Keeper of the Cocks (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
torino10154) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
firewhiskeyfic2023-08-22 07:55 am
torino10154) wrote in firewhiskeyfic2023-08-22 07:55 am
Entry tags:
ENTRY #2
Title: destination unknown
Author:lq_traintracks
I am of legal drinking age in my region: Yep!
Pairing(s)/Characters/Fandom: HP: Teddy/James
Challenge/Prompts used: All of them, holy shit: Minerva McGonagall; Portkey; Sex on the Beach; Lost Luggage; Sweater Weather; Trains, Planes and Automobiles
Summary: They’re taking a trip together; they’re falling in love, or already there.
Rating/Warnings: Mature for some sexy tiems
Word count: 1,300
Author's Notes (if any): I don’t know why Minerva wouldn’t come when called. I mean, she’s a cat, I guess. Have these two boys in love instead! Thanks, mods! I needed a Firewhiskey night! <333
The train he’s okay with but not the car.
“Jamie, I’ve got this,” I say, palming the wheel but keeping it in park. He’s almost trembling.
I would have thought he’d love it, like I do. His dad taught me how to drive. We’d go way too fucking fast on the (checks UK map, one moment) ………. (Wiki blows, it’s talking about trunk roads??? Give me a name, damn you!) …..the M40, the M6, up to Manchester. Eat a load of hot chips, have a time of it, drive home.
I guess he never taught James. I wonder why. Kid can really fly.
“yOU’RE SAFE WITH ME,” I tell him with capslock on, so maybe I sound a bit scary after all.
“Teddy,” he says. The engine purrs. My hands are damp on the wheel. I want to get going. But I want him more.
He leans over, kisses me, not dirty like in the train right before he went down on me in our private compartment, but nice, hesitant.
“You’re safe,” I tell him again, normal this time, and when he nods, I wink at him and pull into traffic.
He loosens up a little bit into it, my hand on his knee, squeezing. He flips the radio on, and I turn it up. He digs my sunglasses out of the *thing Brits call a glove compartment… kit? Kaboodle?? Idek* (it’ll come to me in a minute), and slips them on, smiling. God, I want to fuck him. I always want to fuck him. But right now… a lot.
I pull over into some tree shade, unzip his cute little cargo shorts, and I wank him, kiss him during, the sun hot on our faces.
We spend the night at a shitty inn, Muggle, and Jamie complains that we didn’t just take a Portkey.
“More fun this way,” I tell him, sliding my hands up his jumper. Who wears a jumper with cargo shorts? Apparently my boyfriend.
We’re too wired to sleep and instead walk to the shore. I think I hear carnival music but it’s just the jangling of my own magic in my body, like bells. Sometimes it does that. Harry tries to help me with it, my whack magic. But I like it like this. When I’m with Jamie and I don’t have to worry about it going off.
We get pints at a fucking tiny pub and walk out onto the sand. I don’t even know where the hell we are, but it’s nice. Cool and bruise-coloured and calm. I hug him to my chest, and he burrows there. I wish I didn’t love him so much. It sits in me. Like a cancer. Like something rotten that still smells sweet.
~
We sleep in the same bed even though there are two. I wake with him spread all over my chest, the sun a wet, gold stripe over his amazing bum.
“Finger you before a swim?” I ask, and he hums, wiggles on me all sexy and shit.
When we’re through, we pop down onto the beach again, into the water. We wear our pants, but I get him naked in the cold cold waves. He wraps his legs around me, smiling. I want to make him smile, just like that, like twenty years from now. Thirty. A hundred.
He loses his pants to an octopus, to the frigid deep, and I have to transfig him some shorts out of my towel.
“I’m nervous,” he says over dinner that night.
“It’ll be fine,” I tell him, shrug and steal a clam off his plate. “It’s like Portkeying but the bad weather doesn’t get all in your face. It stays on the outside.”
“It takes longer.”
“It’s worth it.”
The night before we’re supposed to leave the shore, I take him someplace Vic told me about. It’s wickedly queer; the drag queen might just be trans instead; the bartenders are androgynous; the floors are suspiciously sticky and the drinks are fucking strong. Everyone’s beautiful to me.
We dance under the lights—vanilla-chandelier, and blood orange, white gold, and pink.
“You’re hair’s pretty,” he tells me, swaying into my body.
I buy him a Sex on the Beach. He likes it. I tell him I’ll fuck him so good when we get back to the inn. He doesn’t want to wait. I bang the shit out of him in a relatively clean bathroom stall, biting his neck while he whimpers for it and says my name.
We slow dance afterward. Some old queen buys us both drinks and then sits with us at the bar and talks about the ‘good times’ whatever that means. She’s drunk and her eyeliner is uneven, her pores showing, and she’s perfect, and I love the way Jamie’s face lights up while she talks.
We’re too tired to fuck in the bed after all.
Jamie curls on his side, and I spoon him, and we sleep like soft dead things, like starfish washed up on the beach.
~
We’re at the airport and he’s looking out the window like the glass might explode at any moment. No planes are even taking off; he’s just watching them sit there.
“Want me to read to you?” I set my book in my lap.
“What is that?” he asks.
“Minerva McGonagall wrote it” (Because I wanted to write about her and her lesbian lover in seventh year, but this happened instead and I respect that she’s a prompt). “It’s about wild magic and shit.”
“Did Dad give that to you?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Harry gave it to me.”
“You can call him ‘Dad’, dickhead.”
“I dunno. Maybe.”
He cards his fingers into my hair and says, “Baby blue,” like it’s sad. Then, “It wouldn’t make us brothers.”
“It kind of would.”
He gets a look in his brown eyes. I love his eyes and how they never change. They’re not like mine.
“What?” I ask.
He leans in, whispers it in my ear. “I’d still let you fuck me… if we were brothers.”
“Oh would you.” I want to press my palm to his cock so bad, cup it.
He nods.
“I’m going to make us members of the mile high club,” I tell him instead.
“What’s that?”
But then they’re calling our flight.
“Oh no,” he says, my sweet James.
“Hey,” I say and take his hand. “Have I ever let anything bad happen to you?”
He shakes his head.
“That’s right,” I say. “Because you’re mine.”
He presses his forehead to mine. It’s damp with a bit of sweat. I kiss his nose, his cheeks. “The worst that can happen is they lose our luggage.”
It’s not true, of course. I don’t make a habit of lying to my boyfriend. We could crash. We could die today. But we won’t. Even if everyone else does, we won’t. Because I’ll save him. I’m more certain of that than anything. I’d fall through the sky toward the earth so that I could land first and catch his fine ass.
I think I might totally love him. Like really a lot.
We board the plane, his palm sweating in mine, and when we’re barreling down the runway at however many miles per hour, I tell him, “Look out the window. I’ve got you.” I whisper behind his ear, “Jamie, we’re flying.”
Author:
lq_traintracksI am of legal drinking age in my region: Yep!
Pairing(s)/Characters/Fandom: HP: Teddy/James
Challenge/Prompts used: All of them, holy shit: Minerva McGonagall; Portkey; Sex on the Beach; Lost Luggage; Sweater Weather; Trains, Planes and Automobiles
Summary: They’re taking a trip together; they’re falling in love, or already there.
Rating/Warnings: Mature for some sexy tiems
Word count: 1,300
Author's Notes (if any): I don’t know why Minerva wouldn’t come when called. I mean, she’s a cat, I guess. Have these two boys in love instead! Thanks, mods! I needed a Firewhiskey night! <333
The train he’s okay with but not the car.
“Jamie, I’ve got this,” I say, palming the wheel but keeping it in park. He’s almost trembling.
I would have thought he’d love it, like I do. His dad taught me how to drive. We’d go way too fucking fast on the (checks UK map, one moment) ………. (Wiki blows, it’s talking about trunk roads??? Give me a name, damn you!) …..the M40, the M6, up to Manchester. Eat a load of hot chips, have a time of it, drive home.
I guess he never taught James. I wonder why. Kid can really fly.
“yOU’RE SAFE WITH ME,” I tell him with capslock on, so maybe I sound a bit scary after all.
“Teddy,” he says. The engine purrs. My hands are damp on the wheel. I want to get going. But I want him more.
He leans over, kisses me, not dirty like in the train right before he went down on me in our private compartment, but nice, hesitant.
“You’re safe,” I tell him again, normal this time, and when he nods, I wink at him and pull into traffic.
He loosens up a little bit into it, my hand on his knee, squeezing. He flips the radio on, and I turn it up. He digs my sunglasses out of the *thing Brits call a glove compartment… kit? Kaboodle?? Idek* (it’ll come to me in a minute), and slips them on, smiling. God, I want to fuck him. I always want to fuck him. But right now… a lot.
I pull over into some tree shade, unzip his cute little cargo shorts, and I wank him, kiss him during, the sun hot on our faces.
We spend the night at a shitty inn, Muggle, and Jamie complains that we didn’t just take a Portkey.
“More fun this way,” I tell him, sliding my hands up his jumper. Who wears a jumper with cargo shorts? Apparently my boyfriend.
We’re too wired to sleep and instead walk to the shore. I think I hear carnival music but it’s just the jangling of my own magic in my body, like bells. Sometimes it does that. Harry tries to help me with it, my whack magic. But I like it like this. When I’m with Jamie and I don’t have to worry about it going off.
We get pints at a fucking tiny pub and walk out onto the sand. I don’t even know where the hell we are, but it’s nice. Cool and bruise-coloured and calm. I hug him to my chest, and he burrows there. I wish I didn’t love him so much. It sits in me. Like a cancer. Like something rotten that still smells sweet.
~
We sleep in the same bed even though there are two. I wake with him spread all over my chest, the sun a wet, gold stripe over his amazing bum.
“Finger you before a swim?” I ask, and he hums, wiggles on me all sexy and shit.
When we’re through, we pop down onto the beach again, into the water. We wear our pants, but I get him naked in the cold cold waves. He wraps his legs around me, smiling. I want to make him smile, just like that, like twenty years from now. Thirty. A hundred.
He loses his pants to an octopus, to the frigid deep, and I have to transfig him some shorts out of my towel.
“I’m nervous,” he says over dinner that night.
“It’ll be fine,” I tell him, shrug and steal a clam off his plate. “It’s like Portkeying but the bad weather doesn’t get all in your face. It stays on the outside.”
“It takes longer.”
“It’s worth it.”
The night before we’re supposed to leave the shore, I take him someplace Vic told me about. It’s wickedly queer; the drag queen might just be trans instead; the bartenders are androgynous; the floors are suspiciously sticky and the drinks are fucking strong. Everyone’s beautiful to me.
We dance under the lights—vanilla-chandelier, and blood orange, white gold, and pink.
“You’re hair’s pretty,” he tells me, swaying into my body.
I buy him a Sex on the Beach. He likes it. I tell him I’ll fuck him so good when we get back to the inn. He doesn’t want to wait. I bang the shit out of him in a relatively clean bathroom stall, biting his neck while he whimpers for it and says my name.
We slow dance afterward. Some old queen buys us both drinks and then sits with us at the bar and talks about the ‘good times’ whatever that means. She’s drunk and her eyeliner is uneven, her pores showing, and she’s perfect, and I love the way Jamie’s face lights up while she talks.
We’re too tired to fuck in the bed after all.
Jamie curls on his side, and I spoon him, and we sleep like soft dead things, like starfish washed up on the beach.
~
We’re at the airport and he’s looking out the window like the glass might explode at any moment. No planes are even taking off; he’s just watching them sit there.
“Want me to read to you?” I set my book in my lap.
“What is that?” he asks.
“Minerva McGonagall wrote it” (Because I wanted to write about her and her lesbian lover in seventh year, but this happened instead and I respect that she’s a prompt). “It’s about wild magic and shit.”
“Did Dad give that to you?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Harry gave it to me.”
“You can call him ‘Dad’, dickhead.”
“I dunno. Maybe.”
He cards his fingers into my hair and says, “Baby blue,” like it’s sad. Then, “It wouldn’t make us brothers.”
“It kind of would.”
He gets a look in his brown eyes. I love his eyes and how they never change. They’re not like mine.
“What?” I ask.
He leans in, whispers it in my ear. “I’d still let you fuck me… if we were brothers.”
“Oh would you.” I want to press my palm to his cock so bad, cup it.
He nods.
“I’m going to make us members of the mile high club,” I tell him instead.
“What’s that?”
But then they’re calling our flight.
“Oh no,” he says, my sweet James.
“Hey,” I say and take his hand. “Have I ever let anything bad happen to you?”
He shakes his head.
“That’s right,” I say. “Because you’re mine.”
He presses his forehead to mine. It’s damp with a bit of sweat. I kiss his nose, his cheeks. “The worst that can happen is they lose our luggage.”
It’s not true, of course. I don’t make a habit of lying to my boyfriend. We could crash. We could die today. But we won’t. Even if everyone else does, we won’t. Because I’ll save him. I’m more certain of that than anything. I’d fall through the sky toward the earth so that I could land first and catch his fine ass.
I think I might totally love him. Like really a lot.
We board the plane, his palm sweating in mine, and when we’re barreling down the runway at however many miles per hour, I tell him, “Look out the window. I’ve got you.” I whisper behind his ear, “Jamie, we’re flying.”
no subject
Fun!
no subject
no subject
no subject
:-)
You already had me giggling before the story started.
Re: :-)
no subject
And also...
Hahaha! Sometimes it really does!
no subject
I'm so glad you enjoyed this! Thank you! <3
no subject
Whenever I think about brit-picking I second guess my own britishness.
no subject
Thanks for reading and commenting on my horny boys! <3
no subject
no subject
LOLOLOL The asides had me giggling. But aw, the story is so sweet, two (very horny!!) boys in love. I particularly loved this description: I wish I didn’t love him so much. It sits in me. Like a cancer. Like something rotten that still smells sweet. So perfectly encapsulates what it's like when you're afraid you love someone too much.
no subject
no subject
no subject
Wow, the imagery! "Jamie curls on his side, and I spoon him, and we sleep like soft dead things, like starfish washed up on the beach."
<3 for "(Because I wanted to write about her and her lesbian lover in seventh year, but this happened instead and I respect that she’s a prompt)."