So put up your fists....
Title: Stranger Things Have Happened
(Sequel to Newly Dead)
Author: Gelise
Rating: NC-17, not for the childrens
Pairing: Kingsley/Nick
Word Count: Another long one. I split it up again for you lovelies.
Warning: slash, mansex!, etc. Oh, and it's a ridiculous plot line but then again, if you're reading Kingsley/Nearly Headless Nick, you have to expect a little absurdity.
Summary: Watching Nick get dressed morning after morning Kingsley starts to learn the names of all the garments the man wraps himself up in. However just as this little relationship gets going another wrench is thrown into the gears.
Author’s Note: ‘kay. So I’ve been having this problem with Ms. Rowling and her nonexistent skills with dates. Nick COULDN’T have died in 1492. Not if he wore a ruff and doublet. Ruffs were worn in the mid 16th century, like 1540 or even later. 1492 still meant late medieval, not Elizabethan! 1492 = Henry VII, not Elizabeth I or even James I. Basically that’s been driving me insane FOREVER and I finally thought I’d share with you.
Now back to being historically inaccurate.
Stranger Things Have Happened
A sequel to Newly Dead
Ruffs, lace, hose - netherstocks and upperstocks, breeches, tunics, doublet, cannions, slops; it was enough to make his head spin. He learned each and every name though, it wasn’t as though he had anything better to do. Kingsley would watch Nick dress with a certain kind of fascination. To men in Nick’s time period it wasn’t just fashion or an excuse to show off their money, dressing was an art form, and while they may have looked feminine with their long hair and lace he had to remember most men carried swords or rapiers and used them too.
“Tunic, breeches.” Nick muttered, pointing to the long garment that hung off his shoulders and ran down almost to his knees. It was a beaten shirt, not very nice to look at. Here and there were slashes in it and silver bloodstains. Under the tunic Kingsley could see a simple pair of pants that stopped at the knee - breeches, he told himself.
“Hose. Netherhose, to be exact.” Nick smirked, slipping the once colourful length of linen over each foot and tying them up at the knee under the breeches. After he slipped on these weirdly long boots that covered up the hose and ran to his knees. “Boots. Riding boots.” Nick told him casually. He stood and picked up the finely adorned over shirt that buttoned in the front with silver toggles. He slipped it on and began to carefully button the garment. “Doublet.” He said finally after the last button was fixed in place.
“Doublet.” Kingsley repeated, mimicking his smirk.
Nick slipped over his breeches a weird pair of puffed shorts and buttoned these in the back. He pulled his doublet down over these puffy pants and said matter-of-factly, “Cannions.” He then pointed to the front of these pants and said, “Slops.”
“And finally....” Nick began, slipping off the piece of starched fabric he had been using to hold his massacred head in place, “The ruff.”
“I knew that one.” Kingsley replied, watching as Nick slipped the lace ruff over his neck and tied it in the back. He fixed his long, wavy hair and the single silver loop that was pierced through his ear and shoved a grand, plumed hat on top of his head. “Hat.” He smirked teasingly at Kingsley who rolled his eyes and went back to his book.
“Knew that one too.” He said, trying not to look up from his novel. He felt a pressure on his knee and when he looked up he found himself kissing Sir Nicholas, the man’s ethereal lips touching his very carefully. “Of course you did.” Nick whispered into his mouth. With a final smile the ghost left, off to do whatever errands he had planned for that day.
Kingsley looked after his lover with a fond sort of smile on his own lips before turning back to his book, wondering if noon was too late to get dressed and out of bed himself.
---
Nick strolled along one of the many grand galleries of the castle rather nonchalantly. He already had a busy day and it was only three in the afternoon. He smiled to himself and began to hum a little song that echoed throughout the large hall. Then, quite suddenly, his hand began to hurt. Well perhaps hurt wasn’t the best word for it. More like itch. Perhaps even tingle like pins and needles were being stuck into it. Nick shrugged to himself.
Stranger things have happened.
---
Boxers, socks, trousers, shirt. Kingsley thought about article of clothing as he put it on, slipping the shirt over his chest which signaled the end of his dressing routine. He was so plain when he compared himself to Nick. Then again, the clothes Nick tended to wear certainly did not do justice to the body hidden underneath. All the puffy, unnecessary patches and yards of lace and frills did their very best to ruin the long, lean shape of Nick’s fairly healthy body. Kingsley was mostly baffled by the fashion but still managed to feel inadequate when floating next to the other ghost.
The only thing that had been remotely dressy on him were his shiny, black formal shoes, only because he had just gotten out of another long day at work when he was killed. Everything else was just casual. With the holes in his back properly covered, though Nick often remarked on how much he liked them, Kingsley was ready to face the day. Or rather what was left of the day.
He cleaned up here and there in Nicholas’ quarters which was located a few flights directly above the Gryffindor common room. Nobody knew where it was exactly, the room that is, even the resident ghosts of Hogwarts thought it might be near some of the dorms or off of the common room itself. When Nick first brought Kingsley to his home he told him he’d have to keep relatively quiet or else the students would get suspicious. It was difficult to be sure, especially when Nick insisted on doing that thing with his tongue, but not impossible.
Lately he had been spending more time here than in his room in Ravenclaw Tower. Most of the ghosts already knew of their affair, it wasn’t hard to guess when most of their time was spent with each other. When their relationship turned from being friends to lovers, however, was anybody’s guess. Often after galas Nick would grab Kingsley’s hand, or visa versa, and drag the other ghost away to the lofty room in Gryffindor. Here Kingsley stayed and it was this room that he retired in at night.
After properly cleaning the room he stood back and admired his handiwork. Normally the place was filled with papers and books and other sort of material for study as Nick tended to get distracted in the middle of reading something and jump on to another subject. Kingsley was the tidy one; he figured it to be a Ravenclaw trait. He sighed in satisfaction and headed towards the door in order to finally make an appearance down stairs. Normally he wasn’t one for sleeping in late but that morning Nick’s bed felt particularly comfortable.
He was trying to get downstairs anyway when he ran straight into the door. This wasn’t the floating through he had finally just gotten use to. This was hitting the door with his body and feeling pain, actual pain! He stared at the door with wide eyes and shook his head. It was a fluke, he told himself. He sucked in his breath and tried to float through again. Panic. He had hit the door again.
He looked down at his hands and shook his head in disbelief. He was suppose to be silver! Silver and transparent and definitely dead! He was suppose to be able to see right to the floor! Instead when he looked down at his hands he saw the same dark skin that he had seen every day of his former life. He sucked in his breath and it wasn’t just an action. He was actually breathing.
Quickly he reached around his shirt and felt for the two holes on his back where the electricity that had dealt the final blow to his poor heart had escaped into the ground. Blindly he fumbled around for where they should have been but, to only add to his panic, were not. The marks of his death had magically disappeared. What’s more he was actually feeling something - the cold. He could feel the cold of the wind from the open window blowing across his skin.
With a half cry he pulled open the door of Nick’s room and ran down the flights of stairs towards the Great Hall.
It was a miracle!
---
He ran the entire way to the Great Hall where he knew he would find at least one Professor, one former friend of his living self, to talk to. He didn’t stop until he felt the rough wooden surface of the giant, oak doors that led to the Hall underneath his hands. He stood for a moment in order to catch his breath before he pulled open the doors and ran in, much to the surprise and shock of all those sitting in the Hall for dinner.
---
Headmistress Minerva McGonagall would not let go of him. Each time he tried to pull away from the normally stoic woman’s hug she only latched on to him tighter. The witch continued to mutter how astonished she was, and how this was absolutely unheard of and impossible, and how grateful she was to have Kingsley back after that terrible, terrible accident.
As crowds stood around the Headmistress and the former ghost the squeak of the large doors was heard above the shocked din of students and professors alike. Suddenly the crowd quieted and parted like the Red Sea. The grip on Kingsley loosened and then Minerva McGonagall’s hands dropped to her sides altogether. He looked up to see what had happened.
There, standing before him, was the Grey Lady. His mouth dropped open. Well she certainly wasn’t grey anymore.
---
“Impossible!” Cried Filius Flitwick. “There is no possible way for this to have happened!”
“Tell me about it.” Replied Minerva McGonagall, hand on half-downed glass of wine. Her face looked flushed as though she had a few glasses before that one. “All the ghosts in Hogwarts, suddenly alive and well.”
“And cheery.” Added Horace Slughorn with a bewildered frown. He was sitting next to Professor Binns who was surprisingly alive and well and happily smiling at the lot of them there in the staff lounge. “It’s like some sort of magical vortex.”
“Stop talking like a damned Muggle.” Muttered Professor Sinistra. She grabbed the Headmistress’ glass and downed the rest of the wine. Her colleagues stared at her in disbelief. “The Bloody Baron’s already tried to pick me up.” She explained dryly, frowning at the empty glass.
“That’s not so bad.” Slughorn replied with a grin. “He’s not ugly.”
Sinistra’s mouth formed into a single straight line. “Horace, man, he’s the bloody Slytherin ghost!” She hissed.
“Was the Slytherin ghost.” Minerva reminded them all. “Apparently they’re all human now, best treat them as such. Respect and all that.” She said, standing up with wobbly legs. “As a matter of fact we should be feeling happy for them now that they’ve got their lives back, and help them to adjust. After all they’ve done for us over the years it’s the least we can do.” She told them sternly while walking to the lounge doors. “By the way Sinistra, you’re not getting any younger. I say date the Baron.”
---
As Kingsley strolled along the hallways of Hogwarts with his hands in his pockets he encountered people he recognized that had once been ghosts. All of them were missing any hint of their demise, as if they had all been transported to the very day before their deaths. He passed the Friar and the Grey Lady and even the Baron and thought to himself how good all his former companions looked now that they had actual flesh and bone to them. And colour! It was rather odd to see the Grey Lady in colourful robes and fabrics.
And then, in a moment where he had to actually pause and gather his bearings, he remembered Nick. With an audible gasp he quickly started to sprint towards his room in Gryffindor Tower, telling himself over and over again that he was an idiot for not thinking of him first. Nick hadn’t even made an appearance down to the Great Hall like the others. He hadn’t even seen him yet.
Suddenly he stopped in his tracks. What would Nick look like now that he was alive again? More importantly, would Nick still want him? Would he still even want to be with Nick anyway? Things could be a lot different now that they were alive….
He shook his head and continued to run, an anxious bubbling feeling in his gut threatening to topple his six-foot-one self over. Passing excited paintings and murmuring suits of armor and rounding ancient tapestries he stretched the muscles in his legs to the point where he could feel himself start to sweat. He neared Gryffindor Tower and practically flew up the numerous flights of stairs to where Nick was sure to be. His legs and lungs ached, it hurt so much to sprint.
He dragged himself up the final few stairs and practically fell into the door when he pushed it, stumbling into the room with heaving pants. For a minute or so he stood in the doorway with his hands on his knees and his body crouched over. He sucked in heavy, rattling breaths, exhaling in and out, in and out, until finally the strain of suddenly running after being dead for so long subsided. He heard a noise in front of him. Slowly he lifted his head up.
There was a man in Nick’s room with his back towards Kingsley. He was looking out the open window, his very figure so far removed from the world that he didn’t even flinch when Kingsley took a creaking step forward. His tanned hand gripped the wainscoting so hard that his knuckles were turning white and his hip and head were leaning up against that same paneling of the window. His clothes were such a vibrant colour of deep red and gold that at first Kingsley thought he was seeing things.
This couldn’t be Nick, could it?
“Nick?”
There was no response from the man. Not even the slightest movement of his body.
“Hey…Nick….” Kingsley tried again.
And again the man in the window remained silent.
Kingsley continued to approach the man in the window until he was only mere inches away. The clothes, the hair, the ruff; this had to be Nick. “Nick….” He said again and placed his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”
Slowly the man finally turned, his blue eyes piercing Kingsley’s so that he nearly gasped out loud in spite of himself. It was Nick all right and his face almost looked like it was coloured in it was that odd to see him in any shade other than grey. He stared at Kingsley with searching eyes. He looked lost. Confused.
“Kingsley?” He whispered. Even his voice sounded different. It echoed in his throat and came out through slightly pink lips that had a small, almost invisible white scar running down them off to the right. His hair, his nose, his cheeks, his skin, his eyebrows, his eyes…those eyes. Kingsley was utterly entranced by those eyes.
When Kingsley didn’t answer those eyes fell to the floor, widened and white. His hand gripped on to the paneling even tighter and then suddenly, with opened lips, his breath began to hold in his throat. His chest heaved over and over again and his body sunk to the floor, Kingsley quickly leaning forward in order to catch the panicked former ghost. Nick had a hand to his ruff, his eyes still set on the floor. With breath worked up in his throat Kingsley watched helplessly as Nick struggled.
“Nick! Oh god, what’s wrong!” Kingsley cried, slowly sinking down to the floor with him.
“Can’t….” Nick whispered, “Can’t…breathe.”
Suddenly Kingsley was visited by an idea and reached behind Nick’s neck. He quickly untied the ruff and threw it to the ground, hearing a long, drawn out inhale coming from the man in his arms. After a few moments of labored breathing Nick finally collapsed in his lap, his body gone limp and his hands out stretched. He stared up at the ceiling as though he was looking right through Kingsley and spoke, his voice sounding very small. “This is real, isn’t it?”
Kingsley nodded. “Yeah, it is.”
Nick lifted his hand and placed it on his throat tentatively. “My neck….”
“I suppose we can’t call you nearly headless, can we?” Kingsley smiled.
Nick closed his eyes and moved his hand away, letting it drop to the cold floor. “I was floating through the fifth floor gallery when it happened.” His voice was still soft, his breath labored. Kingsley watched as his chest moved up and down rhythmically. “I thought maybe I had finally reached heaven. Everything was suddenly so bright and clear and I could breath again. I could smell and feel. I heard my feet on the stone floor. I ran up here to find you, but my room was clean and tidy and there wasn’t any sign of you. It was then I thought I had been sent to hell.”
Nick paused and opened his eyes once again. “Silly of me, right?”
---
After Kingsley helped the man to his feet carefully he stayed to made sure Nicholas was going to be okay after that little episode. A tanned hand dismissed him with a smile and for a brief second Kingsley felt his heart leap in his chest. He took this time to really observe the man he had only known as a ghost, his gaze caught on Nick’s undamaged and exposed neck. Nick himself seemed distracted by this body part in particular, his hand kept absentmindedly straying to the skin and muscle there.
“Are you hungry?” Kingsley wondered. After all, it had been years since Nick had eaten anything.
“Not really.” Nick replied. He was going through his room touching fabrics and parchments and books and walls and anything he could get his hands on. Kingsley was less enthusiastic about regaining tactile sensation - he was still new to the whole death scene. Finally after touching almost everything in his room he came upon Kingsley, his head titling slightly in one direction as if he was just seeing him for the first time.
Kingsley smiled to himself in a sort of confused way. “What?” He asked, crossing his arms a little uncomfortably.
Nick titled his head in the other direction, possibly testing out his newly restored neck, but also possibly eyeing Kingsley up and down. “You look well.” He said approvingly.
“I should hope so.” He replied, still wondering what all this meant now that they were both living. He had decided as soon as he had glimpsed those eyes of Nick’s that he wanted to stay with him, but what of Nick? Now that he had a body he surely wouldn’t want to remain with Kingsley….he had assumed this was a relationship of convenience. Like he had told Kingsley before, tastes changed in ghosts.
Nick stepped closer and Kingsley felt his heart ram into his throat. Those clear blue eyes of his were fixed on his. He continued to step closer and closer, slipping his arms in front of his brightly coloured doublet as if to mock him. He smirked and Kingsley felt his chest explode. “You’re tall.” He remarked and then began to laugh.
Nearly Headless Nick, no longer nearly headless, threw his head back and laughed.
He then, without warning, closed the gap between them, pressing Kingsley up against the wall with the force of his embrace. He was surprised, not really expecting the shorter and leaner man to be as strong as he was.
He could feel the ghost’s warm breath on his neck and his lean body against his own. He shuddered. “I haven’t touched a soul in five hundred years. You need to kiss me now.” He whispered into his ear. And Kingsley, being the polite Ravenclaw that he was, obliged. He took Nick around the waist and touched his lips with his own, parting his mouth with his tongue and tasting him for the first time since they had been together.
He could feel Nick’s body loosen against his own and could only imagine what the touch was doing to him. His neck though, he knew one kiss to his neck and Nick would practically collapse. Kissing a ghost was different than kissing another living soul and the differences were definitely noted. Nick’s skin was warm and he could feel his cheeks flush and the smooth surface of his teeth and the flesh of his wet mouth as he kissed him.
Kingsley parted from the embrace, leaving Nick panting and breathless with smooth, wet lips. Before another word could be said the elaborate clothes needed to come off Sir Nicholas; Kingsley needed to see the hidden skin underneath the linen. Slowly, layer by layer, the clothes started to come off. The doublet, the cannions and slops, the shoes, the netherhose, until all that was left was Nick standing in his blood-spattered tunic and breeches. Without all the clothes he had shape and angle. His torso was lean, his hips narrow, and his legs were long and strong. He was panting, his long hair already starting to stick to his neck and forehead from the salty sweat glistening from his pores.
He was pushed down on to his own bed but his hands were quick and began to rid Kingsley of his own clothes. The shoes, the socks, the shirt, the trousers, until all that was left on the tall man were purple boxers. Before he could react Nick’s legs were wrapped around his hips and pushing those purples boxers down to meet the breeches. Kingsley groaned when their bodies met but quickly stopped himself from completely resting his body on top of Nick’s, catching himself with his hands splayed on either side of his lover’s head. “That’s not how it’s going to work tonight.” He said through clenched teeth as Nick had started thrusting his hips up against Kingsley’s, their erections meeting through the cloth of their under garments.
“Too bad.” Nick replied, “I wish you’d let me enjoy touching you.”
Kingsley smirked and lifted the damp hair away from Nick’s smooth neck. “I’d rather you let me enjoy touching you.” He breathed on to his neck, watching as the skin produced goose bumps. He lowered himself on to the lean man’s body and slowly trailed his lips across Nick’s neck, producing a soft cry and shudder from the man underneath him. It was cruel, he knew that, but he slowly increased the intensity of the kisses which included opening his mouth and flicking the skin with his tongue carefully. He starting nipping and sucking, moving from one side of the neck to the other with equal attentiveness, feeling Nick’s grip on his shoulders grow and his body bucking and thrusting against his own. Nick’s cries continued to become louder and louder.
Lace on the floor. Trousers on the floor.
A doublet on the floor. A shirt on the floor.
Kingsley finally rid Nick of his tunic and latched his mouth on to each of his lover’s nipples, covering them each in turn and feeling his own body engulf in figurative flames as each spot he paid attention to grew warm and flushed with rushing blood. “I…I…I cannot….” Nick began to pant. His strong hands were digging into Kingsley’s back. “You cannot what?” Kingsley asked. With a devious grin Kingsley raised himself up and then dug his hips into Nick’s, grinding their erections together, causing Nick to tossing his head back with a loud groan and clutch at the bed sheets.
He raised himself up and brought their hips together again, nearly crying out himself from the touch. Nick had shut his eyes tightly and panted Kingsley’s name desperately. “What was that?” Kingsley asked as he finally slipped off Nick’s breeches and then his own boxers. He ground himself into Nick again who shouted, “Ah! Kingsley!”
“That’s what I thought.” Kingsley whispered as he leaned down to kiss Nicholas. Their lips met boisterously as Nick eagerly returned the kiss, though with his newly returned ability to breathe still being tested occasionally he had to break the kiss in order to catch his breath on the side of Kingsley’s mouth. “Please,” He muttered during one of these breaks, “I cannot….”
Kingsley understood and brought one of his fingers to his mouth, licking it carefully and then spreading Nick’s legs apart and lifting them up to settle them upon his hips once more. He bent down and caught Nick’s lips in his own before entering his finger into him carefully, his lover crying out into his mouth and then moaning as he replaced his finger and thrust into him carefully. Unable to control his own moans he broke the kiss and moved to Nick’s neck and hair, burying himself in the tangled mess and biting his shoulder lovingly.
Bent underneath Kingsley Nick had shut his eyes and gripped on to his lover’s shoulders, pulling the black man’s hips down faster and faster into his own. His cries grew louder - Kingsley knew it was from not having been touched in almost five hundred years. His senses were intensified and his groans understandable because of this. Even Kingsley himself started to feel the end coming quick, Nick’s muscles and entire body rocking and contracting underneath him.
“Ah, Christ Nick….” He muttered into the man’s shoulder blade.
So much for being quiet.
Finally Nick’s body broke out in violent shudders and he thought his name was said again, though this was hard to tell for sure as he himself had become significantly noisy. He thrust against his lover once again and then felt release, collapsing in what was probably an ugly sweaty mass to anyone except for themselves. Kingsley felt Nick’s chest move up and down beneath him and let the man’s broken breathing calm him. Not a word was spoken for a long time, at least until Nick was finally able to gain control over himself.
“You shouldn’t take the lord’s name in vain.” Sir Nicholas murmured almost sleepily. Kingsley felt a gentle hand on his back.
“And you should start wearing pants.” He smirked, kissing his neck affectionately. “Or at least stop wearing the cannions.”
...so tired. will beta this tomorrow. when it's not 1:30 in the morning.
(Sequel to Newly Dead)
Author: Gelise
Rating: NC-17, not for the childrens
Pairing: Kingsley/Nick
Word Count: Another long one. I split it up again for you lovelies.
Warning: slash, mansex!, etc. Oh, and it's a ridiculous plot line but then again, if you're reading Kingsley/Nearly Headless Nick, you have to expect a little absurdity.
Summary: Watching Nick get dressed morning after morning Kingsley starts to learn the names of all the garments the man wraps himself up in. However just as this little relationship gets going another wrench is thrown into the gears.
Author’s Note: ‘kay. So I’ve been having this problem with Ms. Rowling and her nonexistent skills with dates. Nick COULDN’T have died in 1492. Not if he wore a ruff and doublet. Ruffs were worn in the mid 16th century, like 1540 or even later. 1492 still meant late medieval, not Elizabethan! 1492 = Henry VII, not Elizabeth I or even James I. Basically that’s been driving me insane FOREVER and I finally thought I’d share with you.
Now back to being historically inaccurate.
Stranger Things Have Happened
A sequel to Newly Dead
Ruffs, lace, hose - netherstocks and upperstocks, breeches, tunics, doublet, cannions, slops; it was enough to make his head spin. He learned each and every name though, it wasn’t as though he had anything better to do. Kingsley would watch Nick dress with a certain kind of fascination. To men in Nick’s time period it wasn’t just fashion or an excuse to show off their money, dressing was an art form, and while they may have looked feminine with their long hair and lace he had to remember most men carried swords or rapiers and used them too.
“Tunic, breeches.” Nick muttered, pointing to the long garment that hung off his shoulders and ran down almost to his knees. It was a beaten shirt, not very nice to look at. Here and there were slashes in it and silver bloodstains. Under the tunic Kingsley could see a simple pair of pants that stopped at the knee - breeches, he told himself.
“Hose. Netherhose, to be exact.” Nick smirked, slipping the once colourful length of linen over each foot and tying them up at the knee under the breeches. After he slipped on these weirdly long boots that covered up the hose and ran to his knees. “Boots. Riding boots.” Nick told him casually. He stood and picked up the finely adorned over shirt that buttoned in the front with silver toggles. He slipped it on and began to carefully button the garment. “Doublet.” He said finally after the last button was fixed in place.
“Doublet.” Kingsley repeated, mimicking his smirk.
Nick slipped over his breeches a weird pair of puffed shorts and buttoned these in the back. He pulled his doublet down over these puffy pants and said matter-of-factly, “Cannions.” He then pointed to the front of these pants and said, “Slops.”
“And finally....” Nick began, slipping off the piece of starched fabric he had been using to hold his massacred head in place, “The ruff.”
“I knew that one.” Kingsley replied, watching as Nick slipped the lace ruff over his neck and tied it in the back. He fixed his long, wavy hair and the single silver loop that was pierced through his ear and shoved a grand, plumed hat on top of his head. “Hat.” He smirked teasingly at Kingsley who rolled his eyes and went back to his book.
“Knew that one too.” He said, trying not to look up from his novel. He felt a pressure on his knee and when he looked up he found himself kissing Sir Nicholas, the man’s ethereal lips touching his very carefully. “Of course you did.” Nick whispered into his mouth. With a final smile the ghost left, off to do whatever errands he had planned for that day.
Kingsley looked after his lover with a fond sort of smile on his own lips before turning back to his book, wondering if noon was too late to get dressed and out of bed himself.
---
Nick strolled along one of the many grand galleries of the castle rather nonchalantly. He already had a busy day and it was only three in the afternoon. He smiled to himself and began to hum a little song that echoed throughout the large hall. Then, quite suddenly, his hand began to hurt. Well perhaps hurt wasn’t the best word for it. More like itch. Perhaps even tingle like pins and needles were being stuck into it. Nick shrugged to himself.
Stranger things have happened.
---
Boxers, socks, trousers, shirt. Kingsley thought about article of clothing as he put it on, slipping the shirt over his chest which signaled the end of his dressing routine. He was so plain when he compared himself to Nick. Then again, the clothes Nick tended to wear certainly did not do justice to the body hidden underneath. All the puffy, unnecessary patches and yards of lace and frills did their very best to ruin the long, lean shape of Nick’s fairly healthy body. Kingsley was mostly baffled by the fashion but still managed to feel inadequate when floating next to the other ghost.
The only thing that had been remotely dressy on him were his shiny, black formal shoes, only because he had just gotten out of another long day at work when he was killed. Everything else was just casual. With the holes in his back properly covered, though Nick often remarked on how much he liked them, Kingsley was ready to face the day. Or rather what was left of the day.
He cleaned up here and there in Nicholas’ quarters which was located a few flights directly above the Gryffindor common room. Nobody knew where it was exactly, the room that is, even the resident ghosts of Hogwarts thought it might be near some of the dorms or off of the common room itself. When Nick first brought Kingsley to his home he told him he’d have to keep relatively quiet or else the students would get suspicious. It was difficult to be sure, especially when Nick insisted on doing that thing with his tongue, but not impossible.
Lately he had been spending more time here than in his room in Ravenclaw Tower. Most of the ghosts already knew of their affair, it wasn’t hard to guess when most of their time was spent with each other. When their relationship turned from being friends to lovers, however, was anybody’s guess. Often after galas Nick would grab Kingsley’s hand, or visa versa, and drag the other ghost away to the lofty room in Gryffindor. Here Kingsley stayed and it was this room that he retired in at night.
After properly cleaning the room he stood back and admired his handiwork. Normally the place was filled with papers and books and other sort of material for study as Nick tended to get distracted in the middle of reading something and jump on to another subject. Kingsley was the tidy one; he figured it to be a Ravenclaw trait. He sighed in satisfaction and headed towards the door in order to finally make an appearance down stairs. Normally he wasn’t one for sleeping in late but that morning Nick’s bed felt particularly comfortable.
He was trying to get downstairs anyway when he ran straight into the door. This wasn’t the floating through he had finally just gotten use to. This was hitting the door with his body and feeling pain, actual pain! He stared at the door with wide eyes and shook his head. It was a fluke, he told himself. He sucked in his breath and tried to float through again. Panic. He had hit the door again.
He looked down at his hands and shook his head in disbelief. He was suppose to be silver! Silver and transparent and definitely dead! He was suppose to be able to see right to the floor! Instead when he looked down at his hands he saw the same dark skin that he had seen every day of his former life. He sucked in his breath and it wasn’t just an action. He was actually breathing.
Quickly he reached around his shirt and felt for the two holes on his back where the electricity that had dealt the final blow to his poor heart had escaped into the ground. Blindly he fumbled around for where they should have been but, to only add to his panic, were not. The marks of his death had magically disappeared. What’s more he was actually feeling something - the cold. He could feel the cold of the wind from the open window blowing across his skin.
With a half cry he pulled open the door of Nick’s room and ran down the flights of stairs towards the Great Hall.
It was a miracle!
---
He ran the entire way to the Great Hall where he knew he would find at least one Professor, one former friend of his living self, to talk to. He didn’t stop until he felt the rough wooden surface of the giant, oak doors that led to the Hall underneath his hands. He stood for a moment in order to catch his breath before he pulled open the doors and ran in, much to the surprise and shock of all those sitting in the Hall for dinner.
---
Headmistress Minerva McGonagall would not let go of him. Each time he tried to pull away from the normally stoic woman’s hug she only latched on to him tighter. The witch continued to mutter how astonished she was, and how this was absolutely unheard of and impossible, and how grateful she was to have Kingsley back after that terrible, terrible accident.
As crowds stood around the Headmistress and the former ghost the squeak of the large doors was heard above the shocked din of students and professors alike. Suddenly the crowd quieted and parted like the Red Sea. The grip on Kingsley loosened and then Minerva McGonagall’s hands dropped to her sides altogether. He looked up to see what had happened.
There, standing before him, was the Grey Lady. His mouth dropped open. Well she certainly wasn’t grey anymore.
---
“Impossible!” Cried Filius Flitwick. “There is no possible way for this to have happened!”
“Tell me about it.” Replied Minerva McGonagall, hand on half-downed glass of wine. Her face looked flushed as though she had a few glasses before that one. “All the ghosts in Hogwarts, suddenly alive and well.”
“And cheery.” Added Horace Slughorn with a bewildered frown. He was sitting next to Professor Binns who was surprisingly alive and well and happily smiling at the lot of them there in the staff lounge. “It’s like some sort of magical vortex.”
“Stop talking like a damned Muggle.” Muttered Professor Sinistra. She grabbed the Headmistress’ glass and downed the rest of the wine. Her colleagues stared at her in disbelief. “The Bloody Baron’s already tried to pick me up.” She explained dryly, frowning at the empty glass.
“That’s not so bad.” Slughorn replied with a grin. “He’s not ugly.”
Sinistra’s mouth formed into a single straight line. “Horace, man, he’s the bloody Slytherin ghost!” She hissed.
“Was the Slytherin ghost.” Minerva reminded them all. “Apparently they’re all human now, best treat them as such. Respect and all that.” She said, standing up with wobbly legs. “As a matter of fact we should be feeling happy for them now that they’ve got their lives back, and help them to adjust. After all they’ve done for us over the years it’s the least we can do.” She told them sternly while walking to the lounge doors. “By the way Sinistra, you’re not getting any younger. I say date the Baron.”
---
As Kingsley strolled along the hallways of Hogwarts with his hands in his pockets he encountered people he recognized that had once been ghosts. All of them were missing any hint of their demise, as if they had all been transported to the very day before their deaths. He passed the Friar and the Grey Lady and even the Baron and thought to himself how good all his former companions looked now that they had actual flesh and bone to them. And colour! It was rather odd to see the Grey Lady in colourful robes and fabrics.
And then, in a moment where he had to actually pause and gather his bearings, he remembered Nick. With an audible gasp he quickly started to sprint towards his room in Gryffindor Tower, telling himself over and over again that he was an idiot for not thinking of him first. Nick hadn’t even made an appearance down to the Great Hall like the others. He hadn’t even seen him yet.
Suddenly he stopped in his tracks. What would Nick look like now that he was alive again? More importantly, would Nick still want him? Would he still even want to be with Nick anyway? Things could be a lot different now that they were alive….
He shook his head and continued to run, an anxious bubbling feeling in his gut threatening to topple his six-foot-one self over. Passing excited paintings and murmuring suits of armor and rounding ancient tapestries he stretched the muscles in his legs to the point where he could feel himself start to sweat. He neared Gryffindor Tower and practically flew up the numerous flights of stairs to where Nick was sure to be. His legs and lungs ached, it hurt so much to sprint.
He dragged himself up the final few stairs and practically fell into the door when he pushed it, stumbling into the room with heaving pants. For a minute or so he stood in the doorway with his hands on his knees and his body crouched over. He sucked in heavy, rattling breaths, exhaling in and out, in and out, until finally the strain of suddenly running after being dead for so long subsided. He heard a noise in front of him. Slowly he lifted his head up.
There was a man in Nick’s room with his back towards Kingsley. He was looking out the open window, his very figure so far removed from the world that he didn’t even flinch when Kingsley took a creaking step forward. His tanned hand gripped the wainscoting so hard that his knuckles were turning white and his hip and head were leaning up against that same paneling of the window. His clothes were such a vibrant colour of deep red and gold that at first Kingsley thought he was seeing things.
This couldn’t be Nick, could it?
“Nick?”
There was no response from the man. Not even the slightest movement of his body.
“Hey…Nick….” Kingsley tried again.
And again the man in the window remained silent.
Kingsley continued to approach the man in the window until he was only mere inches away. The clothes, the hair, the ruff; this had to be Nick. “Nick….” He said again and placed his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”
Slowly the man finally turned, his blue eyes piercing Kingsley’s so that he nearly gasped out loud in spite of himself. It was Nick all right and his face almost looked like it was coloured in it was that odd to see him in any shade other than grey. He stared at Kingsley with searching eyes. He looked lost. Confused.
“Kingsley?” He whispered. Even his voice sounded different. It echoed in his throat and came out through slightly pink lips that had a small, almost invisible white scar running down them off to the right. His hair, his nose, his cheeks, his skin, his eyebrows, his eyes…those eyes. Kingsley was utterly entranced by those eyes.
When Kingsley didn’t answer those eyes fell to the floor, widened and white. His hand gripped on to the paneling even tighter and then suddenly, with opened lips, his breath began to hold in his throat. His chest heaved over and over again and his body sunk to the floor, Kingsley quickly leaning forward in order to catch the panicked former ghost. Nick had a hand to his ruff, his eyes still set on the floor. With breath worked up in his throat Kingsley watched helplessly as Nick struggled.
“Nick! Oh god, what’s wrong!” Kingsley cried, slowly sinking down to the floor with him.
“Can’t….” Nick whispered, “Can’t…breathe.”
Suddenly Kingsley was visited by an idea and reached behind Nick’s neck. He quickly untied the ruff and threw it to the ground, hearing a long, drawn out inhale coming from the man in his arms. After a few moments of labored breathing Nick finally collapsed in his lap, his body gone limp and his hands out stretched. He stared up at the ceiling as though he was looking right through Kingsley and spoke, his voice sounding very small. “This is real, isn’t it?”
Kingsley nodded. “Yeah, it is.”
Nick lifted his hand and placed it on his throat tentatively. “My neck….”
“I suppose we can’t call you nearly headless, can we?” Kingsley smiled.
Nick closed his eyes and moved his hand away, letting it drop to the cold floor. “I was floating through the fifth floor gallery when it happened.” His voice was still soft, his breath labored. Kingsley watched as his chest moved up and down rhythmically. “I thought maybe I had finally reached heaven. Everything was suddenly so bright and clear and I could breath again. I could smell and feel. I heard my feet on the stone floor. I ran up here to find you, but my room was clean and tidy and there wasn’t any sign of you. It was then I thought I had been sent to hell.”
Nick paused and opened his eyes once again. “Silly of me, right?”
---
After Kingsley helped the man to his feet carefully he stayed to made sure Nicholas was going to be okay after that little episode. A tanned hand dismissed him with a smile and for a brief second Kingsley felt his heart leap in his chest. He took this time to really observe the man he had only known as a ghost, his gaze caught on Nick’s undamaged and exposed neck. Nick himself seemed distracted by this body part in particular, his hand kept absentmindedly straying to the skin and muscle there.
“Are you hungry?” Kingsley wondered. After all, it had been years since Nick had eaten anything.
“Not really.” Nick replied. He was going through his room touching fabrics and parchments and books and walls and anything he could get his hands on. Kingsley was less enthusiastic about regaining tactile sensation - he was still new to the whole death scene. Finally after touching almost everything in his room he came upon Kingsley, his head titling slightly in one direction as if he was just seeing him for the first time.
Kingsley smiled to himself in a sort of confused way. “What?” He asked, crossing his arms a little uncomfortably.
Nick titled his head in the other direction, possibly testing out his newly restored neck, but also possibly eyeing Kingsley up and down. “You look well.” He said approvingly.
“I should hope so.” He replied, still wondering what all this meant now that they were both living. He had decided as soon as he had glimpsed those eyes of Nick’s that he wanted to stay with him, but what of Nick? Now that he had a body he surely wouldn’t want to remain with Kingsley….he had assumed this was a relationship of convenience. Like he had told Kingsley before, tastes changed in ghosts.
Nick stepped closer and Kingsley felt his heart ram into his throat. Those clear blue eyes of his were fixed on his. He continued to step closer and closer, slipping his arms in front of his brightly coloured doublet as if to mock him. He smirked and Kingsley felt his chest explode. “You’re tall.” He remarked and then began to laugh.
Nearly Headless Nick, no longer nearly headless, threw his head back and laughed.
He then, without warning, closed the gap between them, pressing Kingsley up against the wall with the force of his embrace. He was surprised, not really expecting the shorter and leaner man to be as strong as he was.
He could feel the ghost’s warm breath on his neck and his lean body against his own. He shuddered. “I haven’t touched a soul in five hundred years. You need to kiss me now.” He whispered into his ear. And Kingsley, being the polite Ravenclaw that he was, obliged. He took Nick around the waist and touched his lips with his own, parting his mouth with his tongue and tasting him for the first time since they had been together.
He could feel Nick’s body loosen against his own and could only imagine what the touch was doing to him. His neck though, he knew one kiss to his neck and Nick would practically collapse. Kissing a ghost was different than kissing another living soul and the differences were definitely noted. Nick’s skin was warm and he could feel his cheeks flush and the smooth surface of his teeth and the flesh of his wet mouth as he kissed him.
Kingsley parted from the embrace, leaving Nick panting and breathless with smooth, wet lips. Before another word could be said the elaborate clothes needed to come off Sir Nicholas; Kingsley needed to see the hidden skin underneath the linen. Slowly, layer by layer, the clothes started to come off. The doublet, the cannions and slops, the shoes, the netherhose, until all that was left was Nick standing in his blood-spattered tunic and breeches. Without all the clothes he had shape and angle. His torso was lean, his hips narrow, and his legs were long and strong. He was panting, his long hair already starting to stick to his neck and forehead from the salty sweat glistening from his pores.
He was pushed down on to his own bed but his hands were quick and began to rid Kingsley of his own clothes. The shoes, the socks, the shirt, the trousers, until all that was left on the tall man were purple boxers. Before he could react Nick’s legs were wrapped around his hips and pushing those purples boxers down to meet the breeches. Kingsley groaned when their bodies met but quickly stopped himself from completely resting his body on top of Nick’s, catching himself with his hands splayed on either side of his lover’s head. “That’s not how it’s going to work tonight.” He said through clenched teeth as Nick had started thrusting his hips up against Kingsley’s, their erections meeting through the cloth of their under garments.
“Too bad.” Nick replied, “I wish you’d let me enjoy touching you.”
Kingsley smirked and lifted the damp hair away from Nick’s smooth neck. “I’d rather you let me enjoy touching you.” He breathed on to his neck, watching as the skin produced goose bumps. He lowered himself on to the lean man’s body and slowly trailed his lips across Nick’s neck, producing a soft cry and shudder from the man underneath him. It was cruel, he knew that, but he slowly increased the intensity of the kisses which included opening his mouth and flicking the skin with his tongue carefully. He starting nipping and sucking, moving from one side of the neck to the other with equal attentiveness, feeling Nick’s grip on his shoulders grow and his body bucking and thrusting against his own. Nick’s cries continued to become louder and louder.
Lace on the floor. Trousers on the floor.
A doublet on the floor. A shirt on the floor.
Kingsley finally rid Nick of his tunic and latched his mouth on to each of his lover’s nipples, covering them each in turn and feeling his own body engulf in figurative flames as each spot he paid attention to grew warm and flushed with rushing blood. “I…I…I cannot….” Nick began to pant. His strong hands were digging into Kingsley’s back. “You cannot what?” Kingsley asked. With a devious grin Kingsley raised himself up and then dug his hips into Nick’s, grinding their erections together, causing Nick to tossing his head back with a loud groan and clutch at the bed sheets.
He raised himself up and brought their hips together again, nearly crying out himself from the touch. Nick had shut his eyes tightly and panted Kingsley’s name desperately. “What was that?” Kingsley asked as he finally slipped off Nick’s breeches and then his own boxers. He ground himself into Nick again who shouted, “Ah! Kingsley!”
“That’s what I thought.” Kingsley whispered as he leaned down to kiss Nicholas. Their lips met boisterously as Nick eagerly returned the kiss, though with his newly returned ability to breathe still being tested occasionally he had to break the kiss in order to catch his breath on the side of Kingsley’s mouth. “Please,” He muttered during one of these breaks, “I cannot….”
Kingsley understood and brought one of his fingers to his mouth, licking it carefully and then spreading Nick’s legs apart and lifting them up to settle them upon his hips once more. He bent down and caught Nick’s lips in his own before entering his finger into him carefully, his lover crying out into his mouth and then moaning as he replaced his finger and thrust into him carefully. Unable to control his own moans he broke the kiss and moved to Nick’s neck and hair, burying himself in the tangled mess and biting his shoulder lovingly.
Bent underneath Kingsley Nick had shut his eyes and gripped on to his lover’s shoulders, pulling the black man’s hips down faster and faster into his own. His cries grew louder - Kingsley knew it was from not having been touched in almost five hundred years. His senses were intensified and his groans understandable because of this. Even Kingsley himself started to feel the end coming quick, Nick’s muscles and entire body rocking and contracting underneath him.
“Ah, Christ Nick….” He muttered into the man’s shoulder blade.
So much for being quiet.
Finally Nick’s body broke out in violent shudders and he thought his name was said again, though this was hard to tell for sure as he himself had become significantly noisy. He thrust against his lover once again and then felt release, collapsing in what was probably an ugly sweaty mass to anyone except for themselves. Kingsley felt Nick’s chest move up and down beneath him and let the man’s broken breathing calm him. Not a word was spoken for a long time, at least until Nick was finally able to gain control over himself.
“You shouldn’t take the lord’s name in vain.” Sir Nicholas murmured almost sleepily. Kingsley felt a gentle hand on his back.
“And you should start wearing pants.” He smirked, kissing his neck affectionately. “Or at least stop wearing the cannions.”
...so tired. will beta this tomorrow. when it's not 1:30 in the morning.