearing time to finish this creation.
*
It was Lily who finally gave them pause. The little touches, the glances, the smiles across the family table were not misinterpreted as brotherly affection. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” she said to James one cold February night. Had she assumed Albus did know and didn’t feel the need to ask him?
Scorpius’ owl continued to visit, and Albus continued to reply. Their relationship never grew, never changed, but it never faded. Slowly, Albus came to think of these letters as guilty pleasures. He stopped reading them in James’ presence; he only answered them whilst James was away. James stopped asking; there was no one but Albus in his world now.
I hope you know what you’re doing.
Albus thought this so many times he now knew Lily had said it for his benefit. The words flitted across his mind like James fingers across his back, new itches appearing the more James scratched. An owl tapped on the window. James fingers drifted down over Albus’ testicles until Albus rose to let the owl in.
* * * *
Living in the present had come easy to James. Now he’d be adrift, he said. Albus lost track of the times he’d asked for forgiveness, had given in. Had made it worse.
Lily put her foot down after James talked of running away. There could be no way of explaining. And Albus couldn’t break his parents’ hearts, even as he had to break James’. He tried to make it easy.
*
I can’t wait to touch you again. I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve touched myself as I’ve read your letters. You say such things to me and I lose control. I need that, like I’ve always needed you. I know how much you care for me; you’ve never stopped telling me. It’s what’s kept me going these months away. No one makes me feel the way you do. I can’t wait to make you mine.
James hadn’t torn it up or thrown it away, instead he left the letter where Albus had, under the pile of magazines on the coffee table. When they fought over it, he made reference to the date. There couldn’t have been any misunderstanding.
Epilogue
Lily picked up the pieces, of course. Years later, James and Albus thanked her for it. She smiled, straightened their ties, and said nothing.
“…didn’t see this coming? Hugo, just how blind are you?”
“I told you they were inseparable. Now, are you going to pretend this isn’t happening or are you going to go over there and wish them well, Draco?”
“…the sweetest thing with James reading his speech? I guess I’m not the only one that cries at weddings.”
Albus’ tears continued long after James’ had dried.
The End
