Penitence Part Ten
May. 27th, 2009 07:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dysonrulesOh what the hell? Have another one. LOL! *hearts a billionty to you all*
Hell was mortified. “Al, you’ve got to stop this! It’s embarrassing. You’re acting like Malfoy’s…”
“Slave?” Al supplied.
“It’s been over a week! How long do you plan to keep this up?”
Al glanced across the classroom to where Malfoy sat. A pale hand was clenched slightly around an elbow—Al wondered if the wounds still hurt Pious. They seemed to, at times, even though Hell insisted he was faking in order to seem helpless.
“Not long,” Al said evasively.
“It’s insane! You cut his bloody sausages at the breakfast table! I’m surprised you didn’t feed him!”
Al flushed. Strangely, acting like Malfoy’s servant had not been nearly as bad as expected. Malfoy mostly needed help with mundane things, such as dressing and brushing his hair. He claimed that reaching pulled muscles still sore from where the plant had impaled him. Al would help him with his shirt and the buttons, and then spend far longer than necessary brushing the fine blond hair. Al admitted only to himself that he sort of enjoyed pulling the soft strands away from Malfoy’s neck and skating his fingertips over the soft flesh there. Oddly, Albus was the one doing all of the touching in their relationship. He continued to put the salve on Malfoy’s wounds—Pomfrey said it would prevent scarring—and Al found his fingers often lingering over the task.
Pious Malfoy had not initiated a single touch. It was perplexing to Al, who found he almost missed the arm around his shoulders, the skating of fingers through his hair, and the brush of lips against his throat. Malfoy had kept his hands strictly to himself ever since the attack. Al could only assume it was because of the promise he had extracted, although he had expected Malfoy to consider that moot since Al had not exactly kept his end of the bargain. Well, he had freed Malfoy, but the entire school knew the details of the incident, so the blond could easily have claimed no bargain. Al supposed another possibility was that Pious simply did not want to touch him any longer.
Conflictingly, the more Malfoy refused to touch him, the more Al wanted to be touched. It was starting to affect his sanity. Mornings were the worst. Al always accompanied Malfoy to the bath, where the blond would disrobe while Al tightly shut both eyes. Then Malfoy would climb into the hot water, thankfully filled with concealing bubbles, and Al would shampoo his hair. Just thinking about Malfoy completely nude beneath the foam made Al try to rush his task, because unwelcome thoughts had begun to crowd into his head. Unwillingly, he thought of the single kiss Malfoy had planted on him. He thought of it a lot. Especially at bath time.
Al would quickly conjure images of Professor McGonagall naked in order to deflate the more obvious signs of his growing attraction. Pious would emerge from the bath and Albus would avert his eyes from the shining, wet flesh until Malfoy was at least partially wrapped in a thick fleece. Al would then brush his hair until it was nearly dry.
At meals he sat next to Malfoy and cut his food, poured his drinks, and tried not to watch as the white teeth nipped into each bite. Hagrid doing a strip-tease, Al would think. Watching Pious Malfoy eat is not erotic. Merlin, does he have to lick the strawberries? Can’t he just pop them into his mouth like a normal person? Hagrid doing a table dance…on a very large table…
It only got worse. One morning Al slipped on a puddle of water when they were leaving the bath and fell into Malfoy, knocking him into the wall. Malfoy’s arms instinctively went around Al’s waist and Al’s hands splayed against Malfoy’s damp, bare chest. Two surprised gazes met and locked for a moment and then Malfoy’s head tipped down with infinite slowness. Al’s eyelids fluttered down and he forgot to breathe as he waited expectantly for their lips to meet. The kiss never came.
“Are you planning to lean on me all day long, or can we get dressed and go to breakfast?” Pious asked dryly. Al shoved himself away with an oath and a rush of embarrassment. Mad, he thought. I’m definitely going mad.
Now they were in the Slytherin dorm, studying for an upcoming Potions exam.
“Potter. Pillow,” Malfoy had said imperiously and snapped his fingers. Al had reluctantly climbed onto Malfoy’s bed and arranged himself against the headboard. Malfoy seated himself between Al’s outstretched legs and leaned back slightly. “Very good. Now, massage.”
Hell rolled his eyes as he sprawled next to Bleys on Zabini’s bed. They had turned into an interesting foursome, now that Al was rarely allowed to leave Malfoy’s side. Hell and Bleys got along surprisingly well. Zabini upended a bag of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavoured Beans on the bed between them and they immediately began to argue about the merits of choosing the red coloured beans over yellow.
Al dug his fingers into Malfoy’s shoulders, thankful that the prat was still wearing his shirt. That relief was short-lived.
“Wait a minute,” Malfoy said and leaned forward to peel off his tie and white shirt before leaning back. Al sighed heavily and pressed his fingers into the warm skin.
“Think about it,” Bleys said. “There are very few bad-tasting things that are red.”
“What about blood?” Hell countered.
“Some people like the taste of blood,” Zabini said and Hell made a retching wound.
“That’s just gross. Unless you’re a vampire.”
Malfoy gave a low moan that Al tried vainly to ignore. He had dug his fingers in harder than usual, but the results had been opposite of his intention.
“Merlin, yes,” Pious said breathily.
“Do you two want us to leave?” Bleys asked. Al flushed and his hands stilled.
“Carry on, Bleys. You, too, Potter.”
“Shouldn’t we work on Potions?” Hell asked.
“You are the one that started arguing about beans,” Zabini countered, but Summoned his Potions book. The others did the same, except for Al, who was allowed the privilege of reading over Malfoy’s shoulder at the book open on his lap. His fingertips pressed into the flesh beneath Pious’s collarbone.
“My notes say to add the anises and the wormwood, but it doesn’t say in which order,” Zabini said after several moments of silent study.
Al turned his mind to the problem, glad of anything that would distract him from Malfoy. The blond head was tucked beneath Al’s chin and the scent of it invaded Al’s senses. It smelled like a field of fresh mint. Malfoy’s back was pressed fully against Al’s torso and his heat burned into Al.
“Anise first, because you need it to counter the redcaps. I’d say give it six stirs if the book doesn’t specify, and then add the wormwood. Otherwise the wormwood will amplify the effects of the redcap and the anise will be rendered inert.”
Zabini made an impressed sound.
“How do you remember all this stuff, Potter?”
Al shrugged. “I’ve botched a lot of potions in my time,” he admitted. He froze suddenly as he realized his fingers were gently tugging at the nearly invisible hair that trailed from Malfoy’s chest down into his waistband. Malfoy seemed to be deep in thought. Al smoothed the hair down with a quick brush of his fingers and tried desperately to drive his thoughts in another direction. Malfoy’s nearness was waking up things better left unawoken. Hagrid and Olympe having wild animal sex, he thought frantically. The resulting image was so terrifying he thought it might prevent him being horny for the next decade. He sighed in relief.
Malfoy tipped his head back, sliding his hair over Al’s jaw with the movement.
“Quidditch practice later?” he asked in the same voice Al suspected he would use to say, “Want to fuck me?”
Al shoved the blond away forcibly and leaped off of the bed.
“I don’t feel very well,” he said. “I think I need to use the loo.”
He bolted for the nearest lavatory and sat on the porcelain, shaking. The door opened and Hell asked, “All right, what was that all about?”
“Must be something I ate,” Al said lamely. “I’ll be all right in a minute.” Right after he wanked himself raw.
“James wants to see you. I ran into Helga in the hall. He’s in the Gryffindor common room.”
Good, Al thought. He had spent the past three weeks ignoring his brother completely, but even talking to that prat would be better than returning to the torture chamber of the Slytherin dorm. Merlin, I’m falling for Pious Malfoy.
Al buried his head in his hands, feeling sick in actuality.
~~- oOo -~~
Pious watched Potter flee in a mad dash. He looked at Hell in surprise.
“I’ll go make sure he’s okay,” Hell said, probably more to escape the company of Pious and Bleys than to assist Potter. When he was gone, Pious rolled over and buried his head in the pillows with a groan. Thank Merlin he’d been holding the huge Potions book over his lap, or he would not have been able to hide his condition. Bloody hell, but Potter’s fingers dancing over his skin and pulling his hair… Pious took a shuddering breath. He was harder than he’d ever been in his life.
“What’s Potter’s problem?” Bleys asked calmly. Pious could hear his quill scratching on the parchment.
“I haven’t the foggiest.”
“Seems to me it could be the same problem you have, eh?”
“Which is?” Pious mumbled into the pillow.
“I think you’re in love with each other.”
Pious laughed. The sudden attack of the giggles helped Pious regain control of certain bodily functions and he rolled over to face his amusing friend.
“Good one, Bleys. Potter hates me, remember?”
“Yeah. It looked like it when he was fondling you and smelling your hair. And I notice you did not deny it on your part.”
Pious sobered. His mind went back to the morning when Potter had stumbled into him. Pious had been sure the black-haired boy meant to kiss him, but Albus had contented himself to shut his eyes and wait breathlessly like an idiotic virgin. Pious sighed and cursed that thrice-damned vow he had made. No touching and no kissing. It was twice as tortuous now that Potter seemed willing to follow orders and put his hands all over Pious whenever requested. And there was no was in hell Pious could resist the temptation of having him do so whenever possible.
Pious sat up and wrapped his arms around his calves. He rested his chin on one knee.
“What is a flower that is sometimes substituted for rose petals?” Bleys asked.
“Trick question. There is no substitute for rose petals.”
Bleys scratched on the parchment. He had been almost obsessive about learning potions lately.
“Why did you kiss Potter?” Pious asked and then wondered when he had lost control of his verbal faculties.
Bleys shrugged. “Curiosity.” He chuckled and added, “And I heard you come in.”
Pious raised his head to glare at his former best friend. “You wanted me to see you kissing Potter? Why?” He cringed, half-expecting an unwanted revelation. He got one, although it was nothing like he had anticipated.
“Pious, I know how you feel about Potter. Why don’t you just tell him and be done with it? You two are getting too old to play these games and I am tired of being in the middle of them. We’ll be adults next year. I, for one, intend to act like one.”
Pious nearly demanded to know what he meant, but the dark gaze piercing him made him clamp his jaw shut. “It’s not that simple.”
“It is that simple. You merely insist on complicating things. I realize it’s our Slytherin nature to slink around an issue rather than face it, but sometimes we have to embrace our inner Gryffindor.”
“I don’t have an inner Gryffindor and I resent your insinuation that I do,” Pious said hotly.
“Fine. I am going to go and embrace my outer Gryffindor and leave you to your complicated angst.” Bleys tossed his quill aside, put his study materials away and went out. Pious ignored him. What did Bleys know, anyway? To suggest he was in love with Albus Potter? It was preposterous.
Pious found his thoughts wandering back to the previous day. They had been in Care of Magical Creatures, half-listening to Professor Hagrid prattling on about acromantulas and suggesting a field trip into the forest to see the remains of “one of his dearest friends” or some such nonsense. Pious had not paid much attention, mostly because Potter had been standing uncomfortably close to him. Pious had absently rubbed at his forearm—one of the few places that still twinged in occasional pain from the Devil’s Snare. Potter’s hand had dropped instantly to his shoulder and the green eyes met his in concern.
“Are you all right?” Potter had asked and squeezed gently. It was the first time Pious could remember Potter touching him without being asked. He had nodded in confusion and Potter had smiled. Pious had felt his heart twist strangely at the expression. “I’ll massage it for you later,” Potter promised.
Pious sighed heavily, realizing he was unconsciously rubbing his forearm and remembering Potter’s fingers there. He had to have Potter stop touching him. There was no help for it. One more tender massage or unexpected gentle touch and Pious would be completely lost. If he wasn’t already. Embrace your inner Gryffindor. What did Bleys know?
PART ELEVEN
Hell was mortified. “Al, you’ve got to stop this! It’s embarrassing. You’re acting like Malfoy’s…”
“Slave?” Al supplied.
“It’s been over a week! How long do you plan to keep this up?”
Al glanced across the classroom to where Malfoy sat. A pale hand was clenched slightly around an elbow—Al wondered if the wounds still hurt Pious. They seemed to, at times, even though Hell insisted he was faking in order to seem helpless.
“Not long,” Al said evasively.
“It’s insane! You cut his bloody sausages at the breakfast table! I’m surprised you didn’t feed him!”
Al flushed. Strangely, acting like Malfoy’s servant had not been nearly as bad as expected. Malfoy mostly needed help with mundane things, such as dressing and brushing his hair. He claimed that reaching pulled muscles still sore from where the plant had impaled him. Al would help him with his shirt and the buttons, and then spend far longer than necessary brushing the fine blond hair. Al admitted only to himself that he sort of enjoyed pulling the soft strands away from Malfoy’s neck and skating his fingertips over the soft flesh there. Oddly, Albus was the one doing all of the touching in their relationship. He continued to put the salve on Malfoy’s wounds—Pomfrey said it would prevent scarring—and Al found his fingers often lingering over the task.
Pious Malfoy had not initiated a single touch. It was perplexing to Al, who found he almost missed the arm around his shoulders, the skating of fingers through his hair, and the brush of lips against his throat. Malfoy had kept his hands strictly to himself ever since the attack. Al could only assume it was because of the promise he had extracted, although he had expected Malfoy to consider that moot since Al had not exactly kept his end of the bargain. Well, he had freed Malfoy, but the entire school knew the details of the incident, so the blond could easily have claimed no bargain. Al supposed another possibility was that Pious simply did not want to touch him any longer.
Conflictingly, the more Malfoy refused to touch him, the more Al wanted to be touched. It was starting to affect his sanity. Mornings were the worst. Al always accompanied Malfoy to the bath, where the blond would disrobe while Al tightly shut both eyes. Then Malfoy would climb into the hot water, thankfully filled with concealing bubbles, and Al would shampoo his hair. Just thinking about Malfoy completely nude beneath the foam made Al try to rush his task, because unwelcome thoughts had begun to crowd into his head. Unwillingly, he thought of the single kiss Malfoy had planted on him. He thought of it a lot. Especially at bath time.
Al would quickly conjure images of Professor McGonagall naked in order to deflate the more obvious signs of his growing attraction. Pious would emerge from the bath and Albus would avert his eyes from the shining, wet flesh until Malfoy was at least partially wrapped in a thick fleece. Al would then brush his hair until it was nearly dry.
At meals he sat next to Malfoy and cut his food, poured his drinks, and tried not to watch as the white teeth nipped into each bite. Hagrid doing a strip-tease, Al would think. Watching Pious Malfoy eat is not erotic. Merlin, does he have to lick the strawberries? Can’t he just pop them into his mouth like a normal person? Hagrid doing a table dance…on a very large table…
It only got worse. One morning Al slipped on a puddle of water when they were leaving the bath and fell into Malfoy, knocking him into the wall. Malfoy’s arms instinctively went around Al’s waist and Al’s hands splayed against Malfoy’s damp, bare chest. Two surprised gazes met and locked for a moment and then Malfoy’s head tipped down with infinite slowness. Al’s eyelids fluttered down and he forgot to breathe as he waited expectantly for their lips to meet. The kiss never came.
“Are you planning to lean on me all day long, or can we get dressed and go to breakfast?” Pious asked dryly. Al shoved himself away with an oath and a rush of embarrassment. Mad, he thought. I’m definitely going mad.
Now they were in the Slytherin dorm, studying for an upcoming Potions exam.
“Potter. Pillow,” Malfoy had said imperiously and snapped his fingers. Al had reluctantly climbed onto Malfoy’s bed and arranged himself against the headboard. Malfoy seated himself between Al’s outstretched legs and leaned back slightly. “Very good. Now, massage.”
Hell rolled his eyes as he sprawled next to Bleys on Zabini’s bed. They had turned into an interesting foursome, now that Al was rarely allowed to leave Malfoy’s side. Hell and Bleys got along surprisingly well. Zabini upended a bag of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavoured Beans on the bed between them and they immediately began to argue about the merits of choosing the red coloured beans over yellow.
Al dug his fingers into Malfoy’s shoulders, thankful that the prat was still wearing his shirt. That relief was short-lived.
“Wait a minute,” Malfoy said and leaned forward to peel off his tie and white shirt before leaning back. Al sighed heavily and pressed his fingers into the warm skin.
“Think about it,” Bleys said. “There are very few bad-tasting things that are red.”
“What about blood?” Hell countered.
“Some people like the taste of blood,” Zabini said and Hell made a retching wound.
“That’s just gross. Unless you’re a vampire.”
Malfoy gave a low moan that Al tried vainly to ignore. He had dug his fingers in harder than usual, but the results had been opposite of his intention.
“Merlin, yes,” Pious said breathily.
“Do you two want us to leave?” Bleys asked. Al flushed and his hands stilled.
“Carry on, Bleys. You, too, Potter.”
“Shouldn’t we work on Potions?” Hell asked.
“You are the one that started arguing about beans,” Zabini countered, but Summoned his Potions book. The others did the same, except for Al, who was allowed the privilege of reading over Malfoy’s shoulder at the book open on his lap. His fingertips pressed into the flesh beneath Pious’s collarbone.
“My notes say to add the anises and the wormwood, but it doesn’t say in which order,” Zabini said after several moments of silent study.
Al turned his mind to the problem, glad of anything that would distract him from Malfoy. The blond head was tucked beneath Al’s chin and the scent of it invaded Al’s senses. It smelled like a field of fresh mint. Malfoy’s back was pressed fully against Al’s torso and his heat burned into Al.
“Anise first, because you need it to counter the redcaps. I’d say give it six stirs if the book doesn’t specify, and then add the wormwood. Otherwise the wormwood will amplify the effects of the redcap and the anise will be rendered inert.”
Zabini made an impressed sound.
“How do you remember all this stuff, Potter?”
Al shrugged. “I’ve botched a lot of potions in my time,” he admitted. He froze suddenly as he realized his fingers were gently tugging at the nearly invisible hair that trailed from Malfoy’s chest down into his waistband. Malfoy seemed to be deep in thought. Al smoothed the hair down with a quick brush of his fingers and tried desperately to drive his thoughts in another direction. Malfoy’s nearness was waking up things better left unawoken. Hagrid and Olympe having wild animal sex, he thought frantically. The resulting image was so terrifying he thought it might prevent him being horny for the next decade. He sighed in relief.
Malfoy tipped his head back, sliding his hair over Al’s jaw with the movement.
“Quidditch practice later?” he asked in the same voice Al suspected he would use to say, “Want to fuck me?”
Al shoved the blond away forcibly and leaped off of the bed.
“I don’t feel very well,” he said. “I think I need to use the loo.”
He bolted for the nearest lavatory and sat on the porcelain, shaking. The door opened and Hell asked, “All right, what was that all about?”
“Must be something I ate,” Al said lamely. “I’ll be all right in a minute.” Right after he wanked himself raw.
“James wants to see you. I ran into Helga in the hall. He’s in the Gryffindor common room.”
Good, Al thought. He had spent the past three weeks ignoring his brother completely, but even talking to that prat would be better than returning to the torture chamber of the Slytherin dorm. Merlin, I’m falling for Pious Malfoy.
Al buried his head in his hands, feeling sick in actuality.
~~- oOo -~~
Pious watched Potter flee in a mad dash. He looked at Hell in surprise.
“I’ll go make sure he’s okay,” Hell said, probably more to escape the company of Pious and Bleys than to assist Potter. When he was gone, Pious rolled over and buried his head in the pillows with a groan. Thank Merlin he’d been holding the huge Potions book over his lap, or he would not have been able to hide his condition. Bloody hell, but Potter’s fingers dancing over his skin and pulling his hair… Pious took a shuddering breath. He was harder than he’d ever been in his life.
“What’s Potter’s problem?” Bleys asked calmly. Pious could hear his quill scratching on the parchment.
“I haven’t the foggiest.”
“Seems to me it could be the same problem you have, eh?”
“Which is?” Pious mumbled into the pillow.
“I think you’re in love with each other.”
Pious laughed. The sudden attack of the giggles helped Pious regain control of certain bodily functions and he rolled over to face his amusing friend.
“Good one, Bleys. Potter hates me, remember?”
“Yeah. It looked like it when he was fondling you and smelling your hair. And I notice you did not deny it on your part.”
Pious sobered. His mind went back to the morning when Potter had stumbled into him. Pious had been sure the black-haired boy meant to kiss him, but Albus had contented himself to shut his eyes and wait breathlessly like an idiotic virgin. Pious sighed and cursed that thrice-damned vow he had made. No touching and no kissing. It was twice as tortuous now that Potter seemed willing to follow orders and put his hands all over Pious whenever requested. And there was no was in hell Pious could resist the temptation of having him do so whenever possible.
Pious sat up and wrapped his arms around his calves. He rested his chin on one knee.
“What is a flower that is sometimes substituted for rose petals?” Bleys asked.
“Trick question. There is no substitute for rose petals.”
Bleys scratched on the parchment. He had been almost obsessive about learning potions lately.
“Why did you kiss Potter?” Pious asked and then wondered when he had lost control of his verbal faculties.
Bleys shrugged. “Curiosity.” He chuckled and added, “And I heard you come in.”
Pious raised his head to glare at his former best friend. “You wanted me to see you kissing Potter? Why?” He cringed, half-expecting an unwanted revelation. He got one, although it was nothing like he had anticipated.
“Pious, I know how you feel about Potter. Why don’t you just tell him and be done with it? You two are getting too old to play these games and I am tired of being in the middle of them. We’ll be adults next year. I, for one, intend to act like one.”
Pious nearly demanded to know what he meant, but the dark gaze piercing him made him clamp his jaw shut. “It’s not that simple.”
“It is that simple. You merely insist on complicating things. I realize it’s our Slytherin nature to slink around an issue rather than face it, but sometimes we have to embrace our inner Gryffindor.”
“I don’t have an inner Gryffindor and I resent your insinuation that I do,” Pious said hotly.
“Fine. I am going to go and embrace my outer Gryffindor and leave you to your complicated angst.” Bleys tossed his quill aside, put his study materials away and went out. Pious ignored him. What did Bleys know, anyway? To suggest he was in love with Albus Potter? It was preposterous.
Pious found his thoughts wandering back to the previous day. They had been in Care of Magical Creatures, half-listening to Professor Hagrid prattling on about acromantulas and suggesting a field trip into the forest to see the remains of “one of his dearest friends” or some such nonsense. Pious had not paid much attention, mostly because Potter had been standing uncomfortably close to him. Pious had absently rubbed at his forearm—one of the few places that still twinged in occasional pain from the Devil’s Snare. Potter’s hand had dropped instantly to his shoulder and the green eyes met his in concern.
“Are you all right?” Potter had asked and squeezed gently. It was the first time Pious could remember Potter touching him without being asked. He had nodded in confusion and Potter had smiled. Pious had felt his heart twist strangely at the expression. “I’ll massage it for you later,” Potter promised.
Pious sighed heavily, realizing he was unconsciously rubbing his forearm and remembering Potter’s fingers there. He had to have Potter stop touching him. There was no help for it. One more tender massage or unexpected gentle touch and Pious would be completely lost. If he wasn’t already. Embrace your inner Gryffindor. What did Bleys know?
PART ELEVEN