marguerite_26 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
marguerite_26) wrote2008-10-06 12:36 pm
marguerite_26) wrote2008-10-06 12:36 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: Parting Gift Harry/Scorpius
Title: Parting Gift
Rating/Warnings: NC-17, age disparity, not chan, wanking
Word Count: ~900
Pairing: Harry/Scorpius
Summary: The parchment rustled in his trembling hand. Harry placed the precious art gently on the desk. Harry couldn’t risk anything happening to it; it was all he had left now.
Author's Note: This fic is inspired by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
oldenuf2nb’s incredible Scorpius Malfoy artwork Not His Father’s Son.
Thanks tosoftly_sweetly and piratesmile331 for the beta read. I played with it a bit after your comments. Any mistakes are mine because I couldn’t stop fiddling with it.
Edited to add: In case there is any confusion, this fic and oldenuf's art are not related to the Seventeen 'verse. I intended this to be a very different Harry and Scorpius.
Parting Gift
Harry didn’t know how it had ended up on his desk in between the various piles of parchments, the corner barely poking out enough to catch his eye. But as he gently edged it free from the stack – careful to leave the parchments both above and beneath undisturbed – he knew exactly who placed it there.
Only one person was allowed past his wards, only one person with the bollocks to enter his office without permission.
Harry’s index finger traced the line of the delicately shaded cheek bone, then down the jaw displayed in all its pride by the pose. The parchment was soft beneath his touch, the fine etching having worn it smooth.
The likeness was striking. The artist had captured far more than the beauty of Scorpius Malfoy. Harry’s breath quickened as he absorbed every tiny detail. The artist had found the essence of Scorpius: confident and bold, cocky and fearless, full of passion and lust.
This was his Scorpius.
This sketch was of the man Scorpius had become in the last year. The slim, muscled shoulders had broadened seemingly beneath Harry’s gaze, stealing away the boy in the months they were together.
The parchment rustled in his trembling hand. Harry placed the precious art gently on the desk. Harry couldn’t risk anything happening to it; it was all he had left now. A parting gift.
The scorpion called to him; Scorpius’ personal siren, he used to say. Who could resist staring? It was that – Scorpius catching Harry enraptured by his tattoo – that began everything.
One moment of weakness, one look of understanding.
Two hours later they were locked in this office, Scorpius’ delicate cheek pressed against the rough wood of the desk and Harry buried balls deep. Harry kept one hand on Scorpius’ neck, his thumb strumming the tattoo, the other clenching the hip while he thrust in and out. Scorpius always demanded more – harder – faster – I’m not a fucking China doll – make me feel it.
Harry popped the button of his trousers as his vision blurred between the memory and the picture. He was already hard. Aching.
He stared at the collarbone he loved to lick, the nipple he always left red and bruised with pinches and bites until Scorpius would squirm and tell him, ‘fuck me already.’
Harry gripped his cock tight and gave a quick twist at the tip; his hands weren’t smooth or pale, his fingers were stubby rather than long and slender, but he knew how to mimic the brash grip well enough. If he closed his eyes, maybe-
Yet he couldn’t take his eyes from that face, the aristocratic Malfoy nose, the pretentious hair and those eyes, gazing off in the distance, always looking for the next great high.
Harry cursed the artist for the realism, even to the last unfair detail. Not even in this could he hold the man’s attention now.
Maybe it was better this way. Harry would never forget Scorpius’ eyes, wide and full of life and need and just a little desperation. Harry knew exactly how they would shine with desire then glaze over and squeeze shut the second before Scorpius’ breath hitched while he rode out his orgasm.
Harry pulled at his cock, lost in the memory, the intimacy of those moments. Harry didn’t want anyone else to experience that look. He wanted to be the only one to ever feel Scorpius’ arse clenching greedily at a cock as if he never wanted to let go. Scorpius’ fingers scratching – marking – his back, his chest, his arse. In those fleeting moments, Scorpius needed nothing and no one else.
Harry’s free hand moved to his chest, his fingers scraping along his right nipple. Harry cried out, his fist flew furiously over his cock, pumping mercilessly as he peaked.
Harry opened his eyes after the rush dissipated. The room was too large, unbearably empty and silent but for his harsh breathing. He was late, people were waiting on him. He had so many responsibilities, so many obligations that he had never been willing to give up. He was too stubborn, too old to follow someone else’s dreams – certainly too old to steal off to America.
He stared for a long time at Scorpius, at Scorpius looking away.
With a dull ache in his chest, Harry wiped away the evidence of his little indiscretion. Picking up the picture he delicately ran his finger again over the cheek, the jaw. He traced the ear, the scorpion, the collar bone.
A broken sigh escaped as he rose to take the picture, to keep it safe, to hide it.
He blinked in surprise as his eye caught the outline of markings on the back. They were barely visible through the parchment as he held it to the light, an elegant script in the top left corner. He held his breath and flipped the picture over.
Three words.
Three perfect words.
Wait for me?
Harry let out his breath and the pressure in his chest lightened. He would wait forever and next time he wouldn’t let go.
~fin~
The sequel to this fic is now up: Fresh Start
Rating/Warnings: NC-17, age disparity, not chan, wanking
Word Count: ~900
Pairing: Harry/Scorpius
Summary: The parchment rustled in his trembling hand. Harry placed the precious art gently on the desk. Harry couldn’t risk anything happening to it; it was all he had left now.
Author's Note: This fic is inspired by
oldenuf2nb’s incredible Scorpius Malfoy artwork Not His Father’s Son. Thanks to
softly_sweetly and piratesmile331 for the beta read. I played with it a bit after your comments. Any mistakes are mine because I couldn’t stop fiddling with it. Edited to add: In case there is any confusion, this fic and oldenuf's art are not related to the Seventeen 'verse. I intended this to be a very different Harry and Scorpius.
Parting Gift
Harry didn’t know how it had ended up on his desk in between the various piles of parchments, the corner barely poking out enough to catch his eye. But as he gently edged it free from the stack – careful to leave the parchments both above and beneath undisturbed – he knew exactly who placed it there.
Only one person was allowed past his wards, only one person with the bollocks to enter his office without permission.
Harry’s index finger traced the line of the delicately shaded cheek bone, then down the jaw displayed in all its pride by the pose. The parchment was soft beneath his touch, the fine etching having worn it smooth.
The likeness was striking. The artist had captured far more than the beauty of Scorpius Malfoy. Harry’s breath quickened as he absorbed every tiny detail. The artist had found the essence of Scorpius: confident and bold, cocky and fearless, full of passion and lust.
This was his Scorpius.
This sketch was of the man Scorpius had become in the last year. The slim, muscled shoulders had broadened seemingly beneath Harry’s gaze, stealing away the boy in the months they were together.
The parchment rustled in his trembling hand. Harry placed the precious art gently on the desk. Harry couldn’t risk anything happening to it; it was all he had left now. A parting gift.
The scorpion called to him; Scorpius’ personal siren, he used to say. Who could resist staring? It was that – Scorpius catching Harry enraptured by his tattoo – that began everything.
One moment of weakness, one look of understanding.
Two hours later they were locked in this office, Scorpius’ delicate cheek pressed against the rough wood of the desk and Harry buried balls deep. Harry kept one hand on Scorpius’ neck, his thumb strumming the tattoo, the other clenching the hip while he thrust in and out. Scorpius always demanded more – harder – faster – I’m not a fucking China doll – make me feel it.
Harry popped the button of his trousers as his vision blurred between the memory and the picture. He was already hard. Aching.
He stared at the collarbone he loved to lick, the nipple he always left red and bruised with pinches and bites until Scorpius would squirm and tell him, ‘fuck me already.’
Harry gripped his cock tight and gave a quick twist at the tip; his hands weren’t smooth or pale, his fingers were stubby rather than long and slender, but he knew how to mimic the brash grip well enough. If he closed his eyes, maybe-
Yet he couldn’t take his eyes from that face, the aristocratic Malfoy nose, the pretentious hair and those eyes, gazing off in the distance, always looking for the next great high.
Harry cursed the artist for the realism, even to the last unfair detail. Not even in this could he hold the man’s attention now.
Maybe it was better this way. Harry would never forget Scorpius’ eyes, wide and full of life and need and just a little desperation. Harry knew exactly how they would shine with desire then glaze over and squeeze shut the second before Scorpius’ breath hitched while he rode out his orgasm.
Harry pulled at his cock, lost in the memory, the intimacy of those moments. Harry didn’t want anyone else to experience that look. He wanted to be the only one to ever feel Scorpius’ arse clenching greedily at a cock as if he never wanted to let go. Scorpius’ fingers scratching – marking – his back, his chest, his arse. In those fleeting moments, Scorpius needed nothing and no one else.
Harry’s free hand moved to his chest, his fingers scraping along his right nipple. Harry cried out, his fist flew furiously over his cock, pumping mercilessly as he peaked.
Harry opened his eyes after the rush dissipated. The room was too large, unbearably empty and silent but for his harsh breathing. He was late, people were waiting on him. He had so many responsibilities, so many obligations that he had never been willing to give up. He was too stubborn, too old to follow someone else’s dreams – certainly too old to steal off to America.
He stared for a long time at Scorpius, at Scorpius looking away.
With a dull ache in his chest, Harry wiped away the evidence of his little indiscretion. Picking up the picture he delicately ran his finger again over the cheek, the jaw. He traced the ear, the scorpion, the collar bone.
A broken sigh escaped as he rose to take the picture, to keep it safe, to hide it.
He blinked in surprise as his eye caught the outline of markings on the back. They were barely visible through the parchment as he held it to the light, an elegant script in the top left corner. He held his breath and flipped the picture over.
Three words.
Three perfect words.
Wait for me?
Harry let out his breath and the pressure in his chest lightened. He would wait forever and next time he wouldn’t let go.
~fin~
The sequel to this fic is now up: Fresh Start
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