Edison Fawley (alituus) wrote in fiftyfourdiagon, @ 2016-05-18 14:25:00 |
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Entry tags: | char: edison fawley, char: megan jones |
Who: Edison Fawley & Megan Jones
When: Late, Tuesday 17th May
Where: Megans Flat
What: Edison can't wait until dinner.
Rating: High
Status: In Progress
As a general rule, Edison was mostly accepting of the fact that he was different from most of the people he lived amongst in the wizarding world. He went about his day in much the same manner as everybody else, just without that extra helping hand and with the need to use his hands and body to do some of the days tasks that others would use a wand for. Of course, there were plenty of things he just plain couldn't do, but there was nothing really that Edison really hated not being able to do.
These journals though. The moment his and Megan's conversation had started to head in a less than platonic direction and Edison was cursing the fact that he couldn't ward his entries. He'd tried to reply to her, be coy and neutral, but knowing that her sister, friends and half of those quick to act Weasley brothers could see had him quickly shut his journal in a huff of frustration. That last comment though...
Edison had groaned and mentally kicked himself for telling her that they would do dinner tomorrow and instead of heading out to find Hannah like he'd planned, he headed for the bathroom. He needed a shower anyway, he'd only been at the pub for just over two hours and already he smelt of fried food and stale beer. Not that he thought Hannah would have minded, because Hannah was far to sweet to complain about anything, especially the way he smelt. Still, a shower would give him the opportunity to get Megan out of his system. It wouldn't be the first time he'd had to resort to that. He'd done the same after the evening they'd spent in muggle London, the night he'd told her his not so secret secret.
That night she'd been delicious. He'd finally let himself kiss her and the response he'd gotten from her had been intoxicating. He was fairly sure that she'd have been on board with more that night too and as his mind began to conjour images of what she might look like after he'd peeled away those boots and tight jeans, he groaned, his hand slipping around his hard cock as the hot water ran down his back. It would have been so easy to have given in, to have gone back to hers. Her flat was only down one floor from his, she'd be there now...
It was that thought that did it, at knowing just minutes ago she'd been teasing him and that she was likely there now, maybe with her journal still open, waiting for him to reply. He'd stopped then, flicked the shower off and headed, still hard and dripping wet to the bedroom, towel in hand.
It took him five minutes in total to get dry and pull on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. He didn't even bother with shoes and his hair was curly and damp as he headed out and down the one flight of stairs and to flat 604, his hand lifting and rapping firmly on the door. He didn't even stop to think before he did, his brain obviously residing firmly within the aching stiffness between his legs.