Fic:Parry Hotter and the Pureblood Prince [2-?]
Title: Parry Hotter and the Pureblood Prince [2-?]
Author: Witblogi
Pairings: P/M
Rating: 14 A (nc-17 later?)
Words: 2055
Warnings: fluff, crack, use of bad puns, wedgies, ultimate mary-sues, and man PMS
Summary: Follow up of [1]: Second installment of the Warthogs universe. Parry and Maco struggle to set the mood. NOTE this is an HP/DM it's just...crack and poking fun and our favorite couple as well as mary-sues.
Parry Hotter and the Pureblood Prince [2-?]
Maco didn’t know how he managed to get up seven flights of moving staircases so quickly (it was probably the robes, they did keep things breezy), but he was panting and out of breath for entirely the wrong reasons by the time he made it there. Checking one by one, each of the fourteen rooms of requirement, he huffed slamming yet another door on a Tootsitramp get-together. It was amazing their common room wasn’t on the same floor by the frequency in which they used the RoRs.
Finally Maco opened a door, not to find two…or more students writhing in ecstasy, but instead only hearing sounds of someone who was seriously not having a good time. Gulps of air were being inhaled like a pitcher of cosmopolitans in front of his mother on Valentines Day. Between each gulp was a heart-wrenching, stuttering, hacking sob that would kill small adorable puppies to hear.
Maco never did like puppies, and began to turn away when the lone figure of the room gasped and called out.
“ D-Dralfoy?” Maco froze.
“ …Hotter?” he questioned watching as the figure by the fire shifted illuminating his face. Hotter’s handsome features were distorted by the flickering light, but not enough to hide the clear indication of strong emotion gripping the Qanonreip. In other less flowery words, he had puffy eyes and a runny nose. Maco wrinkled his own nose in distaste, thinking only of that sick disgusting dog his aunt Lellatrix owned, when he was small, because it was good to crucio. On a good day that thing still licked its eyeballs and had perma-snotty-drool hanging off its quivering jowls. Trying to force the image of his aunt’s dog out of his recoiling brain, Maco rounded on Hotter.
“ What are you doing in here crying to yourself? Aren’t you supposed to be seducing me with pastries right about now?” He snapped, stepping inside and closing the door with a thud behind him. He came to get his rocks off with the ever hotter Hotter; not this wibbiling mass of sniveling mucus.
“ Oh yeah, right, okay, I’m not really in the mood any more…but I’m sure I could. You know if you didn’t mind this,” Parry blubbered, gesturing in a rather feminine way to his face before wiping his nose down the length of his sleeve causing Mako to blanch.
“ I-“
“ Because I know I wouldn’t sleep with me while I look like this! I’m a total hormonal blimp, and no one loves me, I don’t have a family, a creepy evil bald man with serious red eye wants me dead and I think I might be gay! I’m just sort of dealing with a lot of shit right now!” Parry hiccoughed his voice raising higher and higher as Maco stared at him. Internally he was calculating whether or not Hotter was too far gone into his own meltdown to notice him slipping back out of the room.
No such luck, Parry was staring right at him, his hair messily arranged about his face in an irresistible fashion. Maco wanted to plunge his fingers into those untamable tresses and own him, his mate, his lover, his Parry.
“Are you even listening to me?” Hotter shrieked chucking his shoe at Maco’s head. The blond broke out of his momentary mental molestation of Hotter’s hair and dodged the shoe before approaching. He was cautious, as if dealing with a wild animal, and if the look was anything to go by in Hotter’s eyes, he was.
“ It’s okay Hotter-Parry, you’ll be fine. I’m sure-“ Maco picked his way carefully over to the bawling Qanonreip and rested his arm delicately over his broad shoulders. Trying to ignore the hot muscles pressing firmly into his fragile chicken arm; Maco rubbed soothing circles on Parry’s shoulder, marveling at the strong tense and sexually frustrated way the other arched into the attention.
They were slowly moving closer and closer together, their bodies seeing each other’s heat almost as if it had been written in the stars. Maco’s eyes traced the still slightly damp but ever charmingly chiseled face of his hero, his savior, his Parry. The infamously luminescent green eyes that glowed like pools of radioactive waste were now blinking questioningly at him. His button nose that was some how still distinguished like just like when he giggle/laughed. And finally Maco’s eyes rested on Parry’s lush, plump kissable lips, there, just the slightest hint of crumbs from desert at the corner of his mouth.
Maco smiled and reached out, brushing them away with his thumb before sensuously sucking the digit into his own mouth. Parry’s eyes widened with lust as he watched Maco, but the blonde-veela-angel had suddenly sucked inward so hard, not because he was trying to be sexy, no, he recognized the flavor of treacle on his fingers. His eyes dashed around before finding the crumpled tin shell that should have been lovingly cupping his most prized possession, warm and gooey, spilling over the sides…now half bent and lying dejected on the floor by their feet.
Staring at it for a moment, Maco’s thumb popped out of his mouth and Parry whimpered.
“ You-you…” Maco started breathlessly looking up into Hotter’s lustful gaze. He struggled with his words and Hotter stroked his arm, his neck, his cheek, urging him to go on.
“ You…ATE MY TART?” Maco finally screamed, swooping to pick up the tin and giving it a strong sniff, the heady aroma of treacle lingered there, “ I bet you didn’t even savor it!” he hissed crumpling the tin in a fit of rage and hurling it as hard as he could at Parry’s head. Only being able to throw like a girl, it landed with a soft ‘pft’ sound and bounced gently off of Hotter’s forehead.
“ What- no Maco! I’m sorry, I’m a stress eater! When you hadn’t shown up and I started thinking about all my angsty problems well…I just had to consume…” he said guiltily lacing his hands together in his lap. No amount of remorse was about to set this angry veela-she-man in a right state of mind, only divine intervention would stop him from killing the worlds savior-bad-boy-chosen-one.
PHPHPHPHPH
As it turned out divine was the only description the intervention, called Sneverus Sape, liked to call himself as, as well. Sweeping through the castle, as he was known to do, slipping from shadow to shadow, practicing his maniacal laugh by night and his sharp witted one-liners by day.
Lucky for him, it was his day to patrol the seventh floor, the sex hall. It reeked up there, and naturally, Sape’s handsomely hooked, large nose caught every pungent aroma that formed the teenage pheromone cocktail in the air. Curling his lip in disgust and making sure his cuffs and collar were securely fastened all the way (lest any student decide to ogle and make him part of their perverted games, as they surely would if they caught a glance at his milky white wrists) he raised his wand and began patrol.
It was a normal night really, the sounds coming from each door more sickening and cringe worthy than the last. All but save one door, at this one Sape paused for a moment thinking he was only hearing the sounds of the student body’s favorite recreational pastime but it was just a bit off, there was no rhythm present that that alerted the Potions Master that they were in fact in combat not a battle of sensuality (he then realized what a flowery ponce he was).
When he blasted open the door with a suave flick of his wand, he scowled at the contents he saw laid out before him. On the floor was Maco Dralfoy, of Sparklypoo fame, getting his knees dirty as he straddled Parry Hotter, the Qanonreip of Sape’s personal nightmare. But instead of doing what was the norm in such a room, Maco was instead throttling a rather purple looking Hotter.
The dark haired man reached out for help, a silent scream escaping his lips as his eyes grew greener and greener, flashing brightly like beacons, reminding him of the not so distant past. Sape gasped, Pily, Parry reminded him so intensely of her in that moment that he dashed inside grabbing Maco by the scruff if his neck and hauling him off of Hotter. Coughing and sputtering Parry squirmed away as Maco thrashed about behind him.
“ Why are you fighting?” Sape calmly asked, not taking his glittering opal eyes for a moment off of Parry. The boys eyed each other, Maco making threatening gestures of cutting Hotter’s neck, and Hotter rubbing his albeit sore throat. Sore throat, Sape’s mind thought of another reason the boy’s throat should be sore, and one glance at Hotter’s mouth proved him to have his mother’s lips as well.
Sape licked his lips forgetting entirely one of them was supposed to be replying.
“ I-I ate his tart,” Hotter rasped sexily, without trying to be, really, but that was what Hotter was all about after all. Maco instantly noticed, as well as recognizing his Potions Professor’s new interest in his mate.
“ Did you now, and…what did it taste like?” Sape let go of Maco’s robes and edged closer to a wary, naïve Hotter.
“ Taste like? Well I suppose it was a treacle tart…so treacle…” He said practically tossing his brilliant locks over his shoulder. Sape’s eyes glittered dangerously again, just a few more steps and he’d be within smelling distance, whoever called him a lecherous old man…was right.
“ AIIIYA!” Sape was suddenly greeting the ground much too quickly for his tastes, a flying blond Sparklypoo weighing heavily between his shoulder blades. Landing with a heavy, and dignified ‘oof!’, he felt the fists of an enraged girly-boy strike him softly in the back.
“ Dralfoy! Stop it! Can’t you see he’s clearly still in love with my mother and just creepily using me as a physical outlet for his feelings towards her, and what little of her he has left in me?” Hotter pulled the crazed boy off of Sape, who rolled over tiredly. He was getting too old for these shenanigans.
“ What?” Maco asked fixing himself up, being tussled because of tomfoolery was stupid, being tussled because of a good grope was, well, not happening nearly fast enough for his tastes.
“ Oh, was I the only one to pick up on that particular pedophilic plot point?” Hotter questioned as Sape clapped slowly in a dramatic fashion from the doorway, where he’d mysteriously sprang to.
“ Congratulations Hotter, you’ve found me out, now I must go drown myself in a pensive and think of your mother’s pimply prepubescent form as I cry myself to sleep once again,” he said pulling a trademark scowl onto his face and swooping out of the room reminding Hotter strangely of Batman, the way his cape cloak billowed behind him.
“ Well, that was rather out of character,” Maco closed the door feeling like he’d been oddly interrupted. Hotter nodded in agreement accepting the blond’s embrace, “ It’s not like I was killing you or anything,”
“ No, that was just…foreplay…but don’t think anything of it my angelic ice prince, he’s got a serious case of the man PMS,” Hotter murmured into the silky locks beneath his lips. Maco made a noise of agreement burrowing further into Hotter’s shoulder.
“ But…where were we before all this tart business,” Parry tried, but reminding Maco of the tart only caused the Sparklypoo to tense up once again, “ I’ll get you another one after…” Hotter quickly substituted, and Dralfoy relaxed once more.
“ I’ll hold you to that, but first I’ll hold you to this,” he muttered grinding his body into the Qanonreip’s and mashing their mouths together in a hot, dirty, match of tonsil hockey. Unknown to both of the boys, a new visitor had turned up; looking for her long lost brother, but instead found something just as exciting.
“ Tonsil Hockey?! I do love sports!” Lona Luvegood clapped enthusiastically, causing the two other occupants of the room to groan in frustration. Another interruption, and at this rate, Maco was not going to be getting his tart arrg ASS…no wait...yeah tart.
[3]
Author: Witblogi
Pairings: P/M
Rating: 14 A (nc-17 later?)
Words: 2055
Warnings: fluff, crack, use of bad puns, wedgies, ultimate mary-sues, and man PMS
Summary: Follow up of [1]: Second installment of the Warthogs universe. Parry and Maco struggle to set the mood. NOTE this is an HP/DM it's just...crack and poking fun and our favorite couple as well as mary-sues.
Parry Hotter and the Pureblood Prince [2-?]
Maco didn’t know how he managed to get up seven flights of moving staircases so quickly (it was probably the robes, they did keep things breezy), but he was panting and out of breath for entirely the wrong reasons by the time he made it there. Checking one by one, each of the fourteen rooms of requirement, he huffed slamming yet another door on a Tootsitramp get-together. It was amazing their common room wasn’t on the same floor by the frequency in which they used the RoRs.
Finally Maco opened a door, not to find two…or more students writhing in ecstasy, but instead only hearing sounds of someone who was seriously not having a good time. Gulps of air were being inhaled like a pitcher of cosmopolitans in front of his mother on Valentines Day. Between each gulp was a heart-wrenching, stuttering, hacking sob that would kill small adorable puppies to hear.
Maco never did like puppies, and began to turn away when the lone figure of the room gasped and called out.
“ D-Dralfoy?” Maco froze.
“ …Hotter?” he questioned watching as the figure by the fire shifted illuminating his face. Hotter’s handsome features were distorted by the flickering light, but not enough to hide the clear indication of strong emotion gripping the Qanonreip. In other less flowery words, he had puffy eyes and a runny nose. Maco wrinkled his own nose in distaste, thinking only of that sick disgusting dog his aunt Lellatrix owned, when he was small, because it was good to crucio. On a good day that thing still licked its eyeballs and had perma-snotty-drool hanging off its quivering jowls. Trying to force the image of his aunt’s dog out of his recoiling brain, Maco rounded on Hotter.
“ What are you doing in here crying to yourself? Aren’t you supposed to be seducing me with pastries right about now?” He snapped, stepping inside and closing the door with a thud behind him. He came to get his rocks off with the ever hotter Hotter; not this wibbiling mass of sniveling mucus.
“ Oh yeah, right, okay, I’m not really in the mood any more…but I’m sure I could. You know if you didn’t mind this,” Parry blubbered, gesturing in a rather feminine way to his face before wiping his nose down the length of his sleeve causing Mako to blanch.
“ I-“
“ Because I know I wouldn’t sleep with me while I look like this! I’m a total hormonal blimp, and no one loves me, I don’t have a family, a creepy evil bald man with serious red eye wants me dead and I think I might be gay! I’m just sort of dealing with a lot of shit right now!” Parry hiccoughed his voice raising higher and higher as Maco stared at him. Internally he was calculating whether or not Hotter was too far gone into his own meltdown to notice him slipping back out of the room.
No such luck, Parry was staring right at him, his hair messily arranged about his face in an irresistible fashion. Maco wanted to plunge his fingers into those untamable tresses and own him, his mate, his lover, his Parry.
“Are you even listening to me?” Hotter shrieked chucking his shoe at Maco’s head. The blond broke out of his momentary mental molestation of Hotter’s hair and dodged the shoe before approaching. He was cautious, as if dealing with a wild animal, and if the look was anything to go by in Hotter’s eyes, he was.
“ It’s okay Hotter-Parry, you’ll be fine. I’m sure-“ Maco picked his way carefully over to the bawling Qanonreip and rested his arm delicately over his broad shoulders. Trying to ignore the hot muscles pressing firmly into his fragile chicken arm; Maco rubbed soothing circles on Parry’s shoulder, marveling at the strong tense and sexually frustrated way the other arched into the attention.
They were slowly moving closer and closer together, their bodies seeing each other’s heat almost as if it had been written in the stars. Maco’s eyes traced the still slightly damp but ever charmingly chiseled face of his hero, his savior, his Parry. The infamously luminescent green eyes that glowed like pools of radioactive waste were now blinking questioningly at him. His button nose that was some how still distinguished like just like when he giggle/laughed. And finally Maco’s eyes rested on Parry’s lush, plump kissable lips, there, just the slightest hint of crumbs from desert at the corner of his mouth.
Maco smiled and reached out, brushing them away with his thumb before sensuously sucking the digit into his own mouth. Parry’s eyes widened with lust as he watched Maco, but the blonde-veela-angel had suddenly sucked inward so hard, not because he was trying to be sexy, no, he recognized the flavor of treacle on his fingers. His eyes dashed around before finding the crumpled tin shell that should have been lovingly cupping his most prized possession, warm and gooey, spilling over the sides…now half bent and lying dejected on the floor by their feet.
Staring at it for a moment, Maco’s thumb popped out of his mouth and Parry whimpered.
“ You-you…” Maco started breathlessly looking up into Hotter’s lustful gaze. He struggled with his words and Hotter stroked his arm, his neck, his cheek, urging him to go on.
“ You…ATE MY TART?” Maco finally screamed, swooping to pick up the tin and giving it a strong sniff, the heady aroma of treacle lingered there, “ I bet you didn’t even savor it!” he hissed crumpling the tin in a fit of rage and hurling it as hard as he could at Parry’s head. Only being able to throw like a girl, it landed with a soft ‘pft’ sound and bounced gently off of Hotter’s forehead.
“ What- no Maco! I’m sorry, I’m a stress eater! When you hadn’t shown up and I started thinking about all my angsty problems well…I just had to consume…” he said guiltily lacing his hands together in his lap. No amount of remorse was about to set this angry veela-she-man in a right state of mind, only divine intervention would stop him from killing the worlds savior-bad-boy-chosen-one.
PHPHPHPHPH
As it turned out divine was the only description the intervention, called Sneverus Sape, liked to call himself as, as well. Sweeping through the castle, as he was known to do, slipping from shadow to shadow, practicing his maniacal laugh by night and his sharp witted one-liners by day.
Lucky for him, it was his day to patrol the seventh floor, the sex hall. It reeked up there, and naturally, Sape’s handsomely hooked, large nose caught every pungent aroma that formed the teenage pheromone cocktail in the air. Curling his lip in disgust and making sure his cuffs and collar were securely fastened all the way (lest any student decide to ogle and make him part of their perverted games, as they surely would if they caught a glance at his milky white wrists) he raised his wand and began patrol.
It was a normal night really, the sounds coming from each door more sickening and cringe worthy than the last. All but save one door, at this one Sape paused for a moment thinking he was only hearing the sounds of the student body’s favorite recreational pastime but it was just a bit off, there was no rhythm present that that alerted the Potions Master that they were in fact in combat not a battle of sensuality (he then realized what a flowery ponce he was).
When he blasted open the door with a suave flick of his wand, he scowled at the contents he saw laid out before him. On the floor was Maco Dralfoy, of Sparklypoo fame, getting his knees dirty as he straddled Parry Hotter, the Qanonreip of Sape’s personal nightmare. But instead of doing what was the norm in such a room, Maco was instead throttling a rather purple looking Hotter.
The dark haired man reached out for help, a silent scream escaping his lips as his eyes grew greener and greener, flashing brightly like beacons, reminding him of the not so distant past. Sape gasped, Pily, Parry reminded him so intensely of her in that moment that he dashed inside grabbing Maco by the scruff if his neck and hauling him off of Hotter. Coughing and sputtering Parry squirmed away as Maco thrashed about behind him.
“ Why are you fighting?” Sape calmly asked, not taking his glittering opal eyes for a moment off of Parry. The boys eyed each other, Maco making threatening gestures of cutting Hotter’s neck, and Hotter rubbing his albeit sore throat. Sore throat, Sape’s mind thought of another reason the boy’s throat should be sore, and one glance at Hotter’s mouth proved him to have his mother’s lips as well.
Sape licked his lips forgetting entirely one of them was supposed to be replying.
“ I-I ate his tart,” Hotter rasped sexily, without trying to be, really, but that was what Hotter was all about after all. Maco instantly noticed, as well as recognizing his Potions Professor’s new interest in his mate.
“ Did you now, and…what did it taste like?” Sape let go of Maco’s robes and edged closer to a wary, naïve Hotter.
“ Taste like? Well I suppose it was a treacle tart…so treacle…” He said practically tossing his brilliant locks over his shoulder. Sape’s eyes glittered dangerously again, just a few more steps and he’d be within smelling distance, whoever called him a lecherous old man…was right.
“ AIIIYA!” Sape was suddenly greeting the ground much too quickly for his tastes, a flying blond Sparklypoo weighing heavily between his shoulder blades. Landing with a heavy, and dignified ‘oof!’, he felt the fists of an enraged girly-boy strike him softly in the back.
“ Dralfoy! Stop it! Can’t you see he’s clearly still in love with my mother and just creepily using me as a physical outlet for his feelings towards her, and what little of her he has left in me?” Hotter pulled the crazed boy off of Sape, who rolled over tiredly. He was getting too old for these shenanigans.
“ What?” Maco asked fixing himself up, being tussled because of tomfoolery was stupid, being tussled because of a good grope was, well, not happening nearly fast enough for his tastes.
“ Oh, was I the only one to pick up on that particular pedophilic plot point?” Hotter questioned as Sape clapped slowly in a dramatic fashion from the doorway, where he’d mysteriously sprang to.
“ Congratulations Hotter, you’ve found me out, now I must go drown myself in a pensive and think of your mother’s pimply prepubescent form as I cry myself to sleep once again,” he said pulling a trademark scowl onto his face and swooping out of the room reminding Hotter strangely of Batman, the way his cape cloak billowed behind him.
“ Well, that was rather out of character,” Maco closed the door feeling like he’d been oddly interrupted. Hotter nodded in agreement accepting the blond’s embrace, “ It’s not like I was killing you or anything,”
“ No, that was just…foreplay…but don’t think anything of it my angelic ice prince, he’s got a serious case of the man PMS,” Hotter murmured into the silky locks beneath his lips. Maco made a noise of agreement burrowing further into Hotter’s shoulder.
“ But…where were we before all this tart business,” Parry tried, but reminding Maco of the tart only caused the Sparklypoo to tense up once again, “ I’ll get you another one after…” Hotter quickly substituted, and Dralfoy relaxed once more.
“ I’ll hold you to that, but first I’ll hold you to this,” he muttered grinding his body into the Qanonreip’s and mashing their mouths together in a hot, dirty, match of tonsil hockey. Unknown to both of the boys, a new visitor had turned up; looking for her long lost brother, but instead found something just as exciting.
“ Tonsil Hockey?! I do love sports!” Lona Luvegood clapped enthusiastically, causing the two other occupants of the room to groan in frustration. Another interruption, and at this rate, Maco was not going to be getting his tart arrg ASS…no wait...yeah tart.
[3]