A/n: Two bits this time. This first one is something from my WIP: 'Pagans, Playdates and the Forbidden Forest'. I doubt it'll make the final cut, but writing interactions between the HP couples is surprisingly interesting. Or something. I do know that I haven't seen this much het in years.


So I'm putting this out there for anyone else that might enjoy it. Warnings for heterosexual limeish scenes.

Fred looked up lazily at the sound of approaching feet.

Angelina was back with the drinks. She'd changed into itty bitty pink bikini bottoms and a close-fitting pink T-shirt...and not much else.

Fred automatically accepted the glass she handed him, struggling not to stare too long at her chest area...Mama mia, Mona Lisa and the Holy Grail, he was one lucky bastard. He ignored the voices in his head – their suggestions were so not helping.

Angie wrapped her braids up in a bun and shucked her beaded sandals. Now that her feet were bare, it was impossible to miss her recently-done toenails. Oooh, shiny.

"You like my French manicure, baby boy?" she asked, wiggling her fingers and puckering her lips at him.

"Very jolie Angelina, if I do say so myself," Fred said. He somehow managed to grin and keep his eyes on her face...well, lips. Mmm, how he loved and hated when she wore lip-gloss, tempting him with plump strawberry goodness...

"I'm so tired of that old bon mot," Angie said, rolling her eyes as she rubbed herself down with sunscreen. "Have you lost your creative originality?"

"Blasphemy!" he cried, then shrugged helplessly. "Actually, I just can't think past 'you look really good almost naked'."

"En Français, s'il vous plaît."

"Tu es très bien…uh, presque…something like non – noix – no, nue. Yeah, nue."

"That was incredibly painful."

"Hey, don't hate. That was the language of luuurve."

"Then maybe you should stick with English, the language that drags other languages into dark alleys, beats them half to death and runs off with their words."

Fred pouted.

"English is glorious and magical, babe. Just ask Harry, he's always going on about how much better it is to every other ever invented."

She laughed in his face. "Oh hell no, I've seen what he's like on a roll. I'm not falling for that. You just need to improve your foreign language skills."

"Are you offering to 'tutor' me?" asked Fred, perking up and waggling his eyebrows.

Angie snorted.

"Sure. Let's start with correcting your last sentence. Now, if you take out the 'presque'..."

Smirking, she dropped her towel onto a lounger and peeled off her T-shirt in one smooth motion. Fred nearly swallowed his tongue. O la la... It seemed Angie had joined Luna's no-bra crusade – and he really had to remember to thank the kid sometime. Angie's boobs were firm, and there was not a single strap-mark anywhere on that smooth skin. Her stomach was flat, and her biceps were firm and strong.

With her long shapely legs and cropped hair á la Halle Berry, she looked like an Amazonian warrior, Fred found himself thinking. Like a supermodel straight off the glossy pages of a super-special magazine. Like...like a gâteau au chocolat goddess of the sun.

See? He did too know French.

Angie draped the shirt over the back of her lounger, cocking an eyebrow. If that wasn't an invitation he didn't know what was.

"So," said Fred faux-casually, as she slipped on her Gucci sunglasses and sat down, rubbing sunscreen onto those...newly exposed areas. It was terribly distracting.

Fred cleared his throat and tried again. "Leaving off the lessons for now...Here we are at my humble abode. Lots of food, no parents, and there's a lake between us and our closest neighbour. Not bad, huh?"

"It's nice," Angie replied, her voice a little grudging. She picked up her magazine and flicked to the right page. "Shame there's no tennis court..."

Fred felt a little guilty twinge for disturbing her plans for today...but really, she was brilliant at tennis. Missing one day of practice wouldn't kill her chances in the doubles.

And anyway, Katie was her partner and George had already datenapped her, so if Fred hadn't come along Angie would still be all alone on the court...In those awesome short-shorts and a tight shirt showing off her midriff...Getting leers from skinny pimply-faced bastards making lewd gestures with their rackets, which forced Fred to turn the machine on high so they were pummelled into the ground by tennis balls...

Ok, he didn't feel bad anymore.

"The point is, it's all ours," he persisted guiltlessly. "There's no-one else to worry about. We can do whatever we like."

He took another sip of juice to wet his dry mouth. Then he put the glass down on the ground, reached a hand out, and gently caressed her naked booby.

"Fred," she admonished, glancing in the direction the others had gone.

"The kiddies are fine," Fred said absently, enraptured by the contrast of his pale freckled hand against her soft dark skin...among other things. "They can't even see us over there by the lake."

His fingers rolled one brown nipple until it stiffened under his touch. Fred glanced at her reaction – her eyes were shaded behind the sunglasses, but her lip-glossed mouth was beginning to curve wickedly. And why did every Angelina have to have such perfect lips?

"I want your boobs," Fred said honestly.

"Fred..." Angie huskily murmured, shifting closer to him. "My boobs want you too."

'Scoooore!' all of the voices in his head chorused together, pumping their imaginary fists in the air.

Outwardly, Fred's blue eyes brightened, and his smile broadened into a smirk that could, and did, put fear into the hearts of the unwary. Only three things in the world could put that look on his face: mad science experiments, epic prank wars, and Angelina Jones.

"Let's have a siesta," he said in a low voice. Slowly, his finger circled her nipple, ran down her perfectly toned stomach and fingered her bikini bottoms. "With you and me as the V.I.P.s."

"That's Spanish," she pointed out. "And I don't think so. Wouldn't want to traumatize your non-existent neighbours, now would we?"

"Well, let's go inside then," he murmured, inching their loungers closer, "Where we won't disturb anyone. We have to think of the welfare of others."

"Oh sure, and that's all you think about, right?"

"I can be considerate," he said, winking. "It's what makes me such a great lover of women."

Angie snickered, then gave a sensual little wiggle that nearly drove him crazy. Fred ducked his head down and gently tugged at the ties of her bikini with his teeth. She murmured encouragingly, running her hands though his hair, fingernails lightly scraping his scalp. Fred tugged harder...but then she stiffened and tried to push him away.

"Fred!" Angie hissed. "I heard something! Fred, stop!"

"Hear no evil, speak no evil."

"Oh, come on – really!" Angie jerked away. "Listen."

Fred paused with the ties in his teeth and listened. Over the trees and bushes, in the direction where the sun glittered on the lake, they could hear the sound of laughter and loud voices coming closer.

Angelina sat up and reached for her T-shirt. Fred watched mournfully as she pulled it on again, all that glorious dark skin and those luscious breasts swiftly disappearing from view. "I think they're coming back."

"Damn." Fred muttered, flopping over. "I was so close, too."

By the time the others made it back, Angie was deeply engrossed in her mag, while Fred lay with an arm over his eyes, muttering to himself things like 'foiled plots', 'so close to victory' and 'I could have gotten away with it, too!'. As this was nothing out of the ordinary the others trooped loudly into the house, barely glancing at them a second time.

The only ones who seemed to realize they'd walked in on something were Harry (the notorious manslut), George (Fred wrote it off to their twin-thing) and Luna (who knew everything already so she didn't count). And as long as he denied everything, they could only guess what had happened and wouldn't be able to blackmail him.

Now all he had to deal with were their teasing jeers, knowing smirks and, in Luna's case, intent stares that felt like they were dissecting him piece by piece. All in all, it could be worse. But...

"You owe me for this," he muttered sulkily to Angie, who was snickering behind the mag shielding her face.

"Oh yeah?" One shapely eyebrow rose over the top of her shades. "How so?"

"I'm doing the time, and it's not even justified cause I didn't do the crime."

"Interesting analogy," she mused. She settled back in her seat with a smirk. "You'll just have to deal, baby boy."

Fred pouted again. "Where's the sympathy? I'm suffering, you heartless woman."

"Oh, suck it."

Fred sighed wistfully. "Oh, how I wish I could."

"Ugh." She stuck out her tongue, grimacing. "Please stop before you corrupt me further."

"What will you give me if I do?"

"I think the question is: 'What won't I give you if you don't?'"

"...Point."


A/n: This one is a sort of 'missing scene' from back when Harry injured himself being the star player. -.- Idjit. Why are men so senseless when it comes to sports? And video games? And anything with a hint of violence?

Anyway...not really happy with how it came out but I'm tired of seeing it floating around my computer. Maybe I'll revise it later... –bashes head against keyboard-


The bathroom door opened with a cloud of steam. From his chair, Kurt peeked up from the magazine he was skimming to watch Harry surreptitiously.

His gaze lingered on Harry's thick, damp hair. It grew in cowlicks so that it was never really tamed – thus the spectacular amount of time and effort Harry put into primping. And who could argue with the results?

Kurt liked it this way too, all dark and curling around Harry's neck...water droplets sliding deliciously down his broad shoulders and that well defined back, and trailing teasingly down even further...

"I can feel your eyes on my arse," Harry said mildly.

Kurt jerked and guiltily tore his eyes away from the glorious sight before him.

"They weren't."

"Yes they were," Harry turned around, shooting him a grin. "It's a good thing this towel's here to protect my modesty. Otherwise I might feel sullied by your eye-raping."

Kurt huffed. "You only wish I'd stoop so low."

Harry nodded, completely unashamed.

"It's a good thing to lower your moral standards every once in a while. Preferably before they choke you."

"On the downside," Kurt pointed out, "I might lower them completely and never be able to pick them up again. I'd turn into you."

"I am offended. What is wrong with turning into me? I'm amazing."

"And no one believes that more than you."

"That's not entirely true – my minions worship me too. You should ask them about the time they started a cult where everyone dressed up as me. You are more than welcome to join."

Kurt rolled his eyes.

"Sorry, but I definitely won't be coming over to the dark side. I don't care how many cookies you have over there. Besides the fact that I'd be indulging your inner narcissist, you have to admit that you're immoral."

"I fail to see a problem with that," said Harry, smirking as he limped over to the closet. "And you'd make a great me."

"Was that a compliment?" Kurt asked dryly.

"The best kind," Harry smugly replied.

Kurt just sighed and shook his head. "Hurry up and get decent so I can deal with your ankle."

The groan Harry gave was entirely too justifying. At least he obeyed, even though he grumbled about bossy significant others and a serious misuse of limited make-out time. Kurt snickered.

Half an hour later, Kurt was this close to gagging his boyfriend and tying him to the bed. And not in a kinky way either.

"Ow! Ow, dammit! I told you there's nothing wrong with me!"

"Keep still or I'll tell you what's wrong with you," Kurt growled. "Trust me – you don't want to hear it. Although you could do with some ego-bruising."

"You're meeeeeaaaaannnnnn! Ow! You're doing that on purpose!"

Finally Kurt's manhandling finally paid off. Harry's ankle was set so Kurt reluctantly stopped fussing and released him. He leaned back on the wall and closed his eyes, listening to the sound of Harry wobbling around on his crutches.

He still couldn't believe his boyfriend had been so stupid, pushing himself so far, completely uncaring about his own safety. All he could see was Harry lying beat up on a hospital bed, Harry's blood soaking Blaine's shirt.

All he could feel was the fear and hopelessness and anger, terrified that he was going to lose yet another person important to him. That he was going to lose Harry bloody Potter, and what the hell was wrong with him that he couldn't push those thoughts away now that it was over?

Kurt scrubbed tiredly at his eyes, feeling too emotionally wretched to keep up a brave face. When he opened his eyes Harry was leaning against the table next to him, fixing two mugs of coffee.

"Here we go...Dr. Potter's patented remedy," he said, filling the mugs with the ambrosia of the gods and topping them off with cream and Firewhiskey. "Guaranteed to lift sagging spirits, cure ingrown toenails and clear the pangs of a guilty conscience. This stuff could resurrect the dead. Bottoms up!"

Kurt giggled, then began to laugh. He took the mug Harry handed him, gulped some down, shuddered, and then laughed some more. He laughed until tears streamed from his eyes and he was hiccupping and crying at the same time.

Harry gently pried the mug from his shaking fingers. He kneeled in front of Kurt's chair and tugged him over onto his shoulder.

Hands fisted in his boyfriend's shirt, Kurt's whole body shook as he sobbed into the crook of Harry's neck. Harry murmured soft, reassuring words to him, carding one hand through his hair soothingly. It made Kurt cling to him and cry harder.

Harry's leg was killing him, but god, he wouldn't rather be anywhere else. Some things were worth hurting for. Kurt was worth hurting for.

Even though it was weird – he swore he'd never felt so exposed, so close to anyone before, not even when he'd be stark naked next to some random hook-up the morning after – he wouldn't change it for the world.

Knowing that Kurt was hurting because of him was gut-wrenching. Every tear twisted his insides into guilty, helpless knots. He imagined what it would be like if their positions were reversed, if Kurt had been the one in the hospital with critical injuries. His chest suddenly felt like strands of barbed wire were wrapping tightly around it, cutting off his breathing and piercing his heart.

He buried his face in Kurt's mussed hair and held him until he calmed down. Then they stumbled to the bed and just lay silently, soaking in the comfort of each other's presence. This...it felt even more intense than the make-out session he'd been looking forward to all week.

In those quiet moments, legs tangled together and eyes locked, Harry felt like he knew Kurt, almost like he was a kind of physical extension of himself. It was beautiful and terrifying but he didn't want to move and break the spell.

"I'm sorry," he finally murmured with a wry smile. "I can be a blockhead sometimes."

Kurt snorted wetly.

"You're a show-off and a complete git," he said, his tone teasing. "I knew that before we ever got together."

"But you love me anyway," Harry answered cheekily.

He took Kurt's hand. His grip was warm and sure and felt incredibly right. Kurt huffed a little, smiling.

"It's a constant struggle," Kurt agreed. "You're so high maintenance."

"But I'm worth it."

He sounded hesitant, like he wasn't sure if he was crossing a line that shouldn't be crossed. Kurt couldn't remember ever seeing him so vulnerable. Harry was always comfortable in his skin, filled with a confidence bordering on arrogance...it was part of the attraction.

He should never have to sound so insecure – not about them.

"Definitely," Kurt whispered, squeezing his hand lightly.

This close up, Harry's eyes were a beautiful, intense green. Kurt's breath caught as Harry pulled his hand away and lifted it to Kurt's face, pressing his fingers against his jaw. He drew them forward along Kurt's jaw line and touched his chin, and then up to trace the corner of his mouth. Kurt's lips tingled as Harry's fingers ghosted over them slowly, again and again.

Kurt felt his cheeks flush. Having Harry caressing his face was surprisingly intimate and a little surreal. He felt so exposed and strangely tense, but at the same time he didn't want Harry to stop his exploration.

And he never wanted the light, warm touches to stop, never wanted to stop drowning in the look that made him feel like the best thing in the world, the only thing that mattered...

The kiss felt inevitable, even though he hadn't been expecting it, not really. Or maybe he had. It was hard to think with Harry turning him into a pile of goo.

Still, the first brush of Harry's lips on his was electric. Harry kissed him tenderly, like he wanted to heal every hurt Kurt had ever had in his life. He easily lost himself in it, forgetting about everything but this amazing feeling of Harry's arms wrapped securely around him while he melted on the inside.

If he kept kissing him like this, Harry's stupidity would be forgiven in no time.