Arran Higgs (silverbroom) wrote in reduxpitch, @ 2016-11-16 18:09:00 |
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Entry tags: | !thread, character: celia wood, location: harrowyck alley, retired character: arran wood |
Who: Arran and Celia Wood.
What: Talking about sex.
Where: 68 Harrowyck Alley.
When: Wednesday 16th November, after training.
Arran had no idea what Celia wanted to talk to him about. Unlike his siblings, he hadn't assumed it was an emergency or that she was dying. Mostly because if she had, she'd probably have warded them together, rather than individually. So it was something else - and Arran was too focused on his upcoming game to spend much time wondering what. Celia would tell him when she told him, and then the mystery would be solved. Arran was happy to talk to Celia about anything, so he was looking forward to their indoor picnic.
It was a very healthy indoor picnic, with no booze, because Arran had a game in five days and he wanted to be able to perform his best. By the time Celia arrived, Arran had shrunk and moved all the living room furniture and had spread a picnic blanket in the middle of the room. "It's more spicy baked chicken and brown rice on plates on the floor than an actual picnic," he said apologetically. "There's no tiny sausages, or cheese, or sugar." He was mostly exaggerating his annoyance at having his eating curtailed by Willa's diet plans. "There's smoothies though, with actual fruit in, so at least they'll be sweet."
He tossed two cushions onto the floor and sat down, levitating the plates over from where they'd been warming in the oven. "Come sit," he urged. "Talk to Brother Arran. I'm an excellent guru."
--
Celia was feeling slightly better than she had been at first when talking to her siblings, but she still appreciated the opportunity to talk to Arran. The more advice the better, she figured. Oliver and Lottie had both said different helpful things so it helped to have different perspectives. That was what she was going with. Plus it was an indoor picnic! How could it be bad?
“I like spicy baked chicken and rice,” Celia replied with a shrug, taking off her shoes and wandering in to find a good spot on the floor. She settled onto the cushion at his invitation and clasped her hands in her lap, nipping at the inside of her lip. It was the start that always tripped her up, but better to be straightforward.
“Well, um. I had sex, with a boy, and Oliver gave me a cake so you don't have to but I just… I don't know, I want to be good at it and I don't know. Lots of talking, they said, but yes. That's, um, what's happening.”
--
“You haven’t been playing professional quidditch for seven years,” Arran pointed out, leveling a finger in Celia’s direction. “Get back to me when you’ve eaten spicy baked chicken and rice once a week before every game for four years, then we’ll see.” Arran could probably do with expanding his repertoire of recipes, but who had time? In the off-season, he wanted to eat as many things as he could that were usually ‘forbidden’, not learn more healthy foods to eat.
At Celia’s news, Arran beamed. “Congratulations!” He did pout slightly when informed that Oliver had already taken care of the traditional cake. “That’s my job,” he said, but he was still smiling. “Of course you’re going to be good,” he said easily. “You’re a Wood, aren’t you? We are all excellent at sex.” Arran assumed this to be true. Oliver had certainly had enough practice that he ought to be good, even disregarding the rumours Arran had heard. Lottie he had less information to go on, but he just naturally assumed there weren’t any problems.
“Talking,” Arran agreed, with a nod. “And also lots of practice.” He smirked. “Talking’s great, but you’re only really going to learn by doing. It’s like quidditch.” This was, unsurprisingly, not the first time Arran had made a comparison between quidditch and sex.
--
“No, I was still at school seven years ago,” Celia countered, but she knew his point. Thankfully she'd gotten used to eating the same thing all the time since she started training, but she'd still barely been doing it at all compared to her brothers. She still liked spicy baked chicken and rice either way.
Her expression brightened slightly, though her cheeks were still tinged pink, when he said she would be good at it because the Woods traditionally were. That might have seemed silly to someone else, but that was how their family operated. Lots of tradition.
“I mean, you could get me a cake too if you really wanted…” Celia said with a grin, because she wasn't about to say no to cake after all. “Talking and practice,” she repeated, taking a bite of her rice as she nodded. “That makes sense and all but I’ve been playing quidditch for… I don't even remember how long, so that's all quite natural! I don't remember what it was like before it wasn't. This is all just… new and… not scary but different.”
--
Arran grinned when Celia graciously said he could buy her another cake. Perhaps he would, when he could actually enjoy it with her. “I seem to be missing out on this tradition,” he complained. “Oliver got a sex cake, you’re angling for two. Where’s mine?” His celebrating, he remembered, had been getting very drunk with Roger on ‘congratulations’ beer that Roger had smuggled in from somewhere.
“Sex is natural too,” Arran pointed out. His own awkward teenage fumblings were so far behind him that he couldn’t really remember a time when sex had felt new and different. “Just, you know, show him what you like, and he’ll show you what he likes, and then you can experiment from there.” He shrugged, taking a mouthful of his chicken. “Oh, and don’t forget contraceptive charms, or potions.” He assumed Lottie - and quite probably Oliver - would have already covered that aspect. Still, it was worth repeating.
--
“Did you get Lottie a cake?” Celia asked, bringing her plate up to rest on her folded legs as she continued to eat. “I could get you a very delayed one, if you like. It would still be good, not stale or anything.”
She knew, logically, that it was natural. It was just new and maybe built up in her head a bit. Then again, a lot of things were in that department, since she had such little experience to go on. And his advice was good, but also she didn't know what she liked - other than everything that had happened so far. “Right, I know about those,” she said, giving a nod. “I just… I’m not used to doing things where I don't know what I'm doing! But I guess… it's just learning.”
--
Arran frowned for a moment, trying to remember. “I think Lottie’s a lot more private than Oliver,” Arran said. “Which isn’t hard.” If Lottie had told him when she’d first had sex, she certainly hadn’t done so quite as enthusiastically as Oliver had, so Arran would’ve worried a cake might embarrass her a little. “I’m alright,” he told Celia. “Oldest and youngest get cake, middle children get booze.”
After topping up both their smoothies, Arran took a sip. “Honestly, he’s a guy, he’s probably pretty easy to please.” Arran certainly had been, though he’d been rather younger than Celia was now. “You’re the complicated one. Help him out.” Even though she hadn’t been with other partners, Arran was assuming Celia knew what she liked for herself. “You can learn together. That’s not limited to the first person you have sex with, by any means. I had to learn new things with Cariad.” And that had been some years after Arran had become sexually active.
--
Celia rolled her eyes. “Anyone is more private than Oliver,” she replied, shrugging a shoulder. “Doesn't mean she shouldn't get a cake. Everyone should get cake, right? Even if it's delayed cake. I’ll get you one if you get Lottie one and then we’re all evened out.”
She took a long sip of her smoothie, the coolness of the drink helping quell the pinkness in her cheeks. “I don't think… I mean, I’m not that complicated. At least, I don't think so. Didn't seem like it.” Celia shook her head and gave scrunch of her nose. “I just worry I won't be able to make it as good as him. For him, I mean. I don't know.”
--
Chuckling, Arran nodded. It was true - Oliver was not at all a private person. “I will happily buy Lottie the prettiest cake you’ve ever seen,” Arran promised. “As long as I don’t have to make it.” Shop-bought cake, especially from a nice shop, would definitely taste better than what Arran could make.
“You’re a woman,” Arran said, a smile quirking his lips. “You’re complicated and mysterious. At least to men.” It was true that Arran didn’t particularly find Celia complicated or mysterious, but then he wasn’t supposed to. That was for whoever she was having sex with. Which reminded Arran he didn’t actually know who that was. “Accept it,” he urged. “Embrace it. It’s half of the fun.” He moved on the picnic blanket so that he could give Celia a one-armed hug. “You will make it good. Just - listen to the sounds he makes, get him to tell you when something feels good, and then do more of that. Once you’ve got the basics down, try new things when you want to.”
He stole a little of the rice from Celia’s plate, even though he still had plenty. “So do I get to know who was the lucky man?” he asked. “I promise not to ask him about his intentions or buy him embarrassing pyjamas.” Since that, apparently, had been what Draco had been most worried about. “No promises about non-embarrassing pyjamas, though. Everyone should have more of those.”
--
“No, you don't have to make it, just so long as she gets a cake,” Celia said, grinning. It was only right Lottie got once, since apparently she'd been skipped over.
She certainly didn't think she was at all mysterious or complicated. In the grand scheme of things, Celia thought she was rather simple. It wasn't like she hid her feelings, or didn't know how to use her words - though she did know she tended to ramble and work through things out loud rather than in her head, but wasn't that the opposite of mysterious? Still, she took in what Arran was saying and filed it away just as she had when talking to Oliver and Lottie. And she leaned in against him when he gave her a hug.
“Oh, um, Rufio?” she said, using her fork to push his away from her food to keep him from stealing more. “He's the one who made the quidditch diet friendly ice cream? And gave me my bracelet for my birthday - he made it.”
--
Arran had heard Celia talk about Rufio, in connection with the ice cream if nothing else. He thought he might also have heard the name at Celia’s party, but he couldn’t put a face to it just now. “Quidditch diet ice cream and you didn’t bring any?” he teased. “That would have been way better than smoothies.” He grinned, his face lighting up. “Do you think he can make an ice cream cake? Because if so, that’s what I want my sex cake to be.” Arran hadn’t had ice cream cake in years, but he’d liked it when he had, and if the ice cream wasn’t even going to piss of Willa, that would only make it better.
“I’m relying on you to let me know if it gets serious enough that I need to take him out to drinks,” he added. “Since this is apparently what we do with sisters’ boyfriends.” And have movie nights, but Arran would like to meet the guy first. Movies were great, but not as venues for talking.
--
Celia’s grin grew slightly at the mention of ice cream cake. She wasn't sure if it was possible, but if it was she knew Rufio would be able to do it. “I’ll ask and see, and either way you'll get your sex cake. I promise. I feel bad you've had to wait so long!”
She nipped at the inside of her lip, her nose scrunching slightly. “I mean I threaten them,” she said, laughing lightly. “Or I did to Draco, anyway. Not that you should threaten Rufio, that wouldn't be nice. But maybe drinks would be nice sometime. He's very good - we watched not scary Halloween movies and he bought me a pogo stick.”
--
“That’s right,” Arran agreed, unable to completely keep a straight face. “You’re the scary one.” She had punched Roger, though, so maybe Celia really was the scariest of the Wood siblings, for all she was also the tiniest. “I’m sure I don’t need to threaten Rufio on your behalf. If he hurts you, you can deal with him yourself.” Of course, if Rufio actually hurt his sister, Arran would probably be a lot less calm about it. Until it happened, he chose to believe she could handle herself.
He smiled when she said they had watched Halloween movies. “Excellent, someone who’s already a film fan. I approve.” And of course, the pogo sticks. Rufio and Arran had been friends in school, and still kept in touch in a vague sort of way. Finishing his chicken, Arran sighed, wishing they had ice cream. “Do you want some more smoothie?” It wasn’t the same, but it would have to do.