![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hp crackfic: Hogwarts Gone Wild
Title: Hogwarts Gone Wild
Pairing: James. Sirius. Remus. Peter. Wanking.
Rating: NC-17
Words: ~ 6,000
Summary: Four Case Studies on the Masturbatory Habits of Gryffindors
Warnings: Frottage with unsuspecting inanimate objects, specifically brooms, motorbikes, books, and a gentlemen's quarterly.
A/N: I have told you lot not to encourage me. And many of you did. I don't need to name names. You know who you are.
All apologies to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
chuffing. I simply could not work in the wheel of government cheese.
Hogwarts Gone Wild
Four Case Studies on the Masturbatory Habits of Gryffindors
Subject #1: James Potter
James is furious when he gets upstairs, and he bursts into the dormitory, the door flying open so hard and fast it bounces loudly off the wall. It swings back towards him, but he catches it, slamming it behind him with a growl.
Sirius looks up at him from where he's lounging on the floor at the foot of Remus' bed, arching an eyebrow. He eyes James up and down, pursing his lips like he's trying not to laugh, and James realizes a bit hysterically that he's not wearing very much.
Sopping wet underpants. A Muggle t-shirt that's a bit damp around the hem. A scowl. His trousers are in his hand, rhythmically dripping lake water onto the deep red carpet.
"Evans?" Sirius asks, the corners of his mouth twitching.
"I don't want to talk about it," James seethes. He stalks towards his bed, tossing back the lid of his trunk as violently as he had opened the door.
Sirius opens his mouth, but thinks the better of it when James glares at him and turns his attention back to the parchment spread across his lap. He smothers a snicker behind his hand as James fishes dry underpants and new trousers out of his trunk, and James hopes he chokes on it.
Remus is on his bed, reading like he's forgotten it's Saturday, his Potions textbook cradled in his hands. He watches as James pulls on the dry clothes and Banishes the wet things to the bathroom, but he doesn't speak. Wise man. From the window-seat, Peter watches him as well, peering at him over the top of the quarterly he's pretending to read. He doesn't speak either, and when James frowns at him he hides his face in the magazine. Chicken.
Peter shifts uncomfortably and James catches a glimpse of the witch on the front cover; she has hair a shade of red that makes James' lip curl and his teeth grind together.
"I'm going for a fly," James snarls. "Accio Betsy!"
His broom sails across the room, right into his outstretched hand.
"Best avoid the lake, mate," Sirius says mildly, not looking up from his scroll. "Be a shame if Betsy tosses you in."
"I hate you lot," James says savagely.
"Not as much as Evans hates you," Remus murmurs.
"What?" James asks.
"Nothing," Remus says, clearing his throat. Peter snickers. Sirius doubles over his parchment and starts to wheeze. "Reciting potions ingredients."
"You all suck," James declares, then he whirls around to yank open the door.
He takes all seven flights of stairs at a run, stumbling once when they swing about on him, and he runs through the corridors as well, because right now, McGonagall's rules about orderly conduct in the halls can sod off and die. He throws a leg over his broom and kicks off as soon as he's out the front door, even though he knows he's not supposed to fly in the courtyard. He doesn't much care, not when a gaggle of third-years just saw Evans dump him into the lake.
James avoids the lake, not on his wanker of a best friend's advice, but because Evans might still be there. And the third-years, who all just saw him in his trolleys. With seaweed in his hair.
He starts towards the pitch, but there are people there, not Evans or third-years, but Slytherins, engaging in what passes for Quidditch practice with that lot. Growling, he heads for the Forbidden Forest instead, because he's in no mood for Slytherins. Well, maybe Snivellus, because he could levitate Snivellus into the lake, except Evans is probably still there, and she'd start shrieking like a banshee, like she always does if James so much as breathes.
He'll never understand that bird as long as he lives. She acts like James asking her for a date is the end of the bloody world; she always shouts about what an arrogant toerag he is, and he always ends up wet or jelly-legged or covered in boils.
It just doesn't make any sense. She went to Hogsmeade last weekend with Shacklebolt. Shacklebolt. Sure, Shacklebolt's a nice enough bloke, and he's a seventh-year and he makes good marks, but he's certainly an arrogant toerag, the big, bloody showoff. And he talks about Quidditch more than James and Sirius combined, and as far as James is concerned, he's not nearly as much fun to be around.
He supposes he should probably listen to Sirius and Remus and just give up. Peter doesn't have an opinion on the matter, of course he wouldn't, because Evans is a prefect and she helps him with his Charms homework when Remus is 'sick', or too busy trying to make Sirius learn. But Sirius and Remus think it's past time he gave over, especially Sirius. He swears he has a list of birds that would give James a date if he'd just ask, and stop clinging to Evans like a lethifold.
Of course they would. He's popular, and fit, and he plays Quidditch.
But he can't seem to stop himself, because it's Evans, because he's been after her since third year, like it's some kind of sodding mission. Because it's Evans, who has beautiful, red hair that shines like fire in the sun and big, grass-green eyes and the nicest, roundest...
Well, fuck. Now he's done it. He's hard as a rock, which is pretty bloody uncomfortable, since he has a broomstick between his legs.
James rounds a small copse of trees and sees the entrance to the Forbidden Forest, and he decides settling down for a wank in the shade sounds nice. He knows he'd be better off going to the Shack, less chance of being interrupted by centaurs or thestrals or great bloody spiders, but his cock is throbbing in a way that says the Shack's too far away, and he's not in the mood for the Whomping Willow's shit right now.
He leans forward on his broom to dive, laying flat against the polished wood. His cock slides against the hard surface of the broomstick and he gasps, nearly spiraling out of control as pleasure sparks low in his stomach and floods through his body.
He regains control of himself just time to see the ground coming up to meet him at an alarming rate, and he tries to adjust quickly. He yanks on Betsy to bring himself back up, but this only makes matters worse, only pushes the broomstick harder against his cock, trapping it between the hard wood and his body, and it throbs, straining against his trousers as it searches for more friction.
And he's overshot the entrance by a wide margin, he's hovering around the tops of the trees, and he needs to drop down again, he needs to get off this broom and on the ground so he can have a wank before his cock explodes. But he's almost afraid to; he's afraid if he leans over his broom again his cock will explode and his trousers will be a total loss for the second time today.
James circles around a bit, tempted just to stuff his hand down his trousers and be done with it. But that's dangerous, he could lose control of his broom and fall off, and then he'd be flat on his back with his cock hanging out and his broomstick on his head, which could easily be more embarrassing that Evans dumping him into the lake.
And this is Evans' fault, anyway, with her perfect breasts that just barely strain the buttons of her school shirt and the nice curve of her hips under the sway of her skirt, and that train of thought is not helping one bit.
The circling is not helping, either. Every time he changes direction the broom brushes against his cock slightly, so slightly it's not much more than a fucking tease, and it makes a sound build in his throat that is perilously close to a whimper. Not that James is the kind of bloke that whimpers.
He decides to risk a dive, because if he doesn't get off Betsy soon there is going to be a serious problem, and he doesn't much care if he makes inside the Forbidden Forest at this point, all he wants is to get off his broom and get his hand around his cock. He leans forward, guiding Betsy towards the ground, but that's a really bad idea because Betsy rubs long and hard against his cock, making him jerk, making his grip slip, and now he's spinning out of control.
James pulls up on the handle just shy of running headlong into the ground, which only serves to grind the length of his broom against his cock really fucking hard and he's so close it hurts, and part of him is horrified at that thought, that he's about to come in his trousers like a second-year who's never had a girl's hand down his pants simply from riding his bloody broomstick.
"Potter? What on earth are you doing? Showing off like the great prat you are?"
He doesn't need to look down; he'd recongize that voice anywhere, it's Evans, he knows it's Evans, he can picture her narrowed grass-green eyes and the displeased set of her mouth. And that's it, that's enough, that's another set of trousers for the house-elves, because he's coming, he's shuddering and holding on to Besty for dear life, and he really hopes Evans thinks he's having some kind of fit because he'd die of the humiliation of she knew what was really going on.
He lands, a bit gingerly, holding Betsy in front of him to hide the incriminating stain spreading across the crotch of his trousers. He smiles at Evans, and tries not to look guilty, but she only frowns and rolls her eyes.
"For all your talk about Quidditch, Potter, you fly you've never seen a broom before," She says cooly.
"Here, you've seen me at games." James says, rumpling his hair. "Only, I started coughing."
"Coughing?" She asks dubiously.
"Coughing," James insists, clearing his throat for effect.
She replies with a derisive little snort, then stalks off, her face lost in a cloud of red hair as she whirls around. He studies her as she walks away, watching her legs disappear under the pleats of her skirt and the soft sway of her hips until his cock gives a feeble, little twitch.
"Don't even think about it," He growls. "You've caused enough trouble for one day."
He casts a Cleansing Charm when Evans is out of sight, which leaves his trousers a little stiff, but that's fine, because it gets rid of the stain. If he'd gone upstairs like that, Sirius would have noticed, and Sirius would have asked a bunch of bloody questions James would not have wanted to answer.
But he doesn't have to. It's not like Besty is going to say anything.
Subject #2: Sirius Black
Sirius knows he shouldn't laugh at James, even if it is James' fault for chasing a bird that wishes he would sod off. But it's difficult not to, not when James is standing in the doorway like that, a great, wet, half-naked ball of fury that's making a puddle on the carpet.
And Sirius doesn't want to like Evans, for James' sake, and he mostly doesn't, because she's an insufferable know-it-all with no sense of humor. But she is rather inventive, and she'd probably make a fairly decent pranker if she'd just lighten up and stop insisting she only use her powers for good.
Sirius manages to hold it in, even after James leaves, slamming the door behind him like the big baby he is, until Remus makes a funny, little strangled noise like he's choking on his own snickers. Sirius can't help it then, he explodes, laughing so long and hard he's practically crying with it by the time he catches his breath.
"Serves him right," Sirius wheezes. "I've told him he ought to leave that bird alone, before she learns a Castration Charm and solves the problem herself."
Remus starts to snicker again, and Peter makes a grunt from behind the magazine that Sirius hopes is agreement, and not a sign that Peter has his hand down his trousers.
Sighing, Sirius turns his attention back to the parchment in his lap, a long, flowery letter to Marianne Wadsworth, the usual rubbish about eyes and hair and songbirds that girls like. It's nearly the same as the letter he wrote to Victoria Wimple last night, but they are in different Houses, so it's not like they will compare notes.
And he doesn't much care if they do. If they get shirty about it, he'll dump them both and find a bird who's more agreeable.
He writes another line, about how the sun makes her hair shine like gold, but he sets it aside before starting a new one. He's not really in the mood, he was only writing because he was bored, but he's been bored since he woke up, not that his mates care. Peter's had his pointy, little nose in that magazine since after breakfast, and talking to Remus is no use, Remus will only try to make him learn.
And James, his favorite source of entertainment, faffed off to pester Evans around sunrise. Sirius is actually surprised it took her so long to pour the lake on his head, or whatever she did to him, because she's usually not that patient. James is gone now, but that's probably for the best. He'd worked himself into a right snit, so he wouldn't have been much fun, anyway.
"I was thinking of going to the Shack," Sirius says, to no one in particular.
Remus mumbles something Sirius doesn't catch, and Peter makes another suspicious grunt.
"Remus," Sirius tries again. "I'm going to the Shack."
"Have a nice time," Remus murmurs, not bothering to look up.
Sirius stands, brushing himself off, and fixes Remus with a flat look. Of course, Remus doesn't notice, because he's bloody reading like it's not Saturday.
"You're coming with me," Sirius says.
"I'm busy," Remus insists, hefting his Potions textbook. "Besides, you'll only start tinkering with that motorbike, and then I'll be bored."
"Bring your bloody books, then," Sirius replies, moving to loom over the edge of Remus' bed.
Remus looks like he's about to protest, but Sirius smiles winningly and Remus caves. He snatches two more books off the bed with a heavy sigh and lets Sirius herd him towards the door.
"Peter?" Remus asks.
Peter glances up, eyeing them over the top of the quarterly. "I was thinking of having a nap, actually."
"Right, a nap," Sirius says, raising an eyebrow at Remus. Remus shakes his head and bites his lip. "We'll just leave you to it, then."
It's nice when they get outside; the sky is clear and blue and the sun is not too hot. Just in the distance, Sirius can see James on his broom, looping around near the Forbidden Forest.
"His dives are rubbish," Remus observes, and Sirius chokes, since Remus doesn't play Quidditch. He doesn't even fly, if he can avoid it.
"Well, he'd worked himself up pretty good," Sirius says, aiming a long stick at the knot on the Whomping Willow.
Once inside the Shack, Sirius forgets all about Remus. His eyes are only for the Triumph in the corner by the piano, a beautifully twisted mass of chrome and leather that's prettier than any bird. It's only a couple of years old and just one owner from new, and that funny old man must not have rode it much because it doesn't have a single scratch.
Remus mumbles about his books and starts for the bed, but Sirius just waves him off, because he doesn't really hear him. He's too busy running his hands over the motorbike, feeling the smooth, cold chrome of the body and the soft leather of the seat. He hears a snort from the general direction of the bed, but Sirius ignores it, and settles down to work, armed with a Muggle screwdriver, and a repair manual he nicked from Frank Longbottom, who probably borrowed it from Arthur Weasley.
He studies the manual for a moment, trying to figure out where to start. It just needs a couple of screws tightened, and he wants to add one new part to it, some Muggle thingy that will make it noisier. Remus says it's noisy enough already, but Sirius doesn't much care what Remus thinks, because Remus doesn't know crap about motorbikes.
He really wants to charm it to fly, because the only thing better than a motorbike is a flying motorbike, but he's not sure how to go about it. He and James are rubbish at charms that can't be used for pranking, and Remus swears he doesn't know a spell for it, but Sirius suspects that's a load of bollocks. Evans would know, but that's no use at all, she'd go to McGonagall straight off if she even knew he had a motorbike.
He starts on a screw, but the screwdriver slips free, catching the tip of his thumb, and he curses, sucking his thumb into his mouth, and that funny noise he hears had better not be Remus laughing at him, or he's going to take the screwdriver to Remus' head. He studies the screw for a bit and decides he needs a smaller screwdriver, so he stands and leans over the motorbike, rummaging around in the box of Muggle tools he borrowed from some half-blood Hufflepuff.
He wonders if there's a way to get the spell out of Evans without making her suspicious, because he really would like to charm it to fly. If he had a flying motorbike, Stacie Hapwell would have to give him a date. He asked her to Hogsmeade last weekend, but she said no; she said she wasn't giving a date to a nasty little troublemaker, and certainly not one who's two years younger than her, even if he's fit and plays Quidditch.
Stacie's the only bird whose ever told him no, and that stung a bit, especially after she went to Hogsmeade with some pudgy, beady-eyed Ravenclaw who doesn't know one end of a broom from the other.
She's quite lovely, even if she makes Evans look friendly, and she wears her skirts tucked up to show off her legs that seem to go all the way up to her neck. He can just imagine what they would feel like wrapped around his waist, her heels digging into his back as he pushes her against a wall.
And he really shouldn't think about Stacie Hapwell when he's trying to work on the bike, because his cock's hard now, pushing insistently against the bike's leather seat. He's going to need to have a wank if he wants to get anything done, and he really doesn't want to explain that to Remus, because Remus won't believe him. Remus will think he got hard from bending over the bike, because Remus is funny in the head like that.
Sirius glances over at Remus and is immediately relieved. Remus is asleep, bless him, with one arm stretched behind his head and his Potions textbook open over his face. And that's great, it's just perfect, because Sirius can sneak into the other room and have one off without Remus asking him a bunch of bloody questions.
He starts to lean back, but freezes, a moan catching in his throat as his cock rubs against the seat. It feels brilliant, more brilliant than it has any right to feel, soft and firm at the same time, just enough pressure to make his clothes rub roughly across his skin.
And now would be a really good time for him to go off and have that wank, but he can't seem to make himself move, except to rock his hips against the motorbike again. The bike rocks with him, tilting precariously, and Sirius drops the screwdriver so he can steady the motorbike with both hands.
The screwdriver hits the toolbox, then clatters to the ground and Sirius's eyes dart nervously to Remus, because this is the last thing Remus needs to see. Remus shifts and makes a sleepy sound, but he doesn't wake, and his Potions textbook is still over his face, so Sirius tightens his grip on the bike and rubs against it again.
And he's close, so close, but it's not quite enough, even when he pushes his cock against the bike as hard as he can, even when he pulls the bike back towards him. He shoves a hand between him and the bike, drawing down his zip so he can touch himself, and when his fingers curl around his cock he hisses, and fuck, he just might be caught because Remus is mumbling again.
Sirius' hand never stills, he keeps fisting himself at the same frantic pace, but he watches Remus in something close to horror as he swats the book off of his face and shifts like he means to sit up. But Remus just rolls over, burying his face in the pillow, and he makes another sleepy noise that almost sounds like a moan.
And Sirius really needs to stop looking at Remus, because he's got his cock in his hand, and that's just not on, so he looks at the motorbike, one hand smoothing over the soft leather, the other moving over his cock, and then he's coming, spurting hot and thick all over the seat.
When Sirius can breathe again, he pulls his wand and casts and Cleansing Charm and tucks himself back into his pants. Then, after the evidence is gone and his cock is out of sight, he dares a glance at Remus.
He's still asleep, but he's moaning again, the noisy fuck, and he's moving around an awful lot. Sirius wonders if Remus is having a nightmare, and he's half-tempted to wake him up, but he decides against it, because experience has taught him Remus usually wakes up from his nightmares with a right hook at the ready.
Best to leave him be, unless he is positively howling.
Subject #3: Remus Lupin
As predicted, Sirius descends on the motorbike just as soon as they are through the door. Remus can't see from where he's standing, but he's sure Sirius' eyes have gone glassy, and he's willing to wager that Sirius is drooling.
Remus opens his mouth, but decides not to bother, because he knows Sirius won't hear a thing he says, not when Sirius has the greatest distraction Muggles ever created, with the possible exception of the teevee. He sighs instead, rolling his eyes, and heads for the bed, which is slightly more comfortable than the chairs and not quite as lumpy as the couch, though it does smell strongly of wet dog.
He'd told Sirius there was no need to drag him along, since Sirius was only going to ignore him for the motorbike, but arguing would have been a waste of breath. Telling Sirius no is a pointless exercise, unless you're Stacie Hapwell.
If he can't smile and wink a person around, he'll wheedle, and if that doesn't work, he'll sulk. Only, Sirius' features are too haughty and aristocratic for a proper sulk, so he only ever manages to look petulant and spoilt.
Of course, Sirius is spoilt, and that's James' fault, because James spoils him something rotten. Peter too, but mostly James. James and Sirius rarely disagree, but when they do, James usually gives over, except on The Ridiculous and Most Pointless Topic of Evans.
Which is another hopeless case, in Remus' opinion, but no one ever asks Remus, unless there is homework involved.
Well, that's not entirely true. Sirius has been at him and at him for a charm to make the motorbike fly, but Remus keeps telling him he doesn't know one, which is also not entirely true. Remus knows four different charms that would get that bucket of bolts in the air and two that would make it invisible to Muggles, but it will be a hospitable day in the dungeons when Remus admits it.
If Sirius wants to kill himself with his complete and utter recklessness (which he most certainly will do one of these days, it's only a matter of time), he can fucking well do it without Remus' help.
With a heavy sigh, Remus stretches out on the bed and grabs his Potions textbook, turning to material that will be covered on Monday's test. He's been reminding everyone about this test since before breakfast, but it's Saturday, and James and Sirius have a strict policy against anything involving books, learning, or bettering themselves as human beings on Saturdays.
Remus supposes that's fine for them, but Remus actually wants to pass Potions. Of course, Remus is not the type to hope for miracles, so he'll be satisfied if he passes Monday's test. He's partnered with Severus, who's rather good at Potions, but Severus has made it very clear that if Remus melts his cauldron one more time, there will be a problem.
At very least, there will be no more sex in the Library.
Besides, Remus likes books, even on Saturdays. Especially books with fancy, tooled covers and brittle, yellowed pages, books that smell like leather and ink and parchment. There's something calming about the written word, and something fascinating, because books have secrets, secrets you can only learn if you read them.
Remus' attention is pulled away from the various uses of Sleeping Draughts by a sharp hiss, and the soft, wet sound of Sirius trying to kiss it better. And Remus can't help but snicker, just a little bit, because it serves Sirius right for abandoning him for a hunk of tin.
He starts to read again, trying to block out the incredible ruckus that is Sirius tossing the metal tools around in the metal toolbox. But he keeps losing his place, he keeps reading the same line over and over, and the book is suddenly very heavy, and maybe it would be all right if he closed his eyes for a moment, because it is Saturday.
He lets the book drop over his face, blocking out the inconsiderate amount of sunlight coming in through the window. It's a Potions textbook, so it smells like potions, like camphor and shrivelfigs and mandrake roots, and that reminds him of Severus, and of Severus' extremely talented mouth, and how Severus likes to push him back against that one table in the Restricted Section, his fingers digging into Remus' hips.
And there will certainly be no sleep now, because he's hard, and because Sirius is still making an inordinate amount of noise, what with the grunting and tool-dropping, and what the fuck is Sirius doing over there, anyway?
Actually, Remus doesn't want to know. He doesn't care. The only thing he cares about is his cock, because it's really fucking hard, and that will not do at all. If Sirius notices, he'll start asking questions, and Remus really doesn't want to have the Severus conversation right now, not when he's hard and only partially awake and Sirius has access to large metal objects.
He's certainly not going to have a wank with Sirius in the room, so he'll just have to hide it, he'll just have to roll over and bury it in the blankets and hope it's gone before Sirius wants to go back to the castle. Except, that was a really bad idea, because now his cock is trying to bore a hole through his copy of Standard Book of Spells, Grade Five.
And that's no help. It's no help at all, because the book is solid, and it gives Remus' cock something to strain against, it gives Remus' cock a way to create the friction it's aching for. And when Remus tries to shift away from the book that only makes it worse, his cock slides across the surface of the book, rubbing the hard cover through his clothes, and it feels really fucking good.
It feels too good, almost as good as having Severus' hand wrapped around it, which is kind of a disquieting idea, so Remus tries not to think about it. He rocks his hips instead, pushing his cock against the book, moaning quietly into the pillow as sharp waves of pleasure wash over him.
And Sirius has gone quiet, uncharacteristically quiet, the kind of quiet that would make Remus worry under normal circumstances. But this is far from normal circumstances, he's humping his Charms textbook, for fuck's sake, and he really doesn't want to think about Sirius right now, not when he's about a minute from coming.
He can think about Severus, though, because there's nothing wrong with that. He can think about black hair tangled in his fingers and Severus' cock hard and sliding against his own, and fuck, he's coming, rubbing his cock against the book and moaning just a little bit too loud.
He freezes, waiting for Sirius to say something, because Sirius must of heard him. But Sirius doesn't, Sirius is grunting again, and Remus thinks they might need to have a chat about how much time Sirius spends with that motorbike.
Not that Remus can talk, mind.
Subject #4: Peter Pettigrew
Peter hopes Remus and Sirius don't plan to bicker, because he's not in the mood, and neither is his cock.
He's had to wait long enough as it is, because Playwizard won't deliver to Hogwarts. The editor simply refuses, no matter how much extra Peter offers to pay. Peter has to have his subscription sent on to someone else, the squib brother of a bloke he knows in Slytherin, who owls them to Peter inside a parchment-wrapped parcel.
Which means he gets his quarterlies more than a week after they are released, with the corners bent and the pages stuck together.
Of course, now that he has it, now that James has faffed off and Remus has finally shut up about bloody Potions, Sirius looks like he means to hop about and whinge until he's blue in the face.
And this could be a problem, particularly for Peter's cock. Sirius does a rather good whinge, especially where the motorbike is concerned, and Remus can be a prickly bugger when it comes to his books. Peter watches them over the top of the magazine and tries not to touch his cock, wishing Sirius would shut the fuck up and wondering if Remus realizes it's Saturday.
Not that Remus would care. He probably sleeps with those bloody books.
Peter doesn't much care if Remus stays; if Peter retired to his bed with his quarterly Remus wouldn't say anything about it. But Sirius would take the piss, Sirus would make a fine joke of it, like he doesn't wank himself. Only, Peter knows he does because Sirius' Silencing Charms are rubbish.
Remus grumbles a bit and sighs, but he gets up, which Peter (and his cock) take as a good sign. He frowns at Sirius, not that Sirius notices, and grabs some more sodding books as Sirius pushes him towards the door.
"Peter?" Remus asks.
"I was thinking of having a nap, actually."
"Right, a nap," Sirius says, "We'll just leave you to it, then."
He gives Remus the eyebrow, which is right infuriating, but Peter ignores it, burying his face in the magazine, and reminds himself that nothing good can come of throwing things at Sirius. Sirius will only knobble him and hex his cock limp for the next two days, and considering he finally has his magazine, that would just be really fucking unfair.
Peter has his flies open and his hand in his trousers before the door shuts behind him, but he's just not waiting any longer. Not when his parcel arrived in the middle of breakfast, and he had to think about a naked Belladonna Buxley through James' wooing and Remus' prattle about Sleeping Draughts and Sirius' Incredible Flying Oatmeal which only seemed able to find the Slytherin table.
And he shouldn't waste his time thinking about Sirius' oatmeal, or the way it dripped off the end of Snape's nose, now that he has the room and Belladonna Buxley all to himself. He flips to the center of the magazine, to two nearly identical pictures of Belladonna wearing nothing but her Order of Merlin medallion and a smile, and curls his other hand around his cock.
He strokes himself slowly, because he wants it to last as long as possible, because he's determined to enjoy it after all the waiting and looking and more waiting. He deserves to enjoy it, after a morning of James acting like a prat and Sirius whinging like a girl and Remus trying to make him learn.
His eyes travel up and down the pictures, taking in Belladonna's heart-shaped face and perfect red lips, following the curve of her breasts and the soft swell of her hips. Her hair is exactly the same shade of red as Evans, and is almost as long, but her eyes are blue instead of green, and her breasts are a good deal larger.
They're as big as big Quaffles, those breasts. He wonders if she had them Charmed.
Not that it matters, really. They are absolutely perfect, so he doesn't much care if they came out of some Mediwizards wand. And it doesn't matter if he lets his cock slip out of his hand so he can slide it over those breasts, because the dorm is empty and there is no one here to see him.
Well, no one but Belladonna, and Sirius' owl, but Belladonna's only a picture and Mephistophelese can't talk.
The picture is cool against his heated skin, making a shiver run through his body, but it's glossy and smooth, and it feels good, it makes warmth pool in his stomach despite the goose-flesh shooting up his arms. And he keeps moving, rubbing his cock against the picture, ignoring the thoroughly scandalized look on Belladonna's face.
But it's not quite enough, he needs more, so he wraps his hand around his cock, fisting himself at an angle that lets the head brush against the picture, and that's bloody perfect, almost like he's pushing his cock between her breasts. And that does it, he's coming, he's biting down on his lip so he won't whimper and he's spurting all over Belladonna's perfect Quaffle breasts.
Peter's just catching his breath when he hears the door open, then James is standing in the doorway, and he tries to hide the evidence by slamming the magazine shut, but it doesn't distract from the fact that is cock is hanging out of his pants.
"What the bloody Hell are you doing?" James demands.
"Reading," Peter replies.
"Reading?" James repeats.
"Yes, reading," Peter says, trying to keep his voice steady.
"Well, can't you read in your bed with the drapes drawn like the rest of us?"
Peter doesn't really have a reply for that, but it doesn't matter, because James is walking away. He's headed for the bathroom, and Peter is sure he doesn't want to know why he's taking his broom.
After James leaves, Peter casts a Cleansing Charm and puts his cock away, and stashes Belladonna under his bed. He glances out the window anxiously, wondering when Remus and Sirius are going to be back, because he doesn't want to deal with James right now. Of course, if James tells Remus and Sirius he just caught Peter wanking, Peter won't want to deal with them, either.
He decides to head up to the Library, because he's supposed to meet Evans about his Charms homework, anyway. And Evans' is brilliant at Charms, so it doesn't really matter that Belladonna's breasts are bigger.
Besides, when they went over Ancient Runes last Friday, Evans let him put his hand up her skirt.
Pairing: James. Sirius. Remus. Peter. Wanking.
Rating: NC-17
Words: ~ 6,000
Summary: Four Case Studies on the Masturbatory Habits of Gryffindors
Warnings: Frottage with unsuspecting inanimate objects, specifically brooms, motorbikes, books, and a gentlemen's quarterly.
A/N: I have told you lot not to encourage me. And many of you did. I don't need to name names. You know who you are.
All apologies to
chuffing. I simply could not work in the wheel of government cheese. Four Case Studies on the Masturbatory Habits of Gryffindors
Subject #1: James Potter
James is furious when he gets upstairs, and he bursts into the dormitory, the door flying open so hard and fast it bounces loudly off the wall. It swings back towards him, but he catches it, slamming it behind him with a growl.
Sirius looks up at him from where he's lounging on the floor at the foot of Remus' bed, arching an eyebrow. He eyes James up and down, pursing his lips like he's trying not to laugh, and James realizes a bit hysterically that he's not wearing very much.
Sopping wet underpants. A Muggle t-shirt that's a bit damp around the hem. A scowl. His trousers are in his hand, rhythmically dripping lake water onto the deep red carpet.
"Evans?" Sirius asks, the corners of his mouth twitching.
"I don't want to talk about it," James seethes. He stalks towards his bed, tossing back the lid of his trunk as violently as he had opened the door.
Sirius opens his mouth, but thinks the better of it when James glares at him and turns his attention back to the parchment spread across his lap. He smothers a snicker behind his hand as James fishes dry underpants and new trousers out of his trunk, and James hopes he chokes on it.
Remus is on his bed, reading like he's forgotten it's Saturday, his Potions textbook cradled in his hands. He watches as James pulls on the dry clothes and Banishes the wet things to the bathroom, but he doesn't speak. Wise man. From the window-seat, Peter watches him as well, peering at him over the top of the quarterly he's pretending to read. He doesn't speak either, and when James frowns at him he hides his face in the magazine. Chicken.
Peter shifts uncomfortably and James catches a glimpse of the witch on the front cover; she has hair a shade of red that makes James' lip curl and his teeth grind together.
"I'm going for a fly," James snarls. "Accio Betsy!"
His broom sails across the room, right into his outstretched hand.
"Best avoid the lake, mate," Sirius says mildly, not looking up from his scroll. "Be a shame if Betsy tosses you in."
"I hate you lot," James says savagely.
"Not as much as Evans hates you," Remus murmurs.
"What?" James asks.
"Nothing," Remus says, clearing his throat. Peter snickers. Sirius doubles over his parchment and starts to wheeze. "Reciting potions ingredients."
"You all suck," James declares, then he whirls around to yank open the door.
He takes all seven flights of stairs at a run, stumbling once when they swing about on him, and he runs through the corridors as well, because right now, McGonagall's rules about orderly conduct in the halls can sod off and die. He throws a leg over his broom and kicks off as soon as he's out the front door, even though he knows he's not supposed to fly in the courtyard. He doesn't much care, not when a gaggle of third-years just saw Evans dump him into the lake.
James avoids the lake, not on his wanker of a best friend's advice, but because Evans might still be there. And the third-years, who all just saw him in his trolleys. With seaweed in his hair.
He starts towards the pitch, but there are people there, not Evans or third-years, but Slytherins, engaging in what passes for Quidditch practice with that lot. Growling, he heads for the Forbidden Forest instead, because he's in no mood for Slytherins. Well, maybe Snivellus, because he could levitate Snivellus into the lake, except Evans is probably still there, and she'd start shrieking like a banshee, like she always does if James so much as breathes.
He'll never understand that bird as long as he lives. She acts like James asking her for a date is the end of the bloody world; she always shouts about what an arrogant toerag he is, and he always ends up wet or jelly-legged or covered in boils.
It just doesn't make any sense. She went to Hogsmeade last weekend with Shacklebolt. Shacklebolt. Sure, Shacklebolt's a nice enough bloke, and he's a seventh-year and he makes good marks, but he's certainly an arrogant toerag, the big, bloody showoff. And he talks about Quidditch more than James and Sirius combined, and as far as James is concerned, he's not nearly as much fun to be around.
He supposes he should probably listen to Sirius and Remus and just give up. Peter doesn't have an opinion on the matter, of course he wouldn't, because Evans is a prefect and she helps him with his Charms homework when Remus is 'sick', or too busy trying to make Sirius learn. But Sirius and Remus think it's past time he gave over, especially Sirius. He swears he has a list of birds that would give James a date if he'd just ask, and stop clinging to Evans like a lethifold.
Of course they would. He's popular, and fit, and he plays Quidditch.
But he can't seem to stop himself, because it's Evans, because he's been after her since third year, like it's some kind of sodding mission. Because it's Evans, who has beautiful, red hair that shines like fire in the sun and big, grass-green eyes and the nicest, roundest...
Well, fuck. Now he's done it. He's hard as a rock, which is pretty bloody uncomfortable, since he has a broomstick between his legs.
James rounds a small copse of trees and sees the entrance to the Forbidden Forest, and he decides settling down for a wank in the shade sounds nice. He knows he'd be better off going to the Shack, less chance of being interrupted by centaurs or thestrals or great bloody spiders, but his cock is throbbing in a way that says the Shack's too far away, and he's not in the mood for the Whomping Willow's shit right now.
He leans forward on his broom to dive, laying flat against the polished wood. His cock slides against the hard surface of the broomstick and he gasps, nearly spiraling out of control as pleasure sparks low in his stomach and floods through his body.
He regains control of himself just time to see the ground coming up to meet him at an alarming rate, and he tries to adjust quickly. He yanks on Betsy to bring himself back up, but this only makes matters worse, only pushes the broomstick harder against his cock, trapping it between the hard wood and his body, and it throbs, straining against his trousers as it searches for more friction.
And he's overshot the entrance by a wide margin, he's hovering around the tops of the trees, and he needs to drop down again, he needs to get off this broom and on the ground so he can have a wank before his cock explodes. But he's almost afraid to; he's afraid if he leans over his broom again his cock will explode and his trousers will be a total loss for the second time today.
James circles around a bit, tempted just to stuff his hand down his trousers and be done with it. But that's dangerous, he could lose control of his broom and fall off, and then he'd be flat on his back with his cock hanging out and his broomstick on his head, which could easily be more embarrassing that Evans dumping him into the lake.
And this is Evans' fault, anyway, with her perfect breasts that just barely strain the buttons of her school shirt and the nice curve of her hips under the sway of her skirt, and that train of thought is not helping one bit.
The circling is not helping, either. Every time he changes direction the broom brushes against his cock slightly, so slightly it's not much more than a fucking tease, and it makes a sound build in his throat that is perilously close to a whimper. Not that James is the kind of bloke that whimpers.
He decides to risk a dive, because if he doesn't get off Betsy soon there is going to be a serious problem, and he doesn't much care if he makes inside the Forbidden Forest at this point, all he wants is to get off his broom and get his hand around his cock. He leans forward, guiding Betsy towards the ground, but that's a really bad idea because Betsy rubs long and hard against his cock, making him jerk, making his grip slip, and now he's spinning out of control.
James pulls up on the handle just shy of running headlong into the ground, which only serves to grind the length of his broom against his cock really fucking hard and he's so close it hurts, and part of him is horrified at that thought, that he's about to come in his trousers like a second-year who's never had a girl's hand down his pants simply from riding his bloody broomstick.
"Potter? What on earth are you doing? Showing off like the great prat you are?"
He doesn't need to look down; he'd recongize that voice anywhere, it's Evans, he knows it's Evans, he can picture her narrowed grass-green eyes and the displeased set of her mouth. And that's it, that's enough, that's another set of trousers for the house-elves, because he's coming, he's shuddering and holding on to Besty for dear life, and he really hopes Evans thinks he's having some kind of fit because he'd die of the humiliation of she knew what was really going on.
He lands, a bit gingerly, holding Betsy in front of him to hide the incriminating stain spreading across the crotch of his trousers. He smiles at Evans, and tries not to look guilty, but she only frowns and rolls her eyes.
"For all your talk about Quidditch, Potter, you fly you've never seen a broom before," She says cooly.
"Here, you've seen me at games." James says, rumpling his hair. "Only, I started coughing."
"Coughing?" She asks dubiously.
"Coughing," James insists, clearing his throat for effect.
She replies with a derisive little snort, then stalks off, her face lost in a cloud of red hair as she whirls around. He studies her as she walks away, watching her legs disappear under the pleats of her skirt and the soft sway of her hips until his cock gives a feeble, little twitch.
"Don't even think about it," He growls. "You've caused enough trouble for one day."
He casts a Cleansing Charm when Evans is out of sight, which leaves his trousers a little stiff, but that's fine, because it gets rid of the stain. If he'd gone upstairs like that, Sirius would have noticed, and Sirius would have asked a bunch of bloody questions James would not have wanted to answer.
But he doesn't have to. It's not like Besty is going to say anything.
Subject #2: Sirius Black
Sirius knows he shouldn't laugh at James, even if it is James' fault for chasing a bird that wishes he would sod off. But it's difficult not to, not when James is standing in the doorway like that, a great, wet, half-naked ball of fury that's making a puddle on the carpet.
And Sirius doesn't want to like Evans, for James' sake, and he mostly doesn't, because she's an insufferable know-it-all with no sense of humor. But she is rather inventive, and she'd probably make a fairly decent pranker if she'd just lighten up and stop insisting she only use her powers for good.
Sirius manages to hold it in, even after James leaves, slamming the door behind him like the big baby he is, until Remus makes a funny, little strangled noise like he's choking on his own snickers. Sirius can't help it then, he explodes, laughing so long and hard he's practically crying with it by the time he catches his breath.
"Serves him right," Sirius wheezes. "I've told him he ought to leave that bird alone, before she learns a Castration Charm and solves the problem herself."
Remus starts to snicker again, and Peter makes a grunt from behind the magazine that Sirius hopes is agreement, and not a sign that Peter has his hand down his trousers.
Sighing, Sirius turns his attention back to the parchment in his lap, a long, flowery letter to Marianne Wadsworth, the usual rubbish about eyes and hair and songbirds that girls like. It's nearly the same as the letter he wrote to Victoria Wimple last night, but they are in different Houses, so it's not like they will compare notes.
And he doesn't much care if they do. If they get shirty about it, he'll dump them both and find a bird who's more agreeable.
He writes another line, about how the sun makes her hair shine like gold, but he sets it aside before starting a new one. He's not really in the mood, he was only writing because he was bored, but he's been bored since he woke up, not that his mates care. Peter's had his pointy, little nose in that magazine since after breakfast, and talking to Remus is no use, Remus will only try to make him learn.
And James, his favorite source of entertainment, faffed off to pester Evans around sunrise. Sirius is actually surprised it took her so long to pour the lake on his head, or whatever she did to him, because she's usually not that patient. James is gone now, but that's probably for the best. He'd worked himself into a right snit, so he wouldn't have been much fun, anyway.
"I was thinking of going to the Shack," Sirius says, to no one in particular.
Remus mumbles something Sirius doesn't catch, and Peter makes another suspicious grunt.
"Remus," Sirius tries again. "I'm going to the Shack."
"Have a nice time," Remus murmurs, not bothering to look up.
Sirius stands, brushing himself off, and fixes Remus with a flat look. Of course, Remus doesn't notice, because he's bloody reading like it's not Saturday.
"You're coming with me," Sirius says.
"I'm busy," Remus insists, hefting his Potions textbook. "Besides, you'll only start tinkering with that motorbike, and then I'll be bored."
"Bring your bloody books, then," Sirius replies, moving to loom over the edge of Remus' bed.
Remus looks like he's about to protest, but Sirius smiles winningly and Remus caves. He snatches two more books off the bed with a heavy sigh and lets Sirius herd him towards the door.
"Peter?" Remus asks.
Peter glances up, eyeing them over the top of the quarterly. "I was thinking of having a nap, actually."
"Right, a nap," Sirius says, raising an eyebrow at Remus. Remus shakes his head and bites his lip. "We'll just leave you to it, then."
It's nice when they get outside; the sky is clear and blue and the sun is not too hot. Just in the distance, Sirius can see James on his broom, looping around near the Forbidden Forest.
"His dives are rubbish," Remus observes, and Sirius chokes, since Remus doesn't play Quidditch. He doesn't even fly, if he can avoid it.
"Well, he'd worked himself up pretty good," Sirius says, aiming a long stick at the knot on the Whomping Willow.
Once inside the Shack, Sirius forgets all about Remus. His eyes are only for the Triumph in the corner by the piano, a beautifully twisted mass of chrome and leather that's prettier than any bird. It's only a couple of years old and just one owner from new, and that funny old man must not have rode it much because it doesn't have a single scratch.
Remus mumbles about his books and starts for the bed, but Sirius just waves him off, because he doesn't really hear him. He's too busy running his hands over the motorbike, feeling the smooth, cold chrome of the body and the soft leather of the seat. He hears a snort from the general direction of the bed, but Sirius ignores it, and settles down to work, armed with a Muggle screwdriver, and a repair manual he nicked from Frank Longbottom, who probably borrowed it from Arthur Weasley.
He studies the manual for a moment, trying to figure out where to start. It just needs a couple of screws tightened, and he wants to add one new part to it, some Muggle thingy that will make it noisier. Remus says it's noisy enough already, but Sirius doesn't much care what Remus thinks, because Remus doesn't know crap about motorbikes.
He really wants to charm it to fly, because the only thing better than a motorbike is a flying motorbike, but he's not sure how to go about it. He and James are rubbish at charms that can't be used for pranking, and Remus swears he doesn't know a spell for it, but Sirius suspects that's a load of bollocks. Evans would know, but that's no use at all, she'd go to McGonagall straight off if she even knew he had a motorbike.
He starts on a screw, but the screwdriver slips free, catching the tip of his thumb, and he curses, sucking his thumb into his mouth, and that funny noise he hears had better not be Remus laughing at him, or he's going to take the screwdriver to Remus' head. He studies the screw for a bit and decides he needs a smaller screwdriver, so he stands and leans over the motorbike, rummaging around in the box of Muggle tools he borrowed from some half-blood Hufflepuff.
He wonders if there's a way to get the spell out of Evans without making her suspicious, because he really would like to charm it to fly. If he had a flying motorbike, Stacie Hapwell would have to give him a date. He asked her to Hogsmeade last weekend, but she said no; she said she wasn't giving a date to a nasty little troublemaker, and certainly not one who's two years younger than her, even if he's fit and plays Quidditch.
Stacie's the only bird whose ever told him no, and that stung a bit, especially after she went to Hogsmeade with some pudgy, beady-eyed Ravenclaw who doesn't know one end of a broom from the other.
She's quite lovely, even if she makes Evans look friendly, and she wears her skirts tucked up to show off her legs that seem to go all the way up to her neck. He can just imagine what they would feel like wrapped around his waist, her heels digging into his back as he pushes her against a wall.
And he really shouldn't think about Stacie Hapwell when he's trying to work on the bike, because his cock's hard now, pushing insistently against the bike's leather seat. He's going to need to have a wank if he wants to get anything done, and he really doesn't want to explain that to Remus, because Remus won't believe him. Remus will think he got hard from bending over the bike, because Remus is funny in the head like that.
Sirius glances over at Remus and is immediately relieved. Remus is asleep, bless him, with one arm stretched behind his head and his Potions textbook open over his face. And that's great, it's just perfect, because Sirius can sneak into the other room and have one off without Remus asking him a bunch of bloody questions.
He starts to lean back, but freezes, a moan catching in his throat as his cock rubs against the seat. It feels brilliant, more brilliant than it has any right to feel, soft and firm at the same time, just enough pressure to make his clothes rub roughly across his skin.
And now would be a really good time for him to go off and have that wank, but he can't seem to make himself move, except to rock his hips against the motorbike again. The bike rocks with him, tilting precariously, and Sirius drops the screwdriver so he can steady the motorbike with both hands.
The screwdriver hits the toolbox, then clatters to the ground and Sirius's eyes dart nervously to Remus, because this is the last thing Remus needs to see. Remus shifts and makes a sleepy sound, but he doesn't wake, and his Potions textbook is still over his face, so Sirius tightens his grip on the bike and rubs against it again.
And he's close, so close, but it's not quite enough, even when he pushes his cock against the bike as hard as he can, even when he pulls the bike back towards him. He shoves a hand between him and the bike, drawing down his zip so he can touch himself, and when his fingers curl around his cock he hisses, and fuck, he just might be caught because Remus is mumbling again.
Sirius' hand never stills, he keeps fisting himself at the same frantic pace, but he watches Remus in something close to horror as he swats the book off of his face and shifts like he means to sit up. But Remus just rolls over, burying his face in the pillow, and he makes another sleepy noise that almost sounds like a moan.
And Sirius really needs to stop looking at Remus, because he's got his cock in his hand, and that's just not on, so he looks at the motorbike, one hand smoothing over the soft leather, the other moving over his cock, and then he's coming, spurting hot and thick all over the seat.
When Sirius can breathe again, he pulls his wand and casts and Cleansing Charm and tucks himself back into his pants. Then, after the evidence is gone and his cock is out of sight, he dares a glance at Remus.
He's still asleep, but he's moaning again, the noisy fuck, and he's moving around an awful lot. Sirius wonders if Remus is having a nightmare, and he's half-tempted to wake him up, but he decides against it, because experience has taught him Remus usually wakes up from his nightmares with a right hook at the ready.
Best to leave him be, unless he is positively howling.
Subject #3: Remus Lupin
As predicted, Sirius descends on the motorbike just as soon as they are through the door. Remus can't see from where he's standing, but he's sure Sirius' eyes have gone glassy, and he's willing to wager that Sirius is drooling.
Remus opens his mouth, but decides not to bother, because he knows Sirius won't hear a thing he says, not when Sirius has the greatest distraction Muggles ever created, with the possible exception of the teevee. He sighs instead, rolling his eyes, and heads for the bed, which is slightly more comfortable than the chairs and not quite as lumpy as the couch, though it does smell strongly of wet dog.
He'd told Sirius there was no need to drag him along, since Sirius was only going to ignore him for the motorbike, but arguing would have been a waste of breath. Telling Sirius no is a pointless exercise, unless you're Stacie Hapwell.
If he can't smile and wink a person around, he'll wheedle, and if that doesn't work, he'll sulk. Only, Sirius' features are too haughty and aristocratic for a proper sulk, so he only ever manages to look petulant and spoilt.
Of course, Sirius is spoilt, and that's James' fault, because James spoils him something rotten. Peter too, but mostly James. James and Sirius rarely disagree, but when they do, James usually gives over, except on The Ridiculous and Most Pointless Topic of Evans.
Which is another hopeless case, in Remus' opinion, but no one ever asks Remus, unless there is homework involved.
Well, that's not entirely true. Sirius has been at him and at him for a charm to make the motorbike fly, but Remus keeps telling him he doesn't know one, which is also not entirely true. Remus knows four different charms that would get that bucket of bolts in the air and two that would make it invisible to Muggles, but it will be a hospitable day in the dungeons when Remus admits it.
If Sirius wants to kill himself with his complete and utter recklessness (which he most certainly will do one of these days, it's only a matter of time), he can fucking well do it without Remus' help.
With a heavy sigh, Remus stretches out on the bed and grabs his Potions textbook, turning to material that will be covered on Monday's test. He's been reminding everyone about this test since before breakfast, but it's Saturday, and James and Sirius have a strict policy against anything involving books, learning, or bettering themselves as human beings on Saturdays.
Remus supposes that's fine for them, but Remus actually wants to pass Potions. Of course, Remus is not the type to hope for miracles, so he'll be satisfied if he passes Monday's test. He's partnered with Severus, who's rather good at Potions, but Severus has made it very clear that if Remus melts his cauldron one more time, there will be a problem.
At very least, there will be no more sex in the Library.
Besides, Remus likes books, even on Saturdays. Especially books with fancy, tooled covers and brittle, yellowed pages, books that smell like leather and ink and parchment. There's something calming about the written word, and something fascinating, because books have secrets, secrets you can only learn if you read them.
Remus' attention is pulled away from the various uses of Sleeping Draughts by a sharp hiss, and the soft, wet sound of Sirius trying to kiss it better. And Remus can't help but snicker, just a little bit, because it serves Sirius right for abandoning him for a hunk of tin.
He starts to read again, trying to block out the incredible ruckus that is Sirius tossing the metal tools around in the metal toolbox. But he keeps losing his place, he keeps reading the same line over and over, and the book is suddenly very heavy, and maybe it would be all right if he closed his eyes for a moment, because it is Saturday.
He lets the book drop over his face, blocking out the inconsiderate amount of sunlight coming in through the window. It's a Potions textbook, so it smells like potions, like camphor and shrivelfigs and mandrake roots, and that reminds him of Severus, and of Severus' extremely talented mouth, and how Severus likes to push him back against that one table in the Restricted Section, his fingers digging into Remus' hips.
And there will certainly be no sleep now, because he's hard, and because Sirius is still making an inordinate amount of noise, what with the grunting and tool-dropping, and what the fuck is Sirius doing over there, anyway?
Actually, Remus doesn't want to know. He doesn't care. The only thing he cares about is his cock, because it's really fucking hard, and that will not do at all. If Sirius notices, he'll start asking questions, and Remus really doesn't want to have the Severus conversation right now, not when he's hard and only partially awake and Sirius has access to large metal objects.
He's certainly not going to have a wank with Sirius in the room, so he'll just have to hide it, he'll just have to roll over and bury it in the blankets and hope it's gone before Sirius wants to go back to the castle. Except, that was a really bad idea, because now his cock is trying to bore a hole through his copy of Standard Book of Spells, Grade Five.
And that's no help. It's no help at all, because the book is solid, and it gives Remus' cock something to strain against, it gives Remus' cock a way to create the friction it's aching for. And when Remus tries to shift away from the book that only makes it worse, his cock slides across the surface of the book, rubbing the hard cover through his clothes, and it feels really fucking good.
It feels too good, almost as good as having Severus' hand wrapped around it, which is kind of a disquieting idea, so Remus tries not to think about it. He rocks his hips instead, pushing his cock against the book, moaning quietly into the pillow as sharp waves of pleasure wash over him.
And Sirius has gone quiet, uncharacteristically quiet, the kind of quiet that would make Remus worry under normal circumstances. But this is far from normal circumstances, he's humping his Charms textbook, for fuck's sake, and he really doesn't want to think about Sirius right now, not when he's about a minute from coming.
He can think about Severus, though, because there's nothing wrong with that. He can think about black hair tangled in his fingers and Severus' cock hard and sliding against his own, and fuck, he's coming, rubbing his cock against the book and moaning just a little bit too loud.
He freezes, waiting for Sirius to say something, because Sirius must of heard him. But Sirius doesn't, Sirius is grunting again, and Remus thinks they might need to have a chat about how much time Sirius spends with that motorbike.
Not that Remus can talk, mind.
Subject #4: Peter Pettigrew
Peter hopes Remus and Sirius don't plan to bicker, because he's not in the mood, and neither is his cock.
He's had to wait long enough as it is, because Playwizard won't deliver to Hogwarts. The editor simply refuses, no matter how much extra Peter offers to pay. Peter has to have his subscription sent on to someone else, the squib brother of a bloke he knows in Slytherin, who owls them to Peter inside a parchment-wrapped parcel.
Which means he gets his quarterlies more than a week after they are released, with the corners bent and the pages stuck together.
Of course, now that he has it, now that James has faffed off and Remus has finally shut up about bloody Potions, Sirius looks like he means to hop about and whinge until he's blue in the face.
And this could be a problem, particularly for Peter's cock. Sirius does a rather good whinge, especially where the motorbike is concerned, and Remus can be a prickly bugger when it comes to his books. Peter watches them over the top of the magazine and tries not to touch his cock, wishing Sirius would shut the fuck up and wondering if Remus realizes it's Saturday.
Not that Remus would care. He probably sleeps with those bloody books.
Peter doesn't much care if Remus stays; if Peter retired to his bed with his quarterly Remus wouldn't say anything about it. But Sirius would take the piss, Sirus would make a fine joke of it, like he doesn't wank himself. Only, Peter knows he does because Sirius' Silencing Charms are rubbish.
Remus grumbles a bit and sighs, but he gets up, which Peter (and his cock) take as a good sign. He frowns at Sirius, not that Sirius notices, and grabs some more sodding books as Sirius pushes him towards the door.
"Peter?" Remus asks.
"I was thinking of having a nap, actually."
"Right, a nap," Sirius says, "We'll just leave you to it, then."
He gives Remus the eyebrow, which is right infuriating, but Peter ignores it, burying his face in the magazine, and reminds himself that nothing good can come of throwing things at Sirius. Sirius will only knobble him and hex his cock limp for the next two days, and considering he finally has his magazine, that would just be really fucking unfair.
Peter has his flies open and his hand in his trousers before the door shuts behind him, but he's just not waiting any longer. Not when his parcel arrived in the middle of breakfast, and he had to think about a naked Belladonna Buxley through James' wooing and Remus' prattle about Sleeping Draughts and Sirius' Incredible Flying Oatmeal which only seemed able to find the Slytherin table.
And he shouldn't waste his time thinking about Sirius' oatmeal, or the way it dripped off the end of Snape's nose, now that he has the room and Belladonna Buxley all to himself. He flips to the center of the magazine, to two nearly identical pictures of Belladonna wearing nothing but her Order of Merlin medallion and a smile, and curls his other hand around his cock.
He strokes himself slowly, because he wants it to last as long as possible, because he's determined to enjoy it after all the waiting and looking and more waiting. He deserves to enjoy it, after a morning of James acting like a prat and Sirius whinging like a girl and Remus trying to make him learn.
His eyes travel up and down the pictures, taking in Belladonna's heart-shaped face and perfect red lips, following the curve of her breasts and the soft swell of her hips. Her hair is exactly the same shade of red as Evans, and is almost as long, but her eyes are blue instead of green, and her breasts are a good deal larger.
They're as big as big Quaffles, those breasts. He wonders if she had them Charmed.
Not that it matters, really. They are absolutely perfect, so he doesn't much care if they came out of some Mediwizards wand. And it doesn't matter if he lets his cock slip out of his hand so he can slide it over those breasts, because the dorm is empty and there is no one here to see him.
Well, no one but Belladonna, and Sirius' owl, but Belladonna's only a picture and Mephistophelese can't talk.
The picture is cool against his heated skin, making a shiver run through his body, but it's glossy and smooth, and it feels good, it makes warmth pool in his stomach despite the goose-flesh shooting up his arms. And he keeps moving, rubbing his cock against the picture, ignoring the thoroughly scandalized look on Belladonna's face.
But it's not quite enough, he needs more, so he wraps his hand around his cock, fisting himself at an angle that lets the head brush against the picture, and that's bloody perfect, almost like he's pushing his cock between her breasts. And that does it, he's coming, he's biting down on his lip so he won't whimper and he's spurting all over Belladonna's perfect Quaffle breasts.
Peter's just catching his breath when he hears the door open, then James is standing in the doorway, and he tries to hide the evidence by slamming the magazine shut, but it doesn't distract from the fact that is cock is hanging out of his pants.
"What the bloody Hell are you doing?" James demands.
"Reading," Peter replies.
"Reading?" James repeats.
"Yes, reading," Peter says, trying to keep his voice steady.
"Well, can't you read in your bed with the drapes drawn like the rest of us?"
Peter doesn't really have a reply for that, but it doesn't matter, because James is walking away. He's headed for the bathroom, and Peter is sure he doesn't want to know why he's taking his broom.
After James leaves, Peter casts a Cleansing Charm and puts his cock away, and stashes Belladonna under his bed. He glances out the window anxiously, wondering when Remus and Sirius are going to be back, because he doesn't want to deal with James right now. Of course, if James tells Remus and Sirius he just caught Peter wanking, Peter won't want to deal with them, either.
He decides to head up to the Library, because he's supposed to meet Evans about his Charms homework, anyway. And Evans' is brilliant at Charms, so it doesn't really matter that Belladonna's breasts are bigger.
Besides, when they went over Ancient Runes last Friday, Evans let him put his hand up her skirt.