|Breathe (Scorpius/Hugo, PG)
||[Aug. 31st, 2011|01:38 pm]
Request: Scorpius/Hugo - Breathe
Word Count: 437
Summary: "They’re just a shadow, a flash of light, a breath of air."
Author's Notes: Written for the rarepair_shorts wishlist fest.
His hair is soft under Scorpius’ fingers and the blond runs his hands through the ginger wisps again and again. The Hufflepuff scarf slips off rounded shoulders to fall and curl up next to the Slytherin one on the cold stone floor. They melt into a soft, lingering kiss, tasting freedom in the unknown, finding a sweetness in the bitterness of the winter breeze wafting through the underground hallways.
“Scorpius, my parents—“
“Don’t scare me.”
“Is a reckless Gryffindor and she doesn’t scare me either.”
“Doesn’t have to know.”
Hugo fumbles with their ties, having inherited his coordination, or lack of therefore, from his father. In the dark they are alone like shadows, translucent in time, unseen by the outside world. They’re just blooming – sixteen and fifteen – but they know, they already know, that this is an unavailable luxury outside of a half-asleep world, somewhere deep underneath reality. So they take hold, drinking in the subtle tastes and smells of their rapturous, illicit lovemaking.
Breathe out. Slowly.
Scorpius has spelled them a mattress and they lie together, Hugo’s head placidly on the slimmer boy’s chest as the blond plays with the silky red curls of his lover. Hugo has his father’s cheeks and hair and smile but his mother’s eyes. Scorpius just might be his father if it wasn’t for his mother’s soft-spokeness. They try to ignore all that, though it’s hard under robes transfigured into blankets, after virginities lost terribly early to a curiosity for freedom. But together is better, together is safer and more dangerous at the same time.
Together is happier for now.
“Do you love me?”
“That’s a Hufflepuff question.”
Silence is whatever they make it, peaceful or tense, comforting or icy. But words are always the same – too few perhaps too late.
Because the new Prince of Slytherin – handsome and delicate, aristocratically pale and slim – would never admit to loving a rosy-cheeked, curvy, red-haired, pushover of a Hufflepuff. Meanwhile, said Hufflepuff is too afraid to shatter the allusion of being something other than an empty space in the eyes of the world at large to push the question. Too afraid to admit a step into the dark to yearn to know the answer.
What they have isn’t secret because only real things can be secret of overt. There is nothing real about this, but that’s alright as well. Hugo had always loved dreams and Scorpius can simply deny himself into oblivion. They’re just a shadow, a flash of light, a breath of air.
Breathe. Just breathe.