Thought I might as well post this before I go off to Canada for the weekend.

Prompt 11, "Thought I needed this" from this table. Will continue with second part eventually (using Prompt 12, "I'm drunk").

title Green and Silver, I
rating PG-13
people Albus Potter/Scorpius Malfoy
warnings Drug use
disclaimer Don't own the characters.
summary Take a knife and peel away my skin, like you would an apple, round and round and round, all in one long piece. What do you find?

all parts:
1 2 3 4

Take a knife and peel away my skin, like you would an apple, round and round and round, all in one long piece. What do you find? Fibers of muscle warm and pink, veins spiderwebbing throughout the body, white bones, red heart. Blood. Wizards and scientists alike have proven that this is what you'll find. But I'm different; I can feel it. Sometimes, though, I wish I could check. x Albus is worrying my bottom lip between his teeth and I can tell he wishes he could taste me through my layers, clothing or otherwise. "You're perfect," he is saying between kisses, voice husky and low. "Perfect." I smile against his mouth, let my hand trace the row of buttons down his shirt front, his tie and sweater-vest already discarded in a pile on the floor. Another night, another empty room after hours. My fingertips ghost over the top of his trousers, and he trembles. "Scorpius," he hisses, drawing out the serpentine quality of my name. I'm good at this sort of thing, just like I'm good at everything else. Albus is right; I am perfect. I undo the button on his trousers and pull the zipper down slowly. He's gagging for it -- the other night I had undone his trousers with my teeth. Albus' hips are narrow and the clothing falls and pools quickly at his ankles with a soft rustle. I sink to my knees and his breath hitches. In the moonlight, the fine hairs on his legs are almost silver, and they tickle a bit as I run my cheek against his thigh. He says, "Scorpius, please," when I lick the spot where my cheek had just been. I hum and smile; I'm good at this part, too. x This is my life: I am Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy, named after the constellation that was the downfall of the mighty Orion, named after one of the twelve Titans, named to carry on and rebuild the Malfoy family name. I have light blonde hair that turns the color of sand when wet, and I have eyes that could be grey, could be blue, depending on what shirt I'm wearing. I am a gift to my Mum, who taught me the right way to speak German, the right way to cut a rose from the bush, the right way to be gracious. I am the pride of my Father, who taught me how to win an argument in French, how to fly a broomstick, how to read people for their strengths and weaknesses. "I don't know how I could have been blessed with such a perfect boy," Mum says of me. Father tells me, "You have a world at your fingertips, and so many choices ahead. You can accomplish anything you set your mind to, Scorpius, as long as you're careful," and I am careful, most of the time. Albus is hot and full in my mouth. Hot, too hot. His fingers twist in my hair, pulling me close, pushing me away. I am unraveling him with my tongue. Underneath the layer of Potter and of Second Child and of Slytherin, this is what Albus tastes like -- salty bitter sweet, a burst of anger towards his older brother for always showing off, a hint of jealousy towards his sister for being so clever, an undercurrent of family and unity that brings them all together. Sometimes, I wish I could be unraveled, but what would Albus find under Malfoy and Alone and Ravenclaw? There is only Scorpius, perfect and bland. x "Try it, Score. Muggles do it all the time. It's like this little tablet they eat that makes parties more fun." I try it. It's near winter holidays and the Slytherins are having a Christmas party. "A study session," they had called it under the ever-open ears of Headmistress McGonagall, but one that would last until five in the morning, with Firewhiskey and spiked punch and an endless supply of mistletoe. It happens when I am talking to Rose Weasley near the entrance to the girls dormitories, the only area where the raucous music doesn't seem to reach quite as loudly. Something bursts through me like magic, and the music is louder -- not as raucous as before, but filtered, like I've got cotton stuffed in my ears. The beat slides over my arms and legs and takes hold of my heart and when I touch Rose's shoulder it's like color and texture are exploding behind my eyes, and it's wonderful. Take a knife and peel away my skin, now, right at this very moment, and I'm sure you would find blood rushing forth like a river from a broken dam, carrying within it every color and sensation that I have ever experienced. x The shot of Firewhiskey burns as it travels down my throat, leaving my insides feeling raw and red. Heat blossoms up from my belly and settles on my cheeks. My head buzzes. A hand presses against my shoulder and I am falling, falling, falling. "Take it easy," a voice sounds beside me, and it is pleasant and I can imagine the words forming a cocoon around me, or maybe I can see them, and I am warm. "Al? Is your friend okay? He looks all...wobbly." Someone with black hair and green eyes laughs; he must be Albus. My Albus. My vision swims. His eyes are so green, like sea glass. "Perfect," I say, relishing the way my lips are smooth and unchapped and slide against each other with little resistance, because I feel so full right now, like complete, like all that green in his eyes has filled up the nooks between my bones. A minute passes, or maybe an hour, and there are arms around my waist, someone saying, "Get a hold of yourself," and the heat is too powerful, too overbearing, and I am falling, falling, falling. x I wake up surrounded by green, and for a moment I feel like I'm being swallowed by it, but then there is Albus' smooth hand pressed against my bare back, and I am drawn to look up, into his eyes. "Good morning," he says, not quite smiling. Too much green. I turn over and vomit over the side of his bed. Albus rubs his hand in circles over my shoulder blades when I can't seem to stop. Across the room, Davis pulls the covers over his head and groans, "That's disgusting." "There, there," Albus soothes, although it doesn't do much good. I'm a shaking mess by the time my stomach ceases with its spasms. He climbs over me to step gingerly around the mess I made on the stones and cleans it up with his wand. With belated relief I realize that he's fully clothed, in his pajamas, and I am still wearing some sort of bottoms underneath the heavy covers. "I'm sorry, Al," I mumble pathetically. "It's okay. You had a lot of punch last night, Score." I try to remember. Last night is a haze of color and touch and thirst. Someone says, "Let's do another." Someone says, "Take it easy." Someone says, "This is me, finally, I found it. It's perfect; I'm perfect." Someone says, "Get a hold of yourself." There is a swirl of green and silver, like fractals within fractals, a burst of something that feels like feathers or clouds against my lips, against my neck, around my shoulders. "I don't remember anything," I lie. Albus is settling himself behind me again and he is so close that I can feel his heat reaching out to warm my skin, but he doesn't touch me, this time. "Nothing at all?" he asks behind my ear. "No." He shifts, and when he answers he sounds even farther away. "That's too bad." x next part note The drug taken was MDMA, commonly known as ecstasy, classified as a stimulant, hallucinogen, and psychedelic drug. More info here.