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— MATURE CONTENT. —
There are bodies all over my dorm.
That sounds more morbid than it is. It's two in the morning, and most of our guests have taken it upon themselves to fall asleep right here. Pansy shares the bed with Blaise and Verona (who is bisexual, Pansy excitedly pulled me away to tell me, but not looking for a relationship). Tracey and Warrington and sprawled out on their own with Adrian Pucey curled up at the door. Crabbe and Goyle are both on Daphne's bed, so Daphne and and Miles Bletchley are crammed into the balcony, slumped over with bottles of beer in their hands.
I'm sharing my bed with Graham. I don't mind, honestly, except I can't seem to fall asleep even now at two in the morning. The room is still a little foggy, and the air still smells slightly of Alihosty leaves, so occasionally I'll find a tired smile slipping onto my face.
Graham's arm is draped over my stomach, his face in my shoulder, and one of his legs crossing over mine. He has absolutely no shame in taking up all the space in the world, even in this small double bed, leaving me teetering at the edge of the mattress about to fall and break my skull open on my nightstand. He smells like musky cologne and children's toothpaste, which isn't so terrible a smell, but it's so horridly strong.
He's a nice kisser, though.
He tried to finger at one point when we landed in bed, but I just gave him a sarcastic smile, pushed his hand away, and threw the covers over myself. I'm not one to easily oppose to sex with just about anyone, but I have class. I'm not about to let a boy who smells like toothpaste just try to finger me in a room with ten other people.
I exhale softly, laying here on my back watching the green glow from the lake warp and dance on the ceiling. Cheeky meows from the foot of the bed before hopping up and climbing distastefully over Graham's leg and arm to get to me. I smile softly when the fat grey cat sits itself down on my chest, head buried in my neck.
—
It's three in the morning.
Cheeky has wandered off to curl up next to Adrian Pucey, leaving me alone with a constantly squirming and thrashing Graham. He's dead asleep—literally shoving him or grumbling in his ear wont wake him up. He just keeps tossing and turning, throwing odd limbs over my body and pushing me further and further over the edge of the bed.
When his hand nearly goes down my throat, Ive finally had enough.
Muttering curses under my breath, I haul his legs off of my hips and back onto his own side of the bed (which is most of the bed) before sitting up and burying my face in my palms. I groan softly, rubbing my eyes with my fingers. My body aches as I get up, and when I stretch out my back, my muscles groan with me.
