Blanketforts #01
I cannot believe I am doing this. Why am I doing this? This will be such a hellishly busy month. Oh well, anything to get me writing, even if I am writing crap.
The title doesn't make sense. Neither, really, does the fact that the first R/S fic I write for this R/S challenge is from James' point of view.
Title: Last Man Standing
Prompt: #01, "New Year's Day Hangover"
Warning:A bit of language, implications of slash.
Length: About 400 words.
Summary: In which James contemplates interspecies orgies, ladies' undergarments adorn the Gryffindor boy's dorm and Peter feels smug.
“Salazar’s big hairy bollocks,” said James, in a hoarse whisper, “no one is allowed to speak.”
The vestiges of their night were littered around them, party crackers blending in with empty bottles and several, inexplicable pieces of ladies’ undergarments. Through the spinning of the room, he noticed that one of them was a charming pair of emerald knickers. Even if it felt a fire salamander had crawled into his mouth, he noted that they would have looked charming on Evans; James’ tenacity boggled even him on occasion.
Peter sniffled as he woke, sending an empty biscuit tin clattering. James winced.
“Not planning to, old boy,” Peter said before shutting his eyes once more.
For a long moment, the only sounds were the pair’s hash breathing.
James felt that, by rights, the marching band taken residence in his skull should have been audible, but it wasn’t. It seemed only to cause him immense pain.
“James?” Peter groaned, “Where are Remus n’ Sirius?”
“Shouldn’t worry ‘bout Padfoot,” he said, blindly grasping for his glasses, “’member where we found the plonker last year? Naked in the kitchens, save for a tea-cosy, and surrounded by fawning house-elves.”
He found the frames and put them on, “Leave him to his interspecies orgies this time.”
Peter shuddered, “Right, but Moony’s pretty good about-“
A ragged moan interrupted his sentence. Suddenly, the room was filled with wet sounds of skin and a frankly traumatizing slurping noise.
“Fucker,” said James, with feeling.
“You stupid wanker!” James shouted, despite his own head’s fervent protest, “Get the fucking bird out of our fucking room or work on your goddamn silencing spells, Sirius!”
The sounds stilled.
Peter mused, “Sirius is accounted for, but that doesn’t explain Moony.”
A snort of laughter emerged from beneath Sirius’ curtains.
Remus poked his head out with an offensively cheerful smile on his face, “It sure does!”
James forced his brain to ignore the silver brassiere that Moony wore, hanging off of his thin shoulders. He especially didn’t acknowledge how the color complemented the puckered silver of Remus’ scars.
Remus recast the silencing spell, but not before they heard Sirius saying, in a sultry voice that James never wanted to hear, “C’mere, you.”
James lay his head back against a bottle of Ogden’s Old.
“I’m disowning them. Out of the Marauders. Wormtail, you are now my main man.”
“For shagging?”
“No! For effectively making me the last one who is a fucking virgin!”
Peter grinned.
The title doesn't make sense. Neither, really, does the fact that the first R/S fic I write for this R/S challenge is from James' point of view.
Title: Last Man Standing
Prompt: #01, "New Year's Day Hangover"
Warning:A bit of language, implications of slash.
Length: About 400 words.
Summary: In which James contemplates interspecies orgies, ladies' undergarments adorn the Gryffindor boy's dorm and Peter feels smug.
“Salazar’s big hairy bollocks,” said James, in a hoarse whisper, “no one is allowed to speak.”
The vestiges of their night were littered around them, party crackers blending in with empty bottles and several, inexplicable pieces of ladies’ undergarments. Through the spinning of the room, he noticed that one of them was a charming pair of emerald knickers. Even if it felt a fire salamander had crawled into his mouth, he noted that they would have looked charming on Evans; James’ tenacity boggled even him on occasion.
Peter sniffled as he woke, sending an empty biscuit tin clattering. James winced.
“Not planning to, old boy,” Peter said before shutting his eyes once more.
For a long moment, the only sounds were the pair’s hash breathing.
James felt that, by rights, the marching band taken residence in his skull should have been audible, but it wasn’t. It seemed only to cause him immense pain.
“James?” Peter groaned, “Where are Remus n’ Sirius?”
“Shouldn’t worry ‘bout Padfoot,” he said, blindly grasping for his glasses, “’member where we found the plonker last year? Naked in the kitchens, save for a tea-cosy, and surrounded by fawning house-elves.”
He found the frames and put them on, “Leave him to his interspecies orgies this time.”
Peter shuddered, “Right, but Moony’s pretty good about-“
A ragged moan interrupted his sentence. Suddenly, the room was filled with wet sounds of skin and a frankly traumatizing slurping noise.
“Fucker,” said James, with feeling.
“You stupid wanker!” James shouted, despite his own head’s fervent protest, “Get the fucking bird out of our fucking room or work on your goddamn silencing spells, Sirius!”
The sounds stilled.
Peter mused, “Sirius is accounted for, but that doesn’t explain Moony.”
A snort of laughter emerged from beneath Sirius’ curtains.
Remus poked his head out with an offensively cheerful smile on his face, “It sure does!”
James forced his brain to ignore the silver brassiere that Moony wore, hanging off of his thin shoulders. He especially didn’t acknowledge how the color complemented the puckered silver of Remus’ scars.
Remus recast the silencing spell, but not before they heard Sirius saying, in a sultry voice that James never wanted to hear, “C’mere, you.”
James lay his head back against a bottle of Ogden’s Old.
“I’m disowning them. Out of the Marauders. Wormtail, you are now my main man.”
“For shagging?”
“No! For effectively making me the last one who is a fucking virgin!”
Peter grinned.