We're On Our Way To Rio
-Written for the Incest Reveal Challenge at HPFC by OCDegrassi-
-This story is written in fragments. The scenes are not in chronological order-
(*)(*)(*)
"I'm sorry," he cries, tears glittering in his hazel eyes, hands clawing out as he's being pulled away, "I'm so sorry."
(*)(*)(*)
The world is dark save for the light of a full moon, ghostly light filtering in through the drawn curtains, shining over their tangled limbs and freckled faces. Soft blond hair is illuminated across his bare chest, his lover's boyish face resting just above his heart, which beats erratically fast as the peaceful exhalations of breath dance across his chest.
A dishevelled mop of ink-black hair lies upon the pillows, lithely muscled arms curling around the boy's slender frame, holding him close and pressing a kiss to his brow.
He wonders why he's so broken that he's had to find such an unholy love.
(*)(*)(*)
Their parents scream at the notion that their sons are damaged, mothers bawling out tears that fall like rain. A sharp slap across his face is what catches him off guard.
"How could you?" his father screams, making him shake and shiver as if he were a toddler and not a man of twenty-one, "He's just a child! He's your fucking cousin!"
A piece of himself breaks at the words wash over him, the fundamental part that had keeps him from buckling under the pressure of two decades of life.
"I love him," he whispers, his voice going unheard as they rant, shriek and hold them apart.
He hates them for taking away the only thing that's keeping him from tearing at the seams.
(*)(*)(*)
"I missed you," the breathy voice whimpers into his ear.
It isn't fair that he's twenty-one and his cousin is still sixteen. Hogwarts used to be beautiful, a majestic part of whom they are as wizards. Now it's just another obstacle keeping them apart.
It's just for another two years though and then they can run away together. They can forget that their parents are siblings and that their love is taboo. A new life can begin for them both where they don't have to hide.
"I missed you," he replies, his hands making short work of the younger boy's clothes as they tumble backwards into his bed. The flat is small and isolated, barely large enough to be comfortable and yet it serves its purpose.
It keeps their love secret. It keeps it safe.
(*)(*)(*)
"JAMES! OPEN THE DOOR BEFORE I BLAST IT DOWN," his uncle's roar is not unlike that of a lion. He leaps to his feet, scurrying around the miniscule room as he searches for a pair of boxers, just to protect his modesty.
Behind him, his cousin is awake, bleary eyed and fearful, staring at the reverberating door and shivering.
They both know that their secret isn't so secret anymore. Still, James isn't a deer caught in the headlights and he grasps his cousin's arm, tighter than he usually would. He steers him to the fireplace, tossing him an armful of clothes and bids him use the floo.
It doesn't work.
Fucking father. They've got him checked and the door is still being pummelled by angry fists.
There's no choice but to face the music and hope that their song is not yet up.
(*)(*)(*)
"Harder," he moans and James complies, being rougher than he usually would be because it's just been so long since last they've been together that it physically hurts to be apart.
It's a few minutes later when they're both lying there spent, sweaty limbs enveloping each other in an attempt to hold on to their fleeting illusion of normalcy.
They're just two guys who love each other.
At least they are until they awake to the hammering on the door.
(*)(*)(*)
Fleur is screaming, he doesn't think he's ever seen her so angry. His mother is seated with her head buried in her hands, murmuring about what went wrong. Their fathers turn away from them, seated side by side on the tattered couch in varying states of undress, tousled hair, love-bites and bruised lips making it painfully clear what it was that they had been doing earlier that night.
James fixates on their use of the word "wrong."
Since when is being in love wrong?
Since when is it shameful?
He isn't ashamed. He's just scared.
Scared that they may now keep them apart.
(*)(*)(*)
"Where should we go?" Louis asks, wincing as James flicks at his sensitive nipples. He smirks at the younger boy, a teasing smirk, as he presses a kiss to his brow.
"Where do you want to go?" he replies, breathing in the silky scent of his sated lover.
"I heard that in Rio, the partying never stops," Louis breathed into his ear, using his own hands to tease him right back.
Because Louis always knows how to give as good as he gets.
"We'll go to Rio then," smiles James, "Just so that I can kiss you without being afraid of losing you."
"You can't lose me, James," murmurs Louis, "I won't let you."
"I love you."
(*)(*)(*)
They've been dancing their dance for so very long that he knows he should have expected this day but dammit all, he hadn't expected it so soon.
"How long?" the dreaded question leaves his father's lips and he tries his hardest not to quail under the rage in those emerald eyes.
He counts himself lucky that Uncle Bill hasn't torn him limb from limb already.
"Three years," Louis' voice is firm and he surprises James with the strength in his voice. James marvels at his cousin, sitting there in a pair of sky-blue boxers and a half-torn vest, speaking to his parents about having sex with his cousin for the past three years.
The fist in his eye was all that it took to bring him back to reality and he clutched at his face as a second blow broke his nose.
"Let him go, Dad!" screamed Louis, leaping onto his father's back and trying his hardest to stop Bill beating the crap out of James.
(*)(*)(*)
"Louis . . ."
"James . . ."
He notices that his lover's features are manlier, the baby fat having faded over the months they were apart. Pale blond fuzz covers his cheeks and chin, he's growing facial hair – he's proud to be more boy than man.
"Won't your parents worry?" he asks, wondering how Louis always manages to sneak out of his house and never get caught.
"I told them I'm spending the weekend with a friend," Louis replies, shimmying down the bed and trailing butterfly kisses down his chest as he disappears beneath the sheets.
At the back of his mind, he's wondering if he should have put a stop to this the day they first kissed.
He loves Louis. He just can't help feel that he's led the boy astray.
James thinks that it's his fault that Louis has become the way he is. He blames himself whenever he sees the slender cuts along the younger boy's wrists and hears the half-hearted excuses of how they got there.
After all, what normal sixteen year old would spend his summer holidays with his head between his cousin's legs and not hate himself after?
At least, that's how James saw it.
(*)(*)(*)
Louis is screaming and grasping at empty air as his father drags him from the room, eye swelling and blackening from the scuffle. His mother staggers out after them, looking old and worn in a way that no amount of Veela beauty can hide.
James is being held back by his father. He's screaming too and clawing at the air and it hurts to see Uncle Bill backhand Louis as hard as he does.
"I'm sorry," he pleads to Louis, to his uncle and aunt, to his parents, to God and to himself.
He doesn't think anyone hears.
(*)(*)(*)
Their kiss is bruising in its intensity as Louis climbs out of the fireplace, soot still staining his shirt as James shoves him against the wall.
Louis lets out a lustful whimper as James attacks his exposed throat, teeth and tongue marking him for the world to see, even though they'll be glamoured away by morning.
Their nails are harsh as they leave red marks down his back, but the discomfort is nothing in comparison to the wanton joy of his cousin's downy legs wrapped around his waist.
It's wrong and filthy and despicable.
It's a love that outsiders will say is dirty and nauseating.
It's their love.
(*)(*)(*)
It's been two years and he's an outcast. He rarely leaves his flat save for work or a trip down to the bar. He hasn't heard from Louis since that faithful night and he knows that it isn't his cousin's fault. Apparently, Bill and Fleur have him under lock and key, even at Hogwarts.
He knows this because of his brother. Albus is the only family who still talks to him these days, who won't turn away from him if they bump into each other on the street.
He wishes that Albus did hate him though. He deserved to be hated.
The doorbell rings and he answers it, reeking of stale firewhiskey but his eyes light up at the man standing on his doorstep. He's older, and almost as tall as James is but there's no mistaking those baby blue eyes and white gold hair. He's an adult now, legally and mentally, and James realises that people can't stop them being together anymore.
Some part of him wishes that they could. He doesn't want to hurt Louis anymore than he already has.
"Albus told me that you think I'm broken because of you," he says without preamble, "But the truth is that I've never needed fixing."
"What if I'm the one who needs to be repaired?" whispers James, oddly embarrassed to be seen in a food stained t-shirt that hangs loosely around his almost skeletal frame.
Louis shrugs before replying, "It's better to be damaged from experience than to be whole and naive."
James laughs at the response, noting that Louis seems so much stronger, dryer and more grown up. It's strange to him, especially as he has always been the protector. He remembers that Louis used to be kind and caring, but now his voice is harsh and his eyes are bright yet cold.
He realises that it wasn't him who broke Louis in anyway, nor was it Louis who broke him.
It was the people who had torn them apart that had nearly destroyed them both.
They weren't perfect and neither was them falling for each other. In fact, they were the furthest thing from perfection.
But that didn't mean they weren't worth it.
"I hear that Rio is great this time of year," smiles James, his first real smile in two years.
"Why do you think I'm here?"
(*)(*)(*)
A/N: So this is the first time I've written something like this and I hope I've done it justice.
Feedback would be appreciated.
Thank you for reading.