(Untitled)
WHEN: Week 05, 'Riddles in the Light' / Sunday January 8, 2008 / 6: 35 PM
WHERE: Quidditch Pitch
WHO: Slytherin Quidditch Team
( When the men of olden days gave the king of kings their praise, they had fifes on which to play, tru-la-roo-la-roo, pat-a-pat-a pan )
WHERE: Quidditch Pitch
WHO: Slytherin Quidditch Team
( When the men of olden days gave the king of kings their praise, they had fifes on which to play, tru-la-roo-la-roo, pat-a-pat-a pan )
That wasn't the answer he had expected. Normally, when he bitched, he got bitched right back. 'Shut up, Illiad, learn some patience-- it's a virtue!' 'Grow up Illiad, they're probably busy-- they'll be here soon!' 'Not everyone's as perfect as you, Illiad!'
And yet Paris had not bitched at Illiad, but right alongside of him!
He folded his hands together, although he didn't bend his fingers, merely interweaving them between Paris', avoiding his eyes sheepishly. But it was too late for anything else-- that was a blush there on his cheeks, as pink and as enduring as anything.
"Yes. Well. I should have brought gloves," he said, knowing that there was a pair in his pocket. He never forgot his gloves, hating the cold as he did. But he liked Paris holding his hands so very much.
He shifted where he stood so that he was brushing right against Paris' chest, shutting his eyes and laying his head against the captain's neck.
"I was wondering," he said against it, perhaps a little timidly. "Wondering what you thought about what we talked about last week. I mean," he sighed and tried to backtrack so he could put it in slightly better terms. "Has your father written you again?"
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To him, there were two people on the planet who were just about flawless: Illiad Hawkins and himself.
The world would be a better place without the rest of the human population. Especially his idiotic father. Paris grimaced at the mention of that man. Shifting his gaze into the distance, he heaved a gentle sigh.
"No, he hasn't written to me since that last missive," he said in a stony voice. "I don't know if he plans to. I haven't heard from my mother, either. Though, she wasn't as vehemently against my choice as much as my father was..."
Paris paused for a moment before hugging an arm around Illiad's small body. "And you? I pray you haven't heard anything terrible from your family..."
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"According to my mother, they are treating the incident as if I had died," Illiad said, perhaps a little too distant and a little too cold. He made a small noise, sort of like a 'hmpf'. "That is, to say, my father is ignoring that it even happened, but my siblings know not to talk about me in front of him, and Apollo continues to explode or implode, depending on how he's feeling," he added, raising a wry eyebrow.
"The rest of the family I don't know anything about, but they never liked me anyway. What is this going to do to my relationship with them that hasn't already been broken?" he asked, sighing.
But he had liked Paris' word choice there-- his choice. Did that mean...?
"What are you doing next year? After you're out of school?" he asked the older boy, looking up at him suddenly, with wide, questioning eyes.
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"Next year?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow. Well, he hadn't really thought about that! He always figured that he would return to his parents and do whatever they bode him to do. That had always been the case, ever since he was a boy. But now... Now, after he discovered the courage within himself to defy the wishes of his father...
"You pose a good question, cara mia," Paris continued with a dry laugh. "I suppose I'll have to live on my own... Perhaps I'll contact my grandfather to see if he has any use of me. In other words, I'll most likely be moving back to Italy."
This brought up a sudden realization in Paris' brain. Next year, Illiad would be at Hogwarts. Paris would not be at Hogwarts.
... Well. That would be a problem.
Paris didn't think he could last going a full year by himself. Well, he probably could, but certainly not without Illiad! He needed to think of a plan, and fast. He didn't want to part ways for eternity after this year.
Especially not after the very first year of dating Illiad. That just couldn't happen!
"What about you, Illiad? What plans do you have after you leave Hogwarts? Or even for next year? Will you be terribly lost without me?" Paris teased, tugging gently on Illiad's fine hair.
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"Paris!" He said, angrily. "Paris, don't... don't joke, alright?!" he asked, in a manner that seemed to say that he didn't think Paris was joking in the least bit. He was scowling and he had even pushed the other away, shoving him angrily. And although Illiad often looked small and fragile, he had some fight to him. You had to, when you had brothers like Apollo.
"Italy is too far away from me!" he said, in a low growl, his grey eyes blazing like a cat out of hell. "You know that! Don't leave me so soon! I will come to Italy, but I'm not dropping out of school...I have to finish, Paris, it's very important to me, you know!" he growled, glowering.
Although now that he thought about it, there was really not much either of them could do to avoid it-- this separation next year! He sighed and looked away, looking pale from his ennui.
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"I'm not joking, Illiad," he said in a low voice, brushing his lapels off. "Italy is my home, I will say that."
He raised an eyebrow as Illiad went on. Of course Paris didn't want to drag him out of school just for the sake of keeping him company in Italy. Sure, Paris was selfish, but certainly not in a situation like this. He'd always wished the best for his pretty, young lover.
"I don't want to leave you behind," he continued, "and I wouldn't be able to survive very long without you. But where would I go, Illiad? Would I settle down in London and wait a whole year for you there?"
He sounded a bit too angry for his liking, so he tried again, this time taking it slower. He sighed before speaking.
"What would you have me do?" Paris asked, tilting his head as he spoke.
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"Hogsmeade."
The word slipped out of his lips like a deadly hiss, as if it were poison instead of the name of a town.
"Move to Hogsmeade, Paris. Get a job there, or something. Just for the year, so I can be near to you," he said, his eyes gazing furiously back into his lover's. They weren't demanding. They were pleading.
"I'll write you every morning; I'll sneak out every night; I don't care. But Italy is too far, Paris, London is too far!"
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...So I can be near to you... Italy is too far, Paris, London is too far!
Paris' face softened into a small, but honest smile and he traced his finger down Illiad's cheek. "Hogsmeade... For one year? That is definitely plausible, Illiad."
Getting a job, though... That would be difficult. Not getting the job, that was easy enough, but working with people directly was never Paris' forte. He hated people passionately, and usually this was rather obvious in his dialogue. But he would certainly try; if trying meant being close to Illiad, then he would try for as long as he had to.
Paris needed Illiad. Smiling seductively, he cupped his lover's chin in his hand.
"Well, as long as I get you every night," he said in a low purr, "I don't mind this plan at all."
He chuckled before kissing Illiad deftly on the lips.
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"There's a passage," he said, in a hushed whisper. "That goes from underneath the Whomping Willow to the Shrieking Shack. I'll take that every night, Paris. Every night!" his voice was heated and low, arms flung around Paris' neck, their faces together, blowing steam at one another in the cold air.
"I can stun the tree and the shack's not haunted, anyways. Dumbledore said so. He was talking to Mam, about Malachy-- that's," he said, because he figured Paris didn't know, "Louvika's little brother, he's a werewolf," he said it like a dismissive sidenote, "Said the rumors come from when they have werewolves at the school, they send them to the Shack to transform because it's safe that way and all. Not that it matters, but it'll be alright."
He had said it all on one quick breath and the last phrase was what had startled him. It would be alright?
But he found very quick that he was right.
Yes. It was going to be alright. He had Paris. And Paris wasn't going to leave him. Paris would even prove his loyalty next year by staying in Hogsmeade, instead of London or Italy. Paris wanted to be with Illiad!
It would be alright!
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Laughing, he moved in closer, relishing in the feeling of Illiad's warm breath on his face.
"It'll be alright, Illiad. I promise," Paris murmured gently into Illiad's ear. "We'll make it work."
He paused and looked directly into the piercing, grey eyes beneath him. Paris found such love and comfort there, that he couldn't help but smile. Grabbing Illiad's chin, he kissed him swiftly on the lips.
"I love you, Illiad Hawkins. The words don't do you justice, but just know that I do. I love you."
Another kiss. This time on the cheek.
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Okay, so he couldn't help making the noise!
It was time for Quidditch practice, except that Hisoka had spent most of his day hanging out with Chen and working on that Transfiguration project-- and he'd most regrettably forgotten. It didn't help, either, that mysterious note that he'd received! He was just so... pre-occupied!
Not to mention he'd been watching his feet most of the way down here, thinking about the shoes he was wearing. He rather liked these shoes. He wondered if Chen did-- holy shit!
"I'm s-s-sorry!" he stammered, throwing up his hands and ungracefully dropping his broom.
The entire world knew that Paris Valmont and Illiad Hawkins were dating, so that wasn't weird. But he hadn't expected them to be, er....
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"Funny you should show up now, Byrd," he spat venomously. "Considering the practice started, oh, fifteen minutes ago. Glad you could make it."
He whipped around and brushed some of Illiad's hair behind his ear. "We'll have to continue at a later date, love, when there aren't any distractions running about."
Paris spat the word 'distractions', saying it loud enough for Hisoka to hear. Ugh! He was so pissed, honestly!
"Pick up your broom, Byrd," he snapped, looking directly at Hisoka's fallen broom. "Now that you're here, we can get some practice in. Hm?"
The humorless smirk had already disappeared from his face.
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The instant Paris made a move to allow his eyes to wander away from Illiad's, however, he dropped them to the ground with another small squeak, shutting tight his eyes.
"Sorry!" he said, in a small little bark. "I did not mean to be not here!" he said, scrambling to pick up his broom.
Illiad watched him with a sneer on his lips. Oh, that was his Paris alright, torturing the underclassmen! It was making Illiad a little excited. He picked his own broom up off the ground and got ready to get on it.
"We're still missing the rest of these dumbasses," he said, with emphasis on the word, and a pointed stare at Hisoka, who blushed crimson and actually fell over.
"Paris, just call it off. It's not worth it. We can reconvene tomorrow."
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He could hardly watch as Hisoka fell over. Instead, he directed his gaze toward Illiad and he raised his eyebrows. "Where are the rest of these dumbasses? Apparently the rest of them want to lose this next game, just like this fool right here."
Paris actually chuckled, bending over to pick his broom up.
He scowled when Illiad suggested to call the meeting off. Only then did he realize that they had three members currently at practice, and God only knew where the rest of them were. Paris was tempted to kick one of the other members off and replace him with his little cousin, Octavian...
"Cancel practice, Illiad?" he asked again, almost verifying that that was indeed what Illiad had said. "You're right, it isn't worth it. But then this little stray cat would've wandered out for nothing."
Paris glared dangerously at Hisoka. "What do you think, Byrd? Since apparently the lot of you want to lose the next match, why don't we just call of practice? Then you can go back to the castle and knit the pair of socks you've always wanted, hm? Gah, you and your idiot friend Takurai."
He sighed and massaged his temples, leaning on his Nimbus 2001 casually.
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They must've been spending too much time together, for that was a bitch-fit worthy of only Illiad Hawkins. Who was feeling greatly aroused at this point.
"Takurai? Wait. This one is friends with Takurai? Which one?" Illiad asked, homing in now that the discussion had been brought up. Well, it made sense! Unless it was the oaf Takurai who spent way too much time sniffing Bacchus' asshole to be put to any good.
Hisoka jilted as he was yelled at, dropping his broom yet again. He scrambled for it, catching the wooden handle before it hit the ground.
"Chen-sempai!" he squeaked, before he could figure out that this was probably not only a bad idea, but also the WORST IDEA IN THE WORLD.
Illiad laughed.
Oh, how he laughed!
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"Oh, indeed," he chuckled, turning to Illiad. "Don't they make a fine pair? Ugh, how disgusting..."
Paris rolled his eyes and lifted his broom. He aimed a hit against Hisoka's broom stick, aiming to get the damn thing to fall out of the boy's hands again. It was too amusing to pick on this kid!
"Christ, are we gonna practice or what, Byrd? You don't look like you're in the mood," Paris taunted, looking the boy over. "If you want to go cry in the trophy closet with your 'sempai', then be my guest. Why would you want to be here when you could be there?"
Paris scoffed and rolled his eyes, glancing briefly at Illiad.
"Tch, this is a waste of our time, Illiad."
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