icarusinwax & ausmac
Author: icarusinwax
Title: Taste In Men
Rating: PG-13
Challenge: I'm killing time on Valentine's/Waiting for the day to end/Change your taste in men - Placebo, Taste in Men
Pairing: James/Peter
James pulls his Quidditch shirt over his head, eyeing Peter through the half open curtains covering Peter's bed. How he wished he could be within the warm and
welcoming comfort of that bed. He started slightly as he realized the other Maurauders were walking to and fro, getting ready for the Valentine's Ball. He
was the Gryffindor chaser for Christ sake, he had girls throwing themselves at him left, right and center, and here he was fantasizing about a stoutly boy
sleeping in the next bed. He walked up to the curtains, and timidly parted them further, feeling the smooth velvet between his callused fingers.
"Peter," he said. Peter started and stared at him.
"You got a date for the ball yet?" he asked casually, shoving his hands in his pockets.
"Yeah, some Ravenclaw," he said, rubbing his eyes.
"Slut," he muttered, running his fingers through his hair.
Peter eyed him strangely, biting his nails. James coughed and turned, changing in silence.
*
The Maurauders walked together to the ball, James eyeing Peter nervously. Peter suddenly smiled and walked up to a Ravenclaw boy, putting his arm around
the boy's waist.
Author: ausmac
Title: Untidy
Rating: NC17
Warning: contains rape
James pulled his Quidditch shirt over his head, eyeing Peter through the half open curtains covering Peter's bed. How he wished he could be within the warm and welcoming comfort of that bed. He started slightly as he realized the other Marauders were walking to and fro, getting ready for the Valentine's Ball. He was the Gryffindor chaser for Christ sake, he had girls throwing themselves at him left, right and center, and here he was fantasizing about a stoutly boy sleeping in the next bed. He walked up to the curtains, and timidly parted them further, feeling the smooth velvet between his callused fingers.
"Peter," he said. Peter started and stared at him.
"You got a date for the ball yet?" he asked casually, shoving his hands in his pockets.
"Yeah, some Ravenclaw," he said, rubbing his eyes.
"Slut," he muttered, running his fingers through his hair.
Peter eyed him strangely, biting his nails. James coughed and turned, changing in silence.
The Marauders walked together to the ball, James eyeing Peter nervously. Peter suddenly smiled and walked up to a Ravenclaw boy, putting his arm around the boy's waist.
James came awake suddenly, heard thudding, gasping for breath.
He lay awake in the dark, staring up at the faintly visible ceiling. It was a moonlit night and the height of the moon, along with the quiet tisking of clock on his bedside table told him it was late. Too late to be awake.
Another dream. Another peculiar dream about Pettigrew and masquerade balls that had never happened. James lay with his head resting on his arm, trying to understand it. Professor Jacqueline would have said something like, your dreams can often be your own magical self’s way of trying to tell you something. So what was his magic trying to tell him in a dream about him wanting Peter Pettigrew, of all people, and a masquerade?
There was a stirring in the bed beside him, and he sighed as he saw Lily turn towards him. “James..” she said, half awake. “’nother dream?”
He bent over to kiss her. “Yes, sorry. I’m going to go downstairs and make myself some hot chocolate. Try to sleep.”
Lily muttered something and rolled over, tucking her arms under her pillow. James slipped out of bed, shivering at the cold air. He pulled on his robe and pushed his feet into his old worn slippers, then quietly left the bedroom. He paused outside the partly open door to the nursery and checked inside; his tiny son was asleep in his cot, the fairy light bobbing gently over his peaceful face. No bad dreams there.
James walked down stairs, through the living room and library and into the kitchen. He stopped at the doorway, surprised. The lamps were lit, and Peter Pettigrew was sitting at his kitchen table, drinking a cup of tea. Pettigrew looked up as James entered, and smiled.
“Hullo James. Did I wake you?”
“Peter! Umm, well, in a way.” He shook his head and sat down in the chair opposite Peter, tying the robe sash around himself. “I’m sorry, I’m confused. Did I invite you here and forget about it?”
Peter drank down the dregs of his tea and poured another cup from the pot, and pushed it across to James. “No, but I had to see you. I thought you might know I was here.” He smiled, his pale eyes gleaming in the yellow light. “You always seem to know things, don’t you, James?”
“I don’t know about that. I think I’m knowing less every day.” James wrapped his chilling hands around the cup and raised it to his lips. It was mint, with honey, and the sharp smell of something else. He paused. “What’s in the tea, Peter?”
Peter’s eyes watched him, unblinking. “Just drink it, James.”
James went to put the cup down. There was a flash of movement; Peter had a wand out, pointing at him, and a muttered Imperio had him frozen in place, shocked and chilled as much by the casual manner of it as to the use of an Unforgivable.
“Drink the tea, James.”
It was a horrible feeling, to feel his body work, move, without any control on his part. Locked away inside, knowing it was useless, still he fought. Fought to stop his hands from raising the cup, to stop his lips from opening, to stop the sweet hot fluid from entering his mouth and being swallowed.
Peter shrugged and smiled, his small eyes half-closed. “It’s silly, really. I mean, if I have you under Imperio, I don’t have to drug you, do I? But I like finishing things. I like neatness. That’s one thing that’s always annoyed me about you, James. You’re so untidy. I mean,” he said, waving one hand around the kitchen, “look at this. Even Lily hasn’t got you to be neat.”
James watched Peter, unable to speak as his friend reached out to take the half-empty cup from his hand. “It’s better this way, really it is, James. You won’t feel it so much, even when He comes and takes everything away from you.” Peter’s voice was a quiet hiss. “I’m very sorry, James. It has to be this way. I have no choice. He hasn’t given me any choice. He’s very organised. He knows how to make things work.”
Confusion and the growing sense of fear twirled through James’ stomach. He tried to talk, but was held in place by the spell. He watched as Peter crouched next to him, as the pale, plump hand came out to stroke his face, the pale eyes half-closed. “I’ve told him you’re here, you and Lily and the baby. He’s coming now, with his followers, to kill you all. But before he gets here I wanted to get to you first. It’s the last chance I’ll have to do things I always wanted to, and I know it won’t matter because no-one will ever know because you’ll be dead.”
Peter shuffled around onto his knees next to James, and the hands began pulling at his clothing. There wasn’t much of it to move; the robe was pulled off, the pyjama pants pulled down to his knees, and then Peter rolled him onto his stomach, and he could do nothing, say nothing of the million things he wanted to say about help and need and Lily and Harry and friendship and betrayal as those soft, weak hands were fumbling at his buttocks, pulling his legs apart and pushing blunt, chilled fingers into his arse.
“So messy,” Peter said in a dry, throaty whisper, as his fingers worked their way deep inside James. Then Peter was on top of him, puffing and panting, laying between his legs, pushing into him while he made little moaning whines, little sounds of pleasure like a child with a treat.
A part of his mind that wasn’t screaming noted that Peter seemed experienced at the rape. James wondered how many times Peter had done this, how many times he’d used his magic to silence someone, to rape in quiet corners and tuck the dead bodies into drains or cupboards. His final numb thought was: who needs Dementors, when a betraying friend can consume every joyful memory.
There was no time for thought when a little while later the Death Eaters arrived, and Voldemort, and then there was only darkness.
end
Title: Taste In Men
Rating: PG-13
Challenge: I'm killing time on Valentine's/Waiting for the day to end/Change your taste in men - Placebo, Taste in Men
Pairing: James/Peter
James pulls his Quidditch shirt over his head, eyeing Peter through the half open curtains covering Peter's bed. How he wished he could be within the warm and
welcoming comfort of that bed. He started slightly as he realized the other Maurauders were walking to and fro, getting ready for the Valentine's Ball. He
was the Gryffindor chaser for Christ sake, he had girls throwing themselves at him left, right and center, and here he was fantasizing about a stoutly boy
sleeping in the next bed. He walked up to the curtains, and timidly parted them further, feeling the smooth velvet between his callused fingers.
"Peter," he said. Peter started and stared at him.
"You got a date for the ball yet?" he asked casually, shoving his hands in his pockets.
"Yeah, some Ravenclaw," he said, rubbing his eyes.
"Slut," he muttered, running his fingers through his hair.
Peter eyed him strangely, biting his nails. James coughed and turned, changing in silence.
*
The Maurauders walked together to the ball, James eyeing Peter nervously. Peter suddenly smiled and walked up to a Ravenclaw boy, putting his arm around
the boy's waist.
Author: ausmac
Title: Untidy
Rating: NC17
Warning: contains rape
James pulled his Quidditch shirt over his head, eyeing Peter through the half open curtains covering Peter's bed. How he wished he could be within the warm and welcoming comfort of that bed. He started slightly as he realized the other Marauders were walking to and fro, getting ready for the Valentine's Ball. He was the Gryffindor chaser for Christ sake, he had girls throwing themselves at him left, right and center, and here he was fantasizing about a stoutly boy sleeping in the next bed. He walked up to the curtains, and timidly parted them further, feeling the smooth velvet between his callused fingers.
"Peter," he said. Peter started and stared at him.
"You got a date for the ball yet?" he asked casually, shoving his hands in his pockets.
"Yeah, some Ravenclaw," he said, rubbing his eyes.
"Slut," he muttered, running his fingers through his hair.
Peter eyed him strangely, biting his nails. James coughed and turned, changing in silence.
The Marauders walked together to the ball, James eyeing Peter nervously. Peter suddenly smiled and walked up to a Ravenclaw boy, putting his arm around the boy's waist.
James came awake suddenly, heard thudding, gasping for breath.
He lay awake in the dark, staring up at the faintly visible ceiling. It was a moonlit night and the height of the moon, along with the quiet tisking of clock on his bedside table told him it was late. Too late to be awake.
Another dream. Another peculiar dream about Pettigrew and masquerade balls that had never happened. James lay with his head resting on his arm, trying to understand it. Professor Jacqueline would have said something like, your dreams can often be your own magical self’s way of trying to tell you something. So what was his magic trying to tell him in a dream about him wanting Peter Pettigrew, of all people, and a masquerade?
There was a stirring in the bed beside him, and he sighed as he saw Lily turn towards him. “James..” she said, half awake. “’nother dream?”
He bent over to kiss her. “Yes, sorry. I’m going to go downstairs and make myself some hot chocolate. Try to sleep.”
Lily muttered something and rolled over, tucking her arms under her pillow. James slipped out of bed, shivering at the cold air. He pulled on his robe and pushed his feet into his old worn slippers, then quietly left the bedroom. He paused outside the partly open door to the nursery and checked inside; his tiny son was asleep in his cot, the fairy light bobbing gently over his peaceful face. No bad dreams there.
James walked down stairs, through the living room and library and into the kitchen. He stopped at the doorway, surprised. The lamps were lit, and Peter Pettigrew was sitting at his kitchen table, drinking a cup of tea. Pettigrew looked up as James entered, and smiled.
“Hullo James. Did I wake you?”
“Peter! Umm, well, in a way.” He shook his head and sat down in the chair opposite Peter, tying the robe sash around himself. “I’m sorry, I’m confused. Did I invite you here and forget about it?”
Peter drank down the dregs of his tea and poured another cup from the pot, and pushed it across to James. “No, but I had to see you. I thought you might know I was here.” He smiled, his pale eyes gleaming in the yellow light. “You always seem to know things, don’t you, James?”
“I don’t know about that. I think I’m knowing less every day.” James wrapped his chilling hands around the cup and raised it to his lips. It was mint, with honey, and the sharp smell of something else. He paused. “What’s in the tea, Peter?”
Peter’s eyes watched him, unblinking. “Just drink it, James.”
James went to put the cup down. There was a flash of movement; Peter had a wand out, pointing at him, and a muttered Imperio had him frozen in place, shocked and chilled as much by the casual manner of it as to the use of an Unforgivable.
“Drink the tea, James.”
It was a horrible feeling, to feel his body work, move, without any control on his part. Locked away inside, knowing it was useless, still he fought. Fought to stop his hands from raising the cup, to stop his lips from opening, to stop the sweet hot fluid from entering his mouth and being swallowed.
Peter shrugged and smiled, his small eyes half-closed. “It’s silly, really. I mean, if I have you under Imperio, I don’t have to drug you, do I? But I like finishing things. I like neatness. That’s one thing that’s always annoyed me about you, James. You’re so untidy. I mean,” he said, waving one hand around the kitchen, “look at this. Even Lily hasn’t got you to be neat.”
James watched Peter, unable to speak as his friend reached out to take the half-empty cup from his hand. “It’s better this way, really it is, James. You won’t feel it so much, even when He comes and takes everything away from you.” Peter’s voice was a quiet hiss. “I’m very sorry, James. It has to be this way. I have no choice. He hasn’t given me any choice. He’s very organised. He knows how to make things work.”
Confusion and the growing sense of fear twirled through James’ stomach. He tried to talk, but was held in place by the spell. He watched as Peter crouched next to him, as the pale, plump hand came out to stroke his face, the pale eyes half-closed. “I’ve told him you’re here, you and Lily and the baby. He’s coming now, with his followers, to kill you all. But before he gets here I wanted to get to you first. It’s the last chance I’ll have to do things I always wanted to, and I know it won’t matter because no-one will ever know because you’ll be dead.”
Peter shuffled around onto his knees next to James, and the hands began pulling at his clothing. There wasn’t much of it to move; the robe was pulled off, the pyjama pants pulled down to his knees, and then Peter rolled him onto his stomach, and he could do nothing, say nothing of the million things he wanted to say about help and need and Lily and Harry and friendship and betrayal as those soft, weak hands were fumbling at his buttocks, pulling his legs apart and pushing blunt, chilled fingers into his arse.
“So messy,” Peter said in a dry, throaty whisper, as his fingers worked their way deep inside James. Then Peter was on top of him, puffing and panting, laying between his legs, pushing into him while he made little moaning whines, little sounds of pleasure like a child with a treat.
A part of his mind that wasn’t screaming noted that Peter seemed experienced at the rape. James wondered how many times Peter had done this, how many times he’d used his magic to silence someone, to rape in quiet corners and tuck the dead bodies into drains or cupboards. His final numb thought was: who needs Dementors, when a betraying friend can consume every joyful memory.
There was no time for thought when a little while later the Death Eaters arrived, and Voldemort, and then there was only darkness.
end