(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 )
...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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Illiad was smirking as the broom fell and he swung an arm around Paris' shoulder, pulling him closer. Byrd looked like he was about to cry. He didn't even go for his broom again.
"Hsst!" Illiad hissed at his younger teammate, which caused Hisoka to start, fearfully. "Run off, Byrd! Get! Go find Takurai and coach him through his damnable stutter!" Illiad laughed.
Hisoka didn't waste any time picking up his broom. He bolted, the wings of his scarf flying high behind him. It wasn't clear if he was crying, but he was most certainly upset about what had happened.
Illiad, however, was not.
"That was good," he said, wiping tears from his laughter out of his eyes. "I didn't know those two liked one another! Ridiculous. How did he even make the team, anyways?!" he asked his lover, kissing his cheek. He knew Hisoka was a very good chaser, but still.
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And Illiad-- Lord! Illiad was a sexy, silver-tongued fox. Paris couldn't prevent the swell of pride within him as Illiad chased Hisoka away with his delectable hisses.
"Oh, you were fabulous," Paris chuckled, turning to return Illiad's kiss on the cheek. "Mmm, the kid's a good player, but... God, Takurai? Give me a break."
Sighing, he leaned his head on top of Illiad's and he pulled him closer. "Well, so much for Quidditch practice. We'll have to call another... Or just go without one."
Paris shook his head and snickered. Sometimes his team was just pathetic. Today was a prime example of this.
"Mm, are you cold, love? We've been waiting here for awhile. Should we head back to the common room? Or can I shag you here?"
He added the last bit with a seductive grin and a kiss on Illiad's neck.
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He sighed and knew that he might have just ruined the mood, so he pulled Paris close to him and looked up into his eyes.
"No, darling," he amended, quickly. "I want you in the warmth. C'mon. We'll go to a classroom with a grate and we'll lock the doors. Do you like hot chocolate?" he asked. He liked it, but only when it was dark, and luckily, he had some ingredients for that.
"We will curl up in the fire, yeah? And be warm and loved. I would like that."
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"Whatever you say, cara mia," he continued in a low voice. Paris couldn't hide the worry in his voice, but he quickly moved the conversation along. He smiled at Illiad's suggestion. "I love hot chocolate, Illiad."
He was about to add that he preferred it dark, but Illiad was thinking the same thought at the same thought, apparently! They were on the same wavelength a great deal of the time, actually...
"Mmmm," Paris purred, holding Illiad close to his chest. "I would like that as well, love. Come, let's go back to the castle. Our Quidditch team has failed us, eh?"
Gripping his broom tightly in one hand, Paris used his other hand to tug on Illiad's lovingly.
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