ginger_veela: (Albus Severus)
[personal profile] ginger_veela
Title: Taffy Apple
Pairing: Al/Scorpius
Rating: G
Word count: 350
Notes: This pseudo-drabble is for [ profile] museme87, who won it in a contest I devised for my f-list. She requested something with an autumn theme, possibly involving caramel (sometimes called taffy) apples. I couldn't resist this bunny once I settled on it. Hope you enjoy your prize, Hillary!

Taffy Apple

“What’s that?” I asked, pointing to the brightly-coloured sack in Al’s hand.

Al reached inside and withdrew a shiny, golden-brown orb on a stick. “Hogsmeade weekend souvenir. Victoire brought it back from Honeydukes.” He grinned. “Want to share?”

Five minutes later we sank onto the grass beneath a large maple tree, the waning sun dappling our robes with light filtered through the dark red leaves. Al watched intently as I took the first bite, crisp tart flesh and soft caramel colliding on my tongue, and licked his bottom lip. I chuckled.


“Yeah,” he murmured.

I handed the stick back to him; his hand closed on mine as he lifted the apple to his mouth. His teeth sank into the fruit, lips sliding over the sweet, viscous coating, and I couldn’t avert my eyes; I leaned over, took another bite. My cheek brushed his; I jerked away, blushing. He chuckled.


I swallowed hard. “A little,” I whispered, my face hot.

Al shifted closer to me, brought the apple to our lips. Together, we bit and chewed – his jaw moving next to mine, soft black hair grazing my temple. An insatiate desire seized me; I turned my face to his, my heart pounding, and licked a tiny rivulet of caramel from the corner of his lip. He froze.

I pulled back, afraid. Al stared at me, wide-eyed; I withdrew my hand and turned away from him.

“It was dripping down your face,” I said, my voice shaky. “Honestly, you’re such a slob sometimes.”

The silence stretched out between us. He wasn’t buying it – and I knew, in that moment, I had ruined our friendship with that one small, stupid gesture. My stomach lurched; miserably, I rose to my feet.

“We should go in,” I muttered, humiliated. “It’s getting dark.” I started to walk away.

Al grabbed my wrist.

I followed the gentle tug of his hand, dropping to my knees on the grass; I forced myself to look at him. A wide swath of caramel striped Al’s face from nose to chin, a smile playing on his glistening lips.
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July 2011

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