(Untitled)

[perfect_paris]

WHEN: Week 02, 'Whites of His Eyes' / Friday, December 16th, 2008, 3:34 pm
WHERE: The Quidditch pitch
WHO: Paracchus (aka, the battling Alpha males)

Comments

[godofwines]

Speaking of...

A not so pretty Hawkins relation was also stalking around the field. Well, not stalking. He was jogging. Wearing his normal practice clothes (a tight-fitting under-armor shirt with some baggy grey sweats and a dark blue skull-cap-- he thought it made him look pretty damn sexy, thanks).

And what did we have here? Well, if it wasn't a poncey little Slytherin captain! Not to mention, a poncey little Slytherin captain who was reportedly fucking his cousin.

Oh, Paris was in for a treat.

Coming to a slow down as he neared the other boy (who was, apparently, just walking around the field? Call that a 'workout', Valmont??) Bacchus stopped next to the boy, clapping him on the shoulder in what might've been a friendly greeting.

"Hey there, asshole," he said, sweetly, as if he were, again, greeting a very dear friend. "Workin' the claves, I see?" he asked, wiping some sweat from his forehead, his voice dripping with sarcasm almost as much as his brow.

[perfect_paris]

He wasn't attempting to workout, he would have everyone know! Paris was simply... leisurely thinking. Yes, that was a good way of putting it.

But oh? What was this? Well if it wasn't that country-bumpkin, Bacchus.

Ewwww.

"Don't touch me," Paris said quickly with a sneer as he retreated backward a little bit. His hand immediately moved to brush his shoulder off. He chose to ignore Bacchus' sarcastic comment. "Hmph. I would hate to throw my designer jacket away because of you."

Christ, how was Donovan related to Illiad? It didn't make any logical sense. Hogwarts' Greek god was the cousin of this thick-headed dunce? How sad!

"What do you want, Donovan? Shouldn't you be continuing your little... jog, if that's what it is?" Paris hissed, as he pulled his gloves on tighter. "Wouldn't want Gryffindor to lose the next Quidditch game from your lack of... practice."

[godofwines]

Leisurely thinking did not win Quidditch matches! If it did, Ravenclaw would be at the top of the stats, wouldn't they? But, no, Gryffindor had beaten them last time and by a fair amount, too!

Bacchus made sure to wipe his sweaty hand directly on Paris this time, now that he knew the jacket was designer. "Throw this rag out? Ye mean ye didn't find it in the garbage already?" It really was an ugly thing, Bacchus thought. Made Paris look like a girl-- wait... he wasn't one? Confusing! These Slytherins and their androgyny! Oh well.

"What do I want? Nah, love, think we're talking about your wants today. For instance-- might we say-- what do you want from my cousin?" he asked, sneering and clapping his hand on Paris' shoulders again, but this time not letting go.

"See... rumor has it you and he was doing the wallepokonua down there in your cozy dungeon. so, I think a wee lil' talk might be in order for you and me, pretty boy."

[perfect_paris]

Paris narrowed his eyes dangerously at Bacchus. Oh, he had some nerve to call his splendiforous jacket a rag. He clicked his tongue out of sheer annoyance.

"That's rich," he drawled, rolling his eyes. "Unfortunately this 'rag' is worth your weight in galleons, maybe more."

He winced again when Bacchus chose to clap him on the shoulder again. Ugh, he hated the very sight of it. What did he want to know, anyway? Sure, Paris was fucking Illiad, but what did that have to do with Donovan? Aside from the obvious, overprotective role that he liked to play.

"And what," spat Paris as he quickly shrugged Bacchus' hand off of his shoulder. "do you even think you and I have to talk about? I'd rather not waste my breath on an imbecile like you."

He smirked proudly. "Besides, what Illiad and I do is none of your business, Donovan."

Paris straightened the front of his jacket before putting his hands in his pockets in an attempt to stay warm.