Harry Potter, Two Decades and Still Debauching

Title: Two Decades and Still Debauching [Harry/Neville]
Rating/Warnings: R for a glittery blowjob. Slash.
Summary: Harry’s found a box of his godfather’s things and gets more than he bargained for.
A/N: In the same universe as So You Want To Transfigure Yourself a Rock Band, written as a thank you to Memorycharm for the mix CD.

Two Decades and Still Debauching

“Found another one!” Harry called excitedly, and Neville shook his head at his boyfriend’s enthusiasm, even as Harry’s shout terminated in a massive sneeze.

Climbing to his feet, Neville picked his way across the attic around dozens of boxes, taking care not to crack his head on the low, sloped ceiling. The benefit to being a paranoid nutjob, Neville supposed, was that no matter how much she had despised Sirius, his mother had never thrown much out lest people go through her garbage. Which explained why boxes of Sirius’ things still could be found in odd corners of Grimmauld Place’s attic.

Harry already had the flaps of the box opened as Neville kneeled beside him, and was rooting around in the contents, but his expression was one of puzzlement rather than discovery.

“What’s in it?” Neville asked.

“Clothes, mostly,” Harry wrinkled his brow, “but they’re all…”

“Manky?” Neville suggested, trying to peer around Harry’s shoulder. “Muggle? Death Eater-y?”

“Reflective,” Harry answered, pulling out the shiniest silver shirt Neville had ever seen. He practically had to squint to make out its outlines. Harry continued to rifle through the box. “And there’s some…uh, cosmetics?”

” Cosmetics?” Neville tried to swallow his snickers. “Harry, are you telling me you found your godfather’s makeup kit?”

“Shut up!” Harry snapped, flushing, as he slapped the flaps of the box closed again. “Er, I’m just going to go ask Remus about this…”

Downstairs, Remus was sitting calmly at the kitchen table with the paper when Harry strode in, Neville trailing behind, and thumped the box down on the table.

“Remus,” he began haltingly, “there are some…things…in this box…”

Remus raised an eyebrow as he flipped one of the box flaps open, and Neville didn’t miss the faint color over the bridge of Remus’ nose when he saw what was inside. There was a moment of silence as Remus leaned over the box and ran a hand through the contents.

“I expect you’ve got a few questions,” Remus finally said, and when he looked up, a smile was quirking one side of his mouth. “Let me tell you a little story…”

Harry and Neville sat down at the table, and Remus pulled articles out of the box one at a time while he told a surprisingly involved story involving Sirius, an electric guitar, and a cancelled Yule Ball band.

“…thus was the rise and fall of your father as a Glitter Rock heartthrob,” Remus dug around in the very bottom of the box, “and your mother was spitting glitter for a week…oh look, Sirius’ lucky kohl pencil!”

“His what?” Harry asked weakly, slumped in his chair and looking a little shagged out by the story. Neville fought another round of snickers as he fingered an orange polyester shirt with a red glittery lion on the front. The lion was twitching a bit, as though it had been charmed to move a long time ago.

“Sirius used to carry this with him everywhere.” Remus rolled the thick pencil between his fingers with a faraway expression. “This is the very kohl he used on us the night of the Yule Ball, he always said it brought him luck, after…” Remus cleared his throat suddenly. “Anyway, it was his favorite one.” Remus set the pencil on the table carefully and returned to the box; Harry picked the pencil up gingerly with two fingers and eyed it.

With a small noise that was half-pleasure and half-sigh, Remus drew a picture from the very bottom of the box, a bit crumpled from being jammed underneath all the other things. Remus smoothed it flat against the table and stared at it for a long moment before handing it to Harry. Neville got up and looked as well, sliding an arm across Harry’s shoulders.

It was a picture of the stage during the Yule Ball. James was obviously meant to be the focus of the picture, caressing the microphone lewdly and in a shirt that must have been the most obnoxious shade of red despite the faded colors of the photo. Behind James, in the far right background of the picture, a roundish boy that Neville supposed was Peter Pettigrew was pounding away on a set of drums, one of which was inexplicably a cauldron.

To the left and behind of James, however, was a perfect shot of Sirius and Remus, completely unaware that they were being photographed. Sirius was wearing the silver shirt from the box and holding the red electric guitar they had heard so much about. Remus, on the other hand, was in the tightest green shirt and jeans Neville had ever seen, clutching a blue bass as if his life depended on it. The young wizards in the photo kept sneaking looks at each other when they thought the other wasn’t looking, and once in a while Sirius would lean close and whisper something against Remus’ ear that made him throw back his head and laugh.

“Look at my dad,” Harry murmured.

“Holy fuck, look at Remus!” Neville swallowed hard, a blush warming his cheeks as he glanced up at his former professor. Remus looked just as embarrassed. “Professor, you’ve been hiding one hell of a body underneath those robes!”

“It was a long time ago,” Remus coughed, staring at the table, but he looked pleased.

Later, in their room, Harry was sitting on the bed, holding the kohl pencil in one hand and the photograph in the other, and looking back and forth between the two in confusion. Standing in front of him, Neville thought the slightly distressed expression was unbearably adorable.

“It’s so strange,” Harry murmured.

“It’s fucking hot, is what it is.” Harry looked up in surprise at Neville’s comment, and Neville sat down beside him and tapped the picture with a finger. “You can’t tell me you don’t think Sirius in that getup isn’t a turn-on. And the eyeliner!”

Harry eyed Neville suspiciously.

“Nev,” he said, “are you trying to tell me you have a thing for boys in eyeliner?”

“Are you trying to tell me you don’t?” Neville looked Harry in the eye, despite his own blush. Harry swallowed visibly. Reaching over, Neville gently slid the kohl pencil out of Harry’s fingers. “Close your eyes. Go on, do it,” Neville ordered when Harry resisted.

Neville slide off Harry’s glasses and set them on the nightstand behind him so they’d be out of the way. Taking a last glance at the picture in Harry’s hand and putting it together with the limited knowledge he had of girls wearing makeup, Neville touched the point of the pencil to Harry’s eyelid.

“Neville!” Harry jerked back, squeezing his eyes shut protectively.

“Don’t be a girl, I’m not going to poke your eye out,” Neville rolled his eyes and slid closer to Harry, putting a soothing hand on his shoulder. “Or at least I won’t if you keep still.”

Harry bit his lip with uncertainty, but sat stiffly while Neville concentrated on running the kohl evenly over the edges of his eyelids. It was harder than it looked, Neville discovered, his tongue sticking out in concentration, because you had to press a bit harder than he was comfortable with, and because he could see Harry’s pupil darting about nervously underneath his eyelid.

But when Harry opened his eyes, the kohl making the green of his irises look like blown glass and his pupils impossibly wide, Neville forgot all about Remus and his trousers.

“Good?” Harry asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Guh-huh,” Neville managed, following the movement of the eyebrow helplessly.

“Here, let me se—oof!” Neville foiled Harry’s attempt to get up by tackling him flat against the bed, one hand already sliding up underneath his shirt to brush warm skin with the flat of his palm. “Neville!”

Harry’s protests became suddenly half-hearted when Neville’s gardening calluses came across a nipple, and were less hearted by the second as Neville nipped the side of his neck and then soothed the rising bruise with warm lips.

“Neeev,” Harry sighed, arching underneath Neville, and Neville whimpered himself as Harry’s thigh pressed up into his erection.

Neville was dimly aware of Harry’s shuffling about underneath him as he focused on getting Harry’s shirt out of the way and his trousers undone, but realized that Harry had got them shifted mostly the right way across the bed when a pillow under his head brought his kohled eyes into close range. He was squinting.

“I can’t see enough,” he complained.

“Don’t care,” Neville reported breathily, shoving his own trousers just far enough out of the way to rub his cock against Harry’s properly.

He was caught entirely by surprise when Harry shoved him off onto his back, but swallowed his protest when he felt Harry slide down against his body. Panting, Neville watched as Harry, wearing only the eyeliner and jeans hanging low on his hips, efficiently stripped off Neville’s trousers and tossed them to the floor.

“If you’re so into the eyeliner,” Harry murmured, settling between Neville’s thighs, “I figure you ought to be able to see it.”

Harry never broke eye contact with Neville as he wrapped wet lips around his cock, and the sight of his cock ringed in red and Harry’s wide eyes ringed in black completely undid Neville. Thrusting sharply up into Harry’s mouth, Neville only lasted a minute or two before spilling over Harry’s tongue.

He watched weakly as Harry crawled back up to flop beside him, licking his lips. Sweat had blurred some of the kohl, and Neville reached up with an arm that felt like lead to brush the corner of Harry’s eye with a thumb.

“Smudged,” he commented. Harry rolled his eyes.

“Well, sex does tend to smudge makeup, yes,” he said, “but since this was all your idea, I don’t see how you can…” Neville shushed him by moving the thumb to his lips and giving him a significant look.

“Smudged,” he repeated softly, and Harry finally caught on that it wasn’t a bad thing.

The next morning, when Remus came down to make himself tea, he found a shirtless teenager with wild hair and smudged eyeliner who was somehow managing to look debauched while eating cornflakes.

“This looks familiar,” he commented out loud.

“Shut it,” Harry grumbled, lifting his head, and Remus caught sight of an impressive bruise on his neck. “This is all your fault, you’ve turned my perfectly innocent boyfriend into a fiend for eye make-up! You and your damn picture and your damn kohl pencil.”

“Sirius’ damn kohl pencil,” Remus corrected with a faint smile. “And oh, how often I used to call it just that.”

“Good to see it’s still starting things that other people have to finish off,” Harry grunted, going back to his cereal.

“Wait until Neville finds the glitter,” Remus said, then had to pound a choking Harry on the back.

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  By Harper, 2010.07.30 @ 4:26 am

  Hehe. That was fun. I love the ending. You make my smile. 😀
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  By tina, 2011.11.05 @ 2:59 pm

  The link to Remus’s story malfunctions, but do not despair (like I did :p) – it’s called So You Want To Transfigure Yourself A Rock Band, and you can find it right here in this archive.
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  By tina, 2011.11.05 @ 3:04 pm

  Ok and now I feel like an utter idiot, because a) I forgot to thank the author for the fabulous read – thank you! 😀 b) the original story is actually mentioned in author’s note. Oh well.

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