How is a Raven like a Writing Desk?

[das_vedanya]

WHO: Raivis, Ivan, and Alfred
WHEN: Sunday, October 17th, Afternoon
WHERE: Outside the Great Hall, Grand Staircase.
WHAT: A love-struck Gryffindor, an envious Slytherin, and romantic  potion-maker walk into a barcorridor...

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[man_nav_naudas]

They were a classic, the Transfigured textbooks. A guilty pleasure that no matter how often Raivis swore he would stop indulging in, his own charms always seemed to end up firmly embedded upon creeping, leather bound lizards and chirping Astronomy texts. Today's flavor of magic was a delightful spell to repel an item from its owner regardless of Accio attempts they may or may not have known to try. It elicited a smirk of satisfaction from Ivan and for that, the clawed beast of Anxiety quelled its squeezing around Raivis's heart.

Until he heard that name. "Oh." He was slowly rotating in place as he heard the pound of the American's footsteps. So harsh, too loud. Expected, but not here and God, not now. Ivan, beside him, was still. Predatory in the way a wolf spotted another of its kind and knew it must bare its teeth or be gutted.

"Wh-"

The smack against the table was startlingly violent.

Compared to the abrupt gentility of the palm on his face, Raivis would have gladly rather been that table instead. His cheeks flushed scarlet and he would have drawn back with a stuttering rebuke if- was the boy winking at him-? There was a touch to his hair and well alright, he would have been able to handle that if there hadn't been lips abruptly pressing into his. Blisteringly hot. Not Ivan's. Not Peter's.

Opening one's mouth to say 'no' when being kissed apparently did not equate to 'stop'.