1. (Not so) secret lovers.

Having his first kiss (pathetic for a seventeen-year-old, wasn’t it?) in front of two hundred and sixty-seven students, a handful of professors, a few ghosts, and the Headmaster should have been embarrassing, but Scorpius was taking it all in stride.

To their credit, so was everyone else.

Professor Holloway awarded fifty points each to Slytherin and Gryffindor, and then an extra ten on top of that to Albus for style.

Ah, hell, ten more to Scorpius as well for making such pretty noises.

Kids whose parents were acquainted with the Potters, Malfoys, and Weasleys suddenly gained some semblance of understanding (once the shock wore off) and fled to the owlery in a sort of mass exodus, trampling anyone who dared get in the way. There would be avian mayhem in England tonight, not that Scorpius cared. He was having his mouth ravished by Albus Potter, and nothing short of the castle crumbling around him would have made him give it up.

Actually, he probably wouldn’t even have noticed that.

2. As a means of communication, speech is overrated.

Having finally decided to take Scorpius to Hogsmeade as planned, and realising that walking and kissing were probably not the best things to do in combination, Albus pulled away with a last nibble to Scorp’s bottom lip.

Scorpius looked Confunded, and Albus wanted to lick him (some more, please).

He grabbed Scorpius by the wrist and led him past the gawking remnants of the student body and into the Entrance Hall, where he pushed his bewildered new boyfriend (he’d tell Scorp about that decision later) against the wall and showed him exactly what he stood to gain by being such a good sport.

Tongue-fucking someone’s mouth was an excellent means of putting a point across, if Albus did say so himself. Scorpius seemed to concur, though his verbal abilities were somewhat diminished at present.

If he could have spoken, he would have said something like, I concur. Tongue-fucking my mouth is indeed an excellent way to put a point across. Carry on, valiant sir. Oh, and would you mind rubbing up against me a bit? I seem to be a bit stiff in the pants region, and a nice massage would fix that right up. That’s a good man.

3. My preconceived notions, let me (not) show you them.

Having finally arrived in Hogsmeade, dodging owl droppings all the way, the pair settled in to the Three Broomsticks for refreshments. Snogging was thirsty work, and they needed to build their strength up for later. Albus had Plans.

What he didn’t know was that his Plannee was as pure as the driven snow. He sort of assumed that anyone who looked like a (somewhat pale and thin) Greek God and kissed like a French Whore had gotten his dick wet at least once, if not more. Of course, the thought didn’t bear thinking, because Al was never one to dwell on the unpleasant.

Scorpius, it should be said, was scared shitless. He just knew he was going to make a fool of himself, and Albus would throw his hands up in exasperation and exit, stage left. That thought bore loads of thinking, because Scorpius was always one to dwell on the unpleasant. It was genetic. Goddamned inbreeding.

4. You’re my candy boy, and you got me wanting you.

Scorp bought Al a unicorn lolly from Honeydukes, took him to the alley behind the shop to watch him eat it, and promptly came in his pants.

Well, shit.

He’d Scourgify later, but for the now, there was confectionery being fellated, and he had to see it through.

Bless his cotton socks, Albus could suck! Scorpius would have wet dreams for the next fifty years based on this alone, he was sure. He’d put this memory in a jar and save it forever.

Albus’ tongue traced the coils of coloured sugar up, down, round and round, never taking his eyes off Scorp. He held firmly onto the stick as he moved the lolly in and out of his mouth. His lips were sticky and shiny, and Scorpius rushed forward to taste them, taking the proxy-cock from Albus and tossing it to the dirt.

Sweet Merlin. Well, actually, Sweet Albus, but it’s poor form to invoke one’s own boyfriend (he’d tell Al about that decision later), and if Scorpius knew anything, it was how not to commit such a glaring faux pas.

5. Murder at Hogwarts!

Needless to say, the Hogsmeade visit was cut short.

Not even the Avada Kedavra could have travelled faster than Al and Scorp did as they ran back to Hogwarts. Well, it could have, but one doesn’t think such horrible thoughts when one is about to engage in copious amounts of very gay sex.

The only thing being murdered today, Scorpius thought with more relish than was called for, was his virginity. And that bastard had worn out his welcome ages ago.

6. Batten down the hatches, a storm’s a-brewin’!

Addled with lust, Albus gave the wrong password three times. The Fat Lady was about to go back to reading her book when he finally got it right. Annoyed, she let the boys in, and Al flashed the Vs to the back of the canvas as it swung shut.

He dragged Scorpius to the seventh-year dorms, flung him onto the bed, and announced his Plan.

The Plan, Albus stated, consisted primarily of him riding Scorp like a broomstick in a hurricane. Scorpius voiced his approval of the Plan, and it was voted into action.


There was the small matter of Scorp never having been ridden, not even like a broomstick in a light breeze.

Surely not!

Oh, but yes. Not even like a broomstick in stagnant air, Scorpius conceded with a frown.

That would simply have to change.

7. How to See to a Proper Seeing-To.

Albus decided there was nothing else for it; he would have to teach Scorp the finer (and rougher, but that was later) points of very gay sex. He told him not to worry his pretty head about a thing, he would learn.

Being the literal and frequent wanker that he was, Albus kept his favourite lubricant in his trunk. He fetched it, and demonstrated the proper way to prepare for a good fucking. Thinking there was nothing like a hands-on education, he poured the currant-flavoured oil onto Scorpius’ fingers and explained how to push them in, one at a time, twisting and turning them as he went.

Scorpius, for his part, was a quick study. He took Al’s cock into his mouth, enjoying the sounds he elicited as he finger-fucked and sucked him.

He’d fellated his share of unicorn lollies, after all, mostly whilst pretending it was Al, but thought that last part was better left unsaid for the time being. It wouldn’t do to frighten the boy away before he’d had a chance to put his newfound skills into real practise.

8. ‘Twas the week before Christmas, and all through their heads. . .

Albus was carrying out his part of the Plan brilliantly, Scorpius thought, as his cock disappeared into Al’s body time and time again.




And deliciously back in.

The dorm was filled with the sounds of teenage sex: surprised Oh!s, satisfied Fuck!s, and begged-for Oh, God, Deeper!s. Scorpius instinctively bucked up to meet Al’s arse as he ground it down hard, and fucking hell, if this wasn’t bliss.

Awkward, sticky, currant-and-sweat-scented bliss.

Scorpius came first, shooting deep inside of Al, but Albus didn’t make a move to climb off after. He stayed there, impaled on Scorp’s cock, and stroked himself to orgasm. He came hard, splattering Scorpius from navel to chin with pearly spunk, which he immediately leant forward to lick off.

All in all, this had been one hell of a first date, they both thought (unbeknownst to each other) as they cleaned up and flopped tiredly onto Albus’ bed.

Scorpius drifted off to the sound of Albus’ still-heavy breathing, silently revelling in the fact that he was the cause of it.

Visions of unicorn lollies and Scorpius’ virgin arse were dancing in Al’s head as he too found sleep.

Go to:
Chapter Two: Albus Goes on the Offensive
Eight Steps To Something: Epilogue
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