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birdsofshoreTitle: Love Thy Neighbour
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
birdsofshore
Pairing: It's an orgy: various non-specific m/m combinations
Rating: R
Word count: ~1100
Summary: There were definite consolations to living next door to the Potters.
Warnings: Don't get excited by the orgy business - I don't really know what happened here. Voyeurism. Exhibitionism. A complete absence of explicit smut at an orgy. Flangst? Unbetaed. I felt I had to write something for the fest and this was what came out O_o
Written for the Anywhere But the Bed comment fest. Inspired by the Potters' annual back yard barbecue 'verse, as dreamt up bycapitu.
~*~*~
There were definite consolations to living next door to the Potters, thought Dorothy Witherspoon as she gazed out of her bedroom window.
Yes, James Potter and his friends still made a hideous racket with their electric guitars several times a week. Yes, there were constant odd smells wafting up from the potions lab that Albus Potter had installed in the basement. And Dorothy couldn't help noticing that the weeds in the front garden had been allowed to get completely out of hand since that smart girl Lily moved to France and left them all to it. But on the whole, it was a lot more peaceful now that Mrs Potter had moved out and the regular fights, complete with plate-throwing, had stopped altogether.
However, the best development by far was the new tradition of the Potters' back yard orgy.
Dorothy moved the curtain a little further to one side, and adjusted her spectacles on her nose, the better to contemplate the joyful curve of that pale, naked arse bent over a garden bench. They were wasting no time in getting started on this occasion. The guests all seemed on the best of terms, and appealingly uninhibited. Why, that burly redhead there, with the beard and the three admiring companions, was certainly talented. Dorothy had never seen anyone so accommodating, and completely undaunted by splinters, too.
When the parties first started, Dorothy had been a little taken aback, it was true. It wasn't the sort of thing that respectable wizards got up to in her day. But she wasn't a complete fossil. She knew that times had changed since the dreadfulness of the second war, and quite right, too. And it was such a treat to see young people enjoying themselves.
Some more guests were arriving. Dorothy smiled to see their delighted expressions and the carefree way with which they joined the festivities. Young Teddy Lupin was always a popular addition to these gatherings, and it was not hard to see why, as many hands reached to peel off his clothing, and mouths opened hungrily to show him a warm welcome.
So many captivating sights and, as the warm air drifted in through the open window, sounds. Dorothy couldn't decide which struck her as more delicious: the slow tentative glide of tongues meeting for the first time – the prelude, if you like, to the performance – or the frenzied rumpus of the finale, all driving hips and juddering limbs. Both had their own allure. Afterwards, the players rested for a while, in a sweaty tangle of arms and legs, but it was never long before inspiration stirred them again and they rejoined the ever-changing tableau in a different role.
Mr Potter himself was making enthusiastic efforts to gratify two gentlemen at once. She could see why he was able to defeat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named: all that lovely determination and simply bags of energy.
Looking up at the house and catching sight of Dorothy keeping her faithful vigil, he paused to give her a cheeky wink. In return, she extended her fingers in a small, genteel wave. A very considerate neighbour, Harry Potter. He never batted an eyelid if she happened to occasionally glance out of her window while he and his sons were entertaining their friends. He knew she'd never tell a soul about what she saw. Why would she? The parties would be sure to stop, then, and that would be no fun. No fun at all.
Two men sitting with their arms around one another caught her eye, the older stroking the younger's face. There was something about the line of the younger man's neck that reminded her of William, and for a moment she drifted off to the memory of a time when her eyes were bright and her long hair was still auburn. She had sat on a bench very like that one, and he had sat next to her, and the world seemed full of possibilities.
In those days she had thought that all of life was ahead of her, that one day soon she would surely know the kind of pleasure, the joyful union, that Mr Potter's friends were sharing together, but it was not to be. She remembered a kiss that had made her feel liquid, a burning look in his eye that made her skin prickle all over. She could recall as if it were yesterday the honeyed scent of sweet peas that hung in the air, and the heat from his hand in the small of her back. How his fingers trailed along the bare skin of her arm and made her feel alive, alive and full of an aching longing.
Then the war came and then... well, after the war it seemed as if that door had closed. Life was full of such missed moments, inconsequential at the time, but viewed with the hindsight of over fifty years...
She pressed her own hand against her arm, but the papery skin was cool and felt like something used up, not at all like the memory: warm and firm and full of the promise of a lifetime of love.
Dorothy shook herself. If she wasn't careful she would become one of those dreadful, doddering old witches who sat around dozing and daydreaming all day long. Instead she diverted her attention back to the scene below. She nodded down at the gathering, knowing no-one was watching, but wanting to bestow her approval anyway. That's the spirit; you enjoy yourselves, boys. She ran her fingers over the the folds of her skirt, trying not to look at the deep wrinkles on her hands, less easy to smooth away. You never know what will be around the next corner.
She thought she might get her house-elf to bring her another cup of tea and perhaps one or two more cushions. She might as well get comfortable, and spend a while enjoying the healthy fresh air and the pleasant views across the neighbourhood.
Her lips formed a little 'o' at the intoxicating sight of a Malfoy cock sliding elegantly into a Potter throat. How charming, she thought happily, folding her hands in her lap. The contrast between the dark hair and the blond struck her as rather artistic.
Yes, on the whole, she would say that living next to the Potters really wasn't too bad at all.
Author:
birdsofshorePairing: It's an orgy: various non-specific m/m combinations
Rating: R
Word count: ~1100
Summary: There were definite consolations to living next door to the Potters.
Warnings: Don't get excited by the orgy business - I don't really know what happened here. Voyeurism. Exhibitionism. A complete absence of explicit smut at an orgy. Flangst? Unbetaed. I felt I had to write something for the fest and this was what came out O_o
Written for the Anywhere But the Bed comment fest. Inspired by the Potters' annual back yard barbecue 'verse, as dreamt up by
capitu.~*~*~
There were definite consolations to living next door to the Potters, thought Dorothy Witherspoon as she gazed out of her bedroom window.
Yes, James Potter and his friends still made a hideous racket with their electric guitars several times a week. Yes, there were constant odd smells wafting up from the potions lab that Albus Potter had installed in the basement. And Dorothy couldn't help noticing that the weeds in the front garden had been allowed to get completely out of hand since that smart girl Lily moved to France and left them all to it. But on the whole, it was a lot more peaceful now that Mrs Potter had moved out and the regular fights, complete with plate-throwing, had stopped altogether.
However, the best development by far was the new tradition of the Potters' back yard orgy.
Dorothy moved the curtain a little further to one side, and adjusted her spectacles on her nose, the better to contemplate the joyful curve of that pale, naked arse bent over a garden bench. They were wasting no time in getting started on this occasion. The guests all seemed on the best of terms, and appealingly uninhibited. Why, that burly redhead there, with the beard and the three admiring companions, was certainly talented. Dorothy had never seen anyone so accommodating, and completely undaunted by splinters, too.
When the parties first started, Dorothy had been a little taken aback, it was true. It wasn't the sort of thing that respectable wizards got up to in her day. But she wasn't a complete fossil. She knew that times had changed since the dreadfulness of the second war, and quite right, too. And it was such a treat to see young people enjoying themselves.
Some more guests were arriving. Dorothy smiled to see their delighted expressions and the carefree way with which they joined the festivities. Young Teddy Lupin was always a popular addition to these gatherings, and it was not hard to see why, as many hands reached to peel off his clothing, and mouths opened hungrily to show him a warm welcome.
So many captivating sights and, as the warm air drifted in through the open window, sounds. Dorothy couldn't decide which struck her as more delicious: the slow tentative glide of tongues meeting for the first time – the prelude, if you like, to the performance – or the frenzied rumpus of the finale, all driving hips and juddering limbs. Both had their own allure. Afterwards, the players rested for a while, in a sweaty tangle of arms and legs, but it was never long before inspiration stirred them again and they rejoined the ever-changing tableau in a different role.
Mr Potter himself was making enthusiastic efforts to gratify two gentlemen at once. She could see why he was able to defeat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named: all that lovely determination and simply bags of energy.
Looking up at the house and catching sight of Dorothy keeping her faithful vigil, he paused to give her a cheeky wink. In return, she extended her fingers in a small, genteel wave. A very considerate neighbour, Harry Potter. He never batted an eyelid if she happened to occasionally glance out of her window while he and his sons were entertaining their friends. He knew she'd never tell a soul about what she saw. Why would she? The parties would be sure to stop, then, and that would be no fun. No fun at all.
Two men sitting with their arms around one another caught her eye, the older stroking the younger's face. There was something about the line of the younger man's neck that reminded her of William, and for a moment she drifted off to the memory of a time when her eyes were bright and her long hair was still auburn. She had sat on a bench very like that one, and he had sat next to her, and the world seemed full of possibilities.
In those days she had thought that all of life was ahead of her, that one day soon she would surely know the kind of pleasure, the joyful union, that Mr Potter's friends were sharing together, but it was not to be. She remembered a kiss that had made her feel liquid, a burning look in his eye that made her skin prickle all over. She could recall as if it were yesterday the honeyed scent of sweet peas that hung in the air, and the heat from his hand in the small of her back. How his fingers trailed along the bare skin of her arm and made her feel alive, alive and full of an aching longing.
Then the war came and then... well, after the war it seemed as if that door had closed. Life was full of such missed moments, inconsequential at the time, but viewed with the hindsight of over fifty years...
She pressed her own hand against her arm, but the papery skin was cool and felt like something used up, not at all like the memory: warm and firm and full of the promise of a lifetime of love.
Dorothy shook herself. If she wasn't careful she would become one of those dreadful, doddering old witches who sat around dozing and daydreaming all day long. Instead she diverted her attention back to the scene below. She nodded down at the gathering, knowing no-one was watching, but wanting to bestow her approval anyway. That's the spirit; you enjoy yourselves, boys. She ran her fingers over the the folds of her skirt, trying not to look at the deep wrinkles on her hands, less easy to smooth away. You never know what will be around the next corner.
She thought she might get her house-elf to bring her another cup of tea and perhaps one or two more cushions. She might as well get comfortable, and spend a while enjoying the healthy fresh air and the pleasant views across the neighbourhood.
Her lips formed a little 'o' at the intoxicating sight of a Malfoy cock sliding elegantly into a Potter throat. How charming, she thought happily, folding her hands in her lap. The contrast between the dark hair and the blond struck her as rather artistic.
Yes, on the whole, she would say that living next to the Potters really wasn't too bad at all.
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Date: 2014-07-10 04:22 pm (UTC)