Seventeen Again, Part 3: Into the Woods (Closed RP - James / Sirius...and James/Sirius)
((Continued from here, the post o' bathtime fun! This thread will likely be NC-17. Because it's young!Sirius and James.))
Sirius had always loved the forests of the Scottish highlands. He had grown up in the city, and while London had its fair share of green areas, there was nothing like the tall trees, craggy peaks, mossy green ground cover, and clear lochs of the north of Scotland for clearing a bloke's mind. It was everything his family had avoided, preferring to take their holidays in areas where the well-to-do witches and wizards could flaunt their position - and their blood purity, of course.
The journey by broomstick had been nothing short of fantastic, gorgeous scenery rushing under their feet, James's skilled manoeuvers dipping them low and then high to reach the best vantage point. He and James hadn't said much to each other, preferring instead to enjoy the views in comfortable silence. It was nice, really nice, just sitting there, arms wrapped lightly around James's waist, watching the trees and the lochs as they passed beneath their feet.
The place where they landed was the perfect spot for a no-luxury camping trip. It was right at the edge of a small loch backed by a rich forest, with an area between the two that was clear and grassy, perfect for sleeping out under the stars.
When they landed, Sirius untied the bags of gear they brought, which had been bewitched to make them featherlight. The contents were mainly foodstuffs the house-elves had kindly prepared, as well as a large crate of Firewhisky. There was also a tent in case they wanted a bit of shelter, as well as some blankets, clothes, and other personal items. And tucked into a pocket of one of the bags was a small vial of gillyweed, something Sirius had managed to nick on the way out, but didn't tell James about. Not yet.
Sirius breathed in deeply. Fresh air. A week to themselves. No one to answer to. No particular time to wake up by. No appointments to keep. They could do anything they wanted to.
He looked down at his hands, so smooth and young, the skin unmarred by signs of many long years of neglect. Then he looked up at James and smiled. "It's your week, Prongs. What shall we do first?"
Sirius had always loved the forests of the Scottish highlands. He had grown up in the city, and while London had its fair share of green areas, there was nothing like the tall trees, craggy peaks, mossy green ground cover, and clear lochs of the north of Scotland for clearing a bloke's mind. It was everything his family had avoided, preferring to take their holidays in areas where the well-to-do witches and wizards could flaunt their position - and their blood purity, of course.
The journey by broomstick had been nothing short of fantastic, gorgeous scenery rushing under their feet, James's skilled manoeuvers dipping them low and then high to reach the best vantage point. He and James hadn't said much to each other, preferring instead to enjoy the views in comfortable silence. It was nice, really nice, just sitting there, arms wrapped lightly around James's waist, watching the trees and the lochs as they passed beneath their feet.
The place where they landed was the perfect spot for a no-luxury camping trip. It was right at the edge of a small loch backed by a rich forest, with an area between the two that was clear and grassy, perfect for sleeping out under the stars.
When they landed, Sirius untied the bags of gear they brought, which had been bewitched to make them featherlight. The contents were mainly foodstuffs the house-elves had kindly prepared, as well as a large crate of Firewhisky. There was also a tent in case they wanted a bit of shelter, as well as some blankets, clothes, and other personal items. And tucked into a pocket of one of the bags was a small vial of gillyweed, something Sirius had managed to nick on the way out, but didn't tell James about. Not yet.
Sirius breathed in deeply. Fresh air. A week to themselves. No one to answer to. No particular time to wake up by. No appointments to keep. They could do anything they wanted to.
He looked down at his hands, so smooth and young, the skin unmarred by signs of many long years of neglect. Then he looked up at James and smiled. "It's your week, Prongs. What shall we do first?"