James flopped down on the sofa and buried his face in a pillow, attempting to drown out the grating, screeching noise that sounded far too much like a cat’s claw scratching down a window. He knew it wasn’t really that, but it certainly sounded like it whenever Scorpius hit a rather high note on that cello! “Scorpius, please! Give it a rest! My ears are bleeding!”

“I’ve only played for five minutes!” Scorpius retorted, dragging the bow across the strings, making James cringe from the sound. “I need to get acquainted with this. It’s a Stradivarius, you know. Father spent a lot on this for my birthday, so I can’t just let it sit and collect dust.”

“I don’t care what-a-varius it is! All I know is that I don’t like that brand, no matter how prestigious or famous, because all the silencing charms in the world doesn’t work on that wooden giant! It sounds terrible whenever you hit the high note.” James hesitated and then admitted, “You sound okay for the rest though.”

“This is a new piece I’m practising. Once I master it, it won’t sound this bad. As much as I hate to admit it, I’m not that talented to learn a piece in one sitting!”

“All right, all right.” James sulked and muttered, “I don’t understand why you love a cello that much.”

Scorpius stilled and gave James a serious look. “Have you ever played a cello?”

“No, but Albus did try to learn the violin once. Those two weeks were hell on my ears.”

“So he didn’t get very far then.” Scorpius looked thoughtful, which soon turned into a smirk.

James narrowed his own eyes. He knew that smirk. Scorpius might be a Hufflepuff, but he still had many Slytherin tendencies, and James recognised a Slytherin plot easily since he lived many years with another Slytherin — his brother.

“Here,” Scorpius said, standing up, still holding onto the cello. “Come and sit here.”

“Huh? You want me to play? I can’t play, and I really don’t want to accidentally ruin that Vladimus or whatever cello.”

“Just come. You won’t really be playing.”

James shrugged and did as Scorpius requested. “Okay, I’m sitting here. Now what?”

Scorpius put the cello in between James’ legs. “Do you know what a vibrato is?”

“Don’t a lot of opera singers do that with their voice?”

“Yes, and so do a lot of instrumentalists.” Scorpius stood behind James and reached around to position the bow and his other hand on the instrument. He slowly dragged the bow, making a note, and his left finger at the top moved in that spot, creating a beautiful sounding vibrato.

James gasped. Not only could he hear the vibrato, but he could feel it very, very intimately since the body of the instrument was more or less pressing against his crotch. Scorpius did it again, and the second round of vibrations against his groin felt so good. It wasn’t enough to get him off, but it was enough to drive him slowly mad with desire. Scorpius wasn’t being merciful; he kept on playing the low notes, kept the vibrations strong, and it wasn’t long before James’ pants became constrained and his breathing became ragged.

“You feel that?” Scorpius stopped the vibration, and James immediately felt its loss, wishing it was still pulsating against him. “Now you see why I like the cello?”

“Yes,” James managed to say in a strangled voice. “Now I can see that you’re a bloody pervert!”

Scorpius grinned. “Well, I’m not the one turned on by a vibrating cello in between my legs.”

“Shut up,” James growled out. Scorpius made the cello vibrate once more. “Stop that!”

“I don’t think so. I think you like this. If I stop now, I don’t think you’ll be pleased.”

James hated it when Scorpius played dirty like this, yet if Scorpius wanted dirty, then James would act the same. “Fine. But you’re going to be the one explaining how your expensive Strabismus cello got stained in the back to your father. Not me. Granted, I am wearing clothes, so it might not get stained, but it’s up to you to take that risk.”

Scorpius froze, and James held back his laughter, watching Scorpius move the cello off to the side. “Great,” James said brightly. “Now, fix this little problem you’ve caused.”

There was a gleam in Scorpius’ eyes, making James be on his guard. Scorpius got up and went to get something from the bedroom. James gaped at the humongous red and yellow, penis-shaped vibrator. He swallowed and said, “No way.”

Scorpius shrugged. “Hey, you’re the one who made a good point about the cello possibly getting damaged, so I’ve opted to use something else that vibrates.”

“Bloody fucking hell,” James moaned.

“Oh, yes. And when we’re done, I’m going to compose a concerto called ‘A Covetous Concerto’, and it will be dedicated to you.”

“Great, just great,” James complained. But even though he complained, he really didn’t mind. Whether Scorpius composed a song or kissed him, James didn’t care as long as Scorpius never used the cello like that again!

Bomp bomp bomp ba-ba bomp bomp bomp!

Percy awoke to the sound of elephants taking over his room. Or least it sounded like elephants. Or maybe a brass band. He couldn’t quite think clearly. Rubbing his eyes and putting his glasses on, he sat up, making the blanket puddle around his groin. The source of the noise was coming from somewhere in the flat, and he wasn’t quite brash enough to go around nude. He grabbed the dressing gown from the floor, slipped it on, and left the bedroom.

The bomp bomp bomp sounded louder out in the sitting room, but it was empty. He turned and walked towards the direction of the noise, which sounded like it came from one of the other rooms. The door was closed, so he knocked on it, but he didn’t hear any response. Just the bomp bomp bomp, which sounded suspiciously like “Jingle Bells”.

He stifled back a groan. It was already mid-December, and he was really getting sick and tired of the Christmas carols blasting all around him. It was bad enough he had to hear the dreaded tunes constantly at work, but must the songs haunt him during his personal time, too?

Quietly, he opened the door a crack, and he peered in, where he saw his lover — Kingsley Shacklebolt — playing, of all things, a tuba. Percy blinked, staring at the tuba, a silver tuba that was huge. At least it made Percy feel small. Next to Kingsley, that tuba didn’t look so enormous. And most surprisingly of all, Kingsley didn’t look quite silly playing that instrument. Kingsley long arms were wrapped around the monstrosity, which rested on his strong, pyjamas-covered thighs, and his elegant fingers were pushing down the valves. Just last night, those fingers had been dancing a tune over Percy’s body.

Percy felt his cheeks turning warm. He turned his gaze away from those fingers and looked at Kingsley’s face. He first noticed the earring, which wasn’t gold at the moment and currently matched the tuba’s colouring, but it was Kingsley’s cheeks that attracted his attention more. They weren’t puffed out like most wind instrumentalists he knew. The cheeks were sunken in, just like whenever Kingsley sucked him, and Percy moaned at that image, suddenly wishing he was the tuba in Kingsley’s lap.

The bomp bomp bomp suddenly stopped, and Percy felt Kingsley’s smouldering gaze on him. “Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to interrupt–”

“Did my playing arouse you that much?” Kingsley eyes were on his groin, which had a very tented appearance.

Percy flushed harder, trying not to run off. “I, er, didn’t know you played the tuba,” he stammered, pushing his glasses up.

“I used to a lot, but I haven’t had the time lately to play it. But I had this urge to play today, so I got it out to practise. Sorry if I woke you.”

“Oh, it’s okay!” Percy gestured at Kingsley to keep playing. “It sounds very good. You have a good tone! It . . . it matches your voice!” He nearly grimaced at that idiotic sounding phrase. What he meant to say was that the tuba’s deep tone reminded him of Kingsley’s sensual, deep voice.

Kingsley cocked his head to the side and then smirked. He set the tuba off to his side, and he patted his lap. “Come here.”

“Wha–?” Percy automatically obeyed and walked over. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but being pulled down into Kingsley’s warm lap was not what he’d expected. Not that he was complaining. No, sir, not when he was crushed into a powerful kiss that made him whimper, nor when a large hand cusped his arse and another slipped into his dressing gown to touch him there.

“It’s time to blow a different horn and practise a different etude. And this enticing etude is definitely more preferable than scales and other exercises.” Kingsley whispered after breaking the kiss.

And Percy really couldn’t disagree — not that he’d ever agree “Jingle Bells” was a good etude — but this — Kingsley touching in all the right places — was infinitely better than any Christmas songs or the elephant march he heard earlier.

Sirius scowled at James, who at the moment was too busy laughing his head off to even notice the angry look.

“James? Shut it! I swear, mate, your laugh is like a bloody foghorn!”

“Sorry, sorry,” James said, still laughing, his upper body bent over as he heaved for breath. “It’s just that . . . I can’t see you playing the piano, ever! Wearing all those poncy looking dress robes at recitals . . . that’s just fucking brilliant. I bet you looked like a right stiff in those!”

“The dress robes were not poncy looking!”

“Don’t lie! I’ve seen your dress robes before, the ones your mum made you wear. They were quite horrid, with all those frills, so I’m imagining the recital ones to be even worse!”

Sirius groaned and banged his head on the closed cover of the piano keys, ignoring his pounding headache and wondering why he was an idiot to tell James about his piano skills. He hadn’t meant to tell James this. In fact, he’d never wanted to tell any of his friends, but it’d just accidentally come out when he and James had discovered a rather dusty and neglected piano in the back of the Potter family’s house.

As James continued to laugh like a twit, Sirius took a seat on the hard, cold bench and turned his glare at the piano. It was a grand piano, black, looking forlorn and unused, but he could see that it was majestic back in the day when it was still being played. The upright piano at his former home was nothing compared to this beauty in front of him. It just needed some cleaning to be grand once more.

Wordlessly, he lifted the cover up, and he stared at the ivory keys, impressed that they hadn’t yellowed with age, and the black keys that punctuated the overall appearance. He glided his fingers over the smooth and cold keys, and he mentally began to hum a song, a Beethoven sonata he loved, and he could see the notes arrange themselves in front of him as his fingers moved on their own to their starting positions. His right foot found the pedal it automatically sought out, and he began to play.

He could no longer hear James’ loud laughter; he only heard the song that was coming from the piano, the song he was playing from memory and from his heart. Yes, he’d always hated those recital outfits, and he didn’t want to admit he could play since it was something his parents had forced him into, but despite everything, he loved the piano. It was an outlet for him and it was something that allowed him to be him.

When he came to the end of the song, he stilled his hands, his fingers still curved, and he opened his eyes. He glanced at James, whose mouth was opened wide, whose eyes were large behind his spectacles.

Sirius broke the silence. “Well?”

James closed his mouth and a slow smirk came onto his lips. “Well, poncy or not, I’m impressed!”

“Only impressed?” Sirius raised his eyebrow, moved the bench back a bit, and pulled James in front of him. He tugged James’ head close to his and said, “How about I show you another use for a piano . . . which will leave you not only impressed, but it will be a concerto for you to remember?”

“You seem too cocky about that,” James quipped back.

“Cocky? Why, Prongs, my boy, that’s an excellent choice of word.” Sirius moved until only a hair separated his and James’ lips. “An excellent choice.”

“Well, Padfoot, will you just fucking snog me already?”

Sirius pushed James back, ignoring the loud cacophony James’ arse made on the key. “I will, but I want to hear you serenade me . . . with your arse. And then I want you to give me a wonderful cantata of how much you worship me when I suck that gorgeous cock of yours.”

He heard James’ breath hitch. “Fine, Sirius, fine. If it’s a sexy symphony you want, then I’ll give you one hell of a show.”