Chapter Eleven: Drunk and Disorderly
"I like your room, Fred," said Angelina, giggling drunkenly. They were in his empty dormroom, for reasons Fred couldn't quite figure out. Somehow they had just ended up there. The room was empty. Fred knew why. George and Alicia were...somewhere else, as were Lee and Katie.
"I'm glad you like it, Angie," said Fred, stumbling over a pile of his clothes and laughing.
He was in a good mood now. Angelina's suggestion to get trolleyed on punch hadn't seemed like a good idea at first (Fred generally avoided getting drunk when he was angry, because it only made him more belligerent), but now he was feeling pretty good. The room was spinning a bit, he was having a little trouble walking. There were three, no, four Angelinas in front of him.
"Angie," he said slowly. "I think I'm drunk."
She giggled. "I'm drunk, too!"
"There are four of you," said Fred happily. "Cool." He stumbled over to his bed, tripped again over the pile of clothes, and fell onto the bed.
"Need to sit," he mumbled.
"Me, too," she said, collapsing onto the bed next to him.
"Happy Chrishmash, Angie," said Fred, grinning lopsidedly at her. There were two of her now.
"I forgot...your Christmas present," said Angelina. "Damn."
"Sh'okay," he said. "I forgot yours, too."
"That's no good," said Angelina, swatting him with a flopping hand. "We're supposed to be mates! Mates get each other Christmas presents."
"You're my Christmas present," said Fred, pulling her into a hug and mussing her hair.
"Fred, my hair!" Angelina shrieked, giggling. Several tiny braids came out of the twist, leaving her hair half-up and half down.
"Doeshn't matter," he said. "We're not going anywhere."
"I have to go to my room," said Angelina, but she made no move to get up. Instead she kicked off her shoes. "I can't get up." She began to giggle.
"You're drunk," he said, pointing at her and grinning.
"I'm not drunk, YOU'RE drunk!" she said, pointing at him and laughing.
"Angie's a lush," said Fred, in a sing-song voice. "Angie's a lush."
"I'm not drunk!" she said again, laughing. "Okay, I'm drunk. Really REALLY drunk." She giggled and mussed his hair.
"Hey!" he shouted, laughing, and suddenly they were wrestling and laughing and rolling round on his bed. She rolled on top of him and straddled him, looking down at him and smiling wickedly.
"Got you," she said.
"You got me," Fred agreed, noticing that the room had stopped spinning, feeling her on top of him, seeing her dress hitched up her smooth brown thighs. He swallowed and felt a stirring in his trousers.
"Ooh," said Angelina. "What's that?"
THAT was the return of the Raging Erection.
"That is my magic wand," said Fred, grinning wickedly and drunkenly at her.
"Impressive," she said. "That you can get it up...when you're so smashed."
"I can ALWAYS get it up," said Fred, moving his hips under hers.
"Mmm, you naughty boy," said Angelina, and she pressed her crotch against his.
Her face was inches from his; her features blurred, came into focus, blurred again. His hips were moving slowly, his arousal rubbing at her crotch. Somewhere in the recesses of his alcohol-impaired brain he knew he shouldn't be doing this. That it wasn't a good idea to be rubbing his rock hard member against his best mate's crotch.
But it felt really good. Fred felt really good.
"I'm so horny," said Angelina, giggling.
"Mmm," said Fred, moving his hands to her hips and gripping them to grind against her. "Me, too."
"Ooh," she said again, giggling and leaning over him, her face hovering above his. "So hard."
"All your fault," said Fred, grinding against her harder and grinning and groaning and blinking because her face kept going blurry on him. Her face went REALLY blurry when she leaned over him and kissed him.
He felt her tongue in his mouth and sighed. He was tired, but he was hard and horny and well, being tired and drunk out of his mind had never stopped him from having a good shag in the past. At least, he was pretty sure about that.
Okay, so he shouldn't really be shagging Angelina, should he? But really, what harm could it do? They were mates, right? They were horny. Surely their friendship could survive a little sex. Fred hadn't gotten laid in months. Not since Marietta.
"Fuck me," said Angelina, her voice bleary, her words slurred. Well, she certainly wanted to. Who was he to say no?
"Okay," said Fred, laughing and rolling her over onto her back.
"Wait," she said. "Curtains."
"Oh, yeah," said Fred. It wouldn't do to be in the middle of a good shag and have the other blokes come in. Fred pulled the curtains shut. He fumbled in his robes for his wand and put an Imperturbable Charm on the drapes, then dropped his wand on the floor.
"C'mere," said Angelina, reaching up for him and pulling him down onto her.
They began to kiss. It was nice, except that the room was spinning so badly now that Fred kept missing her lips. She giggled and ran a hand weakly through his hair, then let her left arm settle round his shoulders. Her right arm was splayed out limply on the bed.
Fred kissed her neck wetly, slipped his right arm under her neck, and his left hand moved clumsily to her breasts.
"Love these," he said, smiling. "Best ever." He fondled her lush breasts and nuzzled them with his face, burying himself in the soft golden brown swell of flesh. She was soft, so very soft. He could fall asleep with his head resting on those beautiful breasts.
"Feels...nice," she said, and sighed. She became still.
"Soft," said Fred, and he closed his eyes and drifted, his left hand resting on her breast, his right arm beneath her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Fred was flying. Angelina was in front of him, and they were riding tandem on a Firebolt. Fred didn't have a Firebolt, so it must belong to Angelina. She was laughing. He loved her laugh. He laughed, too, and she did a few somersaults and rolls on the broom, causing both them to shriek and yell and laugh some more. The wind was blowing; wisps of her hair were ticking his face, under his nose...
Fred blinked, then closed his eyes again, caught between sleep and wakefulness. His eyes opened again, and he saw deep red velvet. His curtains.
He was on his bed. Something was tickling his cheek. He reached up weakly to brush it away. Hair. Not his hair.
He tried to lift his head, but his head was very, very heavy. It must weigh ten stone or more, he thought. He tried lifting it again. A sharp pain shot through his skill, beginning between his eyes and spreading out like a million razor-sharp tentacles.
"Ow," he groaned softly, and the sound was strange to his ears and the vibrations in his throat hurt. His throat was a desert. His right arm was going numb, the pins and needles prickling him. His lips felt raw. His eyes were cloudy and unfocused. He could see deep red velvet, but there was something else, something very close to him. He couldn't see what it was. It was blurry. He hurt all over.
Except his left hand. That didn't feel so bad. It was resting on something soft and round. He moved the fingers of his left. Whatever this thing was in his hand, it was nice.
His eyes strained to focus. He was lying next to something. Something soft and warm. He didn't really want to move, but his eyes seemed to want to open, so he kept them open.
Things came into focus. He was lying on his bed. Next to Angelina. His right arm was underneath her. His left hand...
His eyes widened and he yanked his hand away from Angelina's breast.
"Shit," he said out loud, as his head began to pound, his stomach to roil, and the events of last night's drinking binge came back to him.
Sort of. He couldn't really remember all of them. He remembered coming back to his room. He vaguely remembered she had been on top of him at one point. Oh, boy.
He touched his lips. Yes, he remembered kissing her. And clearly he'd managed to get a feel of her breasts, judging by the position of his left hand when he'd woken up.
Merlin, please tell me that's all we did, he thought. He looked himself over (as best he could, anyway, his right arm was still underneath her shoulders and he didn't want to yank it away and startle her). He was fully clothed. Not even his robes were off.
She was fully clothed. Well, she HAD taken off her robes and shoes but her dress was on. Completely zipped up. Not torn in any places that he could see.
He looked down at her. She was sleeping soundly, her mouth slightly open. His eyes traveled to the swell of her breasts--they were simply too irresistible to avoid gazing at--and he clenched the fist of his left hand to keep from fondling her. But then he saw a small spot of saliva above her right breast.
"Nice one," he thought, feeling ridiculous. He'd always been a bit of a drooler when he slept off a night of drinking, only this time he'd managed to drool on her. He took a bit of his robe in his left hand and very gently began to wipe his saliva from her skin.
"Fred, what are you doing?"
Fred's hand stopped moving and he looked at her face. She was fully awake, and staring at his left hand, which was now resting on her right breast. He pulled it away, quickly.
"Uh," he said stupidly.
"Shit," she said, blinking and rubbing her eyes. "What am I doing in your bed?"
"Uh," he said again.
"Shit," said Angelina, looking at him. She sat up abruptly, then rolled over, collapsing onto the bed again, rolling off his very numb arm.
"Oh, god," she moaned. "My fucking head feels like it's going to explode."
"Angie," he said.
"What happened?" she said, turning quickly to him, her eyes full of fear. "Tell me we didn't--"
"We didn't," he said quickly. "But, uh, I think we...tried to."
Angelina's eyes widened, then she closed them. "So that explains why your hand was on my boobs."
Fred's face went scarlet. "Uh, I think so," he said. Then he began to talk very fast. "I think we passed out, Ange. I remember coming back here with you and we were talking, I think, and somehow we started kissing but then we both passed out. I think. Do you remember?"
"I remember kissing," said Angelina. "And...oh shit. I was on top of you! I think. And then I was lying on the bed." She moaned and clutched her head. Fred sat up slowly, trying to quell his own pain and nausea.
"Okay," said Fred, trying to remain calm. "Nothing happened. Not really. We're both still fully clothed."
"Right," said Angelina, looking at him doubtfully.
"So we couldn't have done it," said Fred. "I mean, it makes no sense, does it? For us to do it and then put all our clothes back on? No way."
Angelina looked more convinced. "Yeah, you're right."
"Okay," he said again, feeling relief creep into his face.
"But, Fred, that doesn't explain why your hand was on my boobs," she pointed out.
"Oh," said Fred. "Uh, well, I s'pose I must have, uh, given them a feel...or something, and fallen asleep."
"Fred, you were rubbing my right boob this morning," said Angelina pointedly.
"I was getting the drool off you!" he said defensively.
"The...drool?" said Angelina. Fred felt his face go from scarlet to near- purple.
"Uh, well, I...sort of...uh, drooled on your chest," he said, looking down at his hands. "I, uh, do that sometimes. When I'm sleeping off, you know."
Angelina stared at him. Fred gritted his teeth and waited for him to slap her. Instead she burst into laughter.
"What?" he said.
"Oh...my god," she gasped, laughing and holding her head. Her face was contorted with a mixture of amusement and hangover-headache pain.
"What?" Fred demanded, now feeling defensive.
"You drooled on me!" she said, laughing and pointing at him, then she moaned and clutched her head again.
"Yeah, so?" said Fred. "I didn't mean to. You don't have to make fun. It's a little embarrassing, you know."
Angelina's laughter subsided into faint giggles, and she put a hand on his stubbly cheek.
"Sorry," she said, but she began to giggle harder. "Oh, my god, everything is so funny this morning for some reason!" And then she was laughing and trying to talk.
"Yesterday," she gasped, "yesterday I was so miserable about everything and then you asked me to the ball and we went and you told me I looked gorgeous and we ate like pigs...and...and...we danced and...you got all...worked up...and it was so sweet!"
Fred goggled at her, and wondered if she was still feeling the effects of the punch.
"Sweet?" he said. "Me getting a hard on while we were dancing was 'sweet?'"
"Uh huh!" she said, still laughing, so hard now that tears were streaming down her face. "And then we danced our legs off and then we went outside and I saw Roger and what's her name and I felt all bad and then we got good and drunk and...and...I remember, I didn't get upset after that! I mean, when I was drinking I thought, you know...what if I drink and I wind up having one of those stupid drunk crying episodes? But I didn't...I just had fun...and then we came back here and we were so...DRUNK! I can't believe we tried to shag! And then you drooled on me and wiped it off me!"
She clutched her sides and rolled over onto the bed, laughing so hard that no sound was coming out of her now.
Fred stared at her, wondering if perhaps she had gone slightly mad.
"Angie," he said slowly. "Uh, are you...sure you're okay?"
"Fred!" she said, sitting up quickly. Her hand flew to her head. "Ow. Look, Fred, don't you get it? I had a GOOD TIME with you, okay, and it doesn't matter if we tried to shag, because in the end we didn't."
"You are really strange," he said, shaking his head. "Look, aren't you just a little concerned about--"
"About what?" she said, her laughter gone now, her face soft. "I haven't felt so good in ages, Fred. So we got drunk and did something stupid. So what?"
"We WERE pretty drunk," said Fred.
"We never would have tried to shag if we hadn't been," said Angelina.
"True," said Fred, feeling better about the whole thing. "You really had a good time?"
"The best," she said. "My head feels like it's in a vise and my neck is stiff and I ought to slap your left hand for feeling me up but I had a good time."
"Even though--"
"Even though I saw Roger with Fleur," said Angelina. "I mean, it still hurts a bit. More than a bit. But...last night was the first time since we broke up that I saw him with her and I didn't break down crying."
"Really?"
"Really," she said. "Because of you."
Fred grinned. "Wow. So I was a good date, then."
"The best," she said, and she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. He pulled her into a hug, and they stayed that way for a while. Fred tried to ignore the way her breasts pressed against his chest. It didn't work, but at least he was sitting down and she couldn't see certain things start to bulge.
She pulled back from him and smiled. "Thanks," she said, ruffling his hair.
"My pleasure," he said. He held out his left hand. "Go ahead, give it a slap."
"Fred, come on," she said, rolling her eyes.
"I mean it, Angie, give it a slap," he said. "I deserve it."
"No," she said.
"Angie, slap my stupid hand, would you?" he said firmly.
"No!" she said, laughing. "Fred--"
"Fine, don't slap it," he said, and he pulled his hand back, and gazed at it lovingly. "I'll always treasure this hand. The hand that felt up the most luscious, most gorgeous breasts in all of--"
She grabbed his hand and slapped it.
"Ow," he said.
"Had to be done," said Angelina. "Or else you never would have shut up."
"Fair enough," said Fred. "But I'm never washing this hand again."
________________________________________________________________________
A/N: Just a little note to say that the naughtiness quotient is going up in the next chapters. Fred and Angelina keep coming up with all kinds of excuses as to why they're not together.
"I like your room, Fred," said Angelina, giggling drunkenly. They were in his empty dormroom, for reasons Fred couldn't quite figure out. Somehow they had just ended up there. The room was empty. Fred knew why. George and Alicia were...somewhere else, as were Lee and Katie.
"I'm glad you like it, Angie," said Fred, stumbling over a pile of his clothes and laughing.
He was in a good mood now. Angelina's suggestion to get trolleyed on punch hadn't seemed like a good idea at first (Fred generally avoided getting drunk when he was angry, because it only made him more belligerent), but now he was feeling pretty good. The room was spinning a bit, he was having a little trouble walking. There were three, no, four Angelinas in front of him.
"Angie," he said slowly. "I think I'm drunk."
She giggled. "I'm drunk, too!"
"There are four of you," said Fred happily. "Cool." He stumbled over to his bed, tripped again over the pile of clothes, and fell onto the bed.
"Need to sit," he mumbled.
"Me, too," she said, collapsing onto the bed next to him.
"Happy Chrishmash, Angie," said Fred, grinning lopsidedly at her. There were two of her now.
"I forgot...your Christmas present," said Angelina. "Damn."
"Sh'okay," he said. "I forgot yours, too."
"That's no good," said Angelina, swatting him with a flopping hand. "We're supposed to be mates! Mates get each other Christmas presents."
"You're my Christmas present," said Fred, pulling her into a hug and mussing her hair.
"Fred, my hair!" Angelina shrieked, giggling. Several tiny braids came out of the twist, leaving her hair half-up and half down.
"Doeshn't matter," he said. "We're not going anywhere."
"I have to go to my room," said Angelina, but she made no move to get up. Instead she kicked off her shoes. "I can't get up." She began to giggle.
"You're drunk," he said, pointing at her and grinning.
"I'm not drunk, YOU'RE drunk!" she said, pointing at him and laughing.
"Angie's a lush," said Fred, in a sing-song voice. "Angie's a lush."
"I'm not drunk!" she said again, laughing. "Okay, I'm drunk. Really REALLY drunk." She giggled and mussed his hair.
"Hey!" he shouted, laughing, and suddenly they were wrestling and laughing and rolling round on his bed. She rolled on top of him and straddled him, looking down at him and smiling wickedly.
"Got you," she said.
"You got me," Fred agreed, noticing that the room had stopped spinning, feeling her on top of him, seeing her dress hitched up her smooth brown thighs. He swallowed and felt a stirring in his trousers.
"Ooh," said Angelina. "What's that?"
THAT was the return of the Raging Erection.
"That is my magic wand," said Fred, grinning wickedly and drunkenly at her.
"Impressive," she said. "That you can get it up...when you're so smashed."
"I can ALWAYS get it up," said Fred, moving his hips under hers.
"Mmm, you naughty boy," said Angelina, and she pressed her crotch against his.
Her face was inches from his; her features blurred, came into focus, blurred again. His hips were moving slowly, his arousal rubbing at her crotch. Somewhere in the recesses of his alcohol-impaired brain he knew he shouldn't be doing this. That it wasn't a good idea to be rubbing his rock hard member against his best mate's crotch.
But it felt really good. Fred felt really good.
"I'm so horny," said Angelina, giggling.
"Mmm," said Fred, moving his hands to her hips and gripping them to grind against her. "Me, too."
"Ooh," she said again, giggling and leaning over him, her face hovering above his. "So hard."
"All your fault," said Fred, grinding against her harder and grinning and groaning and blinking because her face kept going blurry on him. Her face went REALLY blurry when she leaned over him and kissed him.
He felt her tongue in his mouth and sighed. He was tired, but he was hard and horny and well, being tired and drunk out of his mind had never stopped him from having a good shag in the past. At least, he was pretty sure about that.
Okay, so he shouldn't really be shagging Angelina, should he? But really, what harm could it do? They were mates, right? They were horny. Surely their friendship could survive a little sex. Fred hadn't gotten laid in months. Not since Marietta.
"Fuck me," said Angelina, her voice bleary, her words slurred. Well, she certainly wanted to. Who was he to say no?
"Okay," said Fred, laughing and rolling her over onto her back.
"Wait," she said. "Curtains."
"Oh, yeah," said Fred. It wouldn't do to be in the middle of a good shag and have the other blokes come in. Fred pulled the curtains shut. He fumbled in his robes for his wand and put an Imperturbable Charm on the drapes, then dropped his wand on the floor.
"C'mere," said Angelina, reaching up for him and pulling him down onto her.
They began to kiss. It was nice, except that the room was spinning so badly now that Fred kept missing her lips. She giggled and ran a hand weakly through his hair, then let her left arm settle round his shoulders. Her right arm was splayed out limply on the bed.
Fred kissed her neck wetly, slipped his right arm under her neck, and his left hand moved clumsily to her breasts.
"Love these," he said, smiling. "Best ever." He fondled her lush breasts and nuzzled them with his face, burying himself in the soft golden brown swell of flesh. She was soft, so very soft. He could fall asleep with his head resting on those beautiful breasts.
"Feels...nice," she said, and sighed. She became still.
"Soft," said Fred, and he closed his eyes and drifted, his left hand resting on her breast, his right arm beneath her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Fred was flying. Angelina was in front of him, and they were riding tandem on a Firebolt. Fred didn't have a Firebolt, so it must belong to Angelina. She was laughing. He loved her laugh. He laughed, too, and she did a few somersaults and rolls on the broom, causing both them to shriek and yell and laugh some more. The wind was blowing; wisps of her hair were ticking his face, under his nose...
Fred blinked, then closed his eyes again, caught between sleep and wakefulness. His eyes opened again, and he saw deep red velvet. His curtains.
He was on his bed. Something was tickling his cheek. He reached up weakly to brush it away. Hair. Not his hair.
He tried to lift his head, but his head was very, very heavy. It must weigh ten stone or more, he thought. He tried lifting it again. A sharp pain shot through his skill, beginning between his eyes and spreading out like a million razor-sharp tentacles.
"Ow," he groaned softly, and the sound was strange to his ears and the vibrations in his throat hurt. His throat was a desert. His right arm was going numb, the pins and needles prickling him. His lips felt raw. His eyes were cloudy and unfocused. He could see deep red velvet, but there was something else, something very close to him. He couldn't see what it was. It was blurry. He hurt all over.
Except his left hand. That didn't feel so bad. It was resting on something soft and round. He moved the fingers of his left. Whatever this thing was in his hand, it was nice.
His eyes strained to focus. He was lying next to something. Something soft and warm. He didn't really want to move, but his eyes seemed to want to open, so he kept them open.
Things came into focus. He was lying on his bed. Next to Angelina. His right arm was underneath her. His left hand...
His eyes widened and he yanked his hand away from Angelina's breast.
"Shit," he said out loud, as his head began to pound, his stomach to roil, and the events of last night's drinking binge came back to him.
Sort of. He couldn't really remember all of them. He remembered coming back to his room. He vaguely remembered she had been on top of him at one point. Oh, boy.
He touched his lips. Yes, he remembered kissing her. And clearly he'd managed to get a feel of her breasts, judging by the position of his left hand when he'd woken up.
Merlin, please tell me that's all we did, he thought. He looked himself over (as best he could, anyway, his right arm was still underneath her shoulders and he didn't want to yank it away and startle her). He was fully clothed. Not even his robes were off.
She was fully clothed. Well, she HAD taken off her robes and shoes but her dress was on. Completely zipped up. Not torn in any places that he could see.
He looked down at her. She was sleeping soundly, her mouth slightly open. His eyes traveled to the swell of her breasts--they were simply too irresistible to avoid gazing at--and he clenched the fist of his left hand to keep from fondling her. But then he saw a small spot of saliva above her right breast.
"Nice one," he thought, feeling ridiculous. He'd always been a bit of a drooler when he slept off a night of drinking, only this time he'd managed to drool on her. He took a bit of his robe in his left hand and very gently began to wipe his saliva from her skin.
"Fred, what are you doing?"
Fred's hand stopped moving and he looked at her face. She was fully awake, and staring at his left hand, which was now resting on her right breast. He pulled it away, quickly.
"Uh," he said stupidly.
"Shit," she said, blinking and rubbing her eyes. "What am I doing in your bed?"
"Uh," he said again.
"Shit," said Angelina, looking at him. She sat up abruptly, then rolled over, collapsing onto the bed again, rolling off his very numb arm.
"Oh, god," she moaned. "My fucking head feels like it's going to explode."
"Angie," he said.
"What happened?" she said, turning quickly to him, her eyes full of fear. "Tell me we didn't--"
"We didn't," he said quickly. "But, uh, I think we...tried to."
Angelina's eyes widened, then she closed them. "So that explains why your hand was on my boobs."
Fred's face went scarlet. "Uh, I think so," he said. Then he began to talk very fast. "I think we passed out, Ange. I remember coming back here with you and we were talking, I think, and somehow we started kissing but then we both passed out. I think. Do you remember?"
"I remember kissing," said Angelina. "And...oh shit. I was on top of you! I think. And then I was lying on the bed." She moaned and clutched her head. Fred sat up slowly, trying to quell his own pain and nausea.
"Okay," said Fred, trying to remain calm. "Nothing happened. Not really. We're both still fully clothed."
"Right," said Angelina, looking at him doubtfully.
"So we couldn't have done it," said Fred. "I mean, it makes no sense, does it? For us to do it and then put all our clothes back on? No way."
Angelina looked more convinced. "Yeah, you're right."
"Okay," he said again, feeling relief creep into his face.
"But, Fred, that doesn't explain why your hand was on my boobs," she pointed out.
"Oh," said Fred. "Uh, well, I s'pose I must have, uh, given them a feel...or something, and fallen asleep."
"Fred, you were rubbing my right boob this morning," said Angelina pointedly.
"I was getting the drool off you!" he said defensively.
"The...drool?" said Angelina. Fred felt his face go from scarlet to near- purple.
"Uh, well, I...sort of...uh, drooled on your chest," he said, looking down at his hands. "I, uh, do that sometimes. When I'm sleeping off, you know."
Angelina stared at him. Fred gritted his teeth and waited for him to slap her. Instead she burst into laughter.
"What?" he said.
"Oh...my god," she gasped, laughing and holding her head. Her face was contorted with a mixture of amusement and hangover-headache pain.
"What?" Fred demanded, now feeling defensive.
"You drooled on me!" she said, laughing and pointing at him, then she moaned and clutched her head again.
"Yeah, so?" said Fred. "I didn't mean to. You don't have to make fun. It's a little embarrassing, you know."
Angelina's laughter subsided into faint giggles, and she put a hand on his stubbly cheek.
"Sorry," she said, but she began to giggle harder. "Oh, my god, everything is so funny this morning for some reason!" And then she was laughing and trying to talk.
"Yesterday," she gasped, "yesterday I was so miserable about everything and then you asked me to the ball and we went and you told me I looked gorgeous and we ate like pigs...and...and...we danced and...you got all...worked up...and it was so sweet!"
Fred goggled at her, and wondered if she was still feeling the effects of the punch.
"Sweet?" he said. "Me getting a hard on while we were dancing was 'sweet?'"
"Uh huh!" she said, still laughing, so hard now that tears were streaming down her face. "And then we danced our legs off and then we went outside and I saw Roger and what's her name and I felt all bad and then we got good and drunk and...and...I remember, I didn't get upset after that! I mean, when I was drinking I thought, you know...what if I drink and I wind up having one of those stupid drunk crying episodes? But I didn't...I just had fun...and then we came back here and we were so...DRUNK! I can't believe we tried to shag! And then you drooled on me and wiped it off me!"
She clutched her sides and rolled over onto the bed, laughing so hard that no sound was coming out of her now.
Fred stared at her, wondering if perhaps she had gone slightly mad.
"Angie," he said slowly. "Uh, are you...sure you're okay?"
"Fred!" she said, sitting up quickly. Her hand flew to her head. "Ow. Look, Fred, don't you get it? I had a GOOD TIME with you, okay, and it doesn't matter if we tried to shag, because in the end we didn't."
"You are really strange," he said, shaking his head. "Look, aren't you just a little concerned about--"
"About what?" she said, her laughter gone now, her face soft. "I haven't felt so good in ages, Fred. So we got drunk and did something stupid. So what?"
"We WERE pretty drunk," said Fred.
"We never would have tried to shag if we hadn't been," said Angelina.
"True," said Fred, feeling better about the whole thing. "You really had a good time?"
"The best," she said. "My head feels like it's in a vise and my neck is stiff and I ought to slap your left hand for feeling me up but I had a good time."
"Even though--"
"Even though I saw Roger with Fleur," said Angelina. "I mean, it still hurts a bit. More than a bit. But...last night was the first time since we broke up that I saw him with her and I didn't break down crying."
"Really?"
"Really," she said. "Because of you."
Fred grinned. "Wow. So I was a good date, then."
"The best," she said, and she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. He pulled her into a hug, and they stayed that way for a while. Fred tried to ignore the way her breasts pressed against his chest. It didn't work, but at least he was sitting down and she couldn't see certain things start to bulge.
She pulled back from him and smiled. "Thanks," she said, ruffling his hair.
"My pleasure," he said. He held out his left hand. "Go ahead, give it a slap."
"Fred, come on," she said, rolling her eyes.
"I mean it, Angie, give it a slap," he said. "I deserve it."
"No," she said.
"Angie, slap my stupid hand, would you?" he said firmly.
"No!" she said, laughing. "Fred--"
"Fine, don't slap it," he said, and he pulled his hand back, and gazed at it lovingly. "I'll always treasure this hand. The hand that felt up the most luscious, most gorgeous breasts in all of--"
She grabbed his hand and slapped it.
"Ow," he said.
"Had to be done," said Angelina. "Or else you never would have shut up."
"Fair enough," said Fred. "But I'm never washing this hand again."
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A/N: Just a little note to say that the naughtiness quotient is going up in the next chapters. Fred and Angelina keep coming up with all kinds of excuses as to why they're not together.