Because I'm unoriginal and awesome like that, here is a fanfic for Scorminique lovers :3
Inviting a Malfoy into a houseful of Weasleys isn't the brightest idea to begin with. It caused enough uproar when Rose came home a year ago announcing that she was madly in love with one, and Uncle Ron nearly passed out in shock. But she was practically beckoning her 'boyfriend' into a snake pit by asking him to stay for Christmas. It took a few days of pleading to convince him. The entire castle had to endure her whines as she followed him around all week. But finally - I'm guessing through means a dick like him would enjoy - he agreed.
He's definitely regretting it now.
"So, Malfoy," Ron begins, eyes fixed on the tall blonde sitting beside his daughter. I can tell from his small grunt immediately following that said daughter had aimed a kick at him. He corrects himself: "I mean Scorpius. How's school going for you?"
"Pretty well, thank you," Scorpius replies, keeping his tone level and calm. Nothing fazes him it seems; not Rose's adoring looks; not Lily's many attempts to flirt; not the spiteful glares from every male nor breathy giggles from every girl. He remained the cool, calm picture of ease.
Only I know how to break that composition he worked to keep.
"Scorpius has a big interest in Quidditch, Dad,' Rose adds, as though the promise that school is well isn't good enough. This, of course, does nothing to improve any of the looks towards him.
More silence passes, dinner slowly being eaten, as though everyone is hoping to draw out the poor boy's interrogation. Though they're running out of things to talk about. So far, Scorpius is showing to be a remarkable young man, no flaws in sight. Which he is, in theory. It's when you get under his perfect persona that you see the gritty, moody, manwhore-ish Scorpius Malfoy I've spent the last 4 months with.
He drops the act for only 2 people: Albus and me.
I keep my eyes on my plate, picking away slowly at the mashed potatoes, trying not to send hateful glares at Rose or a smirk at Scorp. Someone would notice and call on it. And we Weasleys aren't known for our subtlety.
More questions are asked, all receiving brief, on-point answers, and no one can find anything to dislike about him, aside from his heritage. So by the end of the meal, small talk is all that's left to be made.
Except for Scorpius' rooming plans.
Of course, Ron refuses to let his daughter's boyfriend to stay at his house. I hang back around the table, listening to them bicker in the kitchen. His argument is that 'a Malfoy will never set foot in his home! Especially not one whose testosterone levels were off the chart!' While Rose can't deny that Scorp has some...issues with keeping his hands to himself, she tries to at least let him stay with Hugo or on the couch. No dice.
So, as all the rooms at the Potter home are full, Scorpius ended up at the Burrow. Where my immediate family is residing.
"You can have this room, dear," Grandma Weasley says to him, showing him Uncle Ron's old room - the tiny hovel near the attic space. Scorpius, who is used to high ceilings and fur rugs, takes it without complaint.
I didn't really talk to him all evening. Dad was adamant that I keep away from him, even if he didn't say so. But after doing dishes with Vic, I passed thru the nook under the stairs to grab a new shirt - we maybe splashed a bit more than we hoped to - I felt a cool hand grasp my arm and push me against the wall.
My reaction at first was to throw him off. But the cold fingers didn't belong to some creep. They were familiar, long, and graceful. They were usually digging into my hips. The gray eyes that met mine always startled me a bit. I opened my lips to speak but he cut over me.
"You know where I'm staying. This'll be like any other night." A smirk followed his rough whisper. "I'm expecting a good gift."
Then his lips are pressed against mine for a fleeting second, making my knees a bit weak, and he's gone.
Oh, he'll get his Christmas gift.
Night falls quick enough. The Burrow is freezing cold this deep into December, but I don't let it show too much. Soon enough, I'll be in a much warmer bed than mine. With a thin robe hanging over my pyjama shorts and lacy camisole tee, I pad along the icy hardwood, hoping the creaks don't wake anyone, and head to the floor nearest the attic. I step in and shut the door behind me, locking it with a non-verbal spell, and turn back round to find him lying in the small single bed, his feet hanging off the end. His usual smirk is plastered onto his pale face. No matter; I'd get rid of it soon enough.
"Made it, I see," he chuckles, his voice just above a whisper. I roll my eyes hugging the robe tighter round my frame.
"The fact you ever doubted that I would visit you is both insulting and incorrect," I reply. The way my words are phrased make him wince a bit. I know why. I'm intentionally imitating Rose's 'super-genius' talk.
"Well you have left me hanging a few times."
"Only when you deserved it. Like when you can't keep your hands to yourself at dinner," I snap. His smirk grows.
"Haven't I complimented you on what a great ass you have? Sometimes I can't resist." I let out a small disapproving chuckle and toss away my robe, watching his eyes rake over my body hungrily. It's evident in his gaze how much he wants me.
I'm better at masking my cravings than he is.
He sits up as I step forward, getting pulled close, feeling his bare chest against my torso, through the thin satin of the top. His arms wrap round my waist and pull me closer, and in an instant his lips are against mine once more, where they should be. I kiss him back, and we fall into routine fast.
His grip tightens, pushing our hips near together and making us grasp one other more. His fingers slide beneath the shirt, skimming over my chilled flesh, making me shiver closer to him. My own arms are round his neck quickly.
I kiss him back, and we fall into routine fast. His grip tightens, pushing our hips near together and making us grasp one other more. His fingers slide beneath the shirt, skimming over my chilled flesh, making me shiver closer to him. One of my own arms is round his neck quickly.
"How long's it been since we were last like this?" I mumble, fingers toying with the buttons on his shirt. He chuckles soft.
"Depends. Are you referring to the near sex or you undoing my shirt?" I reach behind him and tear the entire top off, buttons flying quickly in every direction. An impressed smirk crosses his lips.
"The sex," I reply. He pulls me back to him, tugging up my camisole.
"Far too long," is his murmured response and I laugh breathily - a sound only he can draw from me - before catching his lips again.
Our mouths are formed to be pushed against one another, tongues gliding along and wrestling. In an instant, my shirt's thrown off my body and I can feel his fingers tugging at the pajama shorts that barely reach my thighs. Impractical for the season? Perhaps. Necessary to drive Scorp wild at times like these? Definitely.
I can feel him growing heavy against my hipbone, a feeling I've gotten used to but always seems to thrill me in some perverted way. I like knowing I can do this to him. That I can make him this size so quick.
My lithe hand slides down his naked chest and grips him thru his pyjama pants, eliciting a throaty growl from his lips that are now pressed up against my neck. The cocky smirk on my face is well-deserved. It may not be difficult to turn him on, but keeping him going is another matter. One I was well versed in.
Fingers wrapping round the bulge, I rub my palm against him, free hand tugging down the trousers and kicking them away. My shorts follow, thanks to a few broken seams on the sides, and I look up at him now.
"Easy tiger," I laugh a bit to which he rolls his eyes and grasps my arse. I let out a tiny gasp of shock but otherwise mask my surprise of his hand on my bum.
"I don't see you complaining," he mutters, lips pressed down on my collarbone. I pull him back up again and kiss him once more, now slipping his boxers down. The cold is getting to me, making my fingers shake a bit. Of course, he notices, like he always does, and we fall to the creaky bed in a heap of shivers and small chuckles.
"Jesus, you're cold," he comments, his hand sliding knowingly along my inner thighs. I bite my lip hard to keep the squeal in. It's all I can do not to arch my back, shut my eyes, and just let him take control. But I've got a reputation to uphold to Mr. Malfoy and I'm not about to let that slide so quick.
I let my hand run down his chest - who's he to talk; he's as cold as I am - and let my chilled fingers wrap around him. I was right when I guessed he was enjoying our little snog more than he should've, because the only warm part of him lays heavy in my hand. Moving my grip along him slow, I feel him shudder, feel his fingers dig into my hips. I can't help but smile.
This is where we're both ourselves. This is where any pressure to be anything but us melts away and all that matters is right here, right now, in each other's arms.
I don't stop my movements along him. As much as he mutters that he hates me and that I'm a 'fucking tease', I know he'd just want to kill me if I stopped. And like the good person I was, I didn't relent even as his hold on my threatened to bruise.
Fuck threatening; I'll have a row of dark spots along my flesh tomorrow.
At the thought of blossoming purple polka dots on my hip, my hold grows firmer round him, going faster as well. Above me, he lets out a low groan, and I can't hold back the gasp as my knickers are pulled away and his palm presses against me.
If I were standing, my knees would surely buckle. In a matter of moments, though, I'm suddenly flipped onto my back, my hand flying back and hitting the mattress. I could easily change the positions back around, but I don't. When in bed, he nearly always dominates. And I don't mind one bit.
Without warning, he thrusts forward, entering me and making me half-gasp half-scream. To keep from waking the house, I bite down on his shoulder, creating a guttural grunt from Scorpius.
His hands slide from my hips, instead pushing my thighs a bit further apart, driving fingertips there instead. I don't stop him of course. Nothing feels better than him pushing me closer and closer to the edge of sanity.
His own teeth find my earlobe, biting softly, murmuring obscenities mixed with my name over and over. I find my nails pushing into his arched back, possibly breaking skin, but the hisses could be from the feel of me clenching tight round him each time he goes a bit deeper, a bit harder and faster.
I'm not aware of the world outside our racing hearts and the squeaks of the bedsprings. I can't verify anything that isn't my moans being suffocated by his shoulder.
Yet the sound of the door being thrown open - obviously my locking charm didn't work - comes pretty damn loud
Thooooughts?