[LOG] Dreams can cause problems
Oct. 13th, 2007 02:04 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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ass_teaWhere: The Slytherin Dormitories
When: ~Mid-October, 2021 (fifth year)
Albus was standing with his back to the wall of the Slytherin common room, the cold from the stones seeping through his jumper and accentuating the temperature gradient from his back to his front, which was quite warm, given that he was pinned between the wall and the person before him, whose warm mouth was covering his own, robbing him simultaneously of breath and the strength in his legs.
Alby, of course, was finding that he didn't care about breathing or standing at this point, fingers catching in the other's jumper as a groan tried to escape his throat, only to be swallowed by the other's lips and teeth and tongue. Then the mouth pulled back just a bit, allowing Alby to take a breath, drawing enough air to push one labored word past his swollen lips.
"Scorpius," he breathed, as long pale fingers brushed over his own jumper now, his skin prickling at the touch even though there were two layers of clothing between Scorp's hands and Alby's chest. Somehow this seemed so right, that Scorpius was the person pinning him to the wall, kissing him like this, that it wasn't Alby doing the pinning or the kissing and that the the other person wasn't any of the girls that Alby had ever tried and utterly failed to date. This was Scorp and there was no one in the world Alby would prefer to be this close to, ever again. They had the whole of the common room to themselves - the whole of the castle to themselves, he felt. It was dizzying. It was what he wanted, what he wanted all the time and now that he had it, he wanted to stop time so he wouldn't ever have to think about parting.
Alby's eyelids fluttered open as the other's mouth touched the corner of his lips lightly; Scorpius looked down at him, flashing a calm, demure smile that did nothing to hide the strong undercurrent of possession that Alby could practically feel rolling off the taller boy in waves, and suddenly his hands slid back down Alby's front to his waistline and below, pressing firmly right there and Alby gasped -
"S - Scorp!" Alby jerked awake, heart racing; he blinked in the darkness of his enclosed four-poster bed for only a few seconds before he realized two very important things, neither of which boded at all well. First, he'd actually been calling out for Scorpius, because he could hear shifting outside the curtains of his bed as though the other had woken at his cries.
The second was that he was rather painfully - and quite obviously - hard.
Oh, fuck -
Alby hand't had one of these dreams in weeks - it had been one small stroke of luck, when everything else had gone wrong for a while, but now that things had finally almost gotten back to some semblance of normal, Alby realized that, as the shuffling beyond the curtains of his bed grew more distinct, they were about to take a turn for the decidedly suicidal. He scrambled desperately for the coverlet - he'd thrown it off in the midst of his dream, and he desperately scrabbled for it, bunching it over his midsection before whoever was out there - oh God it probably was Scorp - opened the curtains and saw.
When: ~Mid-October, 2021 (fifth year)
Albus was standing with his back to the wall of the Slytherin common room, the cold from the stones seeping through his jumper and accentuating the temperature gradient from his back to his front, which was quite warm, given that he was pinned between the wall and the person before him, whose warm mouth was covering his own, robbing him simultaneously of breath and the strength in his legs.
Alby, of course, was finding that he didn't care about breathing or standing at this point, fingers catching in the other's jumper as a groan tried to escape his throat, only to be swallowed by the other's lips and teeth and tongue. Then the mouth pulled back just a bit, allowing Alby to take a breath, drawing enough air to push one labored word past his swollen lips.
"Scorpius," he breathed, as long pale fingers brushed over his own jumper now, his skin prickling at the touch even though there were two layers of clothing between Scorp's hands and Alby's chest. Somehow this seemed so right, that Scorpius was the person pinning him to the wall, kissing him like this, that it wasn't Alby doing the pinning or the kissing and that the the other person wasn't any of the girls that Alby had ever tried and utterly failed to date. This was Scorp and there was no one in the world Alby would prefer to be this close to, ever again. They had the whole of the common room to themselves - the whole of the castle to themselves, he felt. It was dizzying. It was what he wanted, what he wanted all the time and now that he had it, he wanted to stop time so he wouldn't ever have to think about parting.
Alby's eyelids fluttered open as the other's mouth touched the corner of his lips lightly; Scorpius looked down at him, flashing a calm, demure smile that did nothing to hide the strong undercurrent of possession that Alby could practically feel rolling off the taller boy in waves, and suddenly his hands slid back down Alby's front to his waistline and below, pressing firmly right there and Alby gasped -
"S - Scorp!" Alby jerked awake, heart racing; he blinked in the darkness of his enclosed four-poster bed for only a few seconds before he realized two very important things, neither of which boded at all well. First, he'd actually been calling out for Scorpius, because he could hear shifting outside the curtains of his bed as though the other had woken at his cries.
The second was that he was rather painfully - and quite obviously - hard.
Oh, fuck -
Alby hand't had one of these dreams in weeks - it had been one small stroke of luck, when everything else had gone wrong for a while, but now that things had finally almost gotten back to some semblance of normal, Alby realized that, as the shuffling beyond the curtains of his bed grew more distinct, they were about to take a turn for the decidedly suicidal. He scrambled desperately for the coverlet - he'd thrown it off in the midst of his dream, and he desperately scrabbled for it, bunching it over his midsection before whoever was out there - oh God it probably was Scorp - opened the curtains and saw.
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Date: 2007-10-14 08:33 am (UTC)"S-sc-mmmn!" Alby bit his hand firmly as he came, stifling any unwanted cries hoarsely in the cold skin as he screwed his eyes shut, nearly forgetting to breathe for a moment before he began to slump over, feeling alone and empty and dirty even though he was still standing underneath the freezing shower spray -
COLD!
Suddenly Alby's senses seemed to begin working again with a fervor, and he was absolutely freezing and he nearly yelped, just barely holding the exclamation in as he shook out his hand to clean it off and grasped for the tap, twisting it the other way until the spray became a trickle and then nothing, and Alby stood shivering over the drain and realized, belatedly, that he had no towel.
... Well, shit.
Alby shook his head fervently, flinging droplets of water off, before reaching up with hands shaking with mostly cold and a little post-climax fatigue to try and wring a bit of the water out of his hair. He hurriedly brushed more droplets from his goosefleshed skin, running his hands up and down over his arms quickly, trying to build up some friction to warm himself up again.
But there really was nothing for it. He was going to have to put his pyjamas back on, wet and frozen as he was, and crawl back into bed and try to go back to sleep. And pray that Scorp had bought his (admittedly lame) explanation and had already fallen asleep once more.
Pulling pyjamas on over wet skin was difficult and uncomfortable, but somehow Alby felt like he deserved much, much worse than to have to suffer through the rest of the night cold and wet. He felt like he ought to go fling himself in the lake, for imagining those things about Scorp, for wanking off when his best friend was in the next room sleeping. He was dirty, he was awful, and as he slowly trudged past the sinks and mirrors, Alby paused to look at his reflection, which stared miserably back at him, hair wet and stringy and skin pale and wet.
"Albus Severus Potter, you are a horrible wanker of a friend and you deserve to go jump in the lake and drown," he told his blue-lipped and dripping reflection miserably. But the Albus Potter in the mirror offered no words of encouragement or derision, and after a moment Alby turned away again, padding back to the door, hands still vainly trying to restore circulation in his arms through rubbing.