Taming

After supper, Scorpius took an extra-long shower and took great pains with his hair. When he was sure that it couldn’t look more perfect, he went to pick out his clothes. Pants were easy. He had a particular pair of midnight blue leather pants with skinny legs that made him look like a total rock star. He was careful to only wear them on the most select occasions, so no one became inured to them. He slid them on (sans underwear, natch), and admired his profile in the mirror. With little Albus Potter around, Scorpius wasn’t interested in looking queer or femme. He was interested in looking balls-to-the-wall, all-fucking-man hot. But with at least a bit of his usual glam. So anything to see-through or silky was out of the question. He flipped through his shirts irritably.

He finally settled on a slightly tattered black t-shirt featuring a cracked and peeling Sex Pistols logo that he’d bought in a Muggle vintage shop. It was tight as hell, and there was a long rip in one side that he’d closed with a ladder of several safety pins- a rather nifty Muggle invention. It was just punk enough to be hot without being costume-y. He put on his favorite necklace- a silver chain with a silver scorpion dangling from it- and put small silver hoops in both of his earlobes.

Finishing the effect with a pair of slightly scuffed, but pristinely clean, Doc Martin boots (also from the vintage shop), Scorpius studied the full effect in the mirror. Once again, he’d transformed himself into a walking hard-on, and he couldn’t help but be proud.

But it wasn’t quite right. Flopping on his bed, he removed a small bag from his bedside table and removed a pocket mirror and a black eye pencil. With a practiced hand, he smudged the eyeliner faintly around his eyes. Just enough to highlight the rock star theme, but not enough to look girly.

Shoving his make-up bag back into the drawer, he surveyed himself in the larger mirror again. Perfection. There wasn’t going to be a dry pair of panties in the room, and he wagered he’d keep at least half the boys adjusting themselves all night. However, there was really only one person’s reaction that he wanted to see.

Scorpius shook himself. What the hell was wrong with him? He wasn’t sweet on this boy. This scruffy little Potter with his crooked tie. He was so far below Scorpius in the social pecking order that he might as well fade away. But that look! That way he’d had of putting his heart and soul into his eyes and communicating his deepest wishes, fantasies, hopes, and dreams right into Scorpius. Oh that look!

“Damn it man! You sound like a fucking girl!” Scorpius whispered to his reflection. He didn’t care about the boy. He was just another one who wanted to be used. He wanted to belong to Scorpius for one night, just like all the rest. He honestly couldn’t want hearts and flowers and a wedding and a cozy cottage by the sea because you couldn’t get those things from Scorpius Malfoy.

From Scorpius Malfoy, you’d get the fuck of your life, maybe more than one fuck if it was a long night. But then it would be over. So many holes and so little time in which to fill them. And even if the boy had some crazy idea that he could have something different, Scorpius would strip him of his illusions in a hurry. It was all about the upper hand, and Scorpius always kept it.

He turned around and looked over his shoulder, admiring how the pants made his arse look. He had put a lot of work into making sure that one night with Scorpius Malfoy was worth a hundred cottages by the sea. And so far, no one had complained. At least not where he could hear them. And that’s how he intended for things to stay. After all, he had rules. Rules for a reason. Rules that didn’t get broken. Not even for a boy with eyes that promised things that made Scorpius’s stomach flutter.