's birthday was Friday, so Saturday I went to her party, where the fact there was free alcohol was ruined by how much there was in it. THERE IS SUCH A THING AS TOO MUCH RUM IN A RUM AND COKE. Otherwise, yeah, fun time all around. :D
ii. Watched 4.08-4.11 of Doctor Who when I got home this afternoon. It's so much more fun watching that show marathon-style.
iii. HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAY, teacrumpets
, THE THEO TO MY ANT. ♥ ♥ ♥ For you, I bring...
Reason #372 (and possibly #373) For Why Anthony Goldstein Hates Theodore Nott.
570 words, rated R at the most, but just barely. :D
This was how it went: one moment, he was standing face to face, defending his heterosexuality (and, for Merlin’s sake, if he had one more thought in which he called it his ‘sort-of heterosexuality,’ he’d commit suicide) to The Great Prat, also known as Theodore Nott. In the next, however? Hell if he knew. First, there was the wall, his wall, against his back. Then, the hands – Nott’s hands – on his waist. And lastly? The lips, once again belonging to Nott, on his. As in, kissing him.
Anthony was a bit frozen in place, his mind working miles a second but finding no answer, no explanation for just what the fuck Nott was up to (because, obviously, this was some insane plan of his to prove once and for all that Anthony was gay and it wouldn’t work, even if he might be, or if the usual star of his not-so-straight thoughts did happen to be the same git kissing him).
Another second and Nott pulled back, still in Anthony’s personal space as they both caught their breath, and Anthony asked, very plainly, “And you did that because...?”
“You wanted me to.”
“Half the time, I want you to leave, and you always stay. What would make this so different?” It took Anthony too long a moment to realise how that sounded and he flushed a bit as he hurried to add, “If I even wanted you to, anyway.”
Nott smirked, having noticed of course, and then he leaned forward, breathing-the-same-air close, and Anthony very nearly held his breath. “But you did.” A bit closer and Anthony can practically feel their lips touching (though that might’ve just been the work of his overactive imagination). “Didn’t you?”
Anthony shook his head ‘no’, not trusting himself to speak for fear that he might do something stupid and say yes, and Nott rolled his eyes, one of the hands still holding onto his waist disappearing – though not for long Anthony found out as Nott very deliberately ran that hand along the front of Anthony’s jeans, rubbing against his evident arousal just enough to make Anthony gasp.
Leaning into Anthony’s ear then, Nott whispered, “Did I do that, Goldstein?”
“No.” Anthony lied (mostly), making the move to remove Nott’s hand, only for Nott to deliberately massage his hardness again, continuing until Anthony relaxed against the wall, his breathing quickening. “Nott –“
“Want me to stop?” Nott asked, eyebrow raised as he continued on.
“I...no,” He’d considered lying at first, and his answer was like making a deal with the devil, but it’d already been said.
“Well, in that case...” Nott gave a bit of a smile at that and then took his hand away, to the slight whimper of Anthony. Later, he’d be embarrassed by it.
Remembering the who, what, when and where of the situation, Anthony pushed himself off the wall, adjusting his erection though it helped none, and glared at Nott. “So you just did that –“
“To prove that I was right? Yeah. But don’t worry, Goldstein, I won’t tell anyone.” He paused. “Not tonight, at least.”
Anthony’s eyes only narrowed further as Nott let himself out, and for the life of him, he couldn’t remember why he’d let him in to begin with.
“Fucker,” Anthony then muttered darkly, putting to the backburner ideas of just how to get Nott back in favour of dealing with the problem he had created.