dysonrules | Twinsensibility Part Two

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Lysander was a flirt. Most of the time it didn’t bother Lorcan, because it came as naturally to his brother as breathing. Lysander had a ready smile and loved to touch people. He had a tendency to drape himself over his friends when he talked to them, or lean on them casually, or sling an arm around their waist. Girls were constantly swooning in his presence and he would pull their hair or tug on their school ties, or flip their skirts up with a blast of air from his wand. Few other boys would get away with such antics, at least not without a slap on the face or a return hex, but Lysander was special.

For him they would simply giggle and make annoying calf-eyes.

Lorcan they avoided.

“Your brother is so sour,” they would whisper when they thought Lorcan was out of hearing range.

Lysander would shake his head. “He is not! He’s only quiet. Lorcan prefers to think rather than babble whatever silly thought comes to mind like I do.”

The girls would shrill, “But, Lysander, we love the way you babble!” and fawn over him with their idiotic giggles and fake crocodilian smiles. Lorcan would scowl at them, enhancing his sour image, but he was secretly pleased at his brother’s defence.

Today, however, they were in the Ravenclaw common room and Lysander was flirting more than usual. He was in a giddy mood for some reason, although Lorcan admitted it did not take much to put Lysander in a giddy mood. Seeing a butterfly would cause him to practically dance with glee for an entire afternoon.

Lysander hovered over Sean Finnegan, who tapped a large goblet with his wand while chanting. His brow was furrowed in concentration, although how he could possibly concentrate with Lysander leaning over him like a golden retriever puppy, Lorcan had no idea. The sight caused Lorcan to develop a sudden dislike for the Irish boy.

Sean kept at it despite Lysander’s continuing unhelpful suggestions and low laughter. Lorcan realized Finnegan was trying to turn water into wine and he rolled his eyes. The spell was such a ruddy hassle it was actually easier to break into Filch’s private stash and steal a bottle than spend the effort casting. Sean had been at it quite a while—Lorcan had nearly finished his Transfiguration essay while watching.

Sean shouted the final incantation and then peered into the goblet. A shocked gasp escaped his lips. “Fuck me! I did it!” he murmured excitedly.

“You did it!” Lysander shouted in a tone that made Lorcan look up sharply. It was Lysander’s Up To No Good voice. As Lorcan watched, Lysander seized Sean’s face in both hands and planted a kiss on his lips. Sean twitched so violently his arm bumped into the goblet and knocked it over. Lorcan’s jaw clenched.

Sean shoved Lysander away with a sharp cry. “You bastard! What did you do that for?” He wiped the back of his mouth with one arm and looked at the spilled wine morosely. “Damn you, I was going to drink that.”

Lysander laughed merrily and made a moue of disgust. “Did you ever taste Transfigured wine? It’s like liquid shite,” he said plausibly.

“Ponce,” Sean muttered as he spelled the mess clean.

“I know you want me, Sean,” Lysander said in a silken tone as he strode across the room and dropped himself into Lorcan’s lap. Only quick action kept Lorcan’s precious scroll from being crushed by his brother. Lysander snuggled against Lorcan and buried his face into his neck, instantly killing the growl before it could erupt.

The knot that had formed in Lorcan’s gut at the sight of Lysander kissing a boy slowly loosened. It had been nothing, merely a silly game. Lorcan dropped the scroll and wrapped his arms around Lysander in a rare embrace. Lorcan breathed in the scent of his hair as Lysander made an appreciative sound and snuggled closer.

Mine, he thought stupidly.

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