When Gryffindor wins their Quidditch match, the after party takes a turn it never has before, but it might not end the way James or Lily had hoped. An extract from a few chapters into my longer fic that I haven't got around to writing the rest of yet. I was just inspired and wanted to write some Jily fluff, and semi-smut, so here you go! Let me know what you think :D

"You didn't believe we could do it, did you?" James grinned. His high cheekbones were flushed bright red, and a light sheen of sweat covered his forehead. His maroon robes clung to his chest, and his hair plastered his forehead. Lily laughed.

"I did so believe it! I just said that Ravenclaw had a good team this year!"

"You lost faith! But we won anyway!" He teased. The light of his victory kindled a fire in his brown eyes, and he locked them onto her green ones. His wide smile wavered as he stared at her intently. Her hair was mussed up from the wind, a single red strand flying in from of her face and he itched to tuck it behind her ear. His calloused fingers clenched and unclenched with the effort of holding them by his sides.

She held his stare, a bright blush colouring her face, clashing with her hair. Attempting to clear his throat, James coughed.

"So…you're coming to the celebration party right?" He choked out hoarsely.

"I…yeah, I guess," she smiled shyly. Lily wasn't used to feeling shy around James; the feeling was so alien to her she didn't know how to act.

Impulsively, James chuckled and lunged to hug her. She squealed, surprised, and laughed, lifting her legs off the floor so he bore her full weight. If he noticed, he took it in his stride, spinning her around right on the pitch. He put her down suddenly, and she stumbled, clutching his arm to steady herself. She let go quickly, realising what she'd done and feeling embarrassed. She needn't have been. He wasn't looking at her, his gaze trained instead on the ground.

"I'd better go get my broom," he said, not quite looking at her. "I'll see you at the party."

"Uh, okay," she responded, surprised how the conversation had turned awkward so abruptly. She turned, and ran off to meet Dorcas and Marlene.

—

"Ow, get off my hair!" Dorcas screeched.

"Sorry!" Marlene said. "It's not my fault it's so damn frizzy. Sleakeazy's can only do so much!" She wielded a hair brush menacingly in Lily's direction. "And don't you dare ruin your makeup. Don't touch it, you look great."

The trio had turned Lily's bedroom and bathroom into a dressing room, spreading makeup and hair products all over, and various clothing items were strewn haphazardly over the bed. Marlene and Dorcas had forced Lily into a green dress and wrestled her red hair into soft waves framing her petite face. Dorcas's hair refused to be tamed, but even so her curvy silhouette was brought out beautifully by her shift dress. And Marlene – Marlene as always looked stunning with her sultry almond eyes and porcelain skin.

"I give up," Marlene sighed. "It's a lost cause even for my talents." Dorcas poked out her pointy tongue to Marlene's reflection, and turned to face Lily.

"Are we ready?"

"I guess, yeah." Lily fiddled nervously with her hands, not sure why apprehension tied into her stomach.

"Okay. Let's go."

—

A few floors up, James' head was already hazy from one too many butterbeers, but he was by no means the most intoxicated in the room. The chandelier was out, and the stone walls of the circular Gryffindor common room glowed with the light from the fire and the few sconces that were lit, casting dim shadows onto peoples faces and bringing out the best of people, dimming imperfections. An air of victory hung in the air, everyone proud and happy, even the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws that no one minded letting in that evening. Music played loudly from an old gramophone in an alcove, and most of the usual furniture had disappeared somewhere to make room for a dance floor, only the armchairs and sofas by the fire remaining. One or two people had already collapsed into them, either relaxing or passed out, James couldn't tell. He didn't spare too much though for it.

In the dark corners of the room, where the faint light didn't reach, couples explored the deepest recesses of each other's mouth in an intoxicated stupor, and James assumed that Sirius was somewhere in there. Remus had already been missing for around an hour, and Peter had passed out upstairs after his third butterbeer.

Every few minutes, the portrait opened, the Fat Lady having taken a night off, and the door was on a figurative latch. James barely took notice of the comings and goings until he caught sight of a flash of red hair in the firelight. Unhindered by his usual inhibitions, and the alcohol giving him the push he needed, he followed the trail of red. Forcing through the tight throng, he found her by the beverages. Before he said anything, he picked up a shot of what he assumed was Firewhiskey and downed it in one. The bitter liquid ignited his throat and he coughed, before picking up another. Satisfied he was sufficiently inebriated to carry out his intentions, he moved towards her, tapping her shoulder.

She turned, her green skirts swirling, and her hair whipping across her face. As it had earlier, a strand of coppery hair stuck to her lip, but this time he had the nerve to gently move it. He reached out his hand, oh so delicately, and moved the strand.

"James," she breathed.

"Hi," he smiled lopsidedly. He offered her the second Firewhiskey shot to her. "Firewhiskey?"

She hesitated. "I…sure. Thanks." With a proficiency that betrayed her straight-edge image, she downed it. "Bluergh," she blanched. "Why do people drink this stuff?"

James smirked. "Not for the taste, that's for sure. Listen, Lily? Do you want to dance?"

She looked taken aback. "Okay."

He boldly took her hand, and led her to the centre of the room as an up tempo song blasted from the gramophone. Within her, Lily could feel the effect of the Firewhiskey, combined with the butterbeer she'd had, taking hold, dulling the lines of her vision and making colours brighter, and ideas seem better. She held tightly to James' hand, not realising how much he'd been keeping her balanced until he let go.

She stumbled, putting out her hands in front of her to right herself on the nearest available surface. Only when she looked up did she realise she'd planted her palms directly onto James's chest. Intoxication fumbled her thoughts, but she could distinctly feel his taut muscles beneath her fingers; she didn't move her hands. Instead she traveled her gaze upwards from James's chest to his face, only to find him looking at her intently. He looked at her hungrily, his hazel eyes tracing over every eyelash, each freckle, past the blush of her cheeks, the baby hairs at her temples, all the way down to the curve of her Cupid's bow and the pink of her lips.

"Lily…" He whispered.

"Mm?" Lily could feel her composure slipping, gliding peacefully along down a butterbeer river, towards a drop she knew would come soon. And she couldn't quite bring herself to care. She was a legal adult, after all; no one in the room that night would give a second look to a drunk head girl as long as she didn't embarrass herself too much. Besides, Lily was quite enjoying letting go for once, and dancing with James.

"You look beautiful." The way he said it was so matter of fact that it took Lily a full few seconds to realise what he'd said. She flushed. Embarrassed, she looked away from him, at her feet, and took her hands off of his chest.

James felt his cheeks colour up, realising he might have gone too far, pushed her too soon. But before an apology, or even another thought, could formulate in his head, he felt a soft pressure on his lips. He tasted butterbeer and bitter alcohol and smelled vanilla perfume all at once. Lily, too short to reach him otherwise, was on her tiptoes, and her mouth pressed against James' for just a second, a short second. But to James, as he would later relay to Remus, it felt like the accumulation of millions of moments and glances and daydreams all brought into one perfect moment. Though if you'd asked him at that very moment what his thoughts were, they would have been far less coherent and much less poetic.

In shock, James broke away, and the first thing he saw was the hurt in her eyes. A glint in the green from the sting of rejection, and she turned, horrified, and ran. He slapped himself.
'Why? Why did you pull away?' He thought viciously. He followed her. He chased her red hair through the crowd, pushing and pulling and forcing his way through, desperate to get to her and not lose her. And he did, for a moment. She disappeared, her normally red vivid hair invisible in the red glow of the fire lit room and the colours of Gryffindor pride all around. He looked all across the room, spinning helplessly, his eyes searching and raking the crowd desperately. Only in his periphery did he see the portrait swing shut, and followed his instinctive Evans-radar out the door.

Once he was out there, the corridor was empty, but a small tapestry on one wall was tucked up at the bottom, and he knew she'd be behind it (though he couldn't have told you how). He pulled it aside, and ducked under the intricate thread work. As he'd known she would be, Lily was there. She was leaning against the wall, drying her eyes surreptitiously, and looking at him expectantly. As if she'd known he'd follow. Frankly, he thought, she probably did know he'd follow. Unpredictability wasn't James's strong point, especially in matters concerning Lily.

"Yes?" She said.

"I'm sorry—I didn't mean—I…" He mumbled, trailing off, his coherence hanging by a thread, aided both by the copious amounts of liquor in his bloodstream, and his proximity to Lily. When he let the tapestry drop back to hide them, the only illumination was a single candle in a holder on the far wall.

"It's fine. I shouldn't—I'm a bit tipsy," she said slowly, taking care over the words as if trying them out in her mouth, rolling them over her tongue. "I'm never drunk. Well, hardly ever."

"Mm," James took a deep breath. He stepped closer to her. She could feel the intoxicated heat coming off of him, smell the sweet scent of his sweat and the clean cotton smell of his shirt. She moved from the wall, closing the gap between them slowly. Five inches. Four inches. Three. Two. One. She looked up at him, placing her hands on his chest once again. She looked at his eyes with a careful, measured gaze. His pupils dilated more and more the closer she got, his breaths shortening each time. "We should set an example. You know, Head Boy, Head Girl." She titled her head up.

"Maybe you're right," he whispered. He leant down. Their noses brushed, leaving Lily's freckled nose tingling from his touch. "But I don't care." His eyelashes fluttered on her cheek, and she gasped. Her breath felt hot on his neck, and she could feel his hands on her back like feathers, his fingers running over her spine like water. She pulled him closer, the inch between them too much, her hands bunching in his shirt to get a grip on him.

His lips were soft and plump and on hers in a second. She could feel his tentativeness, and tiptoed even higher to deepen the kiss and get closer to him. She opened his mouth with her own, and tangled her fingers in his hair. His calloused Chaser hands ran through her hair, gripping her like she was about to disappear forever. He pressed her back against the wall, the rough stone scratching at her but she didn't notice. All the could comprehend was the pressure of James's lips and the fact that he was the only thing keeping her legs from buckling underneath her.

He ripped his mouth from hers and traced butterfly kisses up her jaw, and down her neck all the way along her collarbone. Lily took in a sharp gasp of air, and wrenched his lips back to hers again, furiously kissing him, her hands running up and down his arms and chest and back. Her hair tangled in between them, getting in the way of their mouths. She pulled away reluctantly, tucking it behind her ears. When she turned back to him, he had moved back slightly.

"What? What is it?" She said breathlessly, breathing heavily and trying to regain composure.

He looked pained. "You're drunk, Lily. And so am I. This is a bad idea."

Lily looked down at her shoes. An unexpected anger, and something else, bubbled in the pit of her stomach. Refusing to look at him, she replied bitterly. "I suppose."

"I'll go." He turned, reluctantly, to duck out of the alcove. He turned back, the tapestry held in one hand. "Lily?"

"What?" She said, a little too vehemently.

"I…" He seemed to change his mind, wrestling internally. "—nothing." He left.

—-

HOPE YOU LIKE IT! please, please R&R to let me know I should continue writing my multi chapter fic! follow me for more jily :D