She's always thought that James Potter has an uncommonly attractive face.
It's not that it's classically handsome, per se; his nose is a bit wonky after a Bludger to the face that one memorable Quidditch match, his chin's a bit too square, and the hair is practically hopeless.
But there's something about it. It's - well, the best way she can think to put it (during all the distracted History of Magic classes she's spent staring at the back of his head and trying to rationalise exactly how a prat with a head the size of Jupiter who is not even remotely as fit as Robby Benson can seem even vaguely attractive) is that for some reason, you can't look away from him. He goes around like he deserves everyone's attention, and much as it irritates her, it works. When James Potter is in the room, everyone knows, and everyone cares.
And then there's the other things. The animated way he talks, pulling faces and waving his arms around; how his cheeks are almost permanently flushed from all the running around he does with his friends doing Merlin knows what; the brown-green-blue of his eyes, when you get close enough to see them, startlingly intense.
His lips.
She can't stop thinking about his bloody lips.
They're just - perfect. They're a really nice pair of lips. If there was a beauty pageant for lips, James Potter would win hands down. They're nicely shaped, perfectly symmetric, not chapped at all (which is surprising considering the amount of time he spends zooming about in gale force winds), and when he smiles - god, when he smiles, they curve up in this utterly enticing way, friendly and impish and just absolutely perfect, and the truth is, she's never wanted to kiss any pair of lips more than she's wanted to kiss the lips that belong to James Potter.
She'd thought it was bad back when she hated him. She'd turned the ability to absolutely loathe someone while still wanting to snog their face off into an art form. She'd spent hours convincing herself that it was perfectly possible to divorce a good pair of lips from the wanker they belonged to, and she'd painstakingly turned the irritation he provoked every day without fail into a shield to prevent herself from even thinking about them. It wasn't fun, but she'd made it work.
Now, though, they're friends. She doesn't know quite how it happened, but he is somehow far less annoying than he used to be, and he makes her laugh, and she turns around one day and thinks oh shit, because James Potter is her friend and she still really wants to kiss him and he keeps talking to her and smiling at her and she's losing her mind.
It's not obvious. She's got enough self control to force herself not to stare when they're having a conversation, but she's always aware that they're there, and frankly, the effort she puts into not looking at his lips practically outweighs the effort she puts into school. Her third-year self would be absolutely horrified.
The only thing to do, she decides, is to get it out of her system.
James stopped asking her out ages ago, so he clearly doesn't like her romantically any more. This is a good thing, she reckons, because it's not like she wants to go out with James, really, she just wants to snog his brains out. There won't be any awkward emotions; they'll just get off with each other and then move on, friendship intact.
So one day, during patrols, she makes her move.
"Hey - so I've been thinking, and we should kiss."
"Mmm," he responds distantly, and she smirks, waiting for the penny to drop. Sure enough, he soon stops stock still. "Wait, what?"
She halts, too, and turns to face him, heart pounding in her chest. She's not sure why, exactly; it's not like she's asking him out or anything. One good clean kiss, and it'll all be over with.
"I think - well, I've been thinking about it for a while, and I reckon that it would be a good idea."
"A good idea?" he repeats, looking nonplussed.
"Yeah, why not? I'm a good kisser, you're a good kisser - well, that's what I've been told, Sadie Sanders from the year above mentioned it and Anna told me all about it while you were going out, I don't know first hand obviously, but anyway, I just think, you know, it's a waste of a good - mmpf!"
James Potter's lips are a good pair of lips, but without a doubt they are at their best when they are on hers, she decides deliriously.
But then - oh, but then, she's about to pull away reluctantly, plan carried out and job done, when he brings one hand up to cradle her jaw and puts his other arm around her to wind in her hair, and it's just so, so tender, and he's kissing her like they're having a conversation, like he's smiling and laughing and telling her all those things that she found it so difficult to concentrate on because of his bloody lips, and she doesn't just want to snog his brains out after all. She wants to snog his brains out and go out with him, to be able to stop those infernal lips with a kiss whenever she damn well pleases, to be able to talk to him and laugh with him and kiss him until she's lightheaded, and oh, but this is a kiss for the ages.
When they break apart, James rests his forehead on hers, and smiles, hazel eyes staring into hers.
"Merlin. You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that."
She returns the smile, and tilts her head up to press another soft kiss onto his lips.
"Oh, believe me. I understand."
A/N: Originally written for tistheseasontokilljily on my tumblr, with the prompt: Cheiloproclitic - Being attracted to someones lips. (It better be jily 3)
This is by far the sappiest, fluffiest thing I've ever written. Also, 'get off' means 'make out' in British slang, for any confused international readers. Hope you liked it!
Oh, I forgot to say, the title is from 'Fire' by Bruce Springsteen. Though I'm not a fan of the lyrics of the song (no means no and all), I couldn't help but feel it was sort of perfect :)