RP: Man After Midnight
Characters: Neville Longbottom, Mystery guest (NPC)
Location: Diagon Alley, Knockturn Alley
Date: August 3, 1999
Status: Private
Summary: Neville has a rude awakening.
Completion: Complete
Neville heard his name, and looked up from the list he was making during afternoon tea at the little shop around the corner from Gulliver's. A somewhat familiar face was grinning down at him. "Didn't realize you worked nearby, or else I'd have been by to see you sooner."
"Er, right." Neville gave a tentative smile, which resulted in a chair scraping out and his new friend joining him. "Sorry, my memory's a bit shaky. Where do I know you from?"
A laugh." Oh, right, like I believe that. Not going to give me the brush off, not after that snog."
Neville gaped. "I. What? When? Where?" He honestly had no idea what was going on, felt like he'd had a bad memory charm. The face, grinning and teasing, was definitely familiar, but he couldn't remember where.
"Last Saturday night. Down at Three Broomsticks. You remember." A pause. "Wait, you really don't remember?"
"I er, had a bit to drink. More than normal. Some stuff's fuzzy for me." Neville said awkwardly, not meeting the concerned gaze across from him. A hand grasped his, tugging him to his feet.
"Maybe this will remind you." Low words spoken, then lips, soft and warm and slightly chapped, were pressed to his. He started, then stilled as the sensory stimuli brought to the surface some memories...
A low groan. Heavy breathing. "Watched you all night joking with that blonde." Smacking noises as lips trailed down his neck. "Bet she's never done this to you." A tongue, tasting faintly of coffee, tangled with his, and Neville leaned into it, eagerly, chasing after the taste.
"What took you so long?" The voice grumbled. "I had to drink three butterbeers while I was waiting. Hard to piss when you've a hard on." The words jolted Neville, and he backed away, staring at the disheveled brunette before him. His eyes were half-lidded, and he gave Neville a sexy smile, licking his lips. Neville stepped back again, breathing hard as he struggled to assimilate what he was seeing. He bumped his head on the side of the building, and the pain, combined with the encroaching vertigo of having his eyes shut while this bloke tried to suck his tonsils out was too much. He turned to the side and vomited, retching as the drink of the evening came back up. He felt a hand at his back, steadying him, and he concentrated on not falling in the puddle he'd just made.
"Here. " A glass of water appeared in his peripheral, and he took it, hand shaking, and rinsed his mouth out. The man spelled it away, then took Neville by the arm, half-guiding, half-carrying him to the rooms around back. He opened one, dragging Neville to the bed. "You're in no shape for anything. I'll go tell Rosie yer back here, and we'll finish this some other time, yeah?" Which was all Neville remembered before he promptly passed out.
Neville felt the kiss break, and he looked at the man in front of him, looking a bit unsure, then giving him a slight smile. "Reckon it must not have been as good for you as it was for me, if you don't even remember me."
"I do." The words escaped him before he could save himself and claim ignorance. "Sorry, I do. Just now. Only..."
"Only what?" The man asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Why me?" Neville blurted, mind a jumbled swirl of memories from that night, of chatting with the bloke when most everyone had gone and he was very cheerfully staying put, knowing he couldn't safely apparate or floo, and Gran would have his head anyway.
The man looked startled, then grinned. "Yer having me on. Good looking bloke like you, great to talk to. Why not you?" He reached a hand out, touching Neville's arm. "Listen, I know its a bit of a shock, seeing as you only just now remembered, but I'd like to see you again."
"I- I can't- I don't- I like girls!" Neville blurted, eyes wide in panic. The man looked a bit taken aback by that, and laughed shortly. "Right. You like em so much that after they all left, without you pulling, mind, you and I had a snog and a grope out back." He stepped back close to Neville, arm snaking around his waist to pull him in tight. Neville's lungs seized when he felt the man's hard-on pressing against him. He stared the man in the eyes, frozen.
"Well." The man released him, ran a hand through his tousled hair, then stuck a hand out to shake, which Neville did automatically. "Name's Rhys Jameson."
"Neville Longbottom." He replied, still unable to figure out what was going on. The man had tried, and very nearly succeeded in pulling him?
"I know." At the look on Neville's face, Rhys said impatiently, "No, I'm not one of those hero groupies. Just ask anyone." Neville nodded slowly. Then Rhys really had sought him out because he fancied him.
"Listen, I know this had all been a bad start, but..." He handed over a card, which Neville noticed had his name, and place of employment, and a floo address. "Floo me sometime. When you realize you don't like girls as much as you think you do." Rhys walked away, and Neville shut his eyes, trying to wish it away as a bad dream. Only, when he opened them, they fixed immediately on the retreating arse of one Rhys Jameson, potionmaker in Knockturn Alley, who'd given Neville the most memorable snog of his life.
Location: Diagon Alley, Knockturn Alley
Date: August 3, 1999
Status: Private
Summary: Neville has a rude awakening.
Completion: Complete
Neville heard his name, and looked up from the list he was making during afternoon tea at the little shop around the corner from Gulliver's. A somewhat familiar face was grinning down at him. "Didn't realize you worked nearby, or else I'd have been by to see you sooner."
"Er, right." Neville gave a tentative smile, which resulted in a chair scraping out and his new friend joining him. "Sorry, my memory's a bit shaky. Where do I know you from?"
A laugh." Oh, right, like I believe that. Not going to give me the brush off, not after that snog."
Neville gaped. "I. What? When? Where?" He honestly had no idea what was going on, felt like he'd had a bad memory charm. The face, grinning and teasing, was definitely familiar, but he couldn't remember where.
"Last Saturday night. Down at Three Broomsticks. You remember." A pause. "Wait, you really don't remember?"
"I er, had a bit to drink. More than normal. Some stuff's fuzzy for me." Neville said awkwardly, not meeting the concerned gaze across from him. A hand grasped his, tugging him to his feet.
"Maybe this will remind you." Low words spoken, then lips, soft and warm and slightly chapped, were pressed to his. He started, then stilled as the sensory stimuli brought to the surface some memories...
A low groan. Heavy breathing. "Watched you all night joking with that blonde." Smacking noises as lips trailed down his neck. "Bet she's never done this to you." A tongue, tasting faintly of coffee, tangled with his, and Neville leaned into it, eagerly, chasing after the taste.
"What took you so long?" The voice grumbled. "I had to drink three butterbeers while I was waiting. Hard to piss when you've a hard on." The words jolted Neville, and he backed away, staring at the disheveled brunette before him. His eyes were half-lidded, and he gave Neville a sexy smile, licking his lips. Neville stepped back again, breathing hard as he struggled to assimilate what he was seeing. He bumped his head on the side of the building, and the pain, combined with the encroaching vertigo of having his eyes shut while this bloke tried to suck his tonsils out was too much. He turned to the side and vomited, retching as the drink of the evening came back up. He felt a hand at his back, steadying him, and he concentrated on not falling in the puddle he'd just made.
"Here. " A glass of water appeared in his peripheral, and he took it, hand shaking, and rinsed his mouth out. The man spelled it away, then took Neville by the arm, half-guiding, half-carrying him to the rooms around back. He opened one, dragging Neville to the bed. "You're in no shape for anything. I'll go tell Rosie yer back here, and we'll finish this some other time, yeah?" Which was all Neville remembered before he promptly passed out.
Neville felt the kiss break, and he looked at the man in front of him, looking a bit unsure, then giving him a slight smile. "Reckon it must not have been as good for you as it was for me, if you don't even remember me."
"I do." The words escaped him before he could save himself and claim ignorance. "Sorry, I do. Just now. Only..."
"Only what?" The man asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Why me?" Neville blurted, mind a jumbled swirl of memories from that night, of chatting with the bloke when most everyone had gone and he was very cheerfully staying put, knowing he couldn't safely apparate or floo, and Gran would have his head anyway.
The man looked startled, then grinned. "Yer having me on. Good looking bloke like you, great to talk to. Why not you?" He reached a hand out, touching Neville's arm. "Listen, I know its a bit of a shock, seeing as you only just now remembered, but I'd like to see you again."
"I- I can't- I don't- I like girls!" Neville blurted, eyes wide in panic. The man looked a bit taken aback by that, and laughed shortly. "Right. You like em so much that after they all left, without you pulling, mind, you and I had a snog and a grope out back." He stepped back close to Neville, arm snaking around his waist to pull him in tight. Neville's lungs seized when he felt the man's hard-on pressing against him. He stared the man in the eyes, frozen.
"Well." The man released him, ran a hand through his tousled hair, then stuck a hand out to shake, which Neville did automatically. "Name's Rhys Jameson."
"Neville Longbottom." He replied, still unable to figure out what was going on. The man had tried, and very nearly succeeded in pulling him?
"I know." At the look on Neville's face, Rhys said impatiently, "No, I'm not one of those hero groupies. Just ask anyone." Neville nodded slowly. Then Rhys really had sought him out because he fancied him.
"Listen, I know this had all been a bad start, but..." He handed over a card, which Neville noticed had his name, and place of employment, and a floo address. "Floo me sometime. When you realize you don't like girls as much as you think you do." Rhys walked away, and Neville shut his eyes, trying to wish it away as a bad dream. Only, when he opened them, they fixed immediately on the retreating arse of one Rhys Jameson, potionmaker in Knockturn Alley, who'd given Neville the most memorable snog of his life.