She was content to focus on the way his fingers were moving. That was about it.
She was tired; he was tired but trying to hide it. This was his idea, or so she kept saying. They were already pushing it with their sneaking nighttime rendezvous. But his roommates all had papers and took a much needed all-nighter in the library, though she gently reminded him, repeatedly, he probably needed it as well.
They were pushing away the real world, burrowed in blankets with the curtains drawn around them, the room making shadow puppets in the walls of their little tent. Deep in a warm little bundle, together.
She mewled as his slipped his hand in her knickers, finding exactly what he expected (he had kept her waiting a while, the tease) and sliding his fingers through the wet invitation between her thighs. She gasped, head falling back on the pillows, legs writhing.
He chuckled from the spot behind her ear, lifting himself on his other elbow to look at her. Her eyes were shut tight, but she could sense him watching her. She buried her face in his shoulder to muffle the noise as he located her clit, circling it. She hid her face. She hated when he watched her reactions. She had no control over them when he did…that.
Merlin. She squirmed even more as he pushed a digit into her, already curling deliciously just where it needed to. She dared a glance up at him. He was grinning slyly, eyes locked on her hips bucking and trying to gain some friction, and upper hand, anything.
He caught her eye, smiling at her cheekily.
You fucking love this. His eyes said. You fucking love me.
She wanted to shake her head, push him away, and prove him wrong.
Instead she lay there, accepting his wandering hands and his smug, smug, ability to make her come undone with barely a touch, a ghost of a whisper. And she was hooked.
She didn't want him to know how much she needed this, how she'd always need it. He knew, they both knew and accepted it. Him more willingly than her. But splayed out and vulnerable, wanting it, needing it, was too much for her. It drove her red in the face, sputtering, choking; ashamed.
She needed him.
He watched her reactions, every little bite of her lip and furrow of her brow and flinch and quiver and moan. He read them, devoured them, studied them, loved them. He loved her. She pretended she didn't know it. All of this would be so much harder to bear if she admitted he loved her.
She hid in his neck again; kissing the soft skin.
"Just let me look at you." he said quietly.
"I don't want you to see…"
His finger thrusted a bit rougher and continued to caress her as she liked best. She gasped and let out a moan, uncontrolled. She blushed purple. "I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize. It's not like I'm turned off by your moaning into my shoulder. I want to see. It's sexy."
She shook her head. "I probably look stupid."
He kissed her gently. "No, it's more like…I get to see what I'm doing to you. I'm getting a reaction."
She bit her lip.
"Don't you trust me?" his hand stilled for a moment.
They didn't speak like this. They used "want you, fuck you, touch you," but not trust. Not love. Not quite.
She trusted him. With every bit of her body she would do as he asked. She hated it.
"I trust you." she said quietly, nodding her head.
Her head stayed on the pillow, looking up at him wide eyed, not sure what to do in front of her audience.
He continued his movements inside her, distracting her into moaning and making her breathy pleas that he never usually got to hear. He silently cursed her for hoarding them, for hiding them from him.
His thumb brushed over her clit, a second finger joined the fold, and the right pressure was applied. She was riding high, in a state of bliss she never wanted to accept, she always fought till the last possible second.
He needed her. So as she wriggled away and back again, thrusting herself into his hand and lifting her hips away, he decided.
Her eyes were shut tight; she chewed on her lip and gasped out. She was so close.
"Hey, Evans, you wanna marry me?"
Fallen from her high, she pushed herself up on her elbows. "What?" she asked faintly.
Her swollen lips suddenly felt dry, her tongue ran along them nervously. They pursed. Her eyes searched his.
"What did you say?" she breathed out. Her heart stopped beating.
His clean hand or, his unoccupied hand brushed her hair out of her face.
"I haven't a ring." He apologized. "I haven't much to offer you. But I want to have you." his eyes glinted under his glasses, they lost their joking light. This was serious. They weren't supposed to be serious together. They were supposed to be snarky and wry and 'who had the upper hand now'. They were supposed to be fighting for the sake of proving how smart they were, how passionate, how hot-headed how…
Alike.
They were so alike.
"This is the right time to ask?" she said, struck dumb.
His hand twitched and he rested on her thigh. Despite the situation she mourned it leaving her.
"No, not at all, for any respectable couple. But…this, between us, feels right. I know you better here than anywhere else. And I want this, Merlin, Lily; I want you to make me feel safe every night. I want you to be mine."
"I am." She breathed out, before she wanted to. "I love you."
"I love you, more than anything." He swore. "And I'll be yours, and I'll take care of you. Is that a yes?"
She pulled him over her, face to face, so close she feels trapped by it. It felt good, rolling through her spine to the tips of her toes, being trapped under James Potter.
"You're so good." She whimpered. "Too good." She kissed him, pressing her forehead to his. He looked at her and she knows the question. She nodded.
"In here, no one can touch us." She promised solemnly.
"As long as I can touch you." he teased, and she smiled, laughing like a stream of water, pulling him into a kiss.
"Make me yours, I wanna see your face when you come." She said boldly.
He grinned proudly. "I wanna see yours, Mrs. Potter."