31 Days of Fic: Thirty
First, thank you all so much for the caring and support. It really meant a lot to me, and I appreciate it more than I can say.
Second, thanks for being so patient re: the long-overdue fic.
That said, here's day thirty.
May 30, 1976:
"Firewhiskey," James says expansively, "is better than anything ever." They've sealed the rest of their House in the dormitories for the night, and are proceeding to thoroughly debauch themselves in the pursuit of intoxication.
Sirius, who is lying on his back under one of the tables in the Common Room, props himself up on his elbows, an amused gleam in his eyes. His hair is hopelessly mussed, his tie is askew, and his face is flushed, several hours of continuous drinking having had their effect even on his usually aristocratic complexion.
"Anything, Prongs?" he asks. James nods in agreement.
"Anything," he says fervently.
"Better than Evans?" Remus asks, and gets a look from Sirius that speaks eloquently of stolen lines and retribution.
"Much better," James says, gesturing with the nearly-empty bottle. "Evans punched me in the face, you know." He sounds aggrieved. "Gave me a black eye. Never got punched in the face by a whiskey bottle."
"Thorns," Peter says, from his prone position on top of the table that Sirius is under. "Scratchy things. Girls don't like 'em much."
"Pete's sozzled," Sirius says with relish, flopping back onto the carpet.
"Am not," Peter insists.
"Smashed," James agrees.
"Shnookered," Remus offers.
"Shit-faced!" Peter exclaims with obvious glee; then, as Sirius reaches up and starts rocking the table, Peter grabs tight hold of the edges. "Earthquake!" he says, in some alarm.
"Padfoot," Remus scolds. Sirius subsides, and makes his amends by swiping the bottle from James and passing it up to Peter.
"Hey!" James protests.
"Calm down, you greedy bugger," Sirius says. "You're already drunk."
"I am," James agrees happily. "It is fantastic."
"It's bloody funny, is what it is," Sirius says. "You can't hold your liquor."
"I can," James insists. "I can drink you under the table."
"He's already there," Peter says; then, cackling madlly, he rolls off the table and hits the carpet with a thud and a dismayed squeak. Half a second later, the bottle joins him on the floor.
"Watch the alcohol!" Sirius yelps. He tries to get up and grab it, but only manages to whack his head on the bottom of the table. "Ow ow ow bugger fuck," he says feelingly, but manages to scramble out from under the table and retrieve the bottle even as he's complaining.
"All right, Pads?" Remus asks him.
"No," Sirius says mournfully, hurling himself at Remus' feet and fixing him with the Pitiful Puppy Eyes of Doom. "I'm dying. My head is broken. Quick, Moony -- kiss me before I go."
"You daft bastard," Remus says, but it's affectionate, and after a minute, he gives into temptation and does as requested.
***
( day twenty-nine)*( day thirty-one)
***
Author's Notes: Again, thanks so much for being patient with me. I really haven't been in the right frame of mind to write MWPP-fic lately. There's so much tragedy beneath the light, fluffy stuff, and even though that's not what this fic is about, it kept trying to break through. Anyway. One more left; then I think I'm going to buckle down and finish the next chapter of DWYS. Maybe.
As always, feedback is love.
Second, thanks for being so patient re: the long-overdue fic.
That said, here's day thirty.
May 30, 1976:
"Firewhiskey," James says expansively, "is better than anything ever." They've sealed the rest of their House in the dormitories for the night, and are proceeding to thoroughly debauch themselves in the pursuit of intoxication.
Sirius, who is lying on his back under one of the tables in the Common Room, props himself up on his elbows, an amused gleam in his eyes. His hair is hopelessly mussed, his tie is askew, and his face is flushed, several hours of continuous drinking having had their effect even on his usually aristocratic complexion.
"Anything, Prongs?" he asks. James nods in agreement.
"Anything," he says fervently.
"Better than Evans?" Remus asks, and gets a look from Sirius that speaks eloquently of stolen lines and retribution.
"Much better," James says, gesturing with the nearly-empty bottle. "Evans punched me in the face, you know." He sounds aggrieved. "Gave me a black eye. Never got punched in the face by a whiskey bottle."
"Thorns," Peter says, from his prone position on top of the table that Sirius is under. "Scratchy things. Girls don't like 'em much."
"Pete's sozzled," Sirius says with relish, flopping back onto the carpet.
"Am not," Peter insists.
"Smashed," James agrees.
"Shnookered," Remus offers.
"Shit-faced!" Peter exclaims with obvious glee; then, as Sirius reaches up and starts rocking the table, Peter grabs tight hold of the edges. "Earthquake!" he says, in some alarm.
"Padfoot," Remus scolds. Sirius subsides, and makes his amends by swiping the bottle from James and passing it up to Peter.
"Hey!" James protests.
"Calm down, you greedy bugger," Sirius says. "You're already drunk."
"I am," James agrees happily. "It is fantastic."
"It's bloody funny, is what it is," Sirius says. "You can't hold your liquor."
"I can," James insists. "I can drink you under the table."
"He's already there," Peter says; then, cackling madlly, he rolls off the table and hits the carpet with a thud and a dismayed squeak. Half a second later, the bottle joins him on the floor.
"Watch the alcohol!" Sirius yelps. He tries to get up and grab it, but only manages to whack his head on the bottom of the table. "Ow ow ow bugger fuck," he says feelingly, but manages to scramble out from under the table and retrieve the bottle even as he's complaining.
"All right, Pads?" Remus asks him.
"No," Sirius says mournfully, hurling himself at Remus' feet and fixing him with the Pitiful Puppy Eyes of Doom. "I'm dying. My head is broken. Quick, Moony -- kiss me before I go."
"You daft bastard," Remus says, but it's affectionate, and after a minute, he gives into temptation and does as requested.
***
( day twenty-nine)*( day thirty-one)
***
Author's Notes: Again, thanks so much for being patient with me. I really haven't been in the right frame of mind to write MWPP-fic lately. There's so much tragedy beneath the light, fluffy stuff, and even though that's not what this fic is about, it kept trying to break through. Anyway. One more left; then I think I'm going to buckle down and finish the next chapter of DWYS. Maybe.
As always, feedback is love.