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Inferno: An Albus Severus/Scorpius fic

Author: crazyparakiss
Title: Inferno
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 4,180
Pairing(s): Albus Severus/Scorpius
Warnings: Sex, biting, blood, bruising, swearing
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: Smouldering is the all consuming fire of passion untameable.
Author Notes: This is what happens when I am trying not to finish a fic that needs to be done.

But if I kiss you were it’s sore
If I kiss you were it’s sore
Will you feel better, better, better
Will you feel anything at all

Bruises flourish, purple with grey and yellow tinges to the greater and lesser parts of the spots, on the skin. Pale golden fingers rub at them, and a frown mars a once lovely face as the woman looks upon them.

“Who did this,” She asks, her red hair streaked now with more grey, and dull green eyes note that she is growing older. He hopes to never age, but knows wishing is futile.

An answer doesn’t come, he just shrugs, avoiding her probing brown eyes as he thumbs through the pages of a book. Mixing this and that to make a potion, he reads the ingredient names but doesn’t take them in. Feigning focus as her eyes bore into the thick spots on his neck, cheek, and his exposed right wrist. She touches his hair, softly, and the feeling is foreign. Fingers are usually rough and demanding. Scraping his scalp until it bleeds, and tugging his hair until the roots separate from his head; that is the way fingers usually feel.

Faking a smile he tells her he loves her, and she lets him alone for awhile. He’s always been clumsy so perhaps she believes he did this to himself. When his siblings enter the moderate dining room his brother twists at his scalp, causing his mum to screech, “James Sirius Potter!” The fingers pull away, but the damage is done, he is hard and wanting. Biting his lip so hard blood blooms and enters his mouth, coating his tongue with the tang of copper. He will not moan for another, especially not his brother. He might be sick, demented, and foolish, but he isn’t quite that far gone yet.

Mum fusses over the blood on his lip a moment later, scolding James again. Yet his brother doesn’t listen, his eyes dark and narrow with suspicion as he looks upon him. He can feel the Adam’s apple bob within his tender throat and watches as James tracks the movement, assessing his weaknesses and working out scenarios in his thick head. Sometimes he thinks James should have been the Slytherin, he the Hufflepuff, and Lily the Gryffindor.

Mum dismisses them from her dining room, telling them to take their stuff upstairs and clean up for supper. His book snaps shut easily, and he is hurrying up the steps; hiding from James’ calculating eyes.
Supper is a horrid affair, Dad keeps bringing up his markings. Try as he might to convince the man that he was being clumsy and banging around in the forest, his frowning face doesn’t buy it; not one bit. Every few questions at Lily and James and he is right back to him, asking, “So when did you do this to yourself Al?” Trying to trip up his answers at every turn.

“A couple of days ago, I already told you Dad.”

With unreadable green eyes Dad watches him, “Yes, yes you did.”

Shit, he thinks, now Dad is suspicious too. Between the old man and James he knows he will be under constant scrutiny this entire holiday.

He is assigned dinner clean up and does his best to clear the mess as quickly and effectively as possible so that he might pretend to be tired and retire early. No such luck, Dad ropes him into playing Exploding Snap with Lily, James and both parents.

He watches the clock on the mantle, it moves slowly. Minutes move like days, and finally Dad pronounces, “Early to bed, early to rise makes a wizard healthy, wealth, and wise.” He nearly breathes a sigh of relief but feels Lily’s, now, heavy hazel gaze. In that moment he wishes he had perfected his glamour spells. Why did he get stuck with the family that gives a crap?
Closing the door and feeling a little safer in the familiarity of his room makes him breath out in relief. He pads across the thick carpet to his desk, the candle bursting to life with his presence and sits to pen a short letter.

“They don’t know what caused the bruises.”

At the death of dusk and the birth of dawn his answer comes.

“Keep it that way.”

He swallows at the sight of the neatly written threat. For some reason the mere sight of it turns him on, and worries him greatly.

And your hands are really shakin’ something awful
As your worries crawl around inside your clothes.
Ooh how long will you be sittin’ in the darkness…
Heaven knows.

The end of break is approaching fast. He can nearly taste the freedom from those thoughtful eyes that seem to watch him night and day. At Gran’s the stares increase tenfold with just Aunt Hermione watching. Add to that all of his uncles, aunts, and cousins makes it close to a hundred times worse than home. Hermione stands whispering subtly to Mum, and the two of them glance at where he sits on the faded sofa. He hates that they have focused all their attentions on him, and his markings. Trying his best to ignore their obvious gossip Albus turns to observe the others around him.

James is laughing with Uncle George while Dad listens with thin patience to Uncle Percy’s rants on cauldrons. Always the bloody cauldrons. Gran joins Mum’s hen party shortly after Auntie Fleur and all four of them continue to shoot those mothering glances his way. It’s enough to make him want to bash his head against the old plaster walls. Lily calls out to him from the front door and gratefully he follows her voice into the cold yard. Christmas isn’t his favourite time of the year, as it seems to be his family’s. He doesn’t enjoy the nattering voices and cheery carols they make the children sing when they’ve had too much eggnog. It is a joke; an excuse to give gifts. He kicks at the hard ground, sending a stone bouncing along the grass. In the darkness he cannot see it very well. Albus turns when the sound of it rolling ceases and walks towards the battered shop Grandpa prefers to keep his old muggle contraptions in, the house of relics Dad calls the place. His hand hovers over the rusted handle when Lily says “Albus”, frightening the piss out of him.

“Sweet baby Jesus!” He swears as he jumps away from the rickety door, “Don’t fucking do that!”

Lily showcases a broad smile, her teeth catching the small amount of light available. “Mum would skin you if she heard you say that.”

“She’d probably skin you too, for nearly giving me a heart attack.” He slumps down in the grass, leaning against the rough wood. The cold from its surface bleeding through his clothes, spreading across the feverish skin of his back.

Lily sits beside him, looking up at the pale grey clouds that cover the vast expanses of the sky. Their silence is companionable, the sort of quiet that comes with knowing someone and being friends from the time before memories form. He enjoys it because his little sister is one of the few who doesn’t need him to speak. One of those that doesn’t want his fake words and worthless smiles. She finds enough in his companionship.

The tranquillity is broken when she reaches for his hand, bumping his hand along her journey. When her fingers cover his she sighs and he turns hoping that he can read her face in the near abyss of night. As it is the added shadow of the shed shields her from view, so for a few panic filled minutes he waits for her to speak.

“James knows.” She whispers. If it wasn’t for the silence of the world around them he would have missed the words completely.

“Knows? Knows what?” An envelope drops heavily against the back of his hand, warm from the place she kept it in her cloak. Fear grips him as he pulls the thick packet to him, fingers running along the open flap before he pulls out one of the sheets from inside the pouch. He cannot see anything, but she fixes that for him igniting her wand with a precise flick of the wrist. Her face contrasts greatly with the gloom of night behind her, making her seem other worldly and somewhat wicked. Large hazel eyes catch the light and sparkle as they look from his face to the page with silent demand.

What he sees makes his stomach plummet. Bent over a desk in dirty Quidditch gear Albus is sprawled out in wanton abandon as a pale hand pulls roughly at his hair. Yanking his head back to expose a long throat, a throat which the person driving into him bites, hard. His face screws up as he howls in pain, and the thrusting behind him speeds up causing his thin hips to connect at a harder pace to the rough wood beneath him. “Oh crap.” He whispers, and she pulls out another.

In this one the same couple are in the prefect’s bath, in a rare show of gentleness his lover rides him slowly as he braces himself against the side of the tub. Albus’ face lax with pleasure as long white fingers move to curl round his throat. His face heats up more at the way his breathing is stopped and he can feel the coil of arousal in his groin just from watching that stolen moment.

Stolen moment indeed, “Where... where did you get these?” He asks when he rediscovers his voice.

“James kept nattering on about how you were up to something with someone and he had a right to know because you are brothers.” She rolls her eyes at that and he almost smiles, “Said he was going to follow you, but I beat him to it.” She looks at him with an earnest expression, and clutches his limp hand tightly, “You have to stop! If he catches the two of you...James, he doesn’t understand. He, you know...he just...” Lily cannot look him in the eye while she tries to put into words what he already knows.

“He hates Malfoy.” Albus states calmly. “I am aware Lil, and...” He brushes her cheek with the back of his hand, “Thank you for not killing me.”

With a watery smile she says, “I’m a Hufflepuff it’s what we do.”

“Don’t kill people?” He asks with his own thin smile.

“No, we try to understand.” Knowing a hug is in order he reaches out, dropping the packet into his lap, and hugs her to him with strong arms. “Do you love him?” She chokes into his shoulder.

His arms tremble and he isn’t sure if it is from her sobs or his own as he says, “Yes. As much as I am capable of loving at least.”

Baby, is it sweet, sweet, sweet the sting?
Is it real, this infusion? Can it heal where others before have failed?
If so then somebody shake, shake, shake me sane.
‘Cause I am inching ever closer to the tip of this scorpion’s tail.

He promised to stay away, swore on Mum’s honour and left Lily feeling sure he would heed her warnings. But he didn’t, doesn’t, and continues to see Scorpius throughout the nights. Making love until dawn and beyond. Their fingers are rough, teeth harsh, and tongues battle like daggers more than the loving caresses others might use when embracing a lover. Albus finds it irresistible. He savours the flavours, bruises, and tired bags under his eyes. They are his addiction now and Scorpius freely gives them.

“Do you like that Potter?” He asks, voice husky from his position above Albus as he lowers himself, torturously slow onto Albus’ hard prick.

Of course he loves it but he knows better than to admit it, admittance is a free ticket to mockery. That, he knows, would break him if Scorpius were to dangle it out for the world to see. This is a game, after all, a play to see which one of them will be the first to break.

“Shut up.” He hisses out before a moan escapes his throat from the way Scorpius rolls his hips.

“You love my voice.” He whispers huskily before biting down on the swollen lip against which he’s spoken. Blood fills Al’s mouth along with the flavour of Scorpius’ hot tongue. It is divinely exquisite and he wants to bottle it so that he might take it home to remember.

Canting his hips up causes Scorpius to grip his shoulders, hard, and he knows that in the morning eight little finger spots will appear on the back of his shoulders and two will be dark against his clavicles. In the weeks to come they will be his masturbatory materials. Along with the love bites on his stomach and the split in his lip, just thinking about the physical reminders makes him hotter. Leaning his face nearer he sucks at a point on Scorpius’ shoulder, pulling at the skin with his teeth and laving it with his tongue. Tasting and finally claiming Scorpius with a giant reddish purple spot to hopefully fuel his own desires while they are apart.

Scorpius begins slamming himself down at a quicker more savage pace and Albus grips his hips with white knuckled fingers causing Scorpius to let out a deep moan. His breathing comes in and out rapidly, very ragged like Albus’ own. Al licks the shell of his ear, pulling the salty lobe between his teeth while Scorpius whines as he rides Albus’ cock, demanding it give him completion. An act that he and his rigid prick are more than happy to perform.

“Fuck.” He sighs out against the sweaty straining neck against his face.

“Mmm.” Scorpius responds, his movements jerky and eyes blown with intoxicating desire.

Coming isn’t Albus’ favourite part of sex, at least not with Scorpius, the best part to him is watching as his lover falls over the cliff and succumbs to ecstasy. His pale, translucent, eyelids flutter causing his blond eyelashes to bat in an innocent way. It makes Scorpius seem less cold, more human, and owned. Albus claims him silently in these moments as he follows soundlessly behind.

When they are bathed and dressed they part ways, outside the bathroom Albus pulls Scorpius to him by his wrist. A recklessly chaste kiss pressing against Scorpius’ shocked lips and pulling away before he has found the time to protest. “See you as soon as I can.” Albus doesn’t wait for him to respond as he makes his way to the dungeons, knowing that Scorpius isn’t a girl and will recover quickly then flee to the Ravenclaw commons; with dignity, always with dignity.

He is almost to the entrance when something invisible slams him into a damp stone wall. Knowing exactly what, or more specifically whom, it is Albus wipes the previously happy expression from his face and sneers, “James, I’d say it’s nice to see you...only I can’t.”

When Dad’s cloak falls away he isn’t surprised to find his angry ginger brother looking at him with disgust disfiguring his face. A long cherry wood wand is at his throat and James’ freckled nostrils are flaring, “What the fuck was that?”

Playing dumb he asks, “What was what exactly,” as innocently as he can.

A rough shove has his head knocking off the stone, and damn if it doesn’t smart. “Don’t be cute Alby, you know exactly what I am talking about...Malfoy!” Another rough shove has Albus going quickly for his own wand, “You traitor!”

He cannot help but laugh, “Traitor? He isn’t exactly Voldemort’s reincarnation Jamie.”

With a sinister scowl James says, “He might as well be.”

“Really why?” Genuinely intrigued by his brother’s foolishness he asks.

James turns away, a deeper frown making him look worried and angry all at once. Yet no words are forth coming and Albus is truly confused. “What is it Jamie?” He slumps away from his brother’s body heat and pushes the offending wand away as he lowers his own.

James swallows hard, eyes burning with some emotion he cannot quite place; irritation, betrayal, envy? The last one seems the most likely when James quietly whispers, “Why’d he chose you?”

In that moment he pities his brother, but cannot bring himself to speak the treacherous words out loud. All these years that Jamie has been picking on and blaming Scorpius; making everyone think he hates him when in reality he’s, maybe, loved him. Or at least lusted after him. Albus knows what that anguish is like, to love someone from afar and never be able to tell them. He did it for quite a few years. And he can honestly say that it is worse to love them up close, to not be able to convey the feeling in words; while falling for them more. Being so close and yet so far is a hideous death. From a distance you know where you stand...next to the fire you burn.

“Jamie,” he whispers, voice cracking in a way it hasn’t since puberty ended.

His brother’s square jaw, so like his father’s and so like his own, clenches as he bites out, “Don’t.” James doesn’t look at him directly, choosing a spot a little to the left of him on the wall. As most of their silences are, it is loud within the emptiness speaking of all the things they both wish they could but don’t want to say. Jamie is the brave one. He turns, the rubber heel of his trainers squeaking, and heads down the corridor. Albus stays where he was, watching the tense line of his brother’s back. “Tell me, as a friend, do you love him?”

He swallows hard, fighting back his own sob and ignoring the choking sound of James’ words whispers, “As much as anyone can love another person.”

“Why didn’t you let me know?” He cannot tell if James is mad because Albus hid from him for so long, or if he is upset because Albus is having intimate relations with his crush. Either one is bad, and the guilt claws up Al’s insides burning his lungs and throat. Why didn’t he tell James? In his mind’s eye he can see fleeting memories as they dance by; James and he talking in the playhouse Dad built for them. James taking the blame for the field catching fire when they were nine and ten. Jamie taking the switch with silent tears as Albus watched in guilty silence. Albus is always silent and James is always protecting him, always giving to him, even when he doesn’t deserve it. His Jamie, the boy who used to be his hero who grew to become his brother whom he’s treated like an enemy.

“I’m sorry.” Is all he can say.

This time James is mute as he continues to walk away. Albus slumps against the wall. He wonders if James will tell, he never has before but this is different.





Day five he receives the letter. It is in Mum’s pretty hand.

Jamie has told us about your relationship with the Malfoy boy. Your father is rather upset. Apparently we are the last ones to find out, even Malfoy Senior and his wife knew. How long has this been going on exactly? We aren’t angry son, hurt and concerned, but not angry. I saw the bruises, and your father isn’t as dim as you might think. He is personally filing the report with the top Auror in his division. This cannot be allowed to continue.
With love,

To this day he doesn’t understand why she still insists on calling herself mummy. He isn’t the little boy who ran to her and buried his snotty nose in her fragrant hair. That was another boy in another life, now he is a man and he can damn well make decisions for himself. Scorpius doesn’t hurt him. Not really, it is a mutual love of pain. But it’s not sick, it really isn’t, they hurt and heal each other. It is the way they claim the other for their own. They aren’t good with showing love, that is the best way they know how. At least that is how he feels, and thinks. He cannot speak for Scorpius, but he refuses to be bent to his parents’ decisions. Will resolved he leaves the hall to go to his dorm to pen a letter.

When he heads to the owlry later that night a thought hits him, why would Scorpis tell his parents?

I will stare at the sun until its light doesn’t blind me.
I will walk into the fire until its heat doesn’t burn me.
And I will feed the fire.

They hadn’t met in days, as agreed. However unlike when they are usually apart Albus hasn’t touched himself. Hasn’t had the desire; too many thoughts plaguing him with Scorpius, and too many disappointed and angry (despite the fact they state otherwise) letters from his parents. Then there have been the looks from James, cold and unforgiving, and the ones from Lily, worried and hurt. Along with not touching himself he hasn’t eaten, both a testament to his obvious distress.

Tonight, he tells himself, will be the last.

When Scorpius walks in all the worry evaporates and his resolve dissolves. In this room there is the inferno, and he knows it will consume everything whether they want it to or not.

Scorpius reaches for him, long finger with neat nails that scratch gently along the pulse of his wrist. Their chests meet and then their lips. When the chaste kiss ends Scorpius breathes, “I told my dad.”

Albus chuckles, “I know my dad was rather pissed bout that.” Blond brows draw together in a frown and Albus elaborates, “My brother told my parents. I’m pants at glamour spells and so they kept eyeing your marks.” He traces one of his own on Scorpius’ exposed throat and smiles lewdly, “Why did you tell, did your dad see the ones I peppered behind your ears?”

“No, unlike you I excel at glamour charms.” Scorpius says in that condescending tone that Albus finds irritating and funny. He curls his fingers in the fine hairs at the base of Scorpius’ neck as the taller boy looks down at his feet. “I wanted them to know.”

He’d been wondering as much, and a thrill runs down his spine, “Why?”

Scorpius avoids eye contact, “There was talk of an arranged marriage and I,” he stops then and glances back at Albus, obviously reading the cues in his expression before continuing, “I didn’t want to marry. Well I did at one time, but not now.”

“Something change?” Albus asks the obvious questions, and he can see the irritation on the pale pointed face in front of him.

“You changed...or rather I did because of you.”

Cockily he smiles, “You love me.” The withering glare Scorpius pins him with could kill the Whomping Willow, but Albus knows that he is feeling vulnerable. The fear of being completely exposed to the other, laid open, bare, has always been a fear for both of them. Neither are comfortable with being at the mercy of another person.

Love is the ultimate humiliation after all.

“Yes,” Scorpius tries to whisper so softly as to not be heard, but in the nonexistent distance between them it is difficult to not hear.
“I love you too.” Albus says, and then the pretences of gentleness are gone; evaporated in the heat of their need for one another. It might have been days but it feels like lifetimes as their clothes fall thoughtlessly to the floor.

“My dad doesn’t approve.” Scorpius pants between bites to Albus’ collar.

“Mine either.” He says as he grips harshly at the strands of Scorpius’ hair.

“Does your mum?” He howls as his head is yanked back and Albus attacks his throat with vigour.

“Not one bit.” He chuckles against Scorpius’ prominent Adam’s apple.

As his hand reaches to stroke his lover to hardness Scorpius shudders in his arms and moans, “Mine either.” His long white arms reach behind him to grip a dusty desk, as Albus shoves him roughly into it, “What will we do?” Scorpius asks as he rakes his nails down Albus’ firm biceps.

In that moment he doesn’t care, all he wants is to connect in the most physical of ways, “Fuck me.”

“That’s good for now.” Scorpius chuckles in a breathless manner.

“Who cares about the rest, this fire is ours alone.” Albus licks the seam of Scorpius’ chapped lips. “If they come close and try to extinguish it,” He pants as he climbs atop Scorpius’ lap, “well if they try...let the idiots burn.”

As Al lowers himself down, not prepared and wincing at the sting, Scorpius howls out, “Alright...let them burn,” as he experiences the beauty that is Albus’ and his love of pain mingling with pleasure.


( 4 comments — Leave a comment )
(no subject) - ajanicuv - Feb. 11th, 2012 12:37 am (UTC) - Expand
Feb. 11th, 2012 03:32 am (UTC)
Re: Благодарю за информацию
Thanks :D
Feb. 20th, 2012 06:44 am (UTC)
Ohhhhh. I quite liked this. I'm a fan of these pain/pleasure stories, and there aren't too many of them. Ones in which it isn't hate sex, but actual emotional, love-of-pain sex. I quite like the switching as well. I don't see many were that happens either, so this was quite a gem.
Feb. 20th, 2012 02:11 pm (UTC)
*squishes* Thank you :)
( 4 comments — Leave a comment )


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