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[Fic] 30 Random Kisses
Name a prompt from the following table and any pairing (canon or AU, as long as I play one of the characters involved) and I'll write you a ficlet that includes a kiss. First come, first serve on all prompts until all of the table is claimed. After that, feel free to re-request the prompts to your heart's content.

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30 Random Kisses

01. Moonlight 02. Ocean Breeze 03. Hot 04. Cold 05. Fire 06. Snow 07. Motorcycle 08. Coffee 09. Medicine 10. Chocolate 11. Ambition 12. Tattoo 13. Magic 14. Inch 15. Myth 16. Epic 17. Rock & Roll 18. Disco 19. Abnormal 20. Universe 21. Gold 22. Silver 23. River 24. Wager 25. Wind 26. Jazz 27. Crystal 28. Blues 29. Club 30. Den

02. Ocean Breeze Pairing: Harmony Yates/Moses Dodderidge Word Count: Rating:

03. Hot Pairing: Rafe Kirke/Erin Kirke Word Count: 924 Rating: R Ow, ow, ow... Rafe grumbled under his breath as he rotated his heavily bruised shoulder. He'd taken a nasty hit from a bludger about three-quarters in. United had won by forty points over the Falcons. It had been a brutal match. Then he'd been bombarded by reporters the moment he touched down. Rafe had obliged them. A hundred or so flash bulbs later, he finally trudged into the United locker room with a slight grouch going thanks to a now-stiff injured shoulder. It was nothing the team medic couldn't fix but the room was deserted and the medic nowhere to be found. Great. Carefully, he pulled off the team robes and let them fall to the floor. Rafe cringed at his silly mistake--a mistake that only the rookie would be nailed for--and bent down to gather up the robes and walk them to a laundry bin. On the way back to his cubby, the bruised beater started pulling off his under-clothes. He was fairly gone as far as exhaustion went--or at least that was his excuse for not noticing her sooner. Rafe, down to nothing but his shorts, blinked dumbly at his wife. "Erin?" Merlin, she moved fast. Since when did she move that fast? Oh Gods, just don't let her touch the shoulder. Not the shoulder, please. He stared down in confusion at mousy blonde hugging his waist. Wait a second. He knew that smile. He knew that smile all-too-well. And it was dangerous. She could make him do anything when she smiled at him like that. "Erin, what are you--?" but he was interrupted by her shushing him by putting a finger to his lips. His brows rose high. "Mmm, let's go make a baby," she mumbled and pecked a kiss on his sweaty chest. The next thing he knew, she'd grabbed the hand of his good arm and was tugging him toward the showers. There was a determined smirk on her face. Rafe flustered about for words. "Baby? Now? Here?," he blinked several times and stopped walking. "You want to shag here? In the bloody locker room?!" She was then walking backwards and there was that smile again. The smile that would surely be the death of him. He adored it so very much. "But--But--" he stammered for words. "Finn! Finn could still be around! I don't think he'd like us shagging in the showers." "Oh, I have it on good authority that Finn is currently preoccupied." Rafe just stared in amazement at his wife as he followed her into a shower stall. She was being blatantly devious. ...And it was starting to turn him on. "I don't imagine Joy had anything to do with that one," he muttered, pushing his shorts down and toe-ing out of them. Erin's shirt was gone and she was hastily unbuttoning her slacks. "Hey, hey, hey--Let me help you there," Rafe said as he reached a hand to her. Erin slowed after stepping out of the slacks which Rafe took from her to drape over the curtain bar. Stepping near his wife again, Rafe gave her a lopsided grin and her arms came up to hug his neck. "Hi," he said softly and dropped his forehead to hers. "Hi," she echoed. His large calloused hands traveled her back and toyed with the clasp of her bra. Erin bit down on her lip and Rafe had difficulty keeping himself from kissing her for it. "Hmm, do I know you?" he continued calmly as he helped her slip out of the bra. "I think I've seen you at a few matches, big Prides fan, right? Ow! Hey!" Rafe's facade had abruptly fallen when she tapped his sore shoulder--causing him to give an unmanly yelp and cringe. Then she was on him like an anxious mother. "Oh Gods! Did that really hurt? I'm sorry! I didn't meant to--" It was Rafe's turn to silence his spouse and he chose to do it with his mouth. He hiked her up to his mouth with his good arm and gave her a sound kiss. His free hand brushed her blond locks back over her bare shoulder. They were both smiling when he nudged her brow with his and gave her lips one more peck. There was a murmur of approval in his throat as he gazed down at the perfect breasts pressed against his broad chest. "They'll get bigger," Erin said with nod after her own glance down at her chest. Rafe gave a light laugh as he moved toward the shower facet, Erin tiptoeing along with him. She wiggled a bit in his embrace to push off her knickers and blindly fling them away. Rafe bit into his cheek as he used the hand of the bad arm to turn on the water, spinning the handle all the way to 'hot'. They both gasped and Erin did an awkward little dance on her toes when the first jet shot out and sprinkled them with cold water. He let go of his wife momentarily to reach up and angle the shower head to spray closer to the wall. Rafe flinched when he accidentally sprayed himself in the face but he never took his eyes off Erin. It never ceased to amaze him that he was so lucky. "What?" she prompted shyly, fidgeting with a wet lock of hair. She took Rafe's outstretched hand joined him under the warm water. Rafe pressed his lips to her forehead and sighed. "You're already perfect, Erin," he said quietly. "Just as you are."

05. Fire Pairing: Darren Quigg/Lydia Proudfoot Word Count: Rating:

07. Motorcycle Pairing: Prisca Pucey/Sirius Black Word Count: 712 Rating: R Prisca smoothed her long elegant fingers over the soft leather seat she straddled. She bit down gently on her plump bottom slip and cast a devious flinty glance over her shoulder. There was a murmur of approval in her throat when she felt the stiff fabric of his pants graze her thigh; his breath hot on her shoulder and his body hovering tauntingly-close to hers. "How do you make it..." she purred and leaned forward to run her hands over the seat again. "Fly?" Prisca finished and arched herself back into the man's lean chest, letting her head fall to his shoulder and her nose to his cleanly shaven cheek. Bloody fuck, he smelled good. The smile he gave was devilish--like a dog ready to bite. He didn't tense and go slack-jawed like most men did around her. The perfectly straight hair and the strong jaw weren't bad traits either. But it was the eyes that had gotten her. They were a sort of off-grey that would subtly shift depending on the light. His eyes were also dangerous. So intense that she couldn't let herself leave the pub without feeling that gaze on her body. Then he'd mentioned he'd came by way of a "motorcycle"--a muggle vehicle fit for one (or two, if positioned snugly). Her father and brothers would fly into a rage if they could see her. It had to be done. His soft lips dragged up her cheek to settle on her ear. Prisca's eyelids went heavy. "That would be a secret, love," he said slyly as his fingers found her bare thighs and raked upward until he was scrunching the mini-skirt of the scarlet-red keyhole dress she wore. His eyes left hers momentarily as he fiddled with something on the handles. There was a roar that settled into a rumble as the metal beast awoke. A soft moan escaped her painted lips and she pressed herself more firmly against the strikingly pretty man--a stranger with suavely bold hands. Her right arm snaked up to drag her long nails lightly over the skin of his neck. "Fortunate then," she said with her brow still tucked to his hair-less cheek, "that I don't care how you get it up." The warm chuckle he gave made her smirk. Then a hand was on her breast bone and fingertips gazed her throat and chin. Prisca closed her eyes, certain she would moan again if she continued to stare into beautiful, arrogant face. She did have an ego of her own to attend after all. She couldn't let him know that he had her this bloody hot for him that quickly. And the rumbling machine beneath her was not helping in the least. But Merlin he was...wonderful. What cupboard had he been hiding in all this time? She would have loved to have experienced this treatment much much sooner. Oh--fuck. The remaining hand on her thigh had slipped upward to her already damp knickers. Prisca's cry was swallowed by the beautiful mouth that had been taunting her. Heat from the motorcycle was warming her legs which clamped the machine tightly with her knee-high boots. Prisca twisted into the man to hold tightly onto either of side of his face as the kiss became more intense. Her little moans and his pants were lost in attempts to hold on harder to the other's mouth as he pressed the massage harder and deeper--until Prisca could not longer stand him being clothed. The would-be vixen bit down on the man's bottom lip and pulled it outward, as far as she could get it to stretch before she let it snap back to his gum. His hand stalled. "Why are we still in this fucking alley?" she snapped, though her tone lost some of its punch in her heavy breathing. He was smirking. And his eyes were laughing. Damn him. Strong hands situated her closer to the front of the contraption. He settled behind her and put his hands on the handlebars, embracing her with his upper body. "A quick fox," he mused in her ear, ducking past her thick and wavy mane. He didn't wait for her response. The metal beast roared once more and they were suddenly airborne after a swift jaunt up the alleyway.

08. Coffee Pairing: Prisca Pucey/Sirius Black Word Count: 1,271 Rating: NC-17 Prisca flew up to a seated position in bed with a sharp gasp. Her eyes were wide and her expression startled. She had clung the burgundy sheet to her naked chest in an instinctive flinch. The leggy brunette had been slowly rousing when her hand had brushed a man's bare chest. Her brow knitted as she watched him sleep. What was he even doing in her bed? Yes, yes--he was rather fit and a delicious shag, but he should have been gone from her room and from her life hours ago. It was how a one-night-stand was supposed to work. Prisca had sussed that he was a bit of a slag. The shag-and-go routine should be old hat for him. Yet he was still there. Prisca huffed in aggravation. There was a loud smack of skin-on-skin when she gave Sirius a swift backhand to the chest. The lanky man stirred with a bewildered yelp. Prisca faced him long enough for his dazed grey eyes to see her stern glare. She then spun her back to him and gave another irritated huff. "Whatdidyoudothatfor?" he slurred drowsily at her. "Ha," was her sardonic response. Sirius was quiet for several seconds before he murmured sound of realization mingled with a yawn. "I'm guessing it was some kind of itty bitty insect bloke, yeah?" he theorized thickly. "You quashed him good, doll. Will have to thank you properly--" "I told you to leave," Prisca snapped. "Five. Hours. Ago." Another pause for yawning passed. Prisca huffed angrily. She refused to face him. She wanted the idiot ponce gone. It wasn't a decision open for discussion. She had more meaningful things to attend to--shoe shopping, in fact. There was finally movement behind her, but it was not the movement the pampered witch had demanded. The mattress creaked and shifted as Sirius slid across the bed closer to her. Perfectly trim brows narrowed over her hardened blue eyes. This was ridiculous. "I don't hear you leaving," she seethed and considered reaching for her wand on the nightstand. She could expel the idiot out the window that opened on the courtyard. That would certainly make her point and get her father's attention. The blood-traitor filth could actually prove useful, Warm fingertips brushed the tousled deep brown locks from her shoulder. The back of a hand slid slowly over her bare skin from jaw downward. Prisca's eyes fluttered closed. The caresses were arousing but she stubbornly refused to yield to them. Lips were soon on her shoulder making soft O's up her neckline. Prisca dragged a bite over her own plump lip, but turned away when the kisses reached her chin and his nose brushed her cheek. Prisca's strong jaw set and she re-gathered the sheet around herself. "I don't do morning-after shags, hotshot," she said dismissively with a shake of her head. Hands were on her again. Prisca winced in frustration. He didn't know when to give up. Sirius's lust-filled breath was on the nape of her neck. Prisca made to move away, but his fingers buried past her sheet to seize either side of her naked hips. His tongue began massaging the curve of her neck. It was a sensation that put her skin on-edge and caused a leap in her pulse. Prisca was unable to keep herself from leaning into the touches and his warming chest. She frowned when the gratifying treatment stopped abruptly. "All I want you to do," a husky voice said against her ear. The hands on her hips slid forward to squeeze the flesh of her inner-thighs. "is moan." Prisca gasped in sudden arousal. It was easy for Sirius to maneuver her back down to the bed. There was a flapping noise of fabric as his hands untangled her from the sheet that wrapped her leggy body. It was cast aside. A momentary flash of exposed breeziness ghosted over her flesh before the heat of another body covered her nude form. Prisca murmured in approval when Sirius rolled his torso against hers. She lulled her head back into the mattress as she squirmed beneath his weight. Strong hands lifted her arms to pin her wrists behind her head. A soft whine of protest issued from her throat. Both panted quietly for breath. Prisca took a heavy-lidded peak at Sirius's face. So young. So beautiful. Circe, she hoped he was of-age. Lean hips rolled down against hers more roughly than before. She could feel his erection pressing against her navel. Prisca gasped a cry but it was lost in the firm kiss Sirius planted on her mouth. His tongue soon followed with teasing flicks as he breathed her into deeper and deeper kisses. Prisca's whines became more frequent and desperate. She had to gasp for her breath against his mouth and soon felt dizzy. Oh, bloody hell. What the hell was she thinking? Letting a man pounce her before morning tea. Honestly. A part of Prisca wanted to put a halt to the molesting. "Morning shags" were not her style. Most men had a tendency to believe she had some deep-down quasi-"feelings" for him if she obliged his morning stiffy. Shagging a girl before she'd bathed and brushed her teeth was supposedly more intimate. Prisca only saw it as a hassle her sex life didn't need. But fucking hell... This one was certainly making a good case for some morning sex--especially if he kept rubbing his body all over hers like a canine seeking attention. Prisca gasped and sucked for breath when Sirius's mouth retreated. Her body was flush with need and her long legs had wrapped his waist tightly. She wanted to be shagged right now. Sirius on the other hand was more concerned with tormenting her neck. Prisca nipped at his earlobe and gave an impatient thrust of her hips. Sirius chuckled against her shoulder. He pushed up on his fists and smirked down at her ravenous expression. His body made a slow pull upward of his hips that dragged his erect prick from her crotch to her navel which caught briefly on any and every nook along the way. There was a swear on Prisca's lips as she arched up against him in response. Her wrists were given another insistent shove into the mattress on either side of her head. Sirius's hands then gradually slid their way down her arms and back to her torso. Lips found her sternum. Prisca fisted her fingers in the bedsheets to keep from squirming wildly as his indulging hands and lips roved her body. Occasionally he would graze a sensitive spot which made her arch and cry out. Prisca was keening at the lightest touch when his taunting mouth and hands finally found her hips. The excess attention had become agitating. She wished he'd get on with it already. Sirius laughed when she voiced the demand. Prisca could do no more than glare without a wand in-hand. The hardened expression fleeted from her features with a surprised wince as Sirius nibbled at her inner-thigh. Hands were on her knees. Blue eyes flew open and watched the beautiful man loosen the grip of her legs on his body. Prisca bit down on her bottom lip and let out a muffled moan as Sirius spread her knees wide. The flesh of her inner-thighs began to tingle as it numbed. A murmur of lust escaped her full lips. Blue eyes fluttered closed once more to avoid Sirius's watchful gaze as she braced in anticipation for a much deserved morning shag. A resigning moan bucked Prisca's form when her one-night-lover pressed his sensual tongue flat between her thighs instead.

09. Medicine Pairing: Mark Timms/Brier Stebbins Word Count: 660 Rating: NC-17 Thin fingers braced against Mark's chest as they wildly searched for something to grasp. Mark breathed out hushing whispers as he caressed the slender wizard's face. Every few seconds the boyish face would contort and another cry would escape into dimly lit room that was hazy from the burning herbs on the nightstand. The room was otherwise a disaster area with clothing, bed covers, pillows, and empty vials and flasks strewn about. But the party of three had caused no more chaos in the flat than what was typical of Mark and Lydia on their own. The mind-altering tonics were the surest culprit. Mark smoothed a calm hand over...Brie's? Brian's? pale-skinned chest as the younger wizard panted in lust. He'd finally shut up and Mark no longer had to shove fingers in his mouth as Lydia ordered to keep Brian quiet. Lydia was atop him and giving the lad slow grinding treatment. It had set Brian's pulse to slamming in his chest as she methodically pushed him further. After making sure the young wizard was properly inebriated with a heightening combination of drubs, his foreplay had been to watch Mark and Lydia sleaze their way through a quick and dirty shag. It was then Lydia's turn to coax an orgasm out of the virgin. If Brian was still viable after that, Mark would show him the other side of the coin. Once they had gotten him drunk enough to be truthful, Brian had expressed his own curiosity and Mark was not about to pass that up. "Oh, Gods!" Brian cried out and arched up against Mark's hand as his entire body went momentarily rigid. He then went limp on the bedsheets and breathed heavily. Mark glanced up to Lydia who was slowly moving off the younger man. A smirk was on her lips as she stretched out like a feline next to Brian and reached for a cigarette. Mark saw the flush leaving Brian's body as his breathing returned to normal. A sly look crossed Mark's face when the smaller man began to move. It was good enough recovery for Mark. The lad didn't have to do anything but get off as Mark had his way with Brian's arse. Rolling away, Mark reached to the nightstand and grabbed a small tablet. He came back to Brian and pushed the pill into the younger man's mouth. "Swallow, love," Mark told him quietly and ducked down to press a kiss to Brian's lips. The younger wizard obediently swallowed but his eyes had also gone wide. "I-I've never kissed a bloke before," Brian stammered. Mark glanced to Lydia who twitched another smirk but generally looked bored as she sat there and took another drag off a cigarette. He licked his lips hungrily and returned to the task at hand. Mark's hand went to Brian's boyish face and he gave the young man another kiss. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, all right?" Mark quipped and rolled Brian on his side, his back to Mark. "What're you doin' now?" Brian asked in a slur--the "medicine" Mark had just given him was surely making him feel like he was floating by now. His wiggle of protest was lackluster as Mark massaged a warm salve against against a very tight arse. "Relax, love," Mark breathed across Brian's neck having now sidled his naked body closer to the un-adulterated one before him. "You'll enjoy this. I promise." "Okay," was the sighed response as Mark's hand left the arse to wank his own prick up. Most of the tension seemed to leave Brian and he continued to contently sigh. Mark pushed himself up to wrap his body to Brian's smaller frame. He gripped at the bony chest and pressed his mouth to Brian's neck. "This'll hurt a bit," Mark told the other man before dipping his hips and rolling them upward to slowly push into Brian who bucked and moaned in Mark's solid grip. Virgins were always the squirm-ers.

13. Magic Pairing: Brady Higgs/Harriet Higgs Word Count: 446 Rating: PG Her tears were of joy. Brady could recall every painful, heartbroken minute of holding his young wife close as she wept out of fear and the unrelenting burden of her plight. She would shake with sadness and go limp against his chest; hiding her eyes and muffling her sobs. Slender fingers would grasp blindly for a hold of his shirt to cling to his resolve--she no longer possessed any. She was frail, so frail like the sickly child she'd always been, always would be. Those tears were not happy ones. But these were and yet, there was an ache in his chest all the same. As were the foreboding thoughts in his mind--albeit now for a different reason, but nevertheless deeply concerned. "I don't understand," he began quietly, careful to reel back the worry in his tone, "the doctors, the healers... Not one said there was even a remote chance." Harriet hiccupped a laugh against her husband's strong neck. Her fingers flexed into the flesh of his chest. She pulled back her face. Steely-blue eyes shined back at him. Her appled cheeks had a flush he hadn't seen in years. "Don't tell me you don't believe in magic," her sarcasm was lost in the strain of emotion in her voice. "We're pregnant, Brady. We're pregnant," the last word was nearly lost in another gasp for the breath she'd lost minutes before. Not even Brady could remain stoic after that one. He winced harshly as his felt his heart bash itself wildly against his ribs making his chest explode with pain. His next breath was gasping and shaky as his fingers lost themselves in her mousy dark blonde hair. He held her tight, terrified that this--their child--not the cancer in her bones could be the death of her. Because she was pregnant. Harriet Higgs was pregnant. Brady Jefferson Higgs was going to be a father. Orson and Petra Higgs were going to be grandparents--which was a miraculous feat when their only child was their gay son. They were bringing a new life into the world and it was because of him. And because of her. And because of Gods knew what. No. It was because of magic. Not wizard magic, but it was magic. A tear escaped down either of Brady cheeks as he opened his eyes, but his lids quickly went heavy as he huffed a laugh. Seeing her dimpled smile had him pining for more naive days. "I love you, Harry doll," he said with an adoring toothy grin. A warm palm cupped his jaw and the tiny blond wiggled close enough to bump her brow against his "I love you, hunky B," Harriet replied in a lusty tone and claimed her husband's mouth with her own.

16. Epic Pairing: John Mulciber/Matilda Mulciber Word Count: 1,082 Rating: PG=13 The window was going to shatter if it shook anymore. Matilda was sure of it. It was because of the wind. The storms had been dreadful. Lightning had struck the front lawns--split a tree in two. The gardens were hopelessly flooded, no matter how many rain shield charms the caretaker cast. The moor was completely saturated. It made the air dense and cold. Rolling fogs kept her from seeing more than a yard out from the window. It made her uneasy--terrified of what was lurking in the mist. She'd seen plenty of shadows and hesitant shapes. She couldn't shake the feeling that something awful had happened. Rattle, rattle, rattle. Matilda wished the bloody window would just explode already. Howling wind in her face would be a welcome change. The constant, reverberating noise was going to make her homicidal in her current state. She'd paced and paced and paced the length of the sitting room just off the main foyer of the Mulciber estate. The midwife had the baby which only left Matilda to worry, worry, worry about her husband. His mother was dead and his father was out there in the battle with his son. Matilda loathed them both. They didn't have to worry. Hmph. Bang! Matilda shrieked. Either side of the large window had smacked the wall as it was flung open. Wind, rain, fog, and cold rushed into the room in a chilling wave. The blond witch cowered away from the window as her own hair whipped back and stung her face. Matilda's face blanched and her blue eyes went wide as she futilely gripped at a bookcase and squinted outward. To dark shapes emerged from the fog and were hurtled toward the open window. Two wizards--John and his father--on broomsticks flew straight into the sitting room and pulled expert stops. Both men were soaked and covered in filth. John had several cuts on his face and hands. His father had a patch of mangled flesh where an eye had once been. "Could they have followed?" John panted anxiously after his father had slammed the windows shut again with a flick of his wrist. "No. Not in this mess," the older wizard said with a dismissive wave of a blackened hand at the window. With another flick, the brooms soared out of the room on their own. "And that is why we flew." "But they do suspect," John added pointedly. "How long do you think we have until they realize--" "John?" Matilda prompted softly. The name came out shakier than intended but it caused both wizards to pause and glance to the source. The harassed-looking witch pushed herself off the bookcase. She made it two steps before she wobbled, feeling lightheaded at the sight of them. John was across the room and holding her up before she had time to blink. "What's going on?" she asked quietly and looked up to her husband in fear. An unmarred hand landed on John's shoulder. "I will begin setting the wards," John's father started in solemn tone. "It won't be long now. You know what you must do." A pause. "Think of your family, Johnathon." The older wizard left the couple in the room. John's face had become stoney. His jaw was squared, his eyes were guarded. Matilda gaped at her husband and tried not to faint before she learned more. "John, what is it? What's happening?" He swallowed and met her gaze. "We're going to Tuscany." "What?" Matilda gasped in shock, looking at her husband as if he'd grown a third eye. "We're packing and taking Mattias to Tuscany. Tonight. There is a home waiting for us." "I don't understand. Why are we taking a holiday when he is so close to defeating--" "He is dead." "What?" John glared down at his wife and grasped her upper-arms tightly. There was a wild anger in his eyes--an anger full of fear. "He is dead! Dead, Matilda! And I am too if we don't leave right now!" It was then that his words actually sunk in. Matilda felt her knees leave her legs and she slumped against her husband. Her feet refused to cooperate. She just let her cheek slide down the front of his wet robes as she as she started to weep. The sigh John let out was heavy and full of regret. He gathered Matilda to him and pulled her up into his arms. He rested her weight on his chest. Her arms went instinctively around his strong neck which she buried her face into. John gripped her tight and tangled a hand in her hair. Matilda gasped for an emotional breath. "How do you know they won't follow?" she choked out. "They will follow. They will want to me in Azkaban," John corrected. Matilda went limp once more in his arms, suddenly unable to breathe. "But it won't matter." Matilda's head jerked back and she gaped at her husband again, this time in utter skepticism underlain with sheer terror at the thought of losing him. The look on John's face indicated he'd expected her reaction. "May father is taking the fall," he told her with sincerity though the words seemed to sicken him. Realization splashed over Matilda's features and she gripped at his shoulders. "Oh, John," she whispered and attempted a look of understanding though she was secretly thrilled with his father's decision. She couldn't lose her husband. She just couldn't. "He's lived through enough. He's ready to die," John added, taking a deep breath and swallowing the lump in his throat that would have him cry. "I'm sorry," he blurted in a rush. "I'm sorry for everything I've put you through. Sorry for everything that's happened--the arranged marriage, the nights alone, the--" Matilda pressed up on the balls of her feet to kiss her suddenly-remorseful husband. She could taste faint traces of blood on his injured lip, but she held on like he was her last breath. It was then that she could feel the beating of his heart. Through all the layers her wore, she felt it slamming away in his chest. John was scared. John was never scared. Matilda shivered in her own fleeting fear. John's forehead dropped to hers when they broke for breath. The dull ache in Matilda's chest seized when she noticed the tremble in his lower lip. "I'd die before I lost you, Matilda." The blonde winced and sucked in a harsh, pained breath. If only he allowed her the same luxury.

17. Rock & Roll Pairing: Sturgis Podmore/Marissa McFusty Word Count: Rating:

18. Disco Pairing: Elphias Doge/Phoebe Smethwyck Word Count: Rating:

19. Abnormal Pairing: Griff Kirkham/Nora Thompson Word Count: Rating:

24. Wager Pairing: Sturgis Podmore/Octavia Borgin Word Count: Rating:

29. Club Pairing: Brady Higgs/Malcolm Brown Word Count: 823 Rating: R In all his visits to Hogsmeade, Brady had only stepped inside Honeydukes once and that visit had been cut short after the stock boy had caught young Brady's significant glances. After four years, their partially secluded spot beneath a stairwell at the back of Zonkos had changed very little and the same could be said for quiet and needy young man whose face was buried against the starched collared shirt concealing Brady's taunt abdomen. But unlike the stock boy, Brady had grown from a doe-eyed spindly adolescent to an epitome of arrogance and moxie in that time. Yet he still felt obligated to toss a few minutes to the older man every Hogsmeade visit. It was he who had introduced Brady to 'getting head' after all. Brady sighed in impatience and threaded his fingers through dark blond mane of the man who still knelt before him. He didn't outright order the man to leave but the hint was clearly taken--the tight hold on his waist relented. Brady carefully tucked himself back into his trousers and fastened the hook and button. The other wizard mumbled a disheartened goodbye and never met Brady's eyes as he made a quick exit around the back of the building. Brady retrieved a dark blue jumper and black leather jacket from the ground where they had been tossed in haste barely fifteen minutes prior. He shook them out and walked around to the side of the wooden stairwell to drape the clothing over a railing and dress himself once more. "It's rude to watch two blokes going at it without asking, you know," he suddenly deadpanned to the afternoon air. Brady slowly turned around as he shoved one arm, then the other into the jumper. Hazel eyes rolled up upward in annoyance when he saw that the head of dark hair had yet to raise from behind the large wooden crate that stood barely two meters away. "Oy!" he said louder and yanked the jumper down over his head. "I saw you squirm more than a bit when he was tugging at my pants so there's no use to hiding." Brady paused after straightening his shirts and his hands settled on his hips. "Well, I'm not going to thump you for it, you ponce." That seemed to do the trick. A younger boy rose up beneath the mop of dark hair looking flushed and nervous. His eyes were big and he was altogether twitchy. Like he'd be caught stealing a country or looking at the Minister's biddies, honestly. "Oh, calm yourself, mate. It's just a shag. You know, sex between two blokes. Not that you would be old enough to understand--" "I've shagged a bloke!" the peeper squeaked. Brady arched a brow in disbelief. "You?" A vigorous nod. "Lots of times! Last year." "Oh yeah, with who?" the older boy pried in suspicion. Another pouf in the castle that he didn't know of? It was poposterous. The boy blanched and stammered a bit. "I can't tell you that!" He cast an uneasy glance away. "And well, he was actually the one that did the shagging--" "Really now?" Brady's expression brightened and he stepped closer to the crate the younger boy still stood behind. "So, you enjoyed it then?" he asked slyly. Doe-eyes raised to meet his. "Well, yeah," the boy said with the first flash of a smile. Brady cracked a smirk of his own. Merlin, a fresh fit boy for him to lay it into. It was bloody mad to have one just fall into his lap. It was never this easy. "What were you doing back there?" Brady gave a nod to the old crate seated between. The boy's face flushed once more. "Er--" he started nervously and was glancing away once more. Brady was enjoying how much he was making the cute brunette fluster. "Well, I'd heard that you--uh--you were, er--" "Queer?" Brady supplied. That got a flinch. "Yeah, yeah. That you were queer and I was just--uh--thought maybe, since you're queer and I'm queer... Er. That we could..." "Start a club?" His shoulders seemed to slump in defeat. "What? No." The younger boy's expression scrunched in confusion at the deadpanned seriousness in Brady's reply. "What I meant was--" The boy didn't get to finish. Brady's hands and gone to either side of his clammy-skinned face and given an insistent tug forward. There was sounds of scraping as the boy scrambled atop the crate and closer to Brady. The kiss was short and deliberate. Brady broke it letting his lips slide to the soft corner of the other boy's mouth. His breathing was calm and met with hungry pants. "What's your name?" Brady murmured against the boy's cheek and gripped the back of his sweaty neck with a rough palm. Hands found the front of Brady's jumper and fisted the knitted material. "Malcolm," was the anxious answer. Brady smiled slowly and nudged Malcolm's forehead with his own. "Hi, Malcolm. I'm Brady," he said quietly, his mouth finding the other boy's once more. "I know," Malcolm sighed as Brady breathed him in.