[Second person POV WIP fic, rated M for explicit language and non-explicit references to sex. Â TW: bullying, homophobia, transphobia. Â Part of the âCoevolutionâ series by unkissed.]
âAlbus and Scorpius are a Thingâ
Itâs the night before your fifth year at Hogwarts and sleeplessness is to be expected. Â Itâs not your nerves that have you turning restlessly in your bed at half past one. Â No, you havenât been nervous about starting school since that very first year. In fact, youâre beyond excited for the new term to begin.
And if youâre honest with yourself (which youâre not, because itâs a bit embarrassing), you are so eager to get to Kings Cross that youâve worked yourself up into a frenzy. Thereâs a growing need inside you that makes you so tense that you canât relax enough to even let your eyes close. Youâre so anxious that you canât quiet your mind enough to count sheep, not that that technique ever really worked for short term insomnia.
All you can think about is him â that blond angel with the devilâs smile, who took up permanent residence in your mind since the day you first met him. Â
Itâs coming, wizards! Â The Big AS/S Bang is coming!
Get ready to celebrate all things Albus/Scorpius! Â
Fan fiction writers and fan artists will collaborate to create an explosion of content featuring our favorite HP Next Gen ship, HMS Albius!  Or Scorbus, if you will⌠or Scorbius perhaps⌠Well, whatever you call this ship, weâre calling it HMS AS/S because we want to have a BIG AS/S BANG.  Sign-ups will begin soon, so be sure youâre following the Big AS/S Bang blog . (Be super careful not to confuse our url with bigassbang dot tumblr dot com because thatâs⌠something else entirely, and completely NSFW.)
NOTE: We will do our best to make sure Cursed Child spoilers are hidden, or at least very vague. Â Yeah, we read the script and weâre going to keep the secrets! Â If you havenât read it or havenât seen the play, no worries! Â We will make sure youâre not terribly spoiled!
ALSO: This is not strictly a Cursed Child fic/art fest! Â We just want you to create Albus/Scorpius content, and weâre not concerned about where you get your inspiration from. Â Cursed Child? Â What Cursed Child?
You are surrounding all my surroundings
Sounding down the mountain range of my left-side brain
You are surrounding all my surroundings
Twisting the kaleidoscope behind both of my eyes
Entertain my faith.
Lean with it, rock with it
When we gonna stop with it
Lyrics that mean nothing
We were gifted with thought
Is it time to move our feet
To an introspective beat
It ain't the speakers that bump hearts
It's our hearts that make the beat
And I'll be holding on to you
I was told when I get older all my fears would shrink,
But now I'm insecure and I care what people think.
Wish we could turn back time, to the good ol' days
Don't you worry,
Don't think about
Tomorrow morning,
What's your hurry?
Just focus on tonight
I've got a stack of records
You just bring your dancing shoes
âCause tonight I'll drop the needle,
Pop a bottle, sit back and just watch you dance
Tonight I'll drop the needle,
Pop a bottle, sit back and just watch you
What happens when you take all your favorite Potterverse characters and shove them in a non-magical dystopian future, AU fic? Guess thereâs only one way to find out.
Scorpius Malfoy has always been an obscenely early riser. He isnât sure if it is something that he enjoys so much as it is like a curse that is in his blood, but heâs long since given up trying to change it. Most days (when he wasnât tied to a career obligation or on the road with Albus), he will slip out of bed as quietly as he can and occupy himself until his companion saw fit to roll out of bed.
Today is not one of those days.
Currently, Scorpius is standing right in the middle of the bed he shares with Albus, a pair of pastel pink headphones shoved into his ears, singing as loudly (and coincidently, as obnoxiously) as he possibly can.
Albus Severus, you have the unique ability to reduce me to tears and triumph and it sort of scares me because no one should have that kind of powerâExcept, you do.Â
 The way his fingertips ghost over my skin drives me wild and sometimes I forget to breathe because yes, he is that good. The taste of his tongue is like what I imagine heaven would be like and when he smiles I feel like Iâm already there.Â
 When he looks at me I feel like he sees every part of me and although I think I should try and hide away at least a little bit, I donât because his love is consuming and addictive and it fills every single part of me.Â
 Sometimes I wonder if maybe I love him too much. He belongs to the world as much as he does to me and although I know that I have no right to wish he would just give up everything and focus on me alone, I do. Maybe if I try just a little bit harder I can make him understand or make him stay here with me forever. Oh, I know I think selfish thoughts, but honestly, can you blame me?Â
He is still sleeping soundly beside me when my eyes open at an obscenely early hour, and I would like nothing more than to curl myself around his warmth, but I know that it is pointless. Albus enjoys his sleep, and who am I to deny him, especially when it comes without a price?Â
 When I slide out of bed the sun is just starting to peek through the slight part in the curtains and I squint as I circle quietly around the bedframe to silently draw them properly closed. I know the partial sunlight will not wake him, few things ever do, but I am a slave to my need to please him and so I do it with a smile cast over my shoulder in his direction. He barely shifts beneath the thick pile of covers as I pad quietly towards the bedroom door and let myself out into the hall. The walk to the kitchen is like the longest mile and by the time I set the kettle to work the sunshine is filtering through the kitchen window.Â
 I stand at the window with my hips pressed against the counter while the kettle works its own brand of magic, staring out over the grounds of this home that I still canât believe we call our own. I canât actually see the lake from where I stand but that doesnât stop my mind from supplying a mental image of what I think it might look like with morning sun reflecting atop its smooth surface. There are so many memories attached to those dark waters that it is impossible not to think of the lake most days. Kisses and diving, tears and laughterâThat water has washed over so many parts of me that I feel as if we are old friends. My mind wanders back to the sleeping boy still upstairs in my bed and I bite the corner of my bottom lip and smile.Â
 I donât mind this time of the day as much as I used to because he has been home long enough to make me forget all the hours Iâve spent alone. There was a time when I wasnât sure we would ever find our way back to each other, although now that those times are in the past I think I was foolish and naĂŻve for ever thinking otherwise.Â
 A soft sigh escapes me when I wrap my hands around a steaming mug of black tea and itâs the kind of experience that anyone whoâs ever been up at this hour can understand. I take my tea with me when I slide open the large glass doors in the sunroom and step out onto the deck and although the early morning air is still chilly, it feels good against my skin. Sunlight streaks across the sky in muted bursts of orange and yellow that make me appreciate the day that is yet to come. I abandon my still-steaming mug for just a moment as I hop up onto the wood railing and swing my legs over the other side. This isnât an everyday occurrence, and more often than not I could be found still wrapped up in a tangle of limbs and sheet at this hour, but not today. A flock of birds screech somewhere in the distance and it is the only sound alive aside from the soft ripple of tea as I blow against my mug. I feel serene and alive and I think that I could begin every new day just like this.Â
 I feel him behind me before I hear the soft slide of the glass door because we are so attuned to one another that it should feel unnatural. I smile into my mug and count the soft creaks of wooden floorboards beneath bare feet as he closes the distance and when his arms slide around my middle from behind, my lashes flutter against my cheeks.Â
 âYouâre up early,â I say with my eyes still closed as the warmth of his touch spreads out beneath my skin.Â
 He forgoes words for kisses against the back of my neck and I am powerless to deny the way my body reacts to him. His fingertips circle over my wrists and fold over my hands and he presses up against my spine in ways that make me feel like both halves of my soul are once again fused back together. âI donât want to sleep without you,â He murmurs against my throat and it makes me smile and feel ridiculously chosen.Â
 âCanât or donât?â I ask as my head tilts beneath his explorative lips, eyes fluttering again.Â
 âWe both know that I can,â he says, emitting a soft laugh against my skin that makes the delicate hairs on the back of my neck stand up.Â
 Heâs distracting me with soft bites that barely sting as I set my cooling mug aside, and when I twist back around on the railing to face him he quickly reclaims his spot, this time against my front.Â
 âWe do.â I say, searching his emerald gaze like I have all the time in the world. âI canât sleep without you.â I add a short while later, eyes still fixed on his.Â
 His brow creases for the briefest of moments before he blinks slowly and offers me a warm smile, folding me up tighter in his embrace. I can tell by the look on his face that he wants to tell me that I donât have to, but we both know that he canât. Albus belongs to the world as much as he belongs to me and although I like to think that I have the upper hand more so than the world, sometimes I am not so sure.Â
 âI love you,â He murmurs against my lips, and before I can think to respond he is kissing me and Iâm melting against him.Â
 My hands slide over the back of his head and hold him close in a desperate attempt to keep him right here and he sighs softly against my tongue. When his fingertips dip beneath the hem of my t-shirt I shiver against him and close my eyes. This will never be something I can live without because he is something I cannot live without.Â
 It is with unspoken understanding that he slides my shirt up my chest and kisses my skin. My head drops back because his mouth feels like home and he is my anchor. His hands are clumsy and crackling with anticipation as he tugs the shirt over my head and drops it on the deck and although the sun is still climbing the clouds and the air has not yet changed, I feel like I am on fire.Â
 âI love you,â He says again as he presses up against me, and the fabric that still divides us is maddening at best.Â
 It takes me surprisingly little time to divest him of his shirt, and although I want nothing more than to push him down against the grainy stained wood beneath his feet, he distracts me with that brush of fingertips that he knows drives me wild. He takes his time with me because he knows that we really do have all the time in the world and every time he kisses me is like a brand new kind of dying.Â
When I slide off the railing he gives me only a fleeting moment before heâs wrapping me up in another embrace and my hands slide over his skin and draw him in. I feel drunk on his love and my own emotions and now more than ever I am convinced that this is heaven. He works me apart with a skill that should scare me, but somehow it only leaves me wanting more. I am pliable love in his capable hands and by the time we have removed every barrier that remains between us I can hardly breathe. âI love you, too.â I whimper quietly as he presses himself firmly inside of me, and the soft hiss of relief that escapes him is like the greatest symphony created just for me.Â
 Our rhythm is slow and unfocused because we are both just a little bit too much intoxicated. He feels like a slow burn inside of me and I cannot help but wonder if it feels this way for him too. My eyes water from the sunlight and the sensation and he is like the light guiding me in every possible way. I give myself to him so totally that I think it should scare him but he is right there to catch me when I fall. My knuckles are white from being wrapped so tightly around the deck railing and every inch of me feels sensitive and scorched from his touch. He kisses the back of my neck and nips at the tips of my ears with his teeth and it elicits the type of noises from me that only he can. He makes my insides liquefy and my heart seize but I could never look away because I love him too much. When the palm of his hands flattens against my abdomen and pulls me close I press against him and will him to give me everything.Â
 âYouâre so perfect,â He manages in my ear and I can only smile because I think he read my mind. He takes me in his hand and matches strokes to his own, maddeningly slow movements and when I canât take it anymore I squeeze my eyes shut and cry his name out like a song.Â
 The stars never looked this good.Â
 âIâm starved.â He says some time later, once weâve found our footing and our breath and have curled up together in a warmed deck chair.Â
 I smile against his chest and lift my head to peer at him, the flush still clinging to his cheeks, enough to set my pulse thudding in my throat again. âPancakes?â I say with a tilt of my head, bottom lip caught just so, between my teeth.Â
 âAnd coffee.â He amends with an amused nod, and when we disengage from one another I bite down the immediate loss of contact.Â
 He follows me back inside the house and towards the kitchen, and when he busies himself with the coffee pot I open the pantry and step inside to gather ingredients.Â
 âBlueberry or chocolate?â I ask as I step out the pantry, wearing nothing but a mischievous grin and a black polka-dot apron.Â
 Albus is preoccupied with trying to get more coffee grinds in the pot than on the countertop and mutters a distracted âsurprise me,â without looking up.Â
 âIf you say so.â I say, still grinning as I cross the room towards the stove and make a show out of bending over to retrieve a griddle pan.Â
 When I glance over my shoulder, heâs watching me with a wide-eyed expression that makes me laugh. âHungry?â I ask nonchalantly, turning my attention back to the cooker.Â
 âStarved,â He murmurs in my ear, suddenly much closer than he was moments before.Â
 It takes an obscenely long time to finish those pancakes and by the time we are actually eating them the day reads more like afternoon, but honestly, whoâs counting?
This is the result of a drabble challenge with my bae after we were randomly inspired yesterday by a black polka-dot apron. ;) If you havenât read the accompanying piece to this one, you can do so here!
