A/N: Smut! That's all. Smut and fluff. Enjoy!

Chapter 3: Or... Maybe Not?

~Albus~

In hindsight, I was surprised we made it home without one or the other of us splinching ourselves. That in itself was a bit of a miracle.

At the time, though, I doubted I even would have noticed if I'd been one less an arm so caught up was I in the moment. In the feel of Scor, his warmth against my side, the sharp, musky scent of him, the sight of his feverish gaze upon me, lust-blown pupils meeting my own as we stumbled through the door of our flat.

Neither of us spared a moment to flick on the lights, to illuminate the scene. I didn't really care; the rest of my senses were on hyper alert and I didn't particularly need to see what was going on the appreciate how Scor felt, how he tasted, how he moved against me as we stumbled against one another down the dark hallway and into the living area. The kitchen, to be precise, though I didn't quite know how we decided on there. I didn't really care, either.

With a crash that knocked the breath from me, I felt myself slammed against the refrigerator. At least I thought it was the refrigerator; I wasn't sure. I was more focused upon the press of Scor's body against me, his lips against mine and his tongue sparking every nerve into sharp attention in my mouth. I was all too aware of his hardness pressed against my hip, straining against his jeans in a mimic of my own arousal. It was all I could do to keep my feet in the ridiculous shoes that Rhali had bought me and coached me so meticulously into gaining a competency in walking in. Like she would know; she's never worn heels in her life!

Scor's groan did things to my mind, derailing my thoughts and sending them crashing them into a mushy pulp. The sounds Scor made always had a way of doing that, not to mention the intensity of his glazed gaze, the feel of his hands upon me or the press of his body as he met my neediness I equal amounts. I blinked blearily up at him, fingers tugging through his hair in a way that I knew would drew more delicious sounds from him, tugging him more firmly into me to deepen our kiss. His hands grazed along my shoulders, rising to catch upon the strap of my dress, drawing around the waist of my bodice. Just like he'd been doing all night.

Scor seemed a little fascinated by the dress. Fascinated in an unprecedented fashion; not disgusted or with the obsessive fixation of an unearthed kink, but as though he were genuinely appreciating a thing of beauty. I couldn't say that it didn't make me feel just a little bit aroused just at the thought of it. I wasn't really partial to wearing dresses, hadn't even really considered doing so before, but if this was the sort of response that it elicited… I knew damn well knew – knew and revelled in the fact – that Scor just about worshipped me. Maybe not as much as I thought the bloody sun shone out of his arse, but it would be a near thing. But this? This was something different. I made a mental note that if not to thank Rhali then to at least cease my complaints over what she'd maliciously termed her 'loving birthday gift'. All that was missing was a bow tied around my neck, and not for lack of her trying.

My breath caught as Scor's fingers slipped up beneath my skirt. They drew in a caress over my thighs, sensitive fingertips grazing just enough to leave me panting and gasping. Or maybe that was Scor, I wasn't sure which. My temples throbbed in time with my heartbeat, thudding as a rush of blood flooded into my groin. I sucked on Scor's lip as, with practiced fingers, he tugged at my pants.

Wearing a skirt without pants was… a different sensation. Perhaps it was a good thing I was too distracted to really give it any thought.

An instant later, even the passing consideration for my state of undress was shed from my thoughts. In a motion that I wasn't prepared for in the least, Scor grasped me, one hand to my thigh and the other to my waist, and bodily lifted me from the ground. I gasped, my arms locking around his neck as my legs naturally drew around him. Instead of shifting in an attempt to ease my burdensome weight in his arms, I let myself fall into his grasp and focused upon losing myself in his mouth, into drawing those delicious little shudders and moans from him with ever sweep of my tongue, every tug of my fingers through his hair.

Only to gasp when, propping me against the fridge once more, Scor slipped a hand beneath my skirt and wrapped his long, slender fingers around my arousal. My breath stuttered and I broke our locked lips with a smack. Dropping my chin, I pressed my forehead to Scor's shoulder as a spark of pleasure jolted through me. Careful touches became slow strokes, and I found myself to be the one moaning instead.

"Scor –"

Scor pressed a kiss to my ear, to the side of my neck, to the corner of my lips. I couldn't even respond as his hand continued its ministrations, could only lock my legs more tightly around him, my arms around his neck, and struggle to withhold the urges to rock my hips for just more – more of him. The shudders that trembled through me as Scor's fingers worked their magic, caressing me with a familiarity that only the truly practiced could. Only to let out an admittedly pitiful groan as his fingers released their hold.

"If you don't mind," Scor whispered breathily in my ear. "I'd like to take you up on your offer."

It took me a moment to realise what he was referring to. When understanding clicked, I nodded my head fervently into his shoulder. "God, yes. Please. Anything you want."

Scor huffed a breathless laugh. "Is this my birthday present, then?"

I couldn't even respond as, to the sound of Scor's murmured charm, I felt his fingers slide into me. I blessed, as I always did, the glorious wonder of Maghdrag's Brew that meant we hardly had to wait, his fingers slipping into me was an oily coolness that left me shuddering once more. My head rocked backwards, eyes squeezing closed as I fell prey to the feeling Scor's fingers elicited in me.

An instant later, hefting me slightly with far greater ease than he should have been able to, Scor grasped my thighs once more eased himself inside of me. I loosed a long, drawn out moan, the heady thickness of him sliding with blessed familiarity into place. Scor's own groan was as broken and strangled as my own.

The fridge was an added player in the piece. I couldn't say it hadn't been used before but it was certainly making itself useful this time around. With the hard flatness of cold metal behind my, Scor's warm softness in front, I lost myself to the sensation of his rhythmic thrusting. Scor's fingers tightened almost painfully upon my thighs, my buttocks, reaching up to grasp my hip, but I could hardly find complaint. The angle of his penetration, the full weight of my body falling to meet his at every thrust, sent shooting sparks of light across my closed eyelids, volts of pleasure straight to the centre of my brain despite my neglected hardness. It drew moans from beneath my lips that were echoed by Scors grunts, by his breathy gasps of "Al… Al…"

And then, as he always would, Scor shifted me slightly, lifting and manoeuvring the clutching embrace of my legs and adjusted just enough so that with each thrust those waves of pleasure became tsunami's. I released a cry as he hit the bundle of nerves within me that triggered such an overwhelming torrent of sharp pleasure, so blinding it was almost painful. Each thrust hit again, again, and I could feel my climax mount with each passing second. Unbidden, I leant back into Scor, dropping my lips into the crook of his neck in more of a bite than a kiss, clinging to him tightly as his sharp jabs rocked me back against the fridge. Again. Again. Again.

"Al – I can't – I'm nearly – "

His words in my ear were what pushed me into teetering on the edge. The tightening of his embrace around me, however, the claw-like grasp of his fingers, the press of his torso into me, pressing me flush against the fridge, was what did it, though. His stomach rubbing in a painfully pleasurable bout of friction against my hardness, his erratic thrusts that sent their own crashing bouts of feeling coursing through me. In a feeble shout, muffled by my bite into Scor's neck, and I felt myself slam into the tantalising wall of completion, sticky wetness spilling onto my thighs. With a groan, a handful of jerking thrusts, Scor followed after me. I shuddered in the haze of pleasure as I felt his warmth suffuse me.

I couldn't let him go. Not throughout and certainly not after. Like a strangling vine, I kept myself wrapped around Scor, panting into his shoulder as he rapidly softened within me, remaining within me only through pressure of my own weight atop him. With a grunting grasp, however, Scor lifted me higher, into more of an embrace resting fully in his arms than wedged between himself and the fridge. I released a shuddering gasp as I felt him slide free.

In a stagger, under the combined effects of post-sex jelly-legs and my entire weight resting upon him, Scor spun us around until he propped me against the counter. More sat me atop the counter, really, though just as I retained my steadfast hold of him he kept his own arms wrapped around me. We were both panting raggedly, locked around one another, and as I always felt with Scor, as I always had, I couldn't bring myself to loosen that hold even for an instant.

Breath gradually returned until finally I felt like my heart rate had slowed enough for me to no longer be at risk of heart attack. I lifted my head from Scor's shoulder with slow grogginess and blinked into his eyes.

Damn, but Scor could pull off sex-mussed well. I knew he loves the immaculately groomed look but there is certainly something to be said for the messy hair, the heavy-lidded eyes, the pink flush to his cheeks and the wetness on his lips that his tongue unconsciously moistened. I couldn't help myself, leaning into him to press my mouth against his in a slow, chaste kiss. He returned in just as much achingly slow intensity as I offered. For something so brief, barely touching, it was weighted with passion.

"Happy birthday," I murmured into his lips.

"You already said that," Scor replied, though hardly in reprimand. I could feel the smile curling on his lips that I would barely have been able to make out in the dark, could hear it in his voice.

Tightening my arms around his neck to draw our chests flush against one another I kissed him once more. "Would you like your birthday present? You left too early this morning for me to give it to you."

Scor tilted his head to the side, frowning curiously before shaking his head and dropping his forehead to my shoulder as he tended to do in his post-sex haze. "I thought this was your present."

I shook my head, closing my eyes as I rested my cheek against the side of Scor's head. He slumped against me heavily and to be honest I was a little surprised he managed even that much. I half expected him to slide to the floor in a heap. I knew I certainly would have had the counter not been beneath me. The night had caught up with me after… five hours, I realised with a start, glancing at the luminescent clock on the microwave. Huh. Go figure. "It wasn't. That's Rhali's to you." I couldn't work up my prior indignation for the fact. I even sort of accepted it as her due, now. It seemed far less of an outstanding impossibility that Scor would actually like to see me in a dress since he'd seen and appreciated it. I could still feel the weight of his incredulous, hungry gaze upon me from earlier that evening.

Scor shook his own head blearily into my shoulder. "I don't need a present. Not from you."

"Hey, that's a double standard," I murmured.

"Not really," Scor mumbled. "Just that you've already given me absolutely everything I could ever ask for."

I was silenced for a moment, my throat clamping with emotion at the weight of his words. Rhali's fun joke of a present, the dressing up, the making up, the flaunting around, all seemed juvenile in the face of such a confession. Scor always did that, always throwing me for a loop with his unexpected poignancy. I tightened my hold around him in the absence of words, clinging to him even more tightly and he returned the embrace in kind.

I wasn't sure how long we stayed there for, simply cradling one another. I would have liked to haveremained as such for longer, however, but the dampness staining the seat of my skirt was kind of uncomfortable. I shifted, fidgeting in my seat slightly.

Scor finally lifted his head, raising a questioning eyebrow and goddammit he looked so utterly ravish-able in his sleepy state. "Hm?"

I offered him a grimace and cast a an indicative glance down at the crinkled folds of my skirts. "I think the dress might be just a tad ruined."

"What?" Scor frowned for a moment before understanding dawned. "Oh. That's a shame."

"Mm. It's pretty."

"That it is." Scor paused. "Well, we could always get you a new one."

My eyebrows shot upwards and I drew back from Scor slightly to fix him with an incredulous stare. "You mean you actually like it? I mean, for real?"

Scor shifted uncomfortably, the slightly bashful flush painting his pale cheeks just visible. "You make it sound like a bad thing."

"You. You've got a fetish."

Rolling his eyes, Scor heaved a sigh. He only tightened his arms around my waist once more, however, dropping his head back to my shoulder. "I do not."

"Yes, you do," I persisted. A bubble of amusement fought to spring free through my lips. What were the odds? "You actually really do. Rhali was right."

"No I don't –"

"That all makes a lot of sense now. I thought you'd been developing a bit of a thing for fashion and refinement over the past few years." I pressed a kiss to the side of his head to ease the sincerity of my jest but couldn't help drawing it out. It was so much fun to tease Scor, even if it was a little cruel to do so on his birthday. "You really like dresses that much? Or is it the heels? The make-up? Would you like Rhali and I to take you out to get you one for yourself?" As soon as the words sprung forth an image presented itself starkly in my minds eye. Oh, now that I would love to see.

Scor, however, snorted. "Not hardly. I don't like dresses – really, I don't – and I'm certainly not all that fond of them on me. I have no inclination to dress myself up like a girl, thank you very much."

I frowned without any heat, loosening my returned embrace about Scor to flick at the side of his head. He grunted but otherwise ignored the gesture. "Hey, speaking of double standards. You might find you actually quite like it. And besides, what's wrong with dressing up like a girl every now and then?" I couldn't say I liked it initially, but… well, after a week of practice it had kind of been enjoyable. Kind of. Even if I'd never admit as much to Rhali.

"Nothing," Scor replied, shrugging a shoulder limply. He bit back a yawn before continuing. "There's nothing wrong with it. I just don't really see myself in a dress is all. It doesn't appeal to me." He turned his head towards me and in the gloom of the kitchen I could just make out the faintest touch of blueness in his eyes. "You, on the other hand, pull it off remarkably well. Magic?"

"Nope," I said with a shake of my head. "It's all me. And the dress, of course. Rhali was very particular about it. Or at least Mary was."

"Huh," Scor huffed quietly.

I ran a hand through the tangled mess of Scor's hair. "You really actually think it looks good?"

Scor was quiet for a moment before answering. His hands traced over my back in gentle circles that I doubted he was even aware he drew. The sensation of the soft, body-warmed fabric against my back, rubbed into friction by Scor's fingers, sent a shiver down my spine. "I do. I think the dress is gorgeous –"

"See? Fetish."

"- but then I think you like great in everything. Jeans and t-shirts, robes, dress robes –"

"Even my incredibly attractive coveralls?" I asked with a playful smirk. A forceful smirk, because the weight of his words was heavy with sincerity. Always thrown for a loop…

Surprisingly, Scor nodded, eyes slipping closed. I would have wondered if he was even fully awake had he not spoken a moment later. "Even then. Al, you could wear a potato sac and I'd still think you were the most gorgeous thing in the world." And humming to himself, Scor slumped against me in an even heavier embrace.

I was left to cradle him, stunned. Wow. That was… wow, quite a confession. I knew Scor loved me, knew he adored me at least a little to the degree that I did him. But that… he seemed to be utterly blind when it came to me. Self-proclaimed fashionista that he was, he honestly thought… thought that I…

My strokes became more like pets to Scor's head, grooming his messed do into a semblance of order. I felt my heart swell as it always did when I saw Scor as such, in his puppy-like sleepiness, in his puppy-like faithfulness. At each time he dropped his haughtiness and assumed façade to show me the squishy marshmellow he really was beneath it all. I found myself smiling, pure love welling within me.

Who wouldn't love the silly idiot? Even if he was a little blinded by his own love. I, on the other hand, was very grounded in reality when I claimed that Scor was gorgeous, that he looked spectacular in everything he wore, because he honestly, truly did. There was a difference between our two claims. Seriously, there was. Still, it didn't dim my glowing, resurfacing affection in the slightest.

Shuffling in a swish of fabric to the edge of the counter, I slowly, a little achingly, unwrapped my legs from around Scor's waist. "Come on, love, let's head to bed. You're buggered."

"You're buggered," Scor replied crudely, snorting his amusement at his own witticism.

"Ha ha, you're hilarious," I sighed, but couldn't keep the smile from my face. Scor was prone to puns that carried barely a candle to his usual wit when he was drunk. It was like a measure – the worse the puns, the drunker he was. "Come on, off to bed."

"You'll come with me?" Scor asked, maintaining his hold on me as I slipped with a wince off the counter.

"Don't I always?" I replied, and wrapping my arm around his waist I drew him through our modest little flat towards the bedroom.

It might not have been much of a birthday, what with the fact that both Scor and I had been working for most of the day. And it might have been a bit of a rush job, with the literal climax reached only after midnight. Hell, I hadn't even given him his present yet. And it was a bloody good present too; he should get it, and bloody well appreciate it.

But that could wait for tomorrow. It could wait until the weight of the night, our mutual weariness that had begun to drag over my mind in a blurry fog to mimic Scor's drunkenness, had dissipated some. It wasn't like there was any particular rush anyway, I reasoned, as we stumbled through the door to the bedroom. In a series of mutual scrambles, intersperse with curses and laughter, we disentangled ourselves from our clothing and somehow managed to clamber into the double bed without any major crises befalling either of us. I thought Scor was dead to the world even before his head even hit the pillow. My little birthday boy, all tuckered out. Funny that, though. Scor's birthdays – and mine, for that matter – never seemed particularly standout when compared to the rest of our days. Was that a bad thing? Or was it simply very good?

I fell to sleep, pressed against the warm softness of Scor lying half sprawled across me, with a smile upon my face. For sure, it had to be a good thing. An extraordinary thing indeed.

A/N: Aaaaand... that's the end! Pretty sure it'll be the end of this series, unless miraculously my muse kicks into gear (not looking likely at the moment, sorry). Thanks so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed it. If you've got a second, please leave a review. I live for every one of them. Special thanks as always to LittleBrawley. I love you and your comments so much! xx