part i scene iii: albus/scorpius [private rp]
AlScor Epic Log of RP D00M

Part I, Scene III: Aftermath and a Bath
The next morning he woke up to a grumbling stomach and an eyeful of unruly dark hair. Blinking, Scorpius let out a soft groan as he pulled back on the bed. He had a horrible crick in his neck and he was still in his casual clothes. He glanced around with eyes half-closed, and immediately regretted it—how these Hufflepuffs woke up to bright yellow walls every morning was beyond him. Merlin, he was pretty sure he was colorblind now.

He stretched out on the bed, yawning loudly before he sat up completely. A quick glance to his side showed Albus still sleeping soundly, bringing a slight smile to the boy’s face, before he slid off the bed and proceeded to raid the other boy’s trunk. There had to be something in there that wasn’t yellow…

The walls, thank you, were far from yellow. This, of course, didn't mean that the bed hangings and dressings weren't in various shades of butter and dandelion, or that the rugs and tapestries weren't primarily done in simple shades of yellow. The walls, however, were of an off-white, weatherworn stone-- not yellow. Al might have argued, had he been awake, for he had grown rather fond of his house colors, but as Scorpius rummaged around the room, Al slept on, blessedly without snoring. He woke with a start, however, when the lid of his trunk knocked against the foot of his bed, and, blinking groggily, he peered down the length of the mattress for the culprit. "Score?" he groaned, pulling the covers up to his chin. "That you?"

“Who else would it be?” came the Slytherin’s derisive tone. “Your mum?” A few articles of clothing were tossed out. “Blimey, Al, everything you own is bright and happy.” Scorpius’ very blond head poked out from behind the trunk then, as he came to stand to his full height. He held in his hands an old, worn jumper that was the darkest color he could find—a faded maroon with some sort of animal stitched in the front. He quickly tugged his own shirt off, which smelled of sweat and something else, and pulled the jumper over his head. His hair rose from the static, which he ignored in favor of holding his arms out at his sides, and making a face as how the jumper was apparently a few sizes too small.

"I can't help if if Grandmum thinks I'm dashing in bright colors," he yawned, watching idly as a very sunny Weasley jumper flew through the air. "'Cause I've Dad's eyes, she says." Catching sight of Scorpius through still sleep-fogged eyes, Al grinned and, perhaps because he was busy smiling foolishly at his rather fit best mate, couldn't duck quite in time to dodge a ballistic pair of rolled-up socks. Knocked square in the nose, he fell back, more out of dramatics than any real pain, and yawned once more, peering around one of the bed's four posts to keep an eye on Scorpius. On seeing him in one of the previous Christmas' jumpers, the bleary-eyed Al giggled again, stretching out on the mattress and lazily tipping his head back. "Come on, mate," he began cheekily, "You had to have seen that coming."

The Malfoy’s nose wrinkled distastefully, mostly because Albus was right. He walked around the bed then, flopping himself down spread eagle beside the other. His fingers brushed against Albus’s side, but he didn’t make a move to shift away.

“So what now?” he asked aloud, eyes drifting over the canopy of the four-poster bed.

Though Al enjoyed a private smile and a bit of a blush when Scorpius' fingers brushed gently against his lower ribs, some part of him wanted to curl up and— not forget everything. Definitely not. Just curl up. "I—I dunno," he offered lamely, turning to glance at Score briefly before eyeing the Hufflepuff ties coiled, snakelike, about the lower right-hand bed post. "Are you—" But he stopped himself instinctively, feeling that, just perhaps, such a blunt question was not entirely a good place to start.

With a yawn, Scorpius stretched languidly across the bed, the bones in his back cracking faintly. He turned on his side to face Albus, then, his head propped up by a fist.

“Dunno,” he said in casual reply, answering the question Albus didn’t even get to finish. “Apparently.”

He shrugged, because it didn’t seem too big of a deal to him. Some of his dorm mates were, and they weren’t ever too secretive about it, so Scorpius just sort of.. got used to it. Idly he reached out and curled a stray lock of dark hair around his finger, looking thoughtful as he indulged in an old gesture that started up as far back as second year.

Well, Al reflected, leaning his head into Scorpius' palm when a finger gently twisted through his hair, that had been fairly easy. He had never really, through all the years he had known Scorpius, pegged him as— well, you know, what with his midnight excursions to the Astronomy tower or the girls, Slytherin or otherwise, who seemed to stare as he passed. Then again... Al thoughtfully chewed his lip. Then again, he had never much thought about it, about anything having to do with it at all, until very recently, when resting his head in Score's lap or curling up into his side while studying had suddenly grown prickly and odd.

Al had never been interested in girls. Having grown up with a little sister who could have easily thumped him, had they not gotten on, he had never pursued a girl for anything other than help with homework, and even then only when Score was nowhere to be found. He had been perfectly happy, as a tiny first-year, for instance, to sit by the fire surrounded by Hufflepuff's older girls, giggling with them as they toyed with his hair and generally made a bit of a mascot of him; he had never seen anything odd about it then, rather enjoying the feeling of fingers in his hair and the presence of such happy company, but in retrospect.... Al grinned sheepishly at the memory, turning as best he could to face Scorpius. "Did you know?" he asked, color rising into his cheeks. "About— you know. Me?"

Now that, Scorpius actually had to think about for a while. He’d always known Albus to be different—that was what drew him to the boy in the first place. Although ‘different’ was probably not the best word, especially in the current context. He was just.. Al.

Slowly, Scorpius shook his head, shrugging. “It never really came up, honestly.” He shrugged again. Al was just Al to him, and he didn’t particularly care which side of the fence he was on, so long as he didn’t stray too far from Scorpius. The blonde glanced down at the other, their eyes meeting. “Does it really matter?” he had to ask.

Almost reflexively, he leaned down and gave the Hufflepuff a soft kiss on the lips.

As Scorpius paused, Al let his thoughts wander to what things would be like, now that things had changed so much. Had they changed? Would people be able to tell? Would Hugh and Lucas and Patrick, who'd known him just as long as Score had, having lived in the same room for the past five years, notice anything? Had they noticed anything? What about his parents? Would schoolboy jokes about Quidditch lockers suddenly strike more meaningful chords? And what— he shuddered to think about it, but what would the press say, if they knew? Al could nearly see the headlines, and he couldn't quite help but sigh.

When Scorpius interrupted his disaster-bound train of thought, Al's eyes widened a bit, and he hastily shook his head. "No, no—" he blurted, "Course not. Not to me; I was only curi—" But Scorpius cut him off once more, and All smiled a small smile into the kiss. Maybe it didn't matter, after all.

When Scorpius pulled back, he had on a faint smile, almost smug. “Good,” he said then, and fell once more against the bed, curling in on his side. It didn’t quite seem too important to Scorpius to talk about such things—for him, it was just the way things were. Why beat it dead by discussing something that was already so obvious?

He realized, though, that Albus was the type of person that needed constant affirmation, otherwise his imagination would just run rampant, and he’d liked over-think himself sick. The Slytherin figured he may as well ‘nip this thing in the bud’, so to speak.

“We’re together, then,” he said, as if that was that, and Albus really had no choice in the matter.

He rolled over then, sitting up at the edge. He reached up high with his arms over his head, stretching his back again and making that too-small jumper rise even more along his torso. “I’m starved—I skipped dinner.”

Ever conscious of and receptive to the feelings and opinions of others, Albus was, as Score had obviously realized, prone to overthinking, a habit that, despite being born of a wholesome source, could sometimes border on unhealthy. Even as Scorpius, in his mind, settled the matter in three words, Al began to concoct colorful new scenarios, some wonderful and others not so much, to accompany their now more-than-friends sort of relationships. "Together?" he breathed, feeling his cheeks burn a bit. "Together, like...? How do you mean? I mean—" Al stammered, picturing first a peaceful night spent curled up in bed, but then imagining his fellow fifth-year boys and their girlfriends looking on from their own beds in varying degrees of shock and disgust. "That's not what I mean. What do you do, together?"

At the mention of food, however, Al, who had not eaten in over a day, tried to abandon his mounting anxiety in favor of a hunger that, now remembered, was growing a bit painful. "We can go to the kitchens," he suggested, gathering himself together. "There's always food there. Or, I've got loads of sweets under my bed."

Scorpius made a face at the sound of sweets, but was inwardly thankful the other boy had decided to drop his overanalyzing. That sort of talk would be best saved for a moment when both their stomachs were full and satisfied.

“We can get food—real food—“ he said, with a meaningful look to the Hufflepuff, “from the kitchens and eat it here.”

"The kitchens, then," he said with a smile that was perhaps a bit too awkward for one concerning food. Slipping out of bed, Al only considered actually dressing for a short moment, after which time he merely pulled on his discarded dressing gown and tied the sash to adequately cover himself. "It's nearly lunch," he pointed out, ducking under the bed a moment to retrieve his slippers, "So we shouldn't even be disrupting their schedule all that much."

“They’ll be thrilled,” Scorpius responded dryly. And, really, they actually would be thrilled. With an idle scratch to his jaw, he waited until the Hufflepuff deemed himself good and ready before leading the way out of the commons, towards the isolated hallway with the hanging painting of fruit. A quick in and out stop was all the Slytherin planned on doing, although he knew, with the other boy tagging along, that it would be much more than that. The House Elves were bad enough by themselves, tugging on you, wishing to feed you everything they had, but throw an equally chattery and bouncy Albus into the mix? Scorpius prepared himself for spending an entire hour there.

Scorpius was nothing but fooled if he expected anything akin to a quick run to the kitchens. Not more than five seconds after Al tickled the pear in the kitchen's still-life, dozens of large eyes fixed on the two young wizards, and half as many tiny voices rose up in a happy sort of cacophony. Greeting the gleeful house elves by name, Al found himself being tugged away, even as he grinned back at Scorpius, by many little hands eager to spoil him with all of his favourites.

Muffling a groan to himself, Scorpius followed in after them, pointedly keeping his hands in his trouser pockets as his own gaggle of House Elves rushed over. He smiled at them politely, his replies terse to their unending stream of questions. Nothing against the elves personally, of course—he just didn’t have much patience for most things.

They were taken to a corner of the room, a tiny table set up for visitors such as themselves. He took the seat opposite Albus, their knees brushing from how small it was.

“We’re never leaving, are we?”

For as cool as Scorpius was, the elves seemed more than pleased to see him, firing off question after question: What did you have in mind? Do you prefer your meats hot or chilled? Chocolate or vanilla? Butterscotch? Butterbeer? Would you please have a seat? Is your father well? The last, of course, was directed at Albus, who chattered on as the elves directed him to a tiny stool by a knee-high table. Within moments, the surface was laden with more food than any two boys, growing or not, could possibly hope to eat, and Al, between a near-constant stream of 'Thank you,' 'No, thank you's', smiled broadly across the table at Scorpius, poking him gently in the shin with the toe of his slipper. "Never."

Lips pressed into a thin line at Albus’ smile, though Scorpius really wasn’t as bothered by it as he made it seem. He much preferred Al like this, so happy and carefree, rather than that small, frightened little boy back in the dorms. For that, he would willingly tolerate a few hours of brainless chattering.

He smiled politely to one of the House Elves that handed him a basket of dinner rolls, taking one for himself before passing it to the other.

Meanwhile, Al, though more than capable of spending an afternoon chattering with the house elves and stuffing himself on all sorts of delicious things, knew that the kitchens were not Score's favourite part of the castle. That in mind, he took care to eat extra quickly, only bothering to swallow his food before speaking because his mother, somehow, would know if he didn't and would likely send howlers in the next morning's post. "What," he began, taking advantage in a momentary lull in house elf chatter and coughing a bit after a too-large mouthful of butterbeer, "What do you reckon is your favorite place in Hogwarts, Score?"

Scorpius looked up from picking at his food. He’d always been a fairly quick eater, which is astonishing, considering the tiny portions he always ate in. His eyes drifted to the side as he thought about it. “The lake shore,” he spoke after a moment’s silence. “When it’s dark and no one else is around.” He shrugged, going back to his food. “s’Peaceful.”

"By the beech tree," Al continued with a peaceful smile, "Right there by the lake." Scorpius was right; the lake, especially at night and especially especially if there was a moon, was quite a nice place, indeed. (Providing, of course, that the merpeople weren't about. For that reason and the obvious addition of warm, sudsy water, Al himself preferred the prefects' bath to the lake, but both, now that he thought of it, were quite nice.) "We ought to go sometime."

The Slytherin glanced up again, his forking stilling over some mashed potatoes. “Tonight, if you like,” he said. He set the fork down, lips curving into a small smile. “Forecast said it should be clear skies.”

"Brilliant," the Hufflepuff breathed, reddening significantly as, in his excitement, he elbowed a heaping plate of fruit onto the kitchen floor. Ducking down to right the mess, he was promptly halted by a small army of house elves, half of whom descended on the mess and half of whom prevented Al from helping. With the spill righted in a matter of seconds, Al, still pink, sheepishly expressed his gratitude by indulging in the new bowl of berries and exotic things he couldn't quite recognise. "Do you reckon," he began, turning back to Scorpius and downing a few more berries, "That it'll be warm enough to swim? I could use a bath." Smiling bashfully, he added, after a moment's thought: "Scourgify's nice, but it doesn't quite do it, sometimes."

Slowly, that small smile Scorpius had eased into a playful smirk, gray eyes glinting behind his blond fringe. “Planning on skinny-dipping, Albus?” he teased, baring his teeth in a grin. “Trying to seduce me already?”

"What?" Al's eyebrows rose so high that they pulled his voice up with them, and it broke with a kind of prepubescent lack of grace that only darkened the color in his cheeks. "Seduce? I—No, I—" he stammered, smiling sheepishly though clearly caught off guard. "I have swimming trunks in my, my— trunk. I would have— you know, worn those." And, depending on how self-conscious he was feeling in stripping down to trunks in front of Scorpius, quite possibly an undershirt, too. "Besides, I— with the merpeople in there?" He shrugged, as if to complete his point, and unconsciously folded his hands over his lap, withering a bit under Scorpius' wolfish grin. "I wouldn't dare it. Would you?"

A casual shrug, and an almost lazy grin. “Why not? Even merpeople sleep sometime, and they hardly ever go towards the shore.” He lifted a brow in challenge. “I’ll do it if you do it.”

"Really?" Considering the sharpness of merpeople teeth and claws and spines, Al squirmed a bit in his seat. "I'd just— I'd hate to run into even a little merperson while swimming completely starkers at night." Even more unimaginable, though, was the idea of swimming completely starkers at night with Scorpius a meter away, and at the suggestion, Al's eyes widened even further. Even if he hadn't been small and twiggy, Al figured that he'd still be shy about undressing around others, be it for bed or for Quidditch or for swims in the lake, whose water was clear enough that it hid absolutely nothing. "I—" Then again, this was Scorpius, and considering recent events... Blushing horribly, Al cautiously looked across the table. "Is— is that what people do?" he asked, his previously chattery voice suddenly small. "You know— when they're together?"

Another shrug, gray eyes falling back to the food before him. “We needn’t follow the rules of others,” Scorpius replied almost pompously. He forked a piece of pie and stuffed it into his mouth, chewing on it carefully before swallowing. “We do what we want, regardless of what others have done before us.”

He stood then, obviously done, and idly dusted off his front. “If the merpeople make you so nervous, we’ll just take to the Prefect baths.” A sly grin. “Much cozier, there.”

"Oh." Al, for his part, couldn't quite believe how Scorpius was taking the whole "together" bit in such stride. To him, the very idea of the thing was new; totally unexplored and not entirely understood, it was, though Al might not admit it aloud, a bit frightening. As much as he tried to feed on Score's courage, or at the very least his nonchalance, Al, in the face of his friend's —friend? Close friend? Boyfriend?— calm, merely felt uninformed and silly.

On top of it all, the merpeople did make him nervous. If only irrationally so. Following Scorpius to his feet, Albus offered a mildly nervous sort of smile and shoved his hands into the pockets of his dressing gown. "I suppose it's warmer, at least. And I could use a bath."

Smiling in satisfaction, Scorpius nodded once before he turned to the gathering Elves. He fixed a polite smile on his face and thanked them all, though was quick to say they’d been fed to their capacities and they really should be going now, yes, of course they’ll visit again, cheerio then.

He led the way out of the kitchens, striding quickly, almost excitedly. He wouldn’t admit it out loud (unless, of course, Albus asked), but he actually somewhat.. missed the boy, as ridiculous as that sounded, considering they were no more than two feet away from one another. That was just how he felt though, and he longed to reach out and touch him again—not just in those casual brushes they used to do, but in the same way they’d touched the night before…

Scorpius wanted to blame his hormones, that it was all just part of being a growing teenager, but whether justified or not, fact of the matter was Scorpius noticed his thoughts straying to the more.. physical aspects of being in a relationship, and he could not deny himself the opportunity to be intimate with Albus should the occasion arise.

Trailing behind Scorpius enough to graciously thank the chattering house-elves for the wonderful meal, Al couldn't help but let his mind wander. Where Scorpius' thoughts circled the intimate, Al's drifted somewhere between the concept of 'together' and the prickly sort of anxiety that people would be able to detect some difference in the way he leaned into Scorpius' side or tilted his head back to let Scorpius curl a finger through his hair. He went slowly out of the kitchens and through the corridors, then, engrossed in thoughts of what boys and girls did when boys and girls became boyfriends and girlfriends, until he realized how far ahead of him Scorpius had gone. "Score," he called, partially out of real wondering and partially in an effort to catch himself up. "Where are we off to? Hufflepuff, or the baths, or—?"

Scorpius had never been the sort to give into impulses. Calm and calculating, that was more his forte, and so when he turned to find the other striding up towards him, with those wide, innocent eyes, and a slight flush on his cheeks possible from his earlier teasing, and Scorpius felt himself seized up by the sudden urge to kiss him, he could only wonder at the sensation for just a moment, before he was actually doing it, grabbing the smaller boy by his arms and whirling them around so he could pin him against a wall, mouth descending as if kissing Albus was the one thing he needed to live.

It was all fairly dramatic, and had Scorpius taken that opportunity to step away from himself he would have likely been very embarrassed as his rash actions. As it was, however, he was a little too busy enjoying himself.

When Scorpius turned, Albus naturally expected it to be in order to answer him, or at least to ask where to go first. As it was, then, he found himself at a bit of a loss for breath when, seized suddenly by the arms, he found himself pressed squarely between a dungeon wall and Scorpius' body. With eyes wide and mouth parted more in surprise than in any effort to kiss, Al took a rather long moment to blink and inhale, numb to the feeling of lips on his lips and cheek and chin, before remembering that he was supposed to do something. There was fear for a moment, the fear of being seen in a the corridor between Hufflepuff and Slytherin, but it seemed to vanish under Scorpius' rash but wonderful actions, which Albus returned as best he could with the back of his head against a stone wall.

It was a very short kiss, impulsive as it was. It was more so a groping of lips and tongues and teeth, and then Scorpius was pulling away, sucking in a deep breath as if for the first time. He reached down and snatched up Albus’ hand, tugging him along as he strode towards the prefects’ baths.

“You know,” he added as an afterthought, “you don’t have to agree to everything I say.” He sent a look over his shoulder, but his pace didn’t falter one bit. He knew Albus had a tendency to go along with things simply for the sake of appeasing him, and he didn’t much like the idea, especially now that they were.. together.

With Scorpius suddenly further away than he should have been, Al let out a small, confused noise, before letting himself be pulled down the hallway, mildly confused still, but secretly a little bit giddy, as well. Score's little announcement, though, apparently out of nowhere, set the eager-to-please Potter thinking again. "How do you mean?" he asked, trudging after Scorpius up the stairs to the fifth floor. "I don't agree to everything, I mean." A pause. "And even so, that was more of a— more of a doing than a saying." Furthermore, Albus could really see nothing wrong with agreeing with his best mate, especially where their new sense of togetherness was concerned; shouldn't they agree more than most people would?

“I’m only saying,” Scorpius said, head turned towards the halls as they neared the baths. “You could always stop me, if I’m doing something you don’t like.” He said all this fairly casually, and none would have noticed his unease at all unless they were to spy the way his lips pursed and his brow crinkled together.

"Oh," Al began, Scorpius' intentions having rather obviously bounced right off his head or otherwise gone straight through one ear and out the other. "But I—I do like it," he admitted, blushing as they came to stand before the locked door to the prefects' bath. "The— you know. Kissing." Realizing, with a deeper flush that very nearly blotted out his freckles, that doing the kissing was one thing and giving it a name something wholly different, Albus quickly murmured the password and, after holding the door open, of course, followed Scorpius into the ornate and pleasantly vacant bathroom, sighing happily in the steamy air.

Scorpius was already sitting along the edge of the bath (pleasantly filled and warmed already, as if the room just knew it’d be having visitors). He toed off his shoes and tugged off his socks, smirking a little wryly at the other boy who followed in after him. “Just remember I said that,” was all he sad to say about that matter for now, before he hurriedly pulled that hideous maroon jumper over his head, tossing it to the floor. He honestly didn’t know how he stood up with it for so long—it made his skin look pasty and itched something awful.

Albus, on taking in the room, could never quite understand why his father spoke so lowly of it. It was a beautiful room all over, what with the towering enchanted windows and the soothing smell of the bubbles, and the pool-sized tub of warm water and eye-safe suds made for the most relaxing swimming a fellow could hope to enjoy anywhere. "I'll remember," Albus replied absently, only really directing his eyes away from the hundreds of taps when he saw his jumper go sailing across the room. Catching sight of Scorpius then, Al smiled a bit and blushed, of course, before hurrying to the edge of the massive tub, stepping out of his slippers, and rolling up his pyjamas enough to get his legs in the warm water up to his knees. "It's nice," he remarked unnecessarily, glancing at Scorpius and then very quickly away again, down to where his feet swished the water back and forth.

The look Scorpius gave Albus right then could have easily said ‘You’re kidding me, right?’ He shook his head, standing so he could unbuckle his belt and pants, a corner of his lips quirked up in faint amusement.

“This how you take baths, Albus?” The slacks fell around his ankles in a soft whisper of fabric. He calmly and somewhat confidently stepped out of them, lowering himself into the warm water, groaning faintly as they were just the right temperature.

Al returned Scorpius' disbelieving look with a sheepish grin, followed shortly thereafter, when the Slytherin unflinchingly stripped down and slid into the tub, by an awful blush that he was certain made the very tips of his ears burn. Feeling Scorpius' eyes on him and detecting the humor in his voice, a very scarlet-faced Albus dragged himself to his feet and, turning his back to the tub and to Scorpius, discarded his dressing gown. As he slowly stepped out of his pyjama bottoms, Albus wondered vaguely how there could only be one bathroom for all prefects, boys and girls alike, and by the time his thumbs were hooked in the elastic of his rather embarrassingly fitted pants, felt sure that he was visibly sweating.

"Er—" He could leave them on. They were tighter than swimming trunks, sure, but nearly the same length, and who could blame a fellow for wanting a bit of privacy? "Score?" Then Al seemed to remember, with a blush that may have just crept down the back of his neck, where he and Scorpius stood —not to mention that Scorpius would certainly have a smart comment to make if he bathed partially clothed— and turned his head over his shoulder. "Would you, uh— mind turning around a minute?"

“The soap suds will cover it all, don’t worry,” came Scorpius’ reply, with absolutely no trace of humor or contempt or mockery in his tone at all. There was a faint sound of water sloshing as he turned, leaning over one of the edges, arms crossed over the porcelain and chin resting comfortably on top of them. The mermaid in the picture giggled at him, and he scowled at her, clearly telling her that if he couldn’t look, she couldn’t either.

"I know," he sighed, picturing, without meaning to do so, the pride that his brother would take in having the opportunity to show himself off to Scorpius or a painting or anyone at all. "It's just–" Turning again to be sure that Scorpius had looked away and silently cursing Quidditch recommended undergarments, Albus quickly finished undressing and, upon hearing the giggle from the mermaid painting, practically leapt into the just-hot-enough water, which happened to be a few degrees cooler, he was sure, than his face.

Feeling and hearing the splash in the water, Scorpius turned back to face his friend with a patient smile on his lips. “Better?” he asked, and proceeded to lean back against the porcelain edge, arms spread on either side of him. He tipped his head back, savoring the warm water, the soothing smells from the soap and candles. He stretched his legs out before him, lightly brushing the sides of Albus’ with his feet.

Albus, who had somehow managed to go under only to his nose, surfaced enough to shoot Scorpius a sheepish grin and a nod. Treading over to the nearest wall, he twisted a tap crowned in a purple jewel of some kind, delighted when it let out a spray of hot water and vaguely flowery bubbles of some kind or another—enough bubbles, appropriately, to cover him very nearly to his shoulders, but water not quite hot enough to negate the shiver that ran up and down his spine when Scorpius brushed a foot against his leg. In the meantime, he chanced glances at Scorpius when he could, rather enjoying the look of his arms and chest but unsure of how much he was allowed to look.

He was allowed to look all he wanted, as far as Scorpius was concerned. After a few moments he lifted his head and stared at the other, catching him trying to sneak peeks at least three times. He couldn’t help but smile in amusement at his mate’s obvious shyness.

He pushed off his wall and waded towards the other male, leaning forward just enough without actually touching the other to press a light kiss on the side of his neck.

“Why are you so nervous?”

As soon as Albus realised he had been caught looking, he seemed to feel the need to duck under the water, and he did just that, disappearing momentarily beneath the scented bubbles. When he resurfaced, his dark, wavy curls plastered down against his head and bubbles running down the back of his neck, the jittery Hufflepuff barely had a moment to reopen his eyes before a gentle kiss made him aware of a body very close to his own. "I'm not nervous," he practically yelped, even as his shoulders tightened in surprise and his widening eyes blinked repeatedly to clear the water from his dark eyelashes. "Are you nervous?"

Scorpius shook his head, slowly moving so he was leaning back against the wall Albus faced. “Why should I be? We aren’t doing anything.” And he was right. So they were both naked and in a tub together—they were still technically just floating around, talking, and that was fine, that was safe. He meant what he said when he told Albus they weren’t going to be doing anything he didn’t want to do.

"I know," he sighed, smiling in spite of himself. "It's just— you know." Pushing his hair up off of his forehead so that, if possible, it stuck up even more than it normally did, Al shrugged in Scorpius' direction, suddenly a bit ashamed at having sent him floating back to the other side of the tub. "Just never been— well, totally starkers with anyone before." This, really, was untrue, as his mum and aunt Hermione had a whole collection of bathtime photos from their children's formative years, photos that surfaced when the Weasley family got together and celebrated a bit too heartily. Still. Very different.

Scorpius shrugged, smiling that faint, patient little smile he only seemed to do around Albus. “Understandable, but, like I said, we aren’t doing anything, and I can’t see anything past your shoulders anyway.” He reached up with both hands then, using the water collected on them to slick back his blond hair, creating ripples around him that stretched.

“How about we make it easier for you then, mm?” he offered another suggestion. “I won’t start anything anymore, at the risk of making you more uncomfortable. You can decide to do what you want, when you want to. How’s that?”

"Score?" Al wriggled up his nose a bit, a faint line of concern forming between his eyebrows. Scorpius' suggestion was a good one, of course, a generous suggestion from a naturally impatient person who, Al was certain, would rather have the control of things and keep it. He was deeply grateful, actually, and blushed to show it, that Scorpius would give in for him, as, in the back of his often unfocused head, even Albus could understand that Score wouldn't have done so for anyone. Even so— "You keep saying," he began, screwing up any latent courage that might help him to so much as breach such a sensitive topic, "Or, well— you talk about 'doing' or—or 'starting things,' and I—" He waved his hands before him in a vague gesture, upsetting the water, which skimmed away from his hands in little waves. "Where do you start? I've never—"

It wasn't that he couldn't think of anything to do. As a recently very hormonal boy in a warm bath with a more-than-close friend, he could think of a dozen things that people might do, but he couldn't be sure, with so much having changed in the last day and a half, if he would do them, or if Scorpius would, then or ever.

“We could talk about it, if you’d rather,” said Scorpius, giving another casual roll of his shoulders. He thought he deserved some sort of medal, honestly, for how patient he was being. “But usually, you go with your urges. If you’re nervous about them, you could ask me beforehand. But—“ and here, he gave a small, sly smile, “—I can’t really think of much I’d say no to, with you.”

Perhaps it was the word 'urges,' the very same word that his own father had used in a related but wildly different conversation a few summers back, but Albus, even under Scorpius' patient smile, suddenly felt like a small child being lectured. Suddenly anxious, as anybody torn between being a little child and wanting to latch onto another naked bloke might be, Al tread water and murmured something about not being sure, really, before sinking under the water again, as if being submerged was the path to clear thinking.

The blond frowned at the sinking head, following its descent underwater till he could no longer see it through the soap and bubbles. He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back against the wall rather unhappily, not at all perturbed by the fact that Albus could easily be peeping at him through the water.

He felt.. put out, was the only way he could describe it. He had pretty much put the control in Albus’ hands, which was no small feat for Scorpius Malfoy, and in thanks he got a mumble, and a considerable lack of Albus.

Albus was equally unhappy beneath the water, and, in his nerves, quickly running out of breath. How could Scorpius be so calm, like nothing at all had changed? It wasn't that easy. It couldn't possibly be. How was he just supposed to know what—what— But his train of thought, which had been rickety to begin with, completely derailed when something very cold and almost prickly ran from the very base of his spine up to the nape of his neck, causing every last hair on his body to stand on end and, worse, leading him, in his shock, to inhale a mouthful of water.

Tearing towards the other side of the bath, shocked and spluttering, Albus came to a rest just centimeters short of Scorpius, whose eyes he met just as a faint, high-pitched laugh rippled through the thick air and disappeared. He stared for a long moment, pink-cheeked and sodden, before, noticing that the bubbles had dispersed in his wake and suddenly very much in need of touch, he closed the remaining gap between them, wrapping his wiry arms around Scorpius just beneath the shoulders and merely clinging on.

Had it been any other time, Scorpius would have been on his feet, cursing out the blasted ghost with all the air in his lungs for scaring his friend. But as it was, with Albus now pressed flush against him and shaking, Scorpius couldn’t help but think that maybe.. he sort of owed her.

After a few moments to blink and properly digest what was happening, Scorpius let his own arms wrap around the other, settling low on his waist. He turned his head towards Albus’, inhaling absently the strong scent of the soap from the bath. “Alright there..?”

Resting his chin on Scorpius' shoulder, Al, when his hair began to relax again and his heart stopped threatening to beat through his ribs absently considered the ethics of growing rapidly excited when so close to one's best mate, considering the circumstances and— well, the situation, really, was wholly unbelievable, anyway. He tried once to move himself away, but as Scorpius settled his arms about his hips, Al found himself, much to the reddening of his cheeks, pulled closer still. "I—" Reminding himself that he had invited this by moving in so close —but cursing his confused and hormone-ruled body all he same— he closed his eyes and sighed shakily. "Something touched me." Well, apparently.

“Myrtle, likely,” Scorpius replied knowingly, in a dry tone of one who sort of expected it. He let a hand slowly slide up the length of Albus’ back—smooth and soft and flawless—the gesture intended to be completely platonic. Soothing, even. (Although, given their current state of undress, he somehow doubted any sort of gesture could be considered entirely platonic.)

With the initial shock subsiding, Al remained attached as entirely as ever to Scorpius and idly wondered what would happen if he just remained there for a while. Feeling his eyes roll back a bit as Scorpius began to slide a hand up and down his back, directly over the path a much colder hand had traveled only moments before, he couldn't help but feel that he would wind up re-living the events of the previous night.

That, of course, was entirely up to Albus, as Scorpius had only just put the power (so to speak) in his hands moments ago. Scorpius, for his part, was perfectly fine with either option; he enjoyed holding Albus like that, the heat from their bodies mingling, and he would have been alright just remaining that way, prune-y skin or not.

Perhaps it was just the scare wearing off, or perhaps it was the sudden feeling that they would sink if he didn't let go. Perhaps, though and this, for the obviously bashful Hufflepuff was the most obvious solution, perhaps Scorpius' hand moved just marginally too low, and perhaps the surprise had caused Albus to arch his back, and perhaps that arch had led to contact he hadn't quite expected. Either way, Albus, eyes suddenly wide open, abruptly pushed back off of Scorpius, floating towards the middle of the tub and then back to an opposite wall. "I—" he stammered, "I'm sorrry, I— "

It had been… nice. For that very brief second. Scorpius just barely managed to digest what had happened before his arms were suddenly empty, and Albus was suddenly further away than he would have liked.

“It’s fine,” he said, lips pressing into a firm line. His patience was really starting to wear thin, but he tried not to let it show, lest he give the other even more reason to flee.

"No, it's—" It wasn't fine. Al, who could very nearly feel himself being pulled between two extremes, seemed to be considering whether or not it would be wise to flee the room. "How is that fine?" He wanted, on one hand, to touch every last inch of Scorpius, wanted Scorpius to do the same to him, practically ached to reenact scenes from his recent dreams. On the other hand, he was frightened out of his wits to actually let it happen, no matter how Scorpius reassured him, no matter how alone they were in a nearly abandoned castle. The worst of it was that he didn't even know why he was so afraid; he could think of no acceptable reason for it, other than that he had never done anything before, and even then, he would have to some day, wouldn't he?

Scorpius had no reply to that save for a faint shrug. He swam over to the edge of the tub then, facing Al as he sat on the opposite. Their eyes met, and Scorpius, being Scorpius, held it for as long as he bothered to, then he was looking away, tipping his head back against the edge of the tub again.

Scorpius, himself, had never been in a true relationship before. The extent of his little trysts were heated snogs in deserted hallways or up in the Astornomy Tower, but that was it. There were no ‘morning afters’ or ‘hand holdings’. He had always imagined, though, that a relationship was a two-way street… it simply wasn’t fun when he was the one that had to do everything.

Albus, suddenly unable to look Scorpius in the eye for all of the awful, wonderful scenarios running between his ears, considered with a flush and a sick sort of sinking feeling that perhaps he wasn't ready to be together with someone. He was awkward and uncertain and easily embarrassed; Scorpius deserved someone more— well, more like Scorpius. "I'm— I'm going to run," he murmured, hastily lifting himself out of the tub and scrambling to get his dressing gown sashed enough to cover himself. Gathering his discarded clothes, a very sodden Albus merely shot Scorpius a pained sort of look before disappearing into he corridors and taking off at a bit of a run, only stopping to slip behind the door that appeared when, as he hurried down a seventh floor corridor, he found himself thinking, "I just need somewhere to think."