He loves the lace, she can tell by the way that he runs his fingers along it every few seconds. And he'll probably love it even more, she thinks privately, when their guests have left and he's peeling off her nice lacy, white dress with his teeth. But she tries not to think about that. Because she should be paying attention to Padfoot's speech. But it's very hard when James – her husband, my god she has a husband – fingers the lace at her wrist. And then at her ribcage. And then her mind is cleared of all thoughts except for his hands.
And then they're having their first dance as husband and wife, and his hands find the lace that covers her back, sending a shiver down her spine. He knows what he's doing to her, she can tell by the smirk, so she presses her lips against his neck and then breathes into his ear what exactly she is going to do to him later that night. He takes a sharp intake of breath, pulls her a little closer, and she knows that she has him. Just like she will always have him. But then he's playing with the lace at the small of her back and she knows that he's always going to have her too.
It's time for cake, and her hand rests on his thigh as they eat, his on her side. She loves it whenever he touches her, and she knows that she evokes the same reaction out of him. There's no one in this world that she loves and trusts more than James – no one that she would rather spend the rest of her life with, or rather have running their hands along her lacy dress.
She and Mary sure as hell picked a winner all of those months ago when they went dress shopping.
Just then she makes eye contact with her maid of honor, and the dark-haired girl smirks at her, knowing exactly what is going on between the bride and groom. She wants to shout across the room, to tell Mary, that it's the bloody lace, and how she now needs to go out and replace her entire wardrobe with lace.
"You look really beautiful," he suddenly whispers in her ear, and she turns to her husband and just laughs because he looks so lustful and mischievous and positively boyish.
She grabs the hand that is currently tickling her side, and kisses its palm. "You too," she tells him, and she means it.
He lets out a laugh, the kind of laugh that she married him for. "So you think I'm beautiful?" His hand is now strategically placed on her inner thigh; she tries not to gasp too loudly.
"You're always beautiful to me."
Before she knows it, all of the guests have left. And she's pushing him on a bed. And kissing him all over. His hands continue to find their way around her body, to ghost over every portion of her that is and isn't covered by lace.
"So if you haven't already noticed," he says in between kisses, "I really like the lace."
She laughs and rolls her hips against his, producing a moan from them both.
"Oh I noticed alright," she murmurs into his lips. But then she sits up, suddenly, breaking the kiss and they're both gasping for breath.
"Wanna help me take it off?"
A/N: Day 4 of Jily Week on tumblr! The prompt was Wedding - hope that you enjoyed it (even though I'm a bit embarrassed about posting this since I've never written anything like it and like it's not even that explicit but I'm still nervous and whatever?)!
Disclaimer: Didn't own Harry Potter yesterday, don't own it today, won't own it tomorrow.
