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Chapter 2 : A hickey from Blackey
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Chapter 2. A hickey from Blackey
"So," Lily Evans croaks, clears her voice, and blows a strand of blood-red hair out of her insanely green eyes.
"So," I repeat, mirroring the girl by clearing my own voice as well.
"Did we...?" She doesn't finish her whispered question, she just does this weird biting thing on her lip. Prongs would've had a heart attack if he were here; he loves it when she does that. I think it looks stupid.
"Thought so," she says, giving a sigh while she removes her hand from my chest(finally!) and starts rubbing her temple. "My head bloody hurts..."
"Two bottles of firewhiskey, and a flask of meade'll do that to you," I tell her, silently vowing to never touch either one again. Or her, for that matter.
"Two bottles?" she breathes, then she groans while burying her face in the pillow.
I don't mind it. I prefer not to look into those strange eyes, and be reminded of how many times Prongs has bored me, Moony and Wormtail to death talking about them. Let me just say that the lad has got a lot of synonyms for "green", "big" and "pretty".
"Hmmp pmh whm dhymph moh hmph!"
What the hell?
Is she having a seizure? Some type of female meltdown? Because I'm no good at those situations. Tears, and feelings(one of the most terrifying words in the English language) are equally scary as Lily Evans's eyes; and that makes this situation twice as horrible.
"Excuse me?" I say carefully, hoping to find her gigantic eyes dry.
She barely lifts her head. But I note that she's not crying. Thank Godric.
"Why did we have to drink that much!"
And her face is hidden again. She's turning her whole body facing down on the mattress, and I lose my cool for a moment.
Evans's bum is(just as her front was a moment ago) completely exposed, and when I notice this I make a gurgling noise that suspiciously resembles choking.
I need to look away, I know that. Staring at her is wrong; on more levels than I care to count.
Yet, the sight before me is so tempting.
Soft, round, creamy...-
- is that my hand?
"What are you doing?"
"Nothing." I quickly retrieve my treacherous hand, drying off the feel of her skin on the sheets covering my lower body.
"Didn't get enough last night, did you?"
Why doesn't she sound mad when she says this? I bet she's still drunk.
"Eehm..." Great, Sirius. That's real intelligent. "I-I, errh."
Good God, man! Pull yourself together! It's just an arse; you've seen tons of them before.
Three, two, one...
"I dunno. Did I?" I ask her, smirking now that her face isn't tinted with mockery. "I can't really remember."
Evans scrunches up her face. It makes her look like a squirrel. A squirrel with patches of grass for eyes, and blood pouring out of its head. A dead squirrel, in other words.
"Do you..." My words falter when I get another surge of pain shooting through my head. "I mean, can you remember anything, or...?"
Squirrel-Evans bites on her thumb nail while looking far off into nothingness, her brows pulled down.
"Not alot," she admits.
I squint my eyes at her.
"You can't remember a thing, can you?"
"No." She pauses. After tugging the sheets over her bum(I thank thee, Merlin!), she sits up. One hand holds the sheets over her chest like a towel, securing it in place.
Good. Then maybe I can get my head back in order.
"But," Evans starts, her face back to its normal squirrel-free self, "if neither one of us can remember anything, how do you know that we-"
"Oh, I know," I say, giving a humorless laugh.
"And how, may I ask?"
I hate it when she gets all holier-than-thou and stuck-up.
Without a word I lean out of the bed a bit, my sheets dropping slightly and exposes my abs(that are quite marvellous, I must admit. I'm shocked she can keep her hands off, really), and I sweep the floor with my hand until I find what I'm looking for. Because I know it's there - it always ends up there.
Aha, here we are. My hand closes around the plastic wrappings, and I lift it up to show them to her.
"That proof enough for you, Evans?" I raise my brows. Hers does the same, but they seem to disappear under that insane hair.
"How many are there?" she whispers hoarsely.
I open my hand and count.
"Oh, no wait," I scan the floor by the bed again, "five."
"F-five..." she mutters to herself, and squirms uncomfortably. She's got her feet on the ground now, and I focus all my brainpower to make her get up and leave.
Lily Evans, you want to go away! Leave Sirius Black alone! You are not-
A hiss of momentary pain escapes Evans's lips, and I instantly snap into the present. I didn't mean to use my powers to hurt her. I better be more careful about using it in the future... It's stronger than I thought.
"Five," she repeats for the second time, an uncomfortable expression on her face. "No wonder I'm sore..."
And then I see it. Just as Evans moves her neck to loosen up a tight muscle, I notice a giant, sickly purple, uneven circle. A hickey.
Yes. That is my signature mark right there, there's no doubt about that. I might as well have written my name on her forehead in huge block letters:
'HERE WALKS SIRIUS BLACK'S LATEST SHAG. THAT'S RIGHT, JAMES POTTER; YOU NOW NEED TO MURDER YOUR BEST MATE.'
I can picture it in my head.
"I've got a massive hickey on my neck, don't I?"
I realise I've been staring at Evans's neck for two minutes straight, and quickly set my eyes on my toes(which are peeking out of the end of the sheets). I wiggle them. I need something else to do other than stare at Evans's bodyparts; which is harder than one might think.
Evans is looking at me, I can feel her poisonous eyes(they look like cauldrons full of toxic waste) latching onto me like a leech.
I tend to describe her as animals and insects; it's the eyes. Eyes that are way too big for a human. She must therefore be an animal.
Conclusion: I just had sex with an animal.
That. Is. Gross.
And I take it back.
"It's that bad?" she asks, trying to find the spot with her fingers. "Ouch!"
I think that answers your question.
"What are you, a vampire?" Evans hisses as she jumps off my bed(Hallelujah!) and rushes over to the mirror by the door. "Black! What the hell?!" she cries when she sees the damage I've done to her neck.
I grasp this opportunity to find my boxers(which are under her pillow - I do not want to know how they got there) and yank them on in a flash. My head throbs with every move, but I try to ignore it.
"Are you fucking serious?!" She's staring at me through the mirror while poking the giant hickey.
"Yeah, I am," I say, and let out a laugh. That's right, I still find that funny.
It feels as if my insides are shriveling up and dying from the look Evans is giving me now. Her eyes hold black magic.
"This is not funny! You are not funny!"
"Fuck you, I'm hilarious."
"You already did that, and no, you are not."
"And this-" she points at the hickey, "- is so far from humorous that-"
"Would you relax?" I cut her off, she doesn't look too pleased about that.
"Relax? Relax?!" she shrieks, she's the complete opposite of relaxed. "You've mutilated me, and I'm just supposed to laugh it off?"
But I don't think that's the right answer.
"No?" I say tryingly, cowering a bit under her vicious glare.
"No buts!" she interrupts while getting a better grip on the sheets she's now wearing as a dress. I try not to notice that it's completely see-through.
"Ehhm..." My eyes seem to be drawn back to her badly hidden private areas every time I drag them away. I'm fighing a battle I already know is lost. But I'm a bloody ninja-wizard, and I'm nothing if I can't at least keep fighting.
"Oh, I forgot how stupid you are..." Evans mutters under her breath as she rolls her eyes. "Where are my clothes?"
I became a bloody Animagus at the age of fourteen, you daft squirrel/insect/poisonous bimbo!
I shrug my shoulders at her question; I know it'll annoy her more than any verbal response ever would.
"Fine," she growls. Her eyes are flashing around frantically until she finds my Quidditch jumper hanging from the poster on Prongs's bed. She snatches it and pulls it over her head. Her attire is now so comical I have to bite my tongue to not roar out laughing.
"That looks....nice," I say in a strained voice, and clasp my hand over my mouth. I'm smiling, and I can't help it. She looks like a squirrel/insect now more than ever.
With my very large jumper reaching her to her knees, she's wriggling out of the sheets; I let out a chuckle while watching the ridiculous dance.
Now that they fall to the floor, her legs are bare, and I can't help but note that my jumper looks better on her than it does on me. That shuts me up pretty quickly.
Jumper on sweaty, smelly, Quidditch playing bloke: normal.
Jumper on naked bird: holy fucking hippogriff, that's hot.
She sees where my eyes are directed, and crosses her arms over her chest impatiently. Sweet Merlin, the jumper's riding up when she does that.
"When you find my clothes and my wand," she begins while opening the door out of the dormitory, "come find me."
Did I just nod?
I don't know.
What I do know is that she's leaving the room, and I'm still sitting here on the bed, staring into thin air. Like some crestfallen loverboy. Which I'm not. I'm a man. And men don't look 'crestfallen', we grunt and spit.
I throw myself back on the bed, giving a very masculine grunt as I do so. With scowling eyes I look up into the canopy, trying to figure out a way of never letting Prongs know what happened between me and the redheaded squirrel of his dreams.
Killing Evans might be a little drastic.
Coming clean would be even worse.
I'm not good at confunding people; I proved this when I tried it once on Reg when he was ten. He had to learn to read again. So that's out the window.
Maybe I can just transform her into a mop, or something?
I admit; I'm a bad planner. Prongs is always the master planner. I come up with the idea, he finds out how to execute it.
That's not really a possibility this time.
If it hadn't been for that bloody firewhiskey, I wouldn't be in this mess right now.
And what do we think? :) I'd love to get your opinion, cause I've never written in a guy's pov before :p
Thank you for reading!
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