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| Keep Your Aching, Celebrating, Wonder Making Heart Alive | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Jul 1 2011, 10:57 PM (386 Views) | |
| Toby LItton | Jul 1 2011, 10:57 PM Post #1 |
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What time did Toby tell Rowan to meet him in the Entrance Hall? Six? That meant that he still had five minutes to spare before he was due down at the Entrance Hall to meet Rowan for their date. A date with Rowan in five minutes. Toby glared at himself in the mirror, taking stock of the way that his hair was curling over his ears and the crimson stain on his cheeks from being worked up all day, the slight dark circles under his eyes from not being able to sleep the night before. And that was only the best of it all. That morning, the house-elves had decided to take his clothes to wash them, leaving him with only a black vest and a pair of khaki pants. While he looked good in both, it didn’t exactly scream first date attire. On top of it not being first date worthy, Toby had put the clothes on that morning before going jogging and only when he returned did he realize there was nothing else to wear. So, he looked like a zombie and probably smelled like one, too. Sure, he’d showered, threw on some of Lovencraft’s Long Lasting Antiperspirant Salve, and squirted himself down with the best cologne he had in his trunk. But, the clothes were still covered in dried up sweat and that alone made him feel gross. It wouldn’t do. He couldn’t go on his first date with Rowan smelling like the worst parts of a dragon. Toby stepped out of the loo, glanced around his dorm and was relieved to see it empty. Most of them were already down waiting to go to Hogsmeade, and he’d guessed that Rowan was already down there worrying over every little detail. He stood in the middle of their dorm room, divested himself of the smelly clothes and then spun to and fro trying to decide whose wardrobe was best to pilfer through. He thought of some of the things his housemates wore and none of them were particularly Toby. He opted for rugby shirts and jeans and the occasional vest or even a button down shirt. If he was going out practicing, it was a vest or a t-shirt… but how could he wear Conner’s ridiculous Weird Sisters shirt – he didn’t even like that band, and he didn’t know how to even think about those hot pants that Tristan loved. Toby’s gaze fell on Rowan’s trunk. At least they had one thing in common: a decent sense of style. Rowan was about his size, too, if not a little taller. Traipsing over to the trunk, Toby knelt in front of it in naught but his boxers and socks. He opened it – thankful that Rowan never locked the trunk – and started rifling through the different clothes within. There were white sweaters, nice polo shirts and some jeans that looked almost brand new. At least Row took care of his clothes – Toby wouldn’t have to go out on a date looking like a bum. As he moved a navy colored shirt to the side, he spotted leather. Leather? He’d never seen Rowan wearing anything like that. He pulled the leather trousers from their neatly folded place and stood up, holding them up to his legs. He kicked out his feet to see if they would run to long and decided to hell with it. He pulled them on, twisting his body around in order to fit better inside of them. They were tight – too tight around the butt. One thing he’d always noticed about Rowan was his supremely attractive backside, though he’d never have the guts to tell him. Now, though, he had the urge to beg Rowan to wear them. A lot. Taking them off, he decided then on a pair of plain blue jeans and the navy blue, form fitting shirt. Very simple. Very Toby. Hopefully Rowan wouldn’t mind that he’d plundered his wardrobe. Then, he guessed, all he’d have to do is ask if he preferred him naked and Rowan would forget all about it. Grinning to himself, Toby checked again in the mirror to make sure he looked alright and then threw on a pair of white trainers. He had no doubt that he was running late, so he flew through the common room, down the tower stairs, up and down the staircases as they (annoyed the hell out of him) moved around the castle. As he was running, he was ducking and leaning over the different railings to see if he could spot Rowan. And then he did, standing alone in the entrance, finger to his lips, arm crossed over his stomach. Just waiting. Toby breathed relief and grinned at the same time. He jumped the stairs two at a time to get to Rowan and when he got to the last step, he nearly hurdled himself headlong into the other boy. Panting, he lifted his head up and adopted his best apologetic face, coupled with a smile that just wouldn’t stop. “Sorry I’m late, had a bit of a wardrobe malfunction. Bloody house elves nicked my clothes so I had to borrow…” Toby gestured flamboyantly to his attire. “Some of your clothes.” He held out his hand, fingers splayed to fit Rowan’s perfectly with his. Not entirely sure that Rowan was ready for it, he almost tried to make it look ambiguous, but of course, dangling your arm at that angle wasn’t natural. “Three Broomsticks? Or something less… busy? Unless you’d prefer Puddifoot’s, which I’ve been told is the best place in the world for people to go when they’re…” He noticed the way that Rowan’s face paled and almost turned green and then laughed. Toby nudged Rowan’s hand with his, just in case he’d forgotten it was there. “I’m joking, mate, c’mon, let’s go get a butterbeer.” Edited by Toby LItton, Feb 13 2017, 10:34 PM.
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| Rowan Dougherty | Jul 2 2011, 07:04 PM Post #2 |
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While lying awake late Monday night, Rowan decided to wear his navy blue polo with baggy jeans. It was respectable, but not overly so. Tuesday morning, he woke in a panic, realizing that if Toby dressed more than casual, he would look horribly under dressed. The jeans were changed to khakis. On Wednesday, while Professor Kerrigan was busy admonishing a student who had attempted to transfigure his neighbor’s wand, Rowan dismissed the polo, which looked like he was trying too hard to be preppy, and chose the red t-shirt instead. Thursday, he discovered, to his horror, that the t-shirt and khaki pants did not match. By Friday, he was laying on the windowsill in abject misery, irrationally claiming he wouldn’t wear anything. The boy waiting anxiously in the Entrance Hall was wearing something, in fact. Sometime between the alcove and tearing his trunk apart (and then folding everything neatly back into place), Rowan had finally chosen an outfit. He was stuck in it, despite the doubts that accompanied his final decision, despite the fact that there was nothing he could do about it now. Never before had he been so caught up in his own appearance. Indeed, the only vanity that Rowan had ever displayed was in private, when he put on his leather pants, a prank gift, and pretended to be a badass rockstar (complete with candy cigarettes). Yet there he had been that morning, rugby shirt in one hand, drawstring sweat pants in his other, and a cowboy hat (from where, he had no idea) on his head. He had held them up against himself, changed dozens of times, collapsed on his bed in naught but his boxers… and finally he had found it, an outfit that was nice but still casual, that flaunted his athletic figure but not overly so. A navy blue blazer fit as though tailored specifically for him, cuffs rolled up to reveal the bronzed skin of his forearms. Beneath it, a comfortable white tee, tucked loosely into his belted jeans. Sneakers completed the ensemble, his head, after much debate, void of a cap that he could hide himself under. He wished now that he had worn one, exposed as he felt standing in the hall, waiting for Toby to arrive. It was silly, for nobody was sparing him anything but a fleeting glance, and still, Rowan fidgeted nervously. Wiping his palms on his jeans for the tenth time, Rowan checked his watch again, noting as he had numerous times before, that he had come way too early. He swung his arms, bouncing on the balls of his feet, and then realized that gesture was only serving to garner more attention. He halted abruptly, crossing them over his chest instead. What if Toby didn’t show up? How long would he remain standing here like a fool? The questions slipped through before he had a chance to head them off. Rather forcibly, he turned his mind to something else, only landing on another problem he was facing. Toby and him, as a pair, in public. Over the course of the week, it had become apparent to him that he was terrified of people’s opinions of him. While that may not have been an altogether new revelation, the fact that it was going to affect Toby’s and his relationship was. Already, he had drawn back, barely even allowing his hand to accidentally bump against Toby’s as they walked together to class. The contact was sorely missed, or so it seemed, since anytime he found them alone together, he migrated towards the other boy like a moth to a flame. Sitting late into the night, their housemates drifting to bed until they were the only ones left, and Rowan would find himself leaning on Toby’s shoulder as he read. Coming across Toby, hidden from view as he pondered over his homework, and Rowan couldn’t help but affectionately ruffle that sandy hair before plopping down across from him. He was beginning to think of himself as the puppy now, always desiring some sort of praise or touch of skin as reassurance. Toby was here, he was still here, not gone, not with Bates, but here with him. Still, he knew how grave the situation was going to become, knew that Toby was going to want to hold his hand as they walked down the hall, or steal a kiss in public. The very notion terrified him. But those thoughts were interrupted by the timely arrival of Toby, who nearly pitched himself headlong into Rowan as he jumped the last few steps. Rowan couldn’t tell if he was exasperated or amused by his friend’s abundant energy as he nearly pranced about in… wait, were those his clothes? “Sorry I’m late, had a bit of a wardrobe malfunction. Bloody house elves nicked my clothes so I had to borrow…” he gestured to himself, Rowan’s eyes following obediently, “Some of your clothes.” His lip quirked at this, wondering if he should inform Toby that if he didn’t want the house elves taking his clothes, he probably shouldn’t put them in the “dirty” hamper. The other half of him wanted to tell Toby to just keep his clothes, for the shirt fit him far better than it did Toby, hugging his slender upper body like a glove. In the back of his mind, another voice added with solemn relief, that he was perfectly dressed to match Toby’s own sense of casualness. He was about to respond, something along the lines of how it was fine that Toby was borrowing his clothes, but the words lodged in his throat as Toby held out his hand. Panicked eyes glanced from the hand, to the open room they were in, back up to Toby, who was busy talking and not observing, thank the gods. “Three Broomsticks? Or something less… busy?” he asked cheerily, “Unless you’d prefer Puddifoot’s, which I’ve been told is the best place in the world for people to go when they’re…” Rowan sucked in his breath, turning three shades of red before losing color altogether by the end of Toby’s sentence. His stomach flopped uncomfortably, and for one horrible second he actually thought he was going to hurl. He was no stranger to Puddifoot’s, man’s personal hell packed into one obnoxiously fuchsia room. Every boy dreaded having to go, as it seemed a little piece of them died each time they set foot in the shop. He was fairly certain one boy had died on a Valentine’s Day, a brain aneurysm from an overload of the color pink. Puddifoot’s was a shop given a ten foot berth at least, a rule that Rowan strictly adhered to. “I’m joking, mate,” Toby added, quickly, no doubt accurately reading the alarm on Rowan’s face, but it did nothing to help color his ashen features, for the words were accompanied with a soft nudge. “C’mon, let’s go get a butterbeer.” Rowan swallowed, nearly impossible when his mouth was so dry, and ignored Toby’s hand, opting instead to sling his arm about the other boy’s neck, shoving the other into his pocket. “As long as it’s not pink,” he muttered as he led them towards the door and through it into the clear, crisp day. They walked that way for a few moments in silence, simply enjoying the crystal blue sky, and then Rowan removed his arm to stick it in his pocket as well, though he made no move to step away, enjoying the feel of Toby’s shoulder as it brushed against his. “So…” he began, tentatively, for a sudden horrifying thought had suddenly popped into his head as he subtly scanned Toby’s body and the way his clothes clung, “when you went through my trunk, you didn’t find anything… unexpected, did you?” Bloody leather pants, and cowboy hat, and torn ‘Screaming Pumpkins’ shirt. |
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| Toby LItton | Sep 24 2011, 11:17 PM Post #3 |
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Toby, while understanding how major this first date was for Rowan, was alight with various joyful emotions as he walked alongside his best mate. Should he continue to think of him as a best mate, he wondered. Or, perhaps, it was time to change that term to boyfriend. Hm. He doubted that Rowan would appreciate the sentiment. And probably faint, judging by the constant state of worry that was shadowed in his eyes. Of course, it didn’t faze Toby. Everything was different now. The way that Rowan’s arm hung around his neck was no longer a playful thing… it was intimate. He wasn’t constantly worried about saying or doing the wrong thing to trip himself up and reveal his deepest and darkest secret any longer. Everything was different and that was because everything was out in the open. “As long as it’s not pink,” Rowan muttered next to him, leading him from the castle and out into the brilliant day. “Damn. My plans are foiled once again,” Toby said, amusement lacing his already excited tones. Some part of him knew that he shouldn’t feel as hopeful and happy as he did, that there was still a lot to get through before he could breathe easy and not worry about Rowan freaking out again… but he just couldn’t be bothered today. Even when the warmth of Rowan’s body was no longer engulfing him but hovering at a comfortable place nearby, Toby couldn’t worry. He knew it would take time and just as long as Rowan really knew how he felt, he wouldn’t let it fester. Every once in a while he would knock against Rowan’s shoulder and smile inwardly, daring to take sneaky glances sideways. The profile was just as stunning as it had always been. The inability to touch or tell hadn’t made Rowan more attractive. If anything, a veil was lifted and Toby could truly appreciate the gorgeous man at his side. “So, when you went through my trunk, you didn’t find anything… unexpected, did you?” His tone was cautious, almost nervous. Toby’s face lit up, his cheeks so high on his face that they crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Oh no, nothing at all,” he said in a way that so obviously belied his words. Very shrewdly, he winked and, unable to control himself, whispered, “Cowboy.” Rowan’s immediate reaction was exactly what Toby had predicted. His jaw clenched, his eyes were trained forward. He was silent. Probably weaving together several tales of how he obtained the leather pants and cowboy hat and how it hadn’t been his idea. Just a gift, he imagined. But before Toby could say a word to Rowan about how he shouldn’t be embarrassed by his choice in apparel, an image so sexy rolled through his imagination it stopped him breathing for a split second. What was more stunning than the idea of Rowan, tall, lean and athletically sculpted, fit snuggly in a plain white tee shirt, fitted leather pants and adorned with a cowboy hat? At the moment, Toby could think of nothing. He could feel the flush creeping up his neck to splatter crimson across his cheeks. A stirring at the bottom of his body made him put the image aside. Too much for a first date. He coughed, trying to think of other things like Professor Gray wearing a bikini or Slant in a sundress… anything to take his mind away from Rowan and his sinfully delicious secret outfits. Problem solved. Smiling impishly, Toby caught Rowan’s hand as it swung near his side. He squeezed and held on, despite any protest that he felt from his friend. “You know, I think the look could suit you and as soon as you’re ready to try it on, I’ll be your audience,” Toby said casually, brushing aside the churning arousal in his gut. “I almost wore the leather trousers today for our date, but I thought it would be too much too soon for you. Doubt you’re ready to feel that about me yet. Because they did look rather sexy…” Maybe letting Rowan know that he had attempted to wear said pants would ease him out of whatever humiliation he was feeling. Or, annoy him so incredibly that Rowan would keep his things under even more guarded lock and key than before. Whatever the case may be, Toby’s new ambition was to see his boyfriend in those pants and that hat before he died. It was a new goal. “We’ll go to Broomsticks,” he said, changing the subject and pointing their joined hands at the sign ahead. “I don’t think it’s fair if I introduce you to Puddifoots quite yet. Besides, I heard that there’s a girl who is going to propose to Jack Reilly there today… I’d rather not witness it.” Hogsmeade approached quickly due to the leather pants distraction, and Toby’s eyes narrowed in on the sign for the Three Broomsticks. It was probably best to take Rowan into a familiar environment, let him get settled in and adjusted to things he already knew while slowly introducing new dating things to his world. Toby wasn’t completely selfish and involved in his own world. He knew this was going to be hard for Rowan and was trying to accommodate as best as he could. He just hoped that it wouldn’t come down to feeling like he was forcing Rowan to be his boyfriend – or even take the steps to make it feel like they were dating. Rowan wasn’t exactly hiding his anxiety very well… Granted, if someone had found his Count Duckula pajamas, Toby wouldn’t be overly thrilled either. |
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| Rowan Dougherty | Sep 25 2011, 03:50 PM Post #4 |
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“Oh no, nothing at all,” Toby replied casually, far too casually to put Rowan at any ease. The sly wink thrown his way did not help either, and the low whisper of what suspiciously sounded like “cowboy” sealed his fate. Bugger all. Why had he never burned those articles of clothing when he had the chance? Now Toby must think he pranced around the dormitory alone, mock riding a horse as he practiced his lasso skills. Although, leather pants usually reminded one of motorcycles, did they not? So perhaps he was some motorcycle-cowboy hybrid. Sexy. About as sexy as a young boy with denchers, which was bound to happen if he kept grinding his teeth together as he was. A terrible habit that he needed to rid himself of, that. It seemed whenever he was anxious or embarrassed, as he was at the moment, he had the inexplicable urge to clench his teeth together. He remained oblivious to the discomfort Toby himself was feeling as they ambled down the path. That is, until the other boy suddenly coughed, effectively breaking Rowan from his thoughts as he glanced sideways at his mate. His mate. Oh those two words meant so much more now. Before he could acknowledge the innocent term further, however, he noticed the crimson tinge spreading across Toby’s face and the way his eyes remained determinedly fixed ahead. An appealing thought struck him, causing a satisfactory glow to warm him inwardly. Was he… was it possible that he was imagining Rowan as a cowboy? That said image was perhaps enticing? No, surely that was just his pride speaking. Those leather pants did, after all, make his legs quite shapely, not to mention enhanced other, err, parts. Dear Merlin, now he was thinking about himself dressed as a cowboy. If that wasn’t arrogance at its finest, Rowan didn’t know what was. His thoughts were interrupted as Toby suddenly caught his hand, squeezing it tighter as Rowan, startled, nearly broke the connection. “You know, I think the look could suit you and as soon as you’re ready to try it on, I’ll be your audience,” Toby informed him as matter-of-factly as if they were discussing homework rather than Rowan prancing about in tight pants. He swallowed. Hard. “I almost wore the leather trousers today for our date, but I thought it would be too much too soon for you,” he continued as Rowan’s stomach flipped. He was going to wear what? And suddenly it wasn’t himself he saw in said garments, but somebody else entirely. Somebody with ruffled coffee locks and a wickedly curving mouth. His mouth felt suddenly quite dry. “Doubt you’re ready to feel that about me yet.” His body disagreed. “Because they did look rather sexy…” Oh sweet Merlin, he always knew Toby was going to kill him. He practically tripped over his own two feet as the other boy finished his torture and the sinfully delectable images it wrought. Toby in leather trousers, his leather trousers no less. Leather trousers that could be peeled from Toby’s legs… Why did boys always have to think first with their cocks? Forget the notion of the devil on the shoulder, he had obviously set up residence on more vulnerable flesh. Seriously, the havoc wrought from an organ. It was telling him to brush aside his hesitance and confusion and just throw Toby down and shag him right then and there. Which was extremely helpful since he had never even snogged a bloke before, let alone shagged one. Hell, he barely had any experience with girls, seeing as kissing them was never very exciting for him. It seemed to him as though he was trying to lock lips with a fish. He was just plain bored when he was forced to make out. It was really a wonder how he hadn’t managed to see the obvious before now. Then again, when had Rowan ever made life easy for himself. Analyzing the shite out of everything was practically his duty. “We’ll go to Broomsticks,” Toby offered cheerfully, swinging their hands up to point out the sign which was closing in on them quickly. Rowan, for his part, attempted to cap the growing spike of arousal Toby had managed to coax from him. Why had he wanted to burn those leather trousers in the first place? He had conveniently forgotten. “I don’t think it’s fair if I introduce you to Puddifoots quite yet. Besides, I heard that there’s a girl who is going to propose to Jack Reilly there today… I’d rather not witness it.” Oh dear. Was Puddifoots an actual future destination? Right. Now the cowboy outfit was going to become a bargaining chip. He’d willingly putter about in the garments any time Toby wished as long as they didn’t have to go to the pink vomit shop. “Yeah, that sounds good,” Rowan replied, and if his voice was a bit rough around the edges, he pretended not to notice. He broke their hands apart as they neared the establishment, opening the door and waiting for Toby to move through. “I’ll get us drinks,” he informed Toby quickly before the other boy could say a word. He wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans, trying to still their slight tremble. “Grab us a table, love?” he asked, and then immediately whirled to move towards the counter, not bothering to wait and see where Toby went. “Love?” he muttered agonized and self-deprecatingly under his breath, “Why not effeminate him further, Rowan. I’m sure he’ll just love ‘honey buns’ and ‘Pookie’ oh so much.” “What was that, sweetheart?” the waitress standing behind the counter asked him. Rowan jumped, a guilty flush creeping up his neck. “Two Butterbeers, please,” he ordered, strumming his fingers on the wood as he waited. Chancing a glance about him, he realized, to his immense relief that the Broomsticks was packed to capacity. They were less likely to attract notice if they sat together in a corner somewhere, and they would surely not be overheard in the noise that kept swelling to a roar every few minutes. “Here you are,” she announced, as Rowan paid and took the two mugs from her hands. He weaved deftly through the crowd until he spotted Toby tucked discretely into a niche, lounging in his chair with his brunette hair falling into his eyes. He looked devastatingly handsome, so much so, that Rowan found himself suddenly forced to suck in a breath. He was on a date with this… god. He was on a date! He forced himself to push any further thoughts away before he managed to build himself into a right panic. It was at that moment that Peter suddenly appeared, draping himself over Toby from behind and kissing him soundly on the cheek. Rowan screeched to a halt, something ugly rising in him that had him clutching the mugs in a white-knuckled grip. A mere minute and he was moving again, reaching the table just as… Shep came into view. What the…? “… and so it turns out that Shep said yes, and so here we are. We’ll join you! An impromptu double date. Who did you say you were here with aga—” Bates cut himself off as his eyes flew to Rowan, who had finally made it to the table and set the glasses down with slightly more force than was necessary. Peter’s eyes flew from Rowan to Toby, and then back again, comprehension dawning across his face, which quickly turned mischievous. “Toby, you sly dog,” he nudged said boy, ruffling his hair slightly much to Rowan’s resentment. That was his gesture, his right. “How ever did you manage to ensnare him?” Shep was grinning apologetically at him, looking Rowan up and down appreciatively even as he pulled Peter off of Toby. Much to his astonishment, the spunky kid grasped Rowan by the shoulders and leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. Rowan’s anger momentary dissipated into confusion, his stomach tying itself in knots from his anxiety. “Welcome to the family! I see you’ve been holding out on us all… couldn’t have shopped the market a bit, so to speak, before settling down with our dear Toby here?” Words would not come to Rowan. In fact, his mind had been completely wiped blank. It didn’t help that Shep was still staring at him with a gleam that had Rowan shifting uncomfortably. He felt horribly exposed standing there. He moved his gaze to Toby, a desperate plea for help. It was Shep who came to the rescue. “Oi, doesn’t your boyfriend get a snog, or is just your mates whom you kiss now?” he asked Peter with a twinkle in his eye as he pulled the boy close. While they attempted to eat each other’s faces off, Rowan allowed himself to slump into the seat closest to Toby. If he could have sat in the other boys lap, he would have out of his sheer desperation to keep Bates as far away from his mate as possible. “Well…” Rowan said, shaking his head when nothing more would come out. He hastily drank from his mug, allowing his knee to knock against Toby’s and looking anywhere but at the two blokes snogging in front of them. Jealousy really was a demanding emotion. Finally, Peter and Shep broke apart, settling themselves into the seats directly across from Toby and Rowan, though Rowan never remembered saying anything about them joining. Unfortunately, both Toby and him were far too kind to dismiss them immediately. “I told you, Shep, didn’t I?” Peter stated with a knowing grin, his hand patting dangerously high on Shep’s thigh. “They’ve probably been shagging secretly for years now,” he added with a conspiratorial wink. Rowan choked, coughing as he gasped for breath. It was going to be a long first (double) date. |
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| Toby LItton | Jan 29 2017, 05:35 PM Post #5 |
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At the mere mention of Puddifoots, Toby noticed the pink tinge on Rowan’s face pale into a color he’d been sure had never been actually detected before in the entire history of the human existence. It wasn’t quite green, and yet it wasn’t exactly white either. Somewhere in between. Right, he’d spare Rowan from Puddifoots as long as he could. And he didn’t have the heart to tell the poor bloke that it was an expected Valentine’s tradition for couples, and that Toby had partaken in the event each year - whether he’d had a boyfriend or not. “Yeah, that sounds good,” Rowan’s muttered reply was graver than Toby was used to, even for the boy who’d always chosen deadpan over inflection. Yep, Puddifoots was definitely out of the picture for the foreseeable future. Toby sighed; they’d get there eventually, he reminded himself sternly that Rowan wasn’t only new to a gay lifestyle, but dating in general. The loss of contact with Rowan left his hand immediately cold, and he worried that he’d somehow managed to already scare his handsome best friend away. It wasn’t until Toby realized they were upon the Three Broomsticks that he realized Rowan reaching for the door and holding it open for him to enter. Well, that was certainly… gentlemanly. Toby was usually the one who held open doors and clamored for drinks. Even as he made his way through the door, his eyes zeroed in on the crowded bar and harried bartender. He lifted his foot in that direction, but Rowan’s voice cut him off mid-step. “I’ll get us drinks,” he informed Toby, much to the latter’s surprise. Did Rowan actually pay attention all those nights when Toby had complained about his dates assuming he was paying, assuming he was the gentleman, assuming because of his more… bloke-y… qualities, he couldn’t enjoy being wooed? Perhaps he’d underestimated Rowan in those late night conversations. Even though Rowan always seemed preoccupied, and would change the subject as quickly as was polite. A small smile quirked the sides of Toby’s lips. Just a reminder why his feelings were already so deep for his best friend. “Grab us a table, love?” Rowan’s tone was soft. Soft, and affectionate. And honestly, for a few moments, he just watched the dark-haired, blue eyed wizard walk away with widened eyes and an unhinged jaw. First, Rowan had used an endearing term, one they’d definitely never used before. Second, he’d never really heard Rowan as a boyfriend before. It sounded natural, not even a smidge out of place in this new dynamic they’d found. And finally, the smile returned to Toby’s face and reached his positively beaming eyes. A steady thrum just beneath his chest was synced to each step he took toward a small four-chaired table tucked underneath a triangular arch, out of the way from many of the other patrons of the day. He knew Rowan would appreciate somewhere discreet, quiet and away from the rush of the packed bar. Toby dropped himself into a chair, a picture of perfect ease; leaning back lazily and moving his finger in small patterns on the wooden chair just to keep himself distracted. His eyes scanned the room and landed on the only thing that could possibly draw his attention this day. Rowan, and more specifically, Rowan’s backside in a pair of baggy jeans, still able to make out its perfect shape. Toby wasn’t sure that Rowan was ready to hear exactly what the smitten boy thought about his shapely butt in those jeans, but there wasn’t much clean about his thoughts, so he’d save it for a later date. It was in those moments of musing that a slender hand covered his eyes while another gripped him in a hug from behind. Before Toby could dislodge himself from the surprise groping, a wet and sloppy kiss was noisily planted on his cheek. Peter, of course. Peter’s hand dropped from Toby’s eyes, and he immediately searched out Rowan. This would be problematic. Peter never knew how to leave well enough alone, so a solitary date in a dark alcove of a busy bar just wasn’t going to happen now. “Peter,” Toby’s level voice greeted his friend, a slight upward quirk of his lips as his eyes landed on Rowan. Rowan and his shocked and not-at-all-pleased features. “Now isn’t -” “C’mon, darling, we shouldn’t interrupt - “ another voice cut through what was going to be a semi-rude dismissal. Shep. For the first time in ages, Toby’s stomach didn’t flip at seeing the good looking boy he’d once harbored a torch for - not even a slight twinge of desire. Toby’s smile deepened. He really took the time to peruse Rowan’s figure as he gravitated toward the table. The blue blazer he’d opted to wear fit snug around his frame, and the white shirt underneath clung to his athletic body. His hair was its usual untidy mop, though it looked like he’d taken some care and added some product to make it less bouncy, to stay purposefully messy. And the trimmed scruff round his chin, making it appear like the sharp edges of glass… Toby swallowed. He’d never really allowed himself to openly ogle Rowan, knowing that he’d only be pushing himself further into misery. And now… just wow. Definitely over his crush on Shep. “… and so it turns out that Shep said yes, and so here we are.” Shep who? Taking Toby’s silence as an invitation, apparently, Peter continued blabbering on. “We’ll join you! An impromptu double date. Who did you say you were here with aga—” As all three pairs of eyes found Rowan’s face, Toby’s lips formed a proud smile. “The most gorgeous man in the bar,” he informed them just barely over a whisper. Toby didn’t even notice the drinks that Rowan had set on the table. His eyes were trained on his tight-lipped, semi-paled companion. He hadn’t even told Peter that he and Shep weren’t welcome on their first date. He didn’t really have any words at all. “Toby, you sly dog,” Peter’s playful voice and gentle push finally broke Toby from his intense gaze. “How ever did you manage to ensnare him?” Toby’s gaze wandered to Shep, still a proud gleam emanating from him. He didn’t like how Shep as coveting Rowan, an appreciative eyebrow arched over one chocolate colored eye. Toby’s mouth pulled down at the edges. Something roared inside of him; something keen on keeping Rowan all to himself, to keep him from other, more attractive arms. He’d never really experienced jealousy before. It was like a coiled spring in his stomach, just seconds from launching himself at his former crush and forcing distance between him and Rowan. Not an entirely horrible idea. Just as he was preparing himself to stand and place himself between Shep and Rowan, Peter’s khaki-covered body slid between the two. His hands were at Rowan’s taller shoulders and then, as Rowan’s entire face lit up in an uncharacteristic pink hue, Peter planted a kiss on his cheek. Not good. Too affectionate. Too much, too soon for Row. Toby’s thoughts flew through his mind as he glanced over to Rowan’s blank stare. He was going to bolt for the door. Damn Peter and his over exaggerating welcomes to Club Gay. “Welcome to the family!” Peter’s hands left Rowan’s shoulders, and the sudden movement brought Toby’s attention elsewhere; to Shep’s unyielding gaze at Rowan. Toby didn’t even hear the rest of Peter’s words. The deafening roar of the beast in his ears drowned out every other sound within the pub. Toby’s hand hit the table hard as he prepared himself to launch, and it drew Shep’s attention away from Rowan finally. He seemed to shake himself out of his thoughts, and Toby watched as he turned to Peter. Forcing himself to calm the jealous monster inside, Toby let a deep breath hiss from his nose. “Oi, doesn’t your boyfriend get a snog, or is just your mates whom you kiss now?” Shep’s amused voice was cut off very quickly as Peter giddily allowed himself to be pulled into an intimate embrace. The kiss they shared quieted whatever remnants of jealousy that had remained within Toby. He finally allowed his eyes to wander back to Rowan’s face. The poor bloke looked a fright, watching Pete and Shep share a passionate kiss. Rowan sank into the chair next to him, pressing himself closer to where Toby sat. “Well…” A small smile returned to Toby’s face as an amused chuckle rumbled in his chest. Toby knew that Peter alone was a lot to take in, being very open about himself and unapologetically blunt. No real class or clue when he went too far. Toby was jutted out of his musings when Rowan’s knee pressed against his. It wasn’t unusual, of course. They’d been more physical in their friendship than most people, but somehow this felt more. He was seeking comfort, and Toby couldn’t resist the gentle hand he placed on Rowan’s knee in response. Under the table, out of sight from the hundred pairs of eyes in the bar. As the other couple broke apart, Toby was priming himself to say a swift farewell. It wouldn’t do to have his first date with Rowan turn into - And then the other couple sat down across from them, and Toby sighed. He couldn’t very well demand they leave, it just wasn’t the type of bloke he was. So, he resigned himself to a straight lipped smile, slightly gripping Rowan’s knee, and grabbing his butterbeer from the table to down half of it in one gulp. “I told you, Shep, didn’t I?” Peter’s larger-than-his-face smile was almost as comical as it was cartoony. “They’ve probably been shagging secretly for years now.” The tips of Toby’s ears were flushed with embarrassment, mostly on Rowan’s behalf. Rowan, who had started choking on his butterbeer, sloshing the liquid inside the glass as it crashed onto the table. Toby’s hand left Rowan’s knee and came to rest on his back. He patted him roughly a couple of times, and then moved his hand in a tender, circular motion until the coughing stopped. He didn’t move his hand. Toby glanced at Rowan out of the corner of his eye, through the dark locks hanging across his forehead, and he smiled. There were a lot of things that Toby could say to Peter; that it wasn’t true, that it wasn’t like that, that it was their first date, that Toby didn’t know if it was actually a romantic date or a platonic date to feel things out… But, for Rowan’s benefit, Toby landed on the one explanation he could find he hoped would soothe Rowan and keep him from jumping from the table and making a Rowan-sized hole through the wall. “Actually,” Toby started in an amused tone that only served to make him seem more boyish as he grinned at Peter and Shep, “We’re figuring things out, haven’t quite gotten to the first real kiss yet, let alone…” Toby’s voice trailed off as he caught Rowan’s wide, azure eyes gawking at him from the side. He wasn’t sure if he’d said the wrong thing, or if he shouldn’t have even entertained the question. He grinned sheepishly in response to the look. “Oh!” Peter’s eyes were as round as galleons as understanding filled him. “Oh! Oh, Shep, darling! It’s their first date. Oh, how very sweet!” His hands clapped like a child, pure joy for the couple radiating from him. Toby blushed and kicked Peter under the table. It had zero effect. “Sweet, indeed,” Shep’s smooth voice rolled between them. “And here we are, interrupting the make or break moment of the relationship.” Even as he said it, Toby knew that the couple wouldn’t budge and leave them to their date. He was starting to think that he wasn’t the only bloke to have had a crush on the striking boy at his side. Toby went rigid, fingers tightening on Rowan’s shirt. He didn’t like Shep’s ogling, nor the fact that a sly smile was playing on the corners of his lips. “You’re so right,” Peter agreed, a serious tone to his voice now. “Remember poor John and Mortimer, who barely spoke on their first date.” He leaned in on the table to whisper loudly. “They didn’t last a week. And Tiberius and Yossarian, they didn’t even kiss goodnight, and they broke up the next day.” Peter caught Shep’s hand on the table, oblivious to the almost predatory gaze he was throwing at Rowan. “Luckily, we have nothing to worry about, do we, love?” Shep’s gleaming eyes were absolutely wolfish. And he didn’t take them off of Rowan even as he answered his lover. “Nothing at all, sweetness.” Shep entangled his fingers with Peter’s and brought the back of the boy’s hand to his lips. After kissing it gently, he lowered their hands back down under the table and into his lap. “I think we should help them, Peter.” Toby didn’t like where this was going. The hairs at the nape of his neck were sticking up, much like they did when he was in tourney with the History Buffs and someone was at his back with a very pointy sword. “Let’s get some firewhiskey, and play a game to help loosen them up.” “I… I don’t think,” Toby blanched and mumbled weakly. He knew it was useless; this was how Shep always tested new relationships. Or, rather, only the relationships in which he saw gain from their failing. Like the time he managed to break up a two year relationship between Sigmund and Quentin, only to begin dating Quentin less than a week later. Because Shep was nothing if not alluring; tall, blond hair, blue eyes, hard athletic body. And of course, the very moment that Toby had finally landed the boy of his dreams, Shep motherfucking Shepherd found himself attracted to Rowan. As Shep pushed himself away from the table to, no doubt, procure firewhiskey, Toby’s forehead hit the table with a loud clunk, and his hand finally fell from Rowan’s back. “Bollocks, fuck, and hell,” he whispered into the wood. Edited by Toby LItton, Jan 29 2017, 05:38 PM.
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| Rowan Dougherty | Feb 10 2017, 10:27 PM Post #6 |
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Toby’s hand was as much a soothing presence on his thigh as it was a disconcerting one. What if somebody saw and got the wrong impression? Or well… was that the wrong impression? He was here on a date after all. Date’s rested their hand on the others knee, right? Shite but he was so flustered. “Actually, we’re figuring things out, haven’t quite gotten to the first real kiss yet, let alone…” Let alone… wait. Why had he trailed off? Let alone what? Oh. OH! Rowans eyes widened, the blue darkening with panic. Were they already at that point? Surely they weren’t already at that point. It was one date. Correction, they were currently a third through their one date. Had he been knocked out? Was this an alternate universe? Should he have studied for his date to better understand what would be expected of him? What did you even use as study material! Good goat man, was he supposed to read a woman’s magazine? Rowan blanched. Toby grinned in response. Merlin but they were so dissimilar. For what seemed like the millionth time, Rowan wondered how they had even become friends, let alone so much more. The thought gave him pause, for they were so much more when they were together. Sunshine and laughter. If he were asked what his relationship was with Toby, his answer would be sunshine and laughter. Somewhere through the panic and dread, Rowan felt a kindling ache in his heart. For the briefest of moments, he wanted to kiss the sheepish upturned lips that belonged to his best friend just to see what secrets they held. And then it all came crashing down when Peter spoke. “Oh! Oh! Oh, Shep, darling! It’s their first date. Oh, how very sweet!” Rowan ducked his head, staring determinedly at the table as if that would help him will away the distinct blush spreading across his cheeks and down his neck. “Sweet, indeed, and here we are, interrupting the make or break moment of the relationship.” Had Rowan been an impulsive, outwardly emotional boy, he would have jumped up and planted a solid kiss on Shep’s cheek. Clearly he was going to haul Peter off to go terrorize another couple. Rowan flashed him a grateful look, receiving a slow smile in response. “You’re so right. Remember poor John and Mortimer, who barely spoke on their first date,” Peter asked. Rowan, for his part, had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. If it didn’t have to do with Toby, he didn’t particularly care. The bouncy (there really was no better description for him) boy leaned in as if to impart a secret. Rowan didn’t know why he bothered. That type of subterfuge usually required one to actually speak softly. “They didn’t last a week. And Tiberius and Yossarian, they didn’t even kiss goodnight, and they broke up the next day.” Hold it. Rowan’s comprehension screeched to an abrupt halt at that last bit. Was it obligatory to kiss goodnight on a first date? Peter had certainly made it sound necessary. Where was this stated? Bollocks, why hadn’t he studied? This was his recurring nightmare of walking into his N.E.W.T.s with zero preparation, just sitting there twiddling his thumbs because he couldn’t even read the questions—they were always written in elvish, you see, which he would be able to read if he had studied. And now it was his nightmare come true. He was out of his depth here. There was no prior knowledge to fall back upon. He had never been more aware of how unprepared he was for this date. It was too much too soon. Perhaps he had rushed into this? “Luckily, we have nothing to worry about, do we love?” Peter was saying, latching onto Shep’s hand as if the taller boy were about to make a break for it. Rowan wouldn’t quite blame Shep if he had. Perhaps it was ungracious of him, but Rowan could not understand how the other boys were able to stand Bates’ constantly bubbly nature. It grated on his nerves. Theirs were two personalities that would always clash. “Nothing at all, sweetness,” the blonde replied, staring at Rowan for some unfathomable reason. Was Rowan now supposed to turn to Toby and call him by a cutesy nickname? Rowan wasn’t even sure he knew any endearing nicknames. Mate was about as inventive as could get. With a kiss to the back of Peter’s hand that had Rowan turning away uncomfortably, Shep continued, “I think we should help them, Peter.” Crestfallen, Rowan realized that Shep was not in fact planning to haul Peter away. Instead he decided Toby and he needed help. Because that was going to go so well. Rowan pretty much wanted to bury his head in his hands at this point. There was no way this encounter could get any more awkward. “Let’s get some firewhiskey, and play a game to help loosen them up.” Welp. Spoke too soon. “I… I don’t think,” Toby began softly while Rowan made an indiscernible noise in the back of his throat. firewhiskey was alcohol and they were underage. It was against the rules. If he was caught sitting with firewhiskey he would likely receive detention and he could not have detention ruining his perfect record. Was it getting hot in here? It was definitely getting hot in here. Rowan, panicking at the idea of becoming a fugitive (yes that is how seriously he identified with these rule-breaking shenanigans), began to shed his jacket when he heard a thump next to him. Ignoring the sidelong glance Shep gave him as he passed, Rowan focused his attention on Toby and the large red spot he likely now sported on his forehead. “Bollocks, fuck, and hell,” his best friend muttered into the wood. Strange. Rowan was pretty sure that Toby broke rules on occasion. Yet he seemed as against this plan as Rowan. “A game!” Peter clapped excitedly. What was it with this boy and clapping? Good thing there weren’t any clap on clap off lights around. It’d be like sitting at a club with a strobe light. “Ooh what should we play! There’s Truth or Dare… oh that could be exciting. 21 Questions… nah too boring…” As Peter rambled through an extensive list of drinking games that Rowan had never heard of, he turned his attention to more pressing matters. Like ensuring that he never learned how to play them. “Hey,” Rowan whispered, placing a comforting hand on Toby’s shoulder and leaning his head down as he spoke in a low whisper. “We’ll just make a break for it, yeah?” Which is when Shep reappeared out of bloody nowhere with a bottle of firewhiskey in plain sight. They were in a well-maintained establishment. Where in Merlin’s beard did he even find firewhiskey just laying around waiting for an underage boy to swipe it! “Bottoms up, gents,” Shep declared, sliding a shot glass towards each boy. Rowan, tightly controlled facial expressions Rowan, gaped. Shot glasses… where had he gotten the shot glasses. He was a wizard. A goddamn wizard. As in, more wizardly then the rest of the wizards at the table. Damn it he was himself a wizard and couldn’t figure it out. And how had nobody noticed yet? There were professors practically crawling up the walls in this room. Were they just handing out alcohol and shot glasses like candy? Was he sweating now? Oh that was just fantastic. Now he’d be a sweaty mess and who wants to kiss a sweaty mess. Oh and now he was back on that topic again. As if he didn’t already have enough to worry about! He ran a nervous hand through his cropped hair. Peter, Shep, and even Toby held the glasses in their hands, looking at Rowan expectantly. Because this was just a normal occurrence. Four underage students sitting at the Three Broomsticks drinking alcohol in full view of everyone. Full view. His shot was in full view. His shot, wait when had it become his shot? It certainly looked like it belonged to him, perched so malevolently before him. A hand that could not possibly belong to him reached out, grabbed the vile, lawbreaking liquid and quickly poured it down his throat. Immediately he began hacking as everybody drained their glasses. Unbidden, he threw out a hand to clasp onto Toby’s arm even as he pushed the shot back towards Shep as rapidly as he could. Evidence. Shep needed to take back the evidence and hide it. Instead he made an asinine comment about how eager Rowan was for more, refilled all the glasses, and slid one back to Rowan. Fucking hell. His throat was on fire and he was desperately trying to keep his gag reflexes under control. A bit of relief came in the form of a long swig of his blessedly harmless Butterbeer. Luckily, nobody was forcing the next shot down his throat just yet, though Shep was looking at him like he was a wolf that had just spotted a deer. “First time drinking?” he managed innocently enough. “You… oh my god. You’ve never had alcohol before?” Peter asked in what Rowan supposed was intended to be a whisper that people three tables over probably still heard. The hand that clasped Toby’s arm tightened ominously. “No,” he responded gruffly instead. If anything Peter was more shocked and Shep incredibly pleased. Rowan didn’t know what the latter meant. “Well well,” the blonde boy murmured, almost approvingly, “A virgin.” Rowan stiffened and dared not look at Toby. Peter looked between them with a touch of a frown, but did not dwell on the topic. “Let’s play already,” he simpered, tugging on Shep’s arm with a flirtatious smile. “We’ll start out with the easier questions. Never have I ever snogged two separate men in one day!” That was an easy question? Bates giggled and looked around the table expectantly as Shep swallowed his shot with a smirk. “Oh Rowan!” he declared, smacking his forehead, “You have to drink if you’ve done it.” And then he propped his chin in his hand and just looked at him. As if Rowan had snogged two men in one day. He had yet to snog one! |
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| Toby LItton | Feb 12 2017, 09:19 PM Post #7 |
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There was a catalogue of games that Toby knew the other boys would consider. He just knew that it would come down to something so basic, Rowan would run screaming from the pub and never talk to Toby again just because his “friends” were a bunch of gits. He wondered if Rowan even registered that the gits were messing with them on purpose. Well, perhaps not Peter so much; he was naturally chirpy, and undeniably good-hearted, but there was no doubt that something inside Peter was curious about Rowan, the ever-silent Ravenclaw mystery. Peter was back to clapping, and there was no way that Toby was ever going to lift his head from the table, splinters be damned. “A game!” Bloody hell. Toby groaned and thought about lifting his head to let it drop to the table again. And again. And again. Maybe until he passed out, and Rowan would be forced to drag him back to the castle by his ankles. It was an out, anyway. “Ooh what should we play! There’s Truth or Dare…” No, no, no. Gods, no. He could practically feel Rowan’s discomfort radiating like hot flames next to him. “Oh that could be exciting. 21 Questions… Nah too boring…” 21 Questions was the least invasive game in Peter’s repertoire. In fact, once, Toby had even won the game by thinking about a breadbox, which stumped everyone because they always started with “is it bigger than a breadbox” and, well, no one actually thought to think of a breadbox. Somehow, Toby didn’t think Peter and Shep would appreciate such a banal choice. “FUBAR,” Peter muttered, as if he were listing off any game that he could possibly think of. And, to be honest, FUBAR was probably Toby’s favorite game. Rowan would hate it, of course. Much drinking. Rowan wasn’t a drinker. That broke the rules, and the rules were precious to his dark-haired friend. “Power Hour, Would You Rather, ah, probably not any type of pong in the interest of being discreet…” And with every game, the weight on Toby’s shoulders grew heavier and heavier. First, Rowan was going to be lured into an afternoon of intense, underage drinking, and – “Hey,” Rowan’s voice pulled him out of the vicious line of thinking he started on. He drew comfort from Rowan’s hand on his shoulder, too worried about the afternoon’s sharp turn to feel the pride he normally would at such indiscreet contact. Rowan’s breath blew against the tips of Toby’s ear. “We’ll just make a break for it, yeah?” Toby lifted immediately, like a vampire from a coffin. Sounded like a damn perfect plan, actually. And the victorious feeling fleeted instantly. Shep returned. With Firewhiskey. And shot glasses. And a smirk on his face that was directed at Rowan. Oh, hell. “Bottoms up, gents.” Shep made sure that everyone had a shot glass – even Rowan, who was looking down at his as if it were a mortal enemy, and must be cursed off the face of the planet lest it explode and cause a scene, and they’d all be carted off to Azkaban. Toby shifted in his seat, shoulders slumped in resignation. He was no stranger to firewhiskey; it was damn near a rite of passage for most of the students in their year. Underage drinking was just a step forward in life; have some firewhiskey, graduate school, and attempt to stave off alcoholism for the rest of your life. Rite of passage. Toby dared a sidelong glance at his companion and grimaced. Any moment now, he expected Rowan to jump from the table and run. Too much, too soon. As he took in Rowan’s handsome profile, he felt the shot glass being pushed into his hand, already filled with whiskey. He’d need it today, for sure. Liquid courage, or liquid blackout-and-forget-it-ever-happened. Bottoms the hell up, indeed. Lifting it lip-level, Toby sighed and joined in the ritual first shot cheers, turning in his seat so that he was facing Rowan. He tried to appear apologetic to his mate, but it probably appeared more frightened that he’d leave than sorry he’d stay. And then something strange happened. Rowan reached out for the shot glass. Toby’s lips parted, jaw unlocking, breath out like a whoosh. He was going to drink? Underage drink? In public? Toby thought he knew Rowan, really knew him in a way that he could predict what trousers the bloke would wear on which day, and how long he’d studied for an Arithmancy test, and which color pygmy puff he’d own if he ever decided to get a pet (because there was no way Rowan would have a cat; too needy) and just how he liked his tea in the morning, which was only half a tablespoon less milk than in the evening after dinner. But, bloody hell did he not factor in Rowan actually partaking in this silly male ritual. Toby, more shocked than actually wanting to drink, put his glass to his lips and tossed back the amber liquid. From an outside point of view, one could tell for sure who had and hadn’t tried firewhiskey before. Rowan’s hand shot out and gripped Toby’s arm, he clutched at him and his eyes started watering as he flung his shot glass towards Shep. Another? Toby lifted an eyebrow and blinked. Was this Rowan? Or had someone used polyjuice potion to mess with him today? “Oho, seems we’ll have to keep the whiskey flowing for this one,” Shep proclaimed to the table, and Toby had a distinct urge to kick him in the shin like he had done to Peter only moments before. Shep filled the glass up again and slid it back. Toby, unsure of what the hell was happening anymore, also proffered his shot glass for a refill. Shep’s eyes sparkled as he splashed the liquid into the glass. Was he already drunk, or just trying to make sure they all smelled like alcohol when they got back to the school? Toby downed the second shot, and while Shep filled him up once again, Toby noticed that he wasn’t even paying attention to where the liquid went at all; some of it sloshed all over his hand. “First time drinking?” Shep’s smooth voice did nothing to calm Toby’s nerves, which were already on edge on Rowan’s behalf. Toby wanted to protect him from the blond boy more than anything now, reach his arms protectively around him and take off out of the pub quicker than a snitch mid-match. “You… oh my god. You’ve never had alcohol before?” Peter seemed to recognize the issue immediately. He glanced to Toby, apologies in his eyes. A look that said, ‘you’ll be coddling him later in the loo while he tosses up all night.’ Yeah. Toby was sensing he needed to stop this immediately. And Rowan’s tightening grip only solidified his decision. “No,” Rowan’s deep voice was somehow deeper, and Toby didn’t know if it was in response to his thoughts – because how – or if he was answering Peter’s question. Honestly, things were starting to feel alright and warm. And Rowan’s touch wasn’t helping. Bloody hell. “Well, well,” Shep, he really was beginning to remind Toby of one of those lions that stalked gazelle through the forest until it was alone and defenseless and then POUNCE. Seduced. And he didn’t like the way the boy’s eyes lingered on Rowan’s flushing cheeks, or the way he seemed to slither his gaze along the skin showing at Rowan’s neck. “A virgin.” Toby felt a rumble in his chest. A fierce indication to growl and fight and snap at Shep until he left. And it scared Toby. What was this feeling? It blew past jealousy. Possessiveness? He wanted to keep that look on Shep’s face off of Rowan. How was Peter not dragging Shep away and reprimanding him for being such a prat? “Let’s play already.” Peter finally broke the tense silence. “We’ll start out with the easier questions.” Toby gripped his shot glass. He glanced to Rowan, trying to calm his breathing. He wanted to apologize, in advance, for whatever was bound to happen with whiskey and Never Have I Ever. Granted, this was Rowan’s best chance at staying sober; he was a rather low-key bloke, never straying too far out of line. He liked rules. Rules had boundaries, and Rowan adored boundaries. “Never have I ever snogged two separate men in one day!” Peter giggled, a shrill sound that was so juxtaposed from Toby’s own feelings, it started him out of the daze he had lost himself in. Toby winced. He had been worried about Rowan this whole time, he forgot what light this game could shed on Toby. Of course, he told Rowan most things; there weren’t very many secrets. But there were some, obviously. Shep tipped his shot back. “Oh, Rowan, you have to drink if you’ve done it.” Peter was far, far too eager to explain the rules. Peter knew Toby had done it. Peter also knew there was no way that Rowan had… he was the only boy in fucking Hogwarts that didn’t run around snogging everything he saw. Toby lifted the shot to his lips and tossed the liquid back. Three down, he thought with a wince at the scorching sensation down his throat. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Rowan, though. On top of the jealousy, on top of the possessiveness, now Toby was feeling guilty. He had more experience than Row in many ways. Dating, snogging, drinking, partying… none of it felt very fair all of a sudden. Like, he was stealing Row from a protected, sheltered, and warm world and thrusting him into a world filled with absolute tossers like Shep… and him. Why had they agreed to play this game? Had they even agreed? The details were starting to get fuzzy. That was three shots of whiskey down, and there was a calming heat radiating from Toby’s heart spreading through his body. Things were getting hazy; like why he and Rowan were playing this game instead of snogging somewhere in a corner where no one could see, and why they were spending their time with Peter and Shep when they could be enjoying a private day between just the two of them, with some snogging thrown in for fun. Just thinking about snogging Rowan was causing a flush to creep across Toby’s face. They’d kissed – well, Toby had stolen a kiss from Rowan when he thought it might be the only one he’d ever get – but, it was nothing like the daydreams that Toby had of his friend before feelings were brought to light. And, honestly, snogging was one of the things Toby was good at. If he could pour all of his feelings for Rowan into a kiss, he was sure the world would implode. “Never have I ever…” Shep’s smooth voice interrupted the very hot flow of thoughts flying through Toby’s mind. He bit his lip and grabbed his refilled shot glass, just in case. Couldn’t dare a glance to Rowan again, because he was sure desire was slathered across his face like a big red sign that shouted ‘hey, look at me, I want to snog you senseless.’ “… Fantasized about someone sitting at this table.” He glanced at Toby, smiled a big grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes, and then grabbed his whiskey. Shep’s glance went back to Rowan and he winked at the boy. “Oh, I guess I should drink, too.” Toby was equal parts furious and curious as he stared wide-eyed at Shep; there was no winner as he downed his shot without even having to think twice about it. He had fantasized about Rowan several times, couldn’t even count it on all his fingers and toes. It was an easy drink for him. No worries. But it was Shep’s eyes on his boyfriend that really riled up something ugly inside of Toby. The way he hadn’t paid his own date the courtesy of a glance and a grin and a wink. The way he flat out cheated at a game that Toby knew he’d played on several occasions. The way that he was putting Rowan in an uncomfortable situation, talking about fantasies with Row couldn’t even bring himself to touch Toby in public, let alone have those thoughts about him. Toby was ready to haul off and let Shep have it, when Peter interrupted with a tinkering laugh that grabbed his attention as he downed his own shot. How was he even okay with all of this? Didn’t he see what Shep was doing? How he was coveting Rowan? “Of course he’s not going to drink,” Toby ground out as the couple across from him stared at Rowan, waiting for him to take a shot – it felt like they were absolutely trying to get him hammered now that they knew he was a virgin to firewhiskey. And Toby didn’t appreciate that either. “He didn’t even know he fancied me until last week, bloody hell.” Toby grabbed the bottle of firewhiskey and took a deep pull from its long neck. Shep’s amused, glinting eyes caught his and Toby frowned as he struggled to swallow whiskey. Hell, he’d never drank this much before. “What, I have had an absolute shitton of fantasies, okay? One shot just wasn’t bloody enough.” Toby harrumphed, flinging himself back into his seat next to Rowan, crossed his arms over his chest and practically hummed with annoyance. Heavy lidded all of a sudden, Toby swung his gaze away from the annoying blonde across from him, and landed direct eye contact with Rowan. He tried to offer him a sheepish smile, but it ended up a massive grin that took up most of his face. |
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| Rowan Dougherty | Feb 13 2017, 12:35 AM Post #8 |
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Naturally Rowan’s shot remained untouched as he stared back at Peter with a touch of defiance in his cobalt stare. It didn’t quite escape his notice when Toby pushed an empty shot towards Shep. There was a pang of … something he couldn’t quite describe. Remorse? Jealousy? Disappointment? Betrayal. Which was absurd since Toby had always been his best mate. Nothing more. Who was he to judge if he wanted to kiss more than one bloke in a night? And yet… he really hadn’t considered Toby that type of guy. It was unfair, probably, for him to judge him so. Still, he couldn’t quite help that twinge of pain. It made him feel like he needed to reevaluate his friend. He had always been completely open with Toby about every aspect of his life. Yet, it appeared that Toby had not always been honest with him. Hence betrayal. It was something they would have to discuss later but for now they had a larger battle to fight. And they needed to do it side by side. There was a warm feeling spreading out from his chest now, no doubt caused by the alcohol that seemed to be affecting the other boys as well. Toby had a strong flush spreading across his cheeks, while Peter appeared to be literally bouncing in his seat. Shep’s eyes had narrowed into slits, scrutinizing Rowan in a way that made him want to punch the blonde boy. “Never have I ever…” he seemed to pause for dramatic effect, for whose notice, Rowan wasn’t quite sure since his ability to drink more alcohol most definitely did not depend on whatever was about to spew forth from Shep’s mouth, “ fantasized about someone sitting at this table.” See? As he said, he was most certainly not going to have… to… wait. Wait. He had just bloody well done that on his way here! Was Shep a fucking mind reader? Cowboy hat. Leather pants. Ahem. History of Magic. Professor Shaw. Peter. Fuck… golf? He most determinedly had to set his mind on something that did not involve certain items (that he still maintained did not belong to him) buried in his trunk. Shite! Professor Shaw teaching History of Magic with Peter in the background playing golf. There, that was doing the trick. He was definitely back to reality now though determinedly not looking at Toby lest his expression give him away. What type of expression would that be really? He had never had an “I want to shag you” look thrown at him, so how was he entirely sure that his face would portray that idea? Also, back up there for just one teeny tiny second. Had he just admitted he would possibly want to shag his best mate? Let’s just throw in the fact that they hadn’t well bloody kissed yet! This was the Firewhiskey. It most definitely had to be the Firewhiskey and for fuck’s sake could somebody put the bloody air conditioning on already? “Oh, I guess I should drink, too,” Shep winked at Rowan, proceeding then to down his alcohol in one smooth gulp. What about the rules? Was he even allowed to say that if he had done it? Hell, why don’t we throw in the other five rules that were being broken tonight? It seemed like a damn good choice at the time to get rid of the alcohol by drinking it. Now he realized what a bloody fool he had been. Professor’s could most certainly smell alcohol on a student’s breath. For one incredibly insane moment Rowan pondered the idea of jumping up on to the chair and asking the room at large if anybody happened to have a breath mint. He still hadn’t drunk his second shot and he was supposed to. The rules said he had to drink if he had done it and he was guilty. Oh so guilty. Abashedly guilty. But rules also said that he could not drink when he was underage and he was most definitely still underage. No spontaneous birthdays over here, nosiree. And then Peter did something so telling that Rowan nearly launched out of his seat. Bates giggled. Giggled! And stared at his Toby as he downed his own shot. Which could only mean that he had fantasized about Toby. And that was downright unacceptable. Removing his clasp from Toby’s arm, Rowan found himself clenching his hands into white-knuckled grip. But Shep and Peter were both shooting glances between him and the shot, as if they knew he should have drank it already, which had Rowan about to reach out for the shot when… “Of course he’s not going to drink,” Toby’s voice startled them all. “He didn’t even know he fancied me until last week, bloody hell.” Something much warmer than alcohol spread through him then, grounding him, making him inspect the boy next to him even closer. Toby. It had always been Toby protecting him. Sheltering him. Cheering him up with an infectious smile and an arm slung across his back. Concerning him as he grabbed the bottle of Firewhiskey and began to practically chug it. About to pry the bottle away from him, Toby stopped of his own accord, placing the offensive liquid back on the table as he peered innocently at the other boys. “What, I have had an absolute shitton of fantasies, okay? One shot just wasn’t bloody enough.” Rowan was practically floored and slightly appalled at Toby’s behavior as the other boy flung himself back into his seat and crossed his arms. Worry had Rowan locking eyes with the brunette, searching their depths for any indication of what that was all about. Wondering also if those fantasies he had been having lately had to do with him. For the first time since entering the restaurant, Rowan inspected his friend. Chocolate waves perpetually a mess, brilliant grin edging into dimpled cheeks, sparkling eyes alight with affection… gods, it was no wonder boys fell in love with him so quickly. Was it any wonder how enamored Rowan had become? It made complete sense that he could only feel an overwhelming fondness for this man, so beautifully splayed before him. What were they doing here? They should be up in their dorm, laying side by side in Rowan’s bed, discussing the wonder of books, and jogging, and Quidditch and life and love and laughter! That is where they could shine, completely at ease with one another. That is where they could entwine so that one soul was no longer discernable from the other. They didn’t need to go on a date. They never had to. They simply needed to be and let all the pieces fall into place. Because at the end of the day, when he thought about it, there had never been a Rowan without a Toby. Blushing at the thought, aching at the sheepish smile spilling off his friends face, Rowan decided to return a similar grin of his own. “Actually,” Rowan coughed awkwardly, refusing to meet Shep or Peter’s gazes since if he did he would be too embarrassed to go through with this. And he had to do this. He had to take this shot. Even more, he wanted to. This was about something much more than a bloody game. It was about confirming something for his friend. That he wasn’t going to bolt and leave Toby to these mischievous, agenda-seeking boys. That though they were still figuring out what all this was between them, it most certainly had romantic tendencies. So, keeping his eyes locked with Toby’s, flushed likely to the roots of his hair, allowing the rest of the atmosphere to fade away, Rowan grabbed the shot and attempted to drink it as smoothly as his peers. Once again he failed as the liquid burned his esophagus yet again, but he valiantly kept the spluttering to a minimum this time. And when he looked up, Toby was staring back at him with a gaze that Rowan couldn’t quite discern. A look he was sure he mirrored as he glanced briefly at Toby’s swollen lips, laced as they were with the bitter taste of alcohol. For the first time he wished could grab Toby by the shoulders, press his mouth against the other boys, lick the offensive evidence of alcohol off his lips. He was positive it would taste better that way. Perhaps it was the alcohol that provided him the courage he lacked. Perhaps this was just the way this evening was supposed to go. But when Rowan’s hand caressed the other boys cheek before it snaked behind Toby’s neck, something inside him clicked into place. It spoke of how right this encounter was. Yet even as his gaze flicked down to Toby’s lips once more, about to pull him closer and ease the yearning in his heart, Shep, predictably broke the mood. “Rowan!” he practically barked, causing Rowan to jump, blush heating his cheeks once more as he removed his hand swiftly from Toby. Bloody hell. He had been about to kiss Toby in a public space. In full view of everyone! “It’s your turn.” Rowan sank back into his seat, lifting the newly filled shot glass halfway to his mouth before remembering that wait, he didn’t actually have to drink it. “Unless we want to elaborate upon who we have fantasized about?” Shep questioned slyly, even as Rowan set the still full shot back down on the table with an audible clunk. No thank you. Peter, naturally, decided to chime in. “Oh love! As if anybody here could narrow it down to just one!” Rowan could. But by hell that just confirmed Rowan’s suspicions about fantasies regarding Toby. “I’ll just go,” Rowan cut in quickly before anything more could be implied. “Never have I ever… umm… travelled overseas? He questioned, rather lamely even to his ears. Immediately, Shep and Peter scoffed. “That’s not a good one!” Peter complained loudly, fingers gripping his shot glass as if he expected to drink no matter what was asked. It was strange. Almost like he was trying to prove he had a bunch of experience. “Oh Rowan,” Shep intoned lightly, “We both know you can come up with something better than that.” Rowan shot him a befuddled look. He was acting as if they both knew each intimately, which of course, was not at all the case. “Errm…” Rowan tried again, ignoring the uneasy feeling that Shep had caused him with his overly familiar statement, “Never have I ever… had a threesome?” The last part of the statement was truly a question, as if wondering if this would be a good enough answer to the game for them. Apparently it was as Peter slapped a hand over his giggling mouth and Shep clinked his glass against Rowan’s before drinking for a reason that could only be known to the blonde boy. And then Rowan remembered that Toby had to answer the question too. That he could possibly have had a threesome. Suddenly, Rowan very much wished they had gone to that horribly pink tea shop instead. |
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| Toby LItton | Feb 13 2017, 09:52 PM Post #9 |
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Cotton filled his ears. Toby’s heart was hammering – positively thundering – in his throat. His palms were suddenly slick with sweat. It felt like one of those moments, a big one that should have its own soundtrack in the background instead of the constant chatter of rambunctious teenagers. He knew when Rowan’s lips lifted to mirror his own smile that he wasn’t going to dash off, tuck himself away in their dorm and pretend Toby was just another housemate he didn’t want to talk to. No; Rowan actually did care. Toby hadn’t made him feel obligated. Rowan wanted to do this… whatever they were doing. “Actually.” Toby’s heart about jumped from his mouth, out onto the table, flopped around where Shep and Peter could see it, and then stopped completely because Rowan’s one word had arrested it. For one, horrific moment, Toby thought for sure he would never hear the ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-bump of his heart ever again. His lips parted. His eyes widened. He flushed crimson across his nose and cheeks, down his neck and his chest. Somewhere in his peripheral vision, he saw Rowan’s hand clutching the tiny shot glass. It happened in slow motion. While Rowan, unblinking and sure and a very bright shade of red, lifted his hand to his mouth, Toby wanted to stop him. He wanted to tell him that he didn’t have to prove anything. That, despite what Shep and Peter thought, it was not all about sexuality or how many blokes you’d do on a Sunday, or snogging, or any of that other intimate stuff they were trying to force him into considering. All that mattered in that moment was Rowan and Toby. It was about them. Always had been. Yet, as Rowan closed his eyes, tipped the glass back, and the liquid slipped between his lips, something triumphant roared inside of Toby’s chest, bringing his halted heart back to life and thump, thump, thumping away to a quick beat. The room came into sharp focus; plates clattered, glasses clinked, Shep balked, Peter giggled. However, all of it melted away again when their eyes met. Toby was lost somewhere between wonder and delight, scorching red under the sapphire gaze Rowan was leveling at him. It finally sunk in what it meant that Rowan took the shot. He’d fantasized about Toby.Him. In a sexual way. And then he started wondering what those fantasies were. Did they reflect his own? Were there shirtless moments? Abs? Hot snogging in a broom closet? Toby was suddenly lost in a sea of half-naked thoughts; pulling Rowan from the corridor into a shady alcove by his tie, pushing Rowan against a wall and attaching himself to the soft flesh below his ear, running his hands up Rowan’s slender sides and – Every single thought fled his mind when he felt a tender, feather light caress on his cheek. His green eyes began to close even as Rowan’s hand gently moved around the back of his neck. The last thing he saw was Rowan’s downward glance, to his lips, and then his eyes were closed, waiting for the moment he’d imagined hundreds and hundreds of times over the years. He was so close, Toby could feel Rowan’s whiskey soaked breath tingling his nose. “Rowan!” Toby didn’t know at first who had interrupted the moment, only that Rowan’s stricken form was further away from him, a fire in the place where his hand had been only a second before. It took him too long to open his eyes, but when the voice spoke again, it was clear which dickhead had spoiled a very heated moment between the pair. “It’s your turn,” Shep simpered with a sly smile on his face. “Unless we want to elaborate upon who we have fantasized about?” Toby’s mind wasn’t even considering the other two possibilities at the table. Rowan, it chanted. It had always been Rowan. Even when he carried a torch for Shep, it was entirely superficial and never ventured to that place. “Oh love!” Peter’s tinkering voice interrupted what was about to be another flood of remembered fantasies. Toby had to blink several times just to try and gain some focus back. “As if anybody here could narrow it down to just one!” Peter was so, devastatingly wrong. He was just about to open his parched mouth to tell the lad as much, but Rowan’s thick voice cut in hastily. “I’ll just go. Never have I ever… umm… travelled overseas?” It was so innocent, so sweet. So entirely Rowan. Toby reached forward for his shot glass to take a quick drink. Peter was having none of it. “That’s not a good one!” Followed very quickly by Shep, who swiftly removed the last of Toby’s stifling fantasy feelings. “Oh Rowan, we both know you can come up with something better than that.” Did Shep really know that? Hell no, he didn’t. He didn’t know Rowan. He didn’t know that Rowan would rather be curled up in his bed reading War and Peace for the twelfth time than sat here drinking with a pack of rowdy, randy boys trying to get a rise out of him. Shep didn’t know that Rowan was genuine as hell when he offered his Never Have I Ever, and he was perfectly innocent to the ways of sexual desire; well, perhaps not entirely after having listened to Toby for years, and apparently having his own fantasies, which, by the way, Toby thought as he brought his gaze back to Rowan’s face, they were going to have a very interesting conversation about later. Shep didn’t know a fucking thing about Rowan. “Errm…” Rowan looked uncomfortable again, and Toby desperately wanted to alleviate the feeling. He wanted to jump in with his own, tamer question, but Rowan carried on despite the embarrassment that was creeping onto his handsome face. “Never have I ever… had a threesome?” Honestly, Toby didn’t even know that Rowan knew how to correctly use the word ‘threesome’, let alone that he’d admit to never having one, because really… it was Rowan. One just naturally assumed that if he was with someone, he was with one and not trying to form some crazy triad of sex. Rowan would probably approach a threesome like some wizards approached Ancient Runes; lots of mathematical calculations and, finally, throwing your hands up in the air and saying “fuck it”. The thought almost made Toby chuckle, and he would have, if Shep hadn’t clinked his shot glass against Rowan’s with that incredibly predatory glint in his eyes. Toby was about thirty seconds away from pummeling the blonde boy and hitting him with a bat bogey hex so terrible, he would never get laid again for the rest of his life because bat bogeys would be growing on top of his bat bogey’s bat bogey’s. It was only when Peter, between fits of loud giggles, tossed back another shot – seriously, the bloke was probably twenty sheets to the wind but no one would ever know because he didn’t have volume control and he was always touchy-feely, so how was anyone supposed to know when he was actually drunk – that Toby was brought back to present. This wasn’t what they’d come here to do. What Toby wanted from this entire ordeal was simply time with Rowan that was intimate and, he wasn’t ashamed to admit, a declaration to the world that Toby finally felt complete, even if he and Rowan hadn’t determined what this was; it was more than Toby could ever hope for. He already had everything he could possibly ask for from Rowan, and more. And here he was, dragging him through this whole mess so that Shep could assault him with wicked grins and purring comments, and so that Peter could interrupt a quiet, close day with his claps and giggles and games. No. This was not what Toby wanted at all. He wanted Rowan, plain and simple. All eyes were on him, but, most especially, a very curious pair of blue eyes that could burn a hole through his skull if concentration was all it took to light a fire. Smiling, Toby reached out for his shot glass and brought it to his lips. There was a strange silence at the table as he lifted the edges of his lips and turned his full attention to Rowan, trying to smolder the way the dark-haired god next to him seemed to do with perfect ease. “Really, Row?” Toby laughed, a chuckle deep within his chest, rumbling its way up his throat, which was still dry from only moments ago when Rowan had nearly kissed him in the middle of a public pub. Toby set his shot glass down and shook his head playfully. An impish gleam lit his green eyes. He leaned in close to Rowan; arms pressed together, electricity zooming between their bodies. Toby tilted his head slightly, chin raised, and whispered directly under Rowan’s ear so that only he could hear the words that left him in a quick huff. “I haven’t ev’n had a twosome.” When he pulled away, his eyes finally left Rowan and landed on the two boys across from them. Their eyes were bright, cheeks warmed from the whiskey, disheveled in a way that only came with downing several shots. Peter clung to Shep, who wolfishly followed Rowan’s every miniscule movement. Toby had just about enough of that covetous prat. “Never have eyever…” Toby placed his hand back on Rowan’s knee, finger drawing circular patterns on the rough surface of his trousers. He didn’t really notice his word slur; there were other pressing matters at hand. “… had ‘n eShTD scare.” Toby could clearly remember the day Hogwarts came under attack by Venereal Dragon Pox. Shep and Peter were among the occupants of the infirmary. He’d brought them both porridge at the request of the healer one day while he was visiting. While the cots were all closed for privacy of the patients, Toby was a dear friend to Peter, and of course, trying to score a date with Shep at the time. It was a secret Toby held onto. Until now. He levelled a glance at Shep, eyebrow semi-raised over his bright eyes. Shep grimaced, finally, finally taking his eyes off of Rowan and grumbling as he quickly shot the liquid back into his throat. Peter didn’t make a noise as he swallowed the whiskey in his shot glass. And Toby, well, he didn’t even have to look at Rowan to know his best mate had never had Venereal Dragon Pox. Toby leaned into Rowan again while the other couple began whispering to each other, probably thinking of how best to get back at Toby for his little stunt just then. It wasn’t nice, not at all, but it was necessary. “You, me, dorms, now?” he propositioned Rowan to leave the pub quietly, big old smile growing on his lips. |
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| Rowan Dougherty | Feb 14 2017, 12:46 AM Post #10 |
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Dismay. Disappointment. Disbelief. And yes, even a bit of anger all raced through Rowan as Toby brought the dreaded alcohol to his lips. It was as though he were sitting next to a stranger. He might as well have been one. The boy sitting next to him, admitting to threesomes and snogging multiple boys in one day was not the same one who had lain next to him at night chatting about books and flying and home. Rowan should never have agreed to this. There were some truths that were too hard to hear and some confessions that should remain forever unspoken. And oh how his heart ached when Toby turned to him, firewhiskey perched precariously upon his upturned lips. His sensual emerald stare pressed the breath from his lungs and for a moment Rowan’s heart stopped beating. Gods he was beautiful. “Really, Row?” Toby queried as a chuckle erupted from his broad chest. Rowan simply stared as Toby set his full glass back on the table, willing comprehension to dawn faster in his paralyzed mind. Didn’t drink. He didn’t drink which meant that he hadn’t actually had a threesome. Toby hadn’t had a threesome! Somewhere he was sure that an angel had just popped out from behind a cloud and sang a mighty “Hallelujah!” That was a strange thought. In fact, all of his thoughts felt a bit sluggish and fuzzy around the edges. And his gaze seemed to have narrowed as though he were staring through an empty toilet paper roll. Hey! That was kind of funny. Why had nobody deigned to tell Rowan that he was funny? Oh. Oh dear no. He had read about this. The warm tingly feeling. The absurd (and humorous, remember) thoughts. The impending sense of doom. He was drunk. Absolutely, positively, undeniably, sheets to the wind drunk. If he stood up right now, he would probably fall over and then everybody else would know he was drunk. Because that’s what people did when they were drunk. They fell over. Being drunk was not good for his pristine, crystal clear record. But inhibiting liquid was quickly forgotten as Toby leaned towards him, radiating heat that scorched his skin wherever Toby’s limbs pressed against his. He could even smell Toby, a unique blend of tilled earth and fresh rain that made one imagine lazy picnics by the lake and hot sun on bare skin… Did alcohol enhance the senses? He was sure that everything he had ever read about it said it dulled the sense of smell, taste, sight … and yet Rowan’s had become hawk-like in their intensity. “I haven’t ev’n had a twosome,” Toby murmured low, sultry, likely not a tone he was going for as he slurred words, breath laced with the acrid odor of firewhiskey. Rowan sucked in a breath. His relief at the declaration was almost palpable. His sudden greed and possessiveness showing as he leaned closer even as Toby shifted away. And then Toby’s hand landed on Rowan’s knee and his mind sputtered out for a few minutes. He was so totally drunk. Alcohol poisoning even. That could be the only explanation for his flushed and heated skin and the nerves that seemed to have bundled right beneath his flesh as if too much nervous energy had decided to break through and escape. “Never have eyever…” Toby began, nearly incoherent as the copious amount of alcohol he had consumed made a beeline for his brain, “… had ‘n eShTD scare.” Rowan blinked. First and foremost, it was time for Toby to step away from the alcohol, drink some water, and be put to bed. Second, an esh … a S… oh! His eyes widened, staring straight at Shep and Peter. They both drank. Peter swayed in his chair. Shep’s eyes had narrowed into murderous slits. It was definitely time to go. As the two boys conversed quietly—it appeared that Peter did know how to speak softly—Toby sagged against Rowan. “You, me, dorms, now?” Rowan glanced at his friend. Bleary eyed, huge puppy dog smile, hair a splattered mess atop his head. The affection he felt at that moment was blinding, nearly heart-stopping in its raw power. Oh this boy. “Whatever am I going to do with you?” Rowan questioned lowly, loving smile adorning his lips. And hesitantly, wondering at himself as he did it, Rowan placed an adoring kiss to his forehead. And once again the mood was poisoned by an overly obnoxious Shep Shepard. “Are we playing this game or not?” he asked, lips tilted in jest but eyes hard as they swept between Toby and Rowan. This time, Rowan decided to speak up for himself. “We’re not,” Rowan replied in a voice that was as frosty as it was final. This was the standoffish boy that most around the castle knew him to be, preferring to hide in his bed rather than socialize with those who wished to observe and distort his every move. For some reason, it only seemed to make Shep more willing to keep them there. “C’mon,” Shep plied, nudging Peter with his shoulder. “We were having so much fun.” “Yeah!” Peter giggled as if on cue, “look we’ll all take another shot together!” As he said it, the dark haired boy pushed Toby’s still full shot towards his friend, who was already slurring his words and nestled against Rowan. He was sure he would regret this, but the anger that rose in him was so fierce, his desire to protect Toby from a night spent hanging over a toilet so overwhelming, that Rowan found himself snatching up the glass and downing it with a bitter twist of his mouth. “Let’s go, Toby,” he said flatly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before helping Toby out of his chair. Despite his earlier suspicion, the floor did not in fact rush up to meet him. The room did seem brighter, though, with a surreal quality infused throughout. Peter immediately jumped up, grabbing Toby into a completely drunken hug that had both the boys swaying dangerously and Rowan frowning. They needed to get out of here sooner rather than later. But as he grabbed for his jacket, Shep was suddenly there, standing directly in Rowan’s personal space, a light hand on his hip that had Rowan stiffening perceptibly. “When you get bored of him, come look me up,” he murmured seductively in Rowan’s ear, voice pitched low so as to remain solely between them. “I can show you what a good time really is.” His predatory chuckle did nothing to help Rowan’s uneasiness, and when his hand traced along his hip bone, Rowan was through with civility. “You’re drunk,” he supplied, “or did you really think you could ever be better than Toby?” Shaking the blonde off him, Rowan proceeded to grab the full shot glass that Peter had just pressed into Toby’s hand right back out of it. He set it back on the table, grabbing Toby’s elbow as they both managed not to stumble out of the Three Broomsticks. Though he didn’t look back, Rowan could feel the scorching look directed at his back. As soon as they were outside, darkness sheathing them like a cloak, Rowan heaved in a lungful of air, even as he kept them moving at a brisk pace, turning onto a rarely used winding path that would inevitably dump them back at the castle. He didn’t quite trust the other two boys and had no desire to walk back with them to Hogwarts and continue this escapade in a dorm. As soon as trees encircled them in a makeshift shelter, Rowan slowed and broke away from Toby. A tremor shook his body as if it was attempting to rid itself of the alcohol, the blonde’s touch, the incredible awkwardness that their entire date had been thus far… Thus far. The date wasn’t a complete failure yet. Running a flustered hand through his hair, Rowan came to an abrupt stop, whirling to face Toby, yet still walking backwards. “Am I drunk?” he questioned, distress dominating his tone. “Is this what drunk is?” His hand ran back and forth through the brunette locks. “Am I going to get in trouble because I’m drunk? Wait, am I actually drunk?!” And that was about the time that he tripped over a rock and fell straight onto his back. Because drunk people always fell. Groaning, he pressed both of his hands against his flushed face. “Oh no I’m drunk,” he spoke in complete and utter dismay. Edited by Rowan Dougherty, Feb 14 2017, 12:47 AM.
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