Barefoot Boys Day Twelve
Title: Flight of Fancy
Author: rev02a
Rating: PG... although the folks at the Prophet disagree and say "R"
Warnings: Nothing much. I mean, other than my attempt at mocking mpreg.
Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine, not mine.
Prompt: Song Lyrics http://community.livejournal.com/barefootboys/90561.html
It’s Tuesday and Remus is proud to say that Sirius is now only slightly blue. His strange coloration has faded to awkward, oddly-placed spots of a drained blue nature. They sit on the backs of his hands, his elbows, all across his thighs, in his hairline, and, strangely, directly on his cheeks like some mutated Raggedy Anne and Andy doll.
In a day or two, he should be back to normal.
Ignoring the whole pregnancy thing, of course.
“It’s just not right,” Peter grumbles.
Lily looks very put upon while drowsing in the hot sun. “What’s that Pettigrew?” she mumbles, her lips sleep heavy.
“Blokes having babies. Just not on,” Peter continues.
Sirius snorts in irritation, or perhaps agreement, and rolls onto his side, away from his friend. James shakes his head and clears his throat, preparing to educate Peter on the highly confusing topic. Remus, however, stops him.
“Who is up for a bit of lunch?” Remus asks, hopping up out of the grass.
Sirius watches him straighten and then sticks his own hand up to be pulled up. When no one else volunteers to assist in sandwich making, Remus grabs Sirius’s hand and yanks him to his feet. Their progress is slow as they wind their way toward the house.
“It’s hot,” Sirius pants, wiping sweat from his bow.
Remus just nods, happy to open the door and let them into the cool house. They divide to different duties, years of friendship and lunch preparing lead them to take specific jobs without communication. Sirius is well into slicing tomatoes when Mr. Potter enters the kitchen.
“How are you feeling today, Sirius?” he asks, scrutinizing Sirius’s waist.
“Fine, sir,” Sirius replies without looking away from his task.
Mr. Potters nods and grins at Remus, “Want to have a look at the incubator?”
Remus sets down the knife he has acquired for spreading mustard and looks at the older wizard cautiously, “Incubator? Are you raising birds now?”
Mr. Potter looks at Remus incredulously before glancing back to Sirius and finding an identical confused expression.
“No, lads,” he begins slowly, “it’s for Sirius.”
“Pardon?” Sirius asks, turning, still holding the knife and tomato.
“Well, when eggs come out they have to incubate or whatever baby they’re holding will get cold and die.”
Remus notes that Sirius’s blue spots seem to be more pronounced at that moment. It’s almost as if he’s blanching.
“Eggs?” Sirius chokes.
“Right, lad. You didn’t really expect yourself to develop a uterus for this occasion?”
Sirius’s knife slices straight through the tomato and into his finger. “I’m laying eggs?”
Mr. Potter smiles brightly. “I knew you’d catch on!”
Sirius passes out.
Author: rev02a
Rating: PG... although the folks at the Prophet disagree and say "R"
Warnings: Nothing much. I mean, other than my attempt at mocking mpreg.
Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine, not mine.
Prompt: Song Lyrics http://community.livejournal.com/barefootboys/90561.html
It’s Tuesday and Remus is proud to say that Sirius is now only slightly blue. His strange coloration has faded to awkward, oddly-placed spots of a drained blue nature. They sit on the backs of his hands, his elbows, all across his thighs, in his hairline, and, strangely, directly on his cheeks like some mutated Raggedy Anne and Andy doll.
In a day or two, he should be back to normal.
Ignoring the whole pregnancy thing, of course.
“It’s just not right,” Peter grumbles.
Lily looks very put upon while drowsing in the hot sun. “What’s that Pettigrew?” she mumbles, her lips sleep heavy.
“Blokes having babies. Just not on,” Peter continues.
Sirius snorts in irritation, or perhaps agreement, and rolls onto his side, away from his friend. James shakes his head and clears his throat, preparing to educate Peter on the highly confusing topic. Remus, however, stops him.
“Who is up for a bit of lunch?” Remus asks, hopping up out of the grass.
Sirius watches him straighten and then sticks his own hand up to be pulled up. When no one else volunteers to assist in sandwich making, Remus grabs Sirius’s hand and yanks him to his feet. Their progress is slow as they wind their way toward the house.
“It’s hot,” Sirius pants, wiping sweat from his bow.
Remus just nods, happy to open the door and let them into the cool house. They divide to different duties, years of friendship and lunch preparing lead them to take specific jobs without communication. Sirius is well into slicing tomatoes when Mr. Potter enters the kitchen.
“How are you feeling today, Sirius?” he asks, scrutinizing Sirius’s waist.
“Fine, sir,” Sirius replies without looking away from his task.
Mr. Potters nods and grins at Remus, “Want to have a look at the incubator?”
Remus sets down the knife he has acquired for spreading mustard and looks at the older wizard cautiously, “Incubator? Are you raising birds now?”
Mr. Potter looks at Remus incredulously before glancing back to Sirius and finding an identical confused expression.
“No, lads,” he begins slowly, “it’s for Sirius.”
“Pardon?” Sirius asks, turning, still holding the knife and tomato.
“Well, when eggs come out they have to incubate or whatever baby they’re holding will get cold and die.”
Remus notes that Sirius’s blue spots seem to be more pronounced at that moment. It’s almost as if he’s blanching.
“Eggs?” Sirius chokes.
“Right, lad. You didn’t really expect yourself to develop a uterus for this occasion?”
Sirius’s knife slices straight through the tomato and into his finger. “I’m laying eggs?”
Mr. Potter smiles brightly. “I knew you’d catch on!”
Sirius passes out.