hot and sweaty

stereotypical harry potter fuck place: the broom closet pt. 2

Lily sat.

And sat.

And sat.

How  am I going to pull this off?

I've got to look suave. Chic. Not like I'm literally soaking my panties to the point of flooding.

Lily was scrunched unceremoniously between a nasty wooden mop bucket encased with mud and a shifty looking set of dusters that seemed to be only for show in a world where magic could clean the simplest of things.

She had sat all last night, too. On her bed she envisioned this great scheme: she would pose in her lingerie, inky black (his favourite color) against her clean cream skin, silhouetted against the soft lighting of at least twenty black candles, their flames a sweet contrast to their color. Her crimson hair would be up, a pristine but not stiff bun with small curly wisps framing her soft cheekbones.

That shit didn't happen.

Instead, she wound up in her stuffy school uniform, her 'comfy' bra (a bright purple number with the underwire seriously considering retirement), panties with donuts (donuts?!) on them, and her hair down. Not only was her hair down, it also smelled like hippogriff's armpit.

How, you ask?

James Motherfucking Potter.

That prick had been trying to peacock his way into Lily's heart by helping her during Care of Magical Creatures. By offering to help her onto the hippogriff.

Lily had foolishly agreed, if it meant he would stop oggling at her breasts for the rest of class. Man, that dickhead didn't know she had eyes; or at least, thought they were a lot lower.

Her hand in his, prepared to swing her leg over, Sirius had told James a joke, James had laughed, he let go of her hand mid-leg-swing, her other foot slipped, and she got a faceful of sweaty hippogriff arm. In the process, her shirt had lost an inconveniently placed button, and the whole of the seventh year of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff got to soak in the glory of Lily Evans' tits.

As James' eyes were too preoccupied (as were all of the men and closeted lesbians) with Lily's bouncing baby-feeders, she had had to pick herself up, dust off her knees, wipe her face, look down, blush profusely, and walk straight up to the professor to ask if she could use the restroom. As her shirt was broken, she had had to suspiciously wrap her cloak around her chest and run to the bathroom.

She didn't go back to class, for obvious reasons.

She had slipped into the bathroom, Conjured a new button, mended her shirt, and ran to the broom closet she was now inhabiting.

Now, the reader may be wondering, what's so important about this broom closet? You see, Lily had scoped out Sirius Black's meandering swagger around the castle until he collapsed saucily into an armchair in the common room for the past week. He passed by this particular broom closet, completely alone, every day just after lunch. James headed in the opposite direction for Muggle Studies, Peter attended Defense Against the Dark Arts in a previous corridor, and Remus usually took a quick nap after lunch during this time of the month.

In fact, she could hear him now. He was whistling a poppy tune, something she had heard in passing on her uncle's Muggle radio.

Wait a minute.

He's singing 'Somebody to Love'. I'm going to die.

So fitting. So romantic. So....

Sirius Black. His name in her mind did nothing to stop the southern downpour in her undergarments.

Her donut undergarments.

His step was light as he whistled. Opening the door just a little to see where he was, Lily saw what was both the funniest thing and the most beautiful thing she had ever seen him do.

He was dancing.

His eyes were closed, and he started singing the words, his post-pubescent rumble sending tingles up and down her spine like bells. His feet were fast as he twisted and turned, looking as if he were...

what was it?

Happy. Carefree. Young.

These past years had been hard on everyone (all the good ones, at least) and Lily was fully aware of Sirius Black's brother Regulus' turn to the inevitable dark side, as most of his family had done.

Sirius wasn't like that.

Granted, he could be a douche at some times and he was fully aware of his beauty; but Sirius had never been like his family. Lily had met his mother in passing in Diagon Alley. The introductions were stiff (on her part), she was frankly rude, and Sirius had apologized on her behalf in his weekly letter to Lily. He'd called her 'an old prat with nothing to do but sit around the house and be proud of her ancestry.'

Lily shook herself out of her reverie and watched Sirius. He was back to walking now. He was just about to pass the broom closet door when he was unceremoniously pulled into the dank-smelling closet.

Lily pulled him by his tie so very close to her face and whispered, 'Hello, Sirius.'

'What a lovely surprise, Princess Lily! Who knew that, hidden under those innocent smiles and girlish hair flips, you actually had a sexuality! I'm ver-' he was abruptly cut off in his insulting as Lily had yanked his lips to hers. She drove her fingers into his hair, tugging lightly, and walked backward to a wall. Letting go of his hair, she drifted her hands to his muscled hips and jerked them to grind against her sex.

Sirius loosed his lips from hers and groaned. Internally, he was a hot mess. Why is Lily Evans fucking with me? Literally and metaphorically? I mean, I like her and shit, but hot damn! This woman. Wow, James is gonna kill me. He pulled away to look at her face. It was flushed and there was an enrapturing spark behind her green eyes. Chest heaving, her breasts would touch his chest every time Lily took a breath.

'You know, I don't think I'm surprised at this anymore, Lily darling,' he commented nonchalantly as he started loosening her shirt buttons. 'Also, your new button doesn't match the rest.'

She paused.

'Shut up, Sirius.'

'Yes ma'am.'