Fic: Irony; October 1
Title: Irony
Author: apohdiopsis
Pairing: Lily/Sirius, Lily/James (one-sided), James/Sirius (friendship)
Rating: hard R/soft NC-17
Word Count: 500-ish
Prompt: Day One
Warnings: angst, underage sex, drunk!smut, language
Summary: Goal number four--accomplished. (In retrospect, it should have been more specific.)
Author's Notes: My goal is to write one fic per prompt. Unfortunately, so far I've been focusing more on the "mishaps" than the "happenings."
It isn't that they've known each other since they were barely eleven. She remembers the years when his long hair wasn't fashionably devil-may-care, just neglected, like the rest of him. He's well-aware that the two slight bumps that pass for her breasts aren't promises of more to come; they're dramatic improvements, lending some little softness to her unfeminine angles. It doesn't matter. She isn't trying to be his dream girl. He firmly believes he's every woman's fantasy.
It isn't that they're drunk. No, that isn't a problem. That's the point, isn't it? He took a walk to clear his head and found himself in a Muggle pub--found straight-laced little-miss-perfect there, too, a drink in her hand and scorn in her eyes, but how could she fault him for starting what she'd nearly finished? She was arseholed by the time he was tipsy, sloshing ale over her shiny black shoes as she searched for the girls who'd brought her. (She never found them.) He offered to walk her home before she got into trouble. She offered him a drink. Stubborn girl, she always gets her way.
It isn't even the scratchiness of her lacy bedspread, the way her little-girl knickers bunch around her bony ankles, that bothers him. She has no fucking idea what she's doing--he knew she wouldn't--but she's so God-damn self-assured in her need that it doesn't matter. Her hands are everywhere, grasping and pulling, and the noises she's making aren't like the sounds women are supposed to make, but she doesn't know, doesn't care. She's trying to wank him and herself with the same hand, and it's all wrong, but, fuck, she's so hot when she's horny and trying so hard. He can't even bring himself to stop her until she starts keening into his shoulder and he has to silence her somehow so he tells her, quiet and blunt, a better use for her mouth.
No, mostly what's gnawing at him is the realization that, for the first time, he is completely alone in this. It isn't Padfoot and Prongs getting sorted into Gryffindor together anymore. Not Padfoot and Prongs pranking Slytherins by the lake. Not Padfoot and Prongs falling, in their own ways, head over heels for That Evans Girl. Because even if they both love her, it's Prongs, it's always been Prongs who gets to be the hero, to win the girl, to be a just a little more selfish than his mates.
So it isn't Padfoot and Prongs, anymore, doing everything together. It’s just Sirius Black learning the way Lily Evan's whole body contorts when she comes, again and again, on his fingers and his tongue. Just Sirius Black walking three blocks in the August heat to find a dark alley where he can signal the Knight Bus. Just Sirius Black alone with the certainty that James Potter will never, never forgive him for this.
Author: apohdiopsis
Pairing: Lily/Sirius, Lily/James (one-sided), James/Sirius (friendship)
Rating: hard R/soft NC-17
Word Count: 500-ish
Prompt: Day One
Warnings: angst, underage sex, drunk!smut, language
Summary: Goal number four--accomplished. (In retrospect, it should have been more specific.)
Author's Notes: My goal is to write one fic per prompt. Unfortunately, so far I've been focusing more on the "mishaps" than the "happenings."
It isn't that they've known each other since they were barely eleven. She remembers the years when his long hair wasn't fashionably devil-may-care, just neglected, like the rest of him. He's well-aware that the two slight bumps that pass for her breasts aren't promises of more to come; they're dramatic improvements, lending some little softness to her unfeminine angles. It doesn't matter. She isn't trying to be his dream girl. He firmly believes he's every woman's fantasy.
It isn't that they're drunk. No, that isn't a problem. That's the point, isn't it? He took a walk to clear his head and found himself in a Muggle pub--found straight-laced little-miss-perfect there, too, a drink in her hand and scorn in her eyes, but how could she fault him for starting what she'd nearly finished? She was arseholed by the time he was tipsy, sloshing ale over her shiny black shoes as she searched for the girls who'd brought her. (She never found them.) He offered to walk her home before she got into trouble. She offered him a drink. Stubborn girl, she always gets her way.
It isn't even the scratchiness of her lacy bedspread, the way her little-girl knickers bunch around her bony ankles, that bothers him. She has no fucking idea what she's doing--he knew she wouldn't--but she's so God-damn self-assured in her need that it doesn't matter. Her hands are everywhere, grasping and pulling, and the noises she's making aren't like the sounds women are supposed to make, but she doesn't know, doesn't care. She's trying to wank him and herself with the same hand, and it's all wrong, but, fuck, she's so hot when she's horny and trying so hard. He can't even bring himself to stop her until she starts keening into his shoulder and he has to silence her somehow so he tells her, quiet and blunt, a better use for her mouth.
No, mostly what's gnawing at him is the realization that, for the first time, he is completely alone in this. It isn't Padfoot and Prongs getting sorted into Gryffindor together anymore. Not Padfoot and Prongs pranking Slytherins by the lake. Not Padfoot and Prongs falling, in their own ways, head over heels for That Evans Girl. Because even if they both love her, it's Prongs, it's always been Prongs who gets to be the hero, to win the girl, to be a just a little more selfish than his mates.
So it isn't Padfoot and Prongs, anymore, doing everything together. It’s just Sirius Black learning the way Lily Evan's whole body contorts when she comes, again and again, on his fingers and his tongue. Just Sirius Black walking three blocks in the August heat to find a dark alley where he can signal the Knight Bus. Just Sirius Black alone with the certainty that James Potter will never, never forgive him for this.