westernredcedar (westernredcedar) wrote in pervy_werewolf, @ 2008-05-18 07:54:00 |
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Entry tags: | #lmom 2008, author: westernredcedar, kink: public sex, kink: voyeurism |
LMoM: 1979 (Part 18~ May 5, 1979)
Title: 1979
Today’s Date: May 5, 1979
Rating: NC-17
Word count: ~1,100
Pairing: Remus, OFC/OMC
Kink(s): voyeurism, outdoor sex
Challenge: Lusty Month of May 2008
Summary: 1979: One of the worst years of Remus's life. Also, one of the best.
Today’s Episode: Remus gets away to the countryside, stumbles into a May Festival, and gets just what he needs.
Notes: The possibly insane blpaintchart has agreed to speed beta and Brit pick for as long as she can stand it while I try this…so generous is my Chart!! Not only that, she is veritable font of ideas! Also, thank you to McKay for running this crazy thing.
In particular, today's episode is all blpaintchart's fault. :) She suggested the fabulous scene and gave me a hundred details to make it work. *kiss*
Need to catch up? Here are the previous parts: Jan 1, Jan 15: Day, Jan 15: Night, Feb 2, Feb 9, Feb 20, Mar 10, Mar 24, Mar 25, Mar 25: Later, Mar 26, Mar 31, Apr 1, Apr 11, Apr 12, Apr 14, Apr 24
The funeral was over. Remus was exhausted. He had gladly taken on the role of Gideon’s supportive and protective friend throughout the ordeal, but over a week of comforting and house guests and eating hastily made hors d’oeurves had drained him. The emotional strain of Dorcas’s death was evident in all of the Order members and their friends.
He had seen Sirius, James, and Peter at the funeral, but they had been civil and distant and polite, and avoided Remus for most of the afternoon. Remus was occupied with tending to Gideon, so it was just as well.
Now it was all over, and Remus just wanted to get away, from all of it. He cashed his weekly cheque and told Gideon he would be back in a few days, leaving him in Fabian’s capable hands. He had no particular aim or destination in mind, just picked the quaintest sounding village name on the map, and Apparated nearby.
As soon as he materialized in a freshly tilled field and inhaled the sweet, clean air of the countryside, he felt his battered mind begin to clear. His eyes filled with tears and he was not sure if it was due to the brightness of the new green growth that surrounded him, or the relief of being away, and alone.
In the distance, he could hear music and the chatter of many voices. Striding down the dirt path through the woods in front of him, he followed the sound.
Emerging from the trees, Remus realized the music and voices were coming from a spring festival on the village green.
The grassy triangle was crowded with bustle and fun, booths selling homemade jams and dried flower wreaths, a small brass band taking a break in the shade, a Maypole in the center, waiting for dancers. Adults strolled, kids dashed, older ladies sat together under the trees sipping something that had them rather red-faced. Pub benches were strewn about, and pints of bitter were being passed between friends.
Remus stood back and soaked in the pure joy of the scene, the life in front of him.
A voice in his head, that sounded a bit like either Sirius or Severus, muttered, Look at these Muggles, acting like cheesy ponces, but he shook that thought away with a smile. Oh shut up, you miserable git, he said to the voice, and then he plunged in, needing to be a part of the idyllic scene.
A little procession of children came in along the road, including a tiny-tot May Queen who kept pulling up her skirts to the amusement of the crowd. That was followed by the Maypole dance. Remus sat on a bench with his pint, letting the unexpected sun warm his skin, and the unexpected pleasure of the village soothe him.
After the Maypole dance, the pipe and tabor sounded and a group of Morris Dancers started up. The snide voice in his head threatened to mutter insults again as the motley collection of middle aged, bearded men and ruddy faced, busty women hopped and leaped to the music, bells ringing, but the voice was silenced by the utter bliss on both the faces of the dancers and the villagers watching them.
Life went on.
Later, armed with a fresh pint, Remus wandered the green, and drifted off into the ancient village churchyard. He faced the little rows of decaying gravestones and crouched down to read each one, running his fingers over the dates and names, now almost faded from memory. He thought he might be able to come to an understanding with Death on this lovely day.
He strolled round the back of the church to look at a few larger crypts there, and then he heard a noise.
A giggle? Then a slap? Then a moan?
He peered over the crypts and then pulled a hand to his mouth to stifle a laugh.
“Up for a bit of how’s your father, love?” It was one of the bearded Morris Dancers, his puffy shirt unbuttoned, his round belly hanging loose, his sash fallen around his waist, and his breeches open at the flies, sitting on the soft grass of the churchyard. His ‘love’ was a buxom dancer herself, her blouse already pulled off her shoulders and dangling around her hips, her ample white bosom exposed to the warmth of the sun. Their ribboned hats were discarded, one shoved on top of a gravestone like a two-fingered salute to Death. Remus turned away, his face reddening, but then he couldn’t resist. He peered over again.
The woman responded with a hearty giggle, and threw herself into her lover’s arms, knocking him backwards and flat on the grass, the bells on both of their shoes ringing merrily.
“Get those lovely bristols up here, you lusty thing,” said the man, with such enthusiasm that Remus couldn’t look away, and the giggling woman leaned in and slapped her tits back and forth across the man’s face. He let out a gleeful laugh. “That’s got me all up for some rumpy-pumpy, you naughty wench. I hope you know what you’ve started…”
She seemed to know, as she quickly got to work on the man’s trousers, extricating his red cock from the layers of costuming, and then going up on her knees to slide her bloomers off from beneath her petticoats. She tossed them aside and they draped over the nearest headstone.
“Saucy woman! I swear you're even randier now than the day I married you!” the man exclaimed as she grabbed his cock and sank down on him with a loud chuckle. Remus pinched himself to keep from laughing out loud as the man’s eyes grew wide and he shouted, “That’s it, woman, ride me!”
She hoisted up her skirt and he gave her ample round buttocks a playful slap. "Ooh! A bit of slap and tickle, you bad bad boy!" she said in a sing-song voice. The man laughed, now rather red-faced and sweaty.
Remus realized he was rather red-faced and sweaty himself.
She bounced up and down on his knob, petticoats flying, knockers bobbing in his face until he caught one in his mouth, and then both of them were laughing and kissing and moaning…Remus was conscious that this shouldn't be remotely sexy or attractive to him, but something about the way they threw themselves into each other, the utter joy and abandon they had in being together, in being alive, in knowing that they would be together forever…Remus suddenly had only one thought in his head.
He needed to find Severus.
He downed the last of his bitter before he Apparated.