(Untitled)

[perfect_paris]

WHEN: Week 02, 'Whites of His Eyes' / Friday, December 16th, 2008, 3:34 pm
WHERE: The Quidditch pitch
WHO: Paracchus (aka, the battling Alpha males)

Comments

[godofwines]

Speaking of...

A not so pretty Hawkins relation was also stalking around the field. Well, not stalking. He was jogging. Wearing his normal practice clothes (a tight-fitting under-armor shirt with some baggy grey sweats and a dark blue skull-cap-- he thought it made him look pretty damn sexy, thanks).

And what did we have here? Well, if it wasn't a poncey little Slytherin captain! Not to mention, a poncey little Slytherin captain who was reportedly fucking his cousin.

Oh, Paris was in for a treat.

Coming to a slow down as he neared the other boy (who was, apparently, just walking around the field? Call that a 'workout', Valmont??) Bacchus stopped next to the boy, clapping him on the shoulder in what might've been a friendly greeting.

"Hey there, asshole," he said, sweetly, as if he were, again, greeting a very dear friend. "Workin' the claves, I see?" he asked, wiping some sweat from his forehead, his voice dripping with sarcasm almost as much as his brow.

[perfect_paris]

He wasn't attempting to workout, he would have everyone know! Paris was simply... leisurely thinking. Yes, that was a good way of putting it.

But oh? What was this? Well if it wasn't that country-bumpkin, Bacchus.

Ewwww.

"Don't touch me," Paris said quickly with a sneer as he retreated backward a little bit. His hand immediately moved to brush his shoulder off. He chose to ignore Bacchus' sarcastic comment. "Hmph. I would hate to throw my designer jacket away because of you."

Christ, how was Donovan related to Illiad? It didn't make any logical sense. Hogwarts' Greek god was the cousin of this thick-headed dunce? How sad!

"What do you want, Donovan? Shouldn't you be continuing your little... jog, if that's what it is?" Paris hissed, as he pulled his gloves on tighter. "Wouldn't want Gryffindor to lose the next Quidditch game from your lack of... practice."

[godofwines]

Leisurely thinking did not win Quidditch matches! If it did, Ravenclaw would be at the top of the stats, wouldn't they? But, no, Gryffindor had beaten them last time and by a fair amount, too!

Bacchus made sure to wipe his sweaty hand directly on Paris this time, now that he knew the jacket was designer. "Throw this rag out? Ye mean ye didn't find it in the garbage already?" It really was an ugly thing, Bacchus thought. Made Paris look like a girl-- wait... he wasn't one? Confusing! These Slytherins and their androgyny! Oh well.

"What do I want? Nah, love, think we're talking about your wants today. For instance-- might we say-- what do you want from my cousin?" he asked, sneering and clapping his hand on Paris' shoulders again, but this time not letting go.

"See... rumor has it you and he was doing the wallepokonua down there in your cozy dungeon. so, I think a wee lil' talk might be in order for you and me, pretty boy."

[perfect_paris]

Paris narrowed his eyes dangerously at Bacchus. Oh, he had some nerve to call his splendiforous jacket a rag. He clicked his tongue out of sheer annoyance.

"That's rich," he drawled, rolling his eyes. "Unfortunately this 'rag' is worth your weight in galleons, maybe more."

He winced again when Bacchus chose to clap him on the shoulder again. Ugh, he hated the very sight of it. What did he want to know, anyway? Sure, Paris was fucking Illiad, but what did that have to do with Donovan? Aside from the obvious, overprotective role that he liked to play.

"And what," spat Paris as he quickly shrugged Bacchus' hand off of his shoulder. "do you even think you and I have to talk about? I'd rather not waste my breath on an imbecile like you."

He smirked proudly. "Besides, what Illiad and I do is none of your business, Donovan."

Paris straightened the front of his jacket before putting his hands in his pockets in an attempt to stay warm.

[godofwines]

"Too bad my weight in galleons can't buy ye a broom good enough to actually score a goal. But yanno, brooms can't really make up for a lack of talent," Bacchus sneered right back. "All the gold in the world, my weight or more, can't really do that, love."

He removed his hand from Paris' shoulder, but didn't put it in his pocket. His entire body was overly warm from his jog and the cold air felt nice on his bare skin.

"And I'll say when you humping my cousins ain't my business, Valmont," he growled, suddenly serious. His eyes were narrowed-- an eerie reflection of Illiad's own grey orbs.

"You'll find that banging nasties with a Hawkins comes with a lot of uninvited attention from said-Hawkins' family! See, we take care of our own, unlike most of you inbred Pureblood families," he pulled from his pocket a package of cigarettes, pulled one out, and lit it with his wand, before offering the pack to Paris.

"Frankly," he said, around the butt of the smoke, "I don't like you. I don't, and forgive me for this, think you're a decent person

[perfect_paris]

Paris glared just as fiercely as Bacchus did, and he could sense the imaginary sparks flying between them

[godofwines]

"Far more terrifying! Hah!" Bacchus gave a sardonic laugh at this.

"I don't see what's so terrifying about gold-plated nappies. Well, apart from the fact that having one's father and one's uncle be the same person is a little freaky," he snorted, eyes rolling like an angry stallion. "But seriously, Valmont, you and this shitty little lie about how 'terrifying' your life is? Really. Between you and Illiad, we'll have to see you emerges as head Drama Queen. Special Catergory: He Who Has Nothing To Really Complain About

[perfect_paris]

Ah yes, a life of gold-plated nappies.

How he wished it were true.

Not many people knew the terrors that existed in this terrible family feud between the Pioggias and the Riccis. Honestly, when two Italian pureblood families get into a feud, it ends up in death, lots of blood, and many broken hearts. Even Paris had his fair share of blood on his hands. Naturally, he preferred not to tell others about the skirmishes he'd been in with the Riccis. They didn't need to know about that.

"Oh don't get your panties in a bunch, Donovan," Paris hissed. "I'm sure I'll outdo Watson, and your clan will fucking love me. And if they don't? Then the problem lies with them."

He narrowed his eyes.

"And I'm not going to worry myself over your... 'fam', anyway. To be honest, I'm more worried about my family accepting you. Illiad will be fine, of course."

Oh yes, Paris was fairly positive that Illiad would be welcomed almost immediately by his mother. His father... well, that would have to wait.

[godofwines]

As long as none of that blood was never Illiad's, or any other Hawkins' clan member, Bacchus could deal with that.

"What they gonna say," he asked, "when they find out you're a fucking queer?" The term definitely had less affection then when he used it on Andy. Bacchus made it sound like it was something nasty and dirty, rather than sweet and enduring as he usually did to his own lover. "Don't they want you to have inbred little pureblood babies with thirteen toes or something?"

The Hawkins clan was well-known for, despite their pureblood status, being less-than-perfect in maintaining such a thing. True Gryffindors, they seemed less interested in blood status than in the romantic ideal of love.

"And besides that, dating a Hawkins? I suppose if it must be a man, it must be a Pureblood, but you've certainly picked the lowest of the branches, haven't you?" he tsk'd.

[perfect_paris]

"Hah!" Paris barked a laugh. "I'm not a fucking queer, Donovan. Being a man or a woman has nothing to do with this. I seduce the ones as beautiful as I am, don't you know this?"

He shifted on his feet and his gaze never left Bacchus' face.

"The lowest of branches, if you must call it that, sure. But what do the rest of you matter? The only Hawkins that matters is Illiad, and he's nothing like the rest of your... lot. He will fit in beautifully as a Valmont-- or better yet, a Pioggia," he finished, examining his nails briefly.

"You're nothing like him, Donovan. You might want to consider the fact that you will never be one in the same, no matter what name accompanies you."

Paris scoffed as he looked up at Bacchus again. "And would you stay out of our business? Honestly, people might start to think that you're... shall I say, jealous of me? Just because I fucked Illiad before you had the chance..."

[godofwines]

Bacchus snorts. "Yeah, okay, you're not a fucking queer. But you like it up the ass, right?" he asks, rolling his eyes. Paris' argument was completely ridiculous. "Asscracks don't make babies, love."

And the eyerolls only continues as Paris continued speaking.

"Don't lie and pretend that your family won't be upset by it! We both know how it works, Valmont! Pureblood is the best blood, right? Might is right? Oh, come off it, you're being ridiculous-- not even claiming your own dogma? Really, how shameful of you," he said, rolling his eyes yet again. "You'll have a blood-traitor as your queer lover. Yes, I am sure your parents and grandparents will agree that that is the best way to preserve the Wizarding race!" he gave a sardonic laugh. Really, was Paris so stupid that he didn't realize Illiad couldn't get pregnant? Oh, the damnable Pureblooded families! All they did was make the rest of them-- normal folk, like Bacchus, look bad

[perfect_paris]

Paris almost preferred the fact that Illiad couldn't get pregnant, actually. He wouldn't have to deal with nasty little creatures... also known as children. Yuck, he hardly wanted to think about that.

Luckily, he didn't have to!

He winced as Bacchus shoved him against a tree, and he cried out a bit-- not for himself, but mostly for his jacket.

"Euuhn, must you always be so violent, Donovan?" Paris moaned in a near-whine, feeling a little irritated at this. "Christ, I'll be feeling that one for awhile..."

Wincing even further, Paris attempted to free himself, but it was to little avail. Merlin's beard, Bacchus was strong! After awhile, he gave up the notion of freeing himself anyway, and he simply glared at Bacchus.

"I don't boink my cousins," he spat. "What would be the point in that, hm? And besides, I do love my family, Donovan. And my family loves me. This is all that matters

[godofwines]

The instant that Paris said he loved Illiad, some nasty flame sprung into Bacchus' eyes. He glared daggers at the Slytherin and his breathing seemed to become more labored.

"You love him?" he spat furiously at Paris. "How in the world could you love him, you barely even know him!" How hypocritical this was of Bacchus, who claimed to love Andy but barely knew him all the same. But no, he thought furiously! Andy and I are different! We're not greasy, slimy bastards, like Paris Valmont, creeping our fingers and dicks into a precious, young thing like Illiad!

Well...

For a minute, he looked like he might knock Paris across the face, and, indeed, he did contemplate it most seriously. If he hit Paris, no doubt Illiad would be very upset with him. And no doubt, this foul creature would go running back to his 'beloved' with Bacchus' fist imprinted on his face, begging for comfort over the 'pain'.

Pussy.

He released Paris, but not without a hearty shove into the tree.

"I'm watching you, Valmont. If I hear... if I so much as think you've

[perfect_paris]

Paris rolled his eyes, leaning his head back until it gently touched the tree trunk behind him. Of course he loved Illiad! It wasn't like he met him two days previously... But it didn't matter. He let Bacchus think the way he did.

Wincing a bit, Paris reached up to brush himself off, frowning at the wrinkled fabric where Bacchus' hands had previously been.

"Right... a 'foul hand', I'll be 'dead'... I promise nothing will happen, Donovan," he sighed, as he fixed his hair. "Just give me a chance, won't you?"

Paris sneered at Bacchus before he neatly walked around the other boy, making sure to stay far away from him. It was a good thing that the Lion didn't knock him across the face, or else a battle might have ensued, whether Paris won it or not.

But, ah, they would fight another day, no doubt.