Advent Drabble for kaellite!
Title: Red
Author: softly_sweetly
Pairing: Neville/Albus Severus
Length: ~350
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: The characters contained herein are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no money from this piece of fanfiction.
Warnings/Kinks: Cross Gen, Suggestion, Teacher/Student
Summary: At least Neville was going to die happy
Author Notes: Counts to prompt #95 Restless from my 100quills Next Generation Table
Advent Drabble for kaellite!
Neville was dying. It wasn't the food - although he'd eaten far too much as usual. It wasn't the drink - although he'd drank far too much. As usual.
It was Al's lips. Whether it was the cold, the juice he was drinking, the cranberry sauce, whatever it was, they seemed incredibly red. And lickable. And there were some things you just shouldn't do over Christmas Dinner at Hogwarts. Lick a Potter's lips was definitely one of them. Even though Al kept looking at him. And Neville would swear that Al was making little kissy faces when no one else was looking.
Finally McGonagall stood up and excused herself, and Neville decided it was okay for him to flee the table too; he couldn't sit in restless silence any longer, pretending that he wasn't about to burst. On all fronts. He didn't know if Al was following him, but he hoped not. In his rush to get somewhere private to deal with the problem in his pants, he'd tripped over his own feet twice, and banged off the walls more times than was normal. In his defence, though, he couldn't walk straight; such was the effect of Al's peacocking on him.
"Are you busy, Professor Longbottom?"
Neville swore under his breath and counted to five. Al was infuriating; always there to see Neville losing his composure. Usually the cause of Neville losing his composure, but that didn't mean Neville wanted him to see it. Neville wanted to be the suave older man.
"Only, you haven't unwrapped your Christmas present from me."
Neville had received a lovely book from Al, James and Lily, and a plant from Harry and Ginny. But the tone of Al's voice suggested he wasn't referring to a book, or a plant. Or anything Neville could open in polite company. Quickly warding the classroom door - and he'd not be able to look the potions teacher in the eye for weeks - Neville turned around slowly.
To match the red lips that had been driving Neville to distraction all afternoon, there was now a red bow, wrapped strategically around Neville's favourite part of Al. And absolutely nothing else.
"Merry Christmas, Professor."
At least Neville was going to die happy.
Author: softly_sweetly
Pairing: Neville/Albus Severus
Length: ~350
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: The characters contained herein are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no money from this piece of fanfiction.
Warnings/Kinks: Cross Gen, Suggestion, Teacher/Student
Summary: At least Neville was going to die happy
Author Notes: Counts to prompt #95 Restless from my 100quills Next Generation Table
Advent Drabble for kaellite!
Neville was dying. It wasn't the food - although he'd eaten far too much as usual. It wasn't the drink - although he'd drank far too much. As usual.
It was Al's lips. Whether it was the cold, the juice he was drinking, the cranberry sauce, whatever it was, they seemed incredibly red. And lickable. And there were some things you just shouldn't do over Christmas Dinner at Hogwarts. Lick a Potter's lips was definitely one of them. Even though Al kept looking at him. And Neville would swear that Al was making little kissy faces when no one else was looking.
Finally McGonagall stood up and excused herself, and Neville decided it was okay for him to flee the table too; he couldn't sit in restless silence any longer, pretending that he wasn't about to burst. On all fronts. He didn't know if Al was following him, but he hoped not. In his rush to get somewhere private to deal with the problem in his pants, he'd tripped over his own feet twice, and banged off the walls more times than was normal. In his defence, though, he couldn't walk straight; such was the effect of Al's peacocking on him.
"Are you busy, Professor Longbottom?"
Neville swore under his breath and counted to five. Al was infuriating; always there to see Neville losing his composure. Usually the cause of Neville losing his composure, but that didn't mean Neville wanted him to see it. Neville wanted to be the suave older man.
"Only, you haven't unwrapped your Christmas present from me."
Neville had received a lovely book from Al, James and Lily, and a plant from Harry and Ginny. But the tone of Al's voice suggested he wasn't referring to a book, or a plant. Or anything Neville could open in polite company. Quickly warding the classroom door - and he'd not be able to look the potions teacher in the eye for weeks - Neville turned around slowly.
To match the red lips that had been driving Neville to distraction all afternoon, there was now a red bow, wrapped strategically around Neville's favourite part of Al. And absolutely nothing else.
"Merry Christmas, Professor."
At least Neville was going to die happy.