Hello again! I'm back with another sense (it, and I'm not even joking, woke me up this morning, so I had to write it ASAP if I wanted any peace). This style is a little bit different from what I usually write, but this is how it came to me and I wanted to try it out. Let me know what you think.
Disclaimer: most unfortunately, I cannot claim credit for these beautiful people.
When she moved, it was like heaven and earth had been set on fire.
The sun blazed through her bright red hair as she ran, the strands turning to liquid gold and molten lava and exploding the world in his vision until all he saw was her.
He was chasing her down to the beech tree, their beech tree, by the Black Lake. She'd challenged him, said she could beat him there, and took off running before he'd finished shoving the rest of his breakfast in his mouth. And now the air was tearing through his lungs and his muscles were warm and elastic with exertion and he'd forgotten how glorious this could be, especially when you're running towards her.
She wasn't a prize, not something to be won, she was everything, and when she turned and beamed at him after slapping her hands against the bark of their tree, her chest heaving with effort, he slowed only to avoid hurting her when he caught her around the waist and pressed her back into the tree.
That poor tree had seen everything, but James knew that if it could see the way Lily was looking at him right now, that it wouldn't mind what they'd gotten up to underneath it last week. The early morning sun, still cast with reds and oranges, moved like water across her skin and she was molten under its rays. Her cheeks, flush with the run, bloomed, already, with freckles from the newly summer sun and he thought he saw more sprouting across the bridge of her nose, the column of her neck, the ridges of her collarbone as he looked at her.
Her eyes, though, her eyes were what always did him in and this moment was no exception. The dark emeralds of her irises were liquid - they darkened as she trailed her eyes over him, letting them linger and set wildfires on his skin; they sparked and exploded with gold as she laughed, the vibrancy of the sound working its way into her eyes and it was impossible not to look at her when every inch of her sang with joy; when she was angry, they burned hot and bright and fast, her temper flaring up and burning out nearly instantaneously, but not without great dramatic effect in the interim; when she said she loved him, words he still couldn't believe she directed at him, they burned a slow, barely controlled burn, the heat and desire and hopes and dreams and everything she wanted for them dancing on the edges of her irises, threatening to escape and overrun them both at any moment and James knew that he wouldn't mind, not one bit, to fall into that fire with her.
And now, now she was looking at him with a look so overwhelming that James was surprised to realise that the entire universe hadn't come crumbling down around their feet and left only the two of them. Her eyes were like Bonfire Night, the gold and green exploding in her eyes and burning into his memory, his heart, his skin, his soul, into every single part of him and as she moved her eyes over him, the laughter, the gasping breath draining from both of them, her eyes caught fire and James felt like they'd lit fuses on all his nerve endings and exploded him into action.
He closed his eyes and pressed his mouth to hers and even though he couldn't see her, feeling her, tasting her was almost like seeing her because he knew her so well now that he could trace the outlines of her with the tip of his tongue and the pads of his fingers. He weaved his fingers into her hair and saw her running towards the lake, her hair tangling in the wind as she picked up speed so he wouldn't overtake her. He traced his tongue along her bottom lip and saw her drinking four cups of tea with breakfast that morning, her hands trembling as she set the Prophet down on the table, chugged the last gulp of tea, and stood, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck before whispering that he couldn't beat her to their tree. Her hands, firm and purposeful now, pressed into his hips and pulled him against her, and he saw her hands in all their machinations and his blood raced with potential.
As she molded him against her he was struck by how new it all felt, how no amount of experience, no depth of knowledge would make his skin cool, his thoughts more coherent, his blood run slower when she was here, when he was with her like this and he wondered if it would always be that way, if she would always be able to bring him to his knees, to the brink, to something bigger and more fantastic than his own apparently mediocre life. He'd traced every inch of her skin, knew it like his own, but every time still felt like the first time and he never felt like he knew her well enough. He supposed the practice of years would carve well-worn paths into both their bodies, but he also knew that she was an expert at keeping him on his toes and that he would always, always want more of her.
He pulled away, his breath crashing into his lungs like a tidal wave and clearing his mind of everything but her, right now, this moment. Her eyes flickered open and she grinned, his heart faltering in his chest for just an instant before taking off again at breakneck speed. "I told you I could beat you," she said, her breath was coming in smaller and smaller waves but her eyes were still alight with want, desire, mischief (a look he was sure he was wearing in his own eyes) and she didn't push him away, didn't move her hands from underneath the back of his shirt. Instead she traced her fingertips over his back, outlining the broad muscles he earned after years of quidditch and a gangly, awkward pubescence. He pressed his hips against hers and she cocked an eyebrow at him, her eyes shining with amusement, "Half? That's all I get? I really need to step up my game."
They laughed, his chest vibrating against hers as she moved her hands between them and began tracing the planes of his stomach. "I think we've given this poor tree enough of a show, don't you?" he asked, smirking at her. She sighed, "I suppose," and dipped her fingers into the waistband of his trousers and spun them, so he was pressed against the tree. She pulled her hands from his skin and laid them on his chest, her fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt as she pulled his mouth down to hers, briefly, just long enough to make him weak in the knees again, like the ground was crumbling beneath his feet.
She pulled back and he caught her around the waist, pressed his forehead to hers, let his eyes scorch the earth of her skin. "I love you, Evans," he reached up and brushed his thumb across the apple of her cheek, moving his fingers down her neck and tangling them in her hair, "I love you so bloody much and I don't know how to tell you except to say that I do." Lily flushed, the light rose of her cheeks warming him, spurring him on, "You make me that happiest, the very, very happiest in the entire world. And one day," James' eyes searched hers, the slowly burning emerald fire lighting him ablaze, "I'm going to ask you to marry me."
She flushed a deeper red, "James," she said, her voice, and the hands against his chest trembling, "we're barely eighteen."
He brought both hands to her face, his thumbs brushing against her cheeks and the tips of his fingers tangling in her hair, "I don't care. I love you, Lily. I love you and if you'll have me, if you'll let me pester you for the rest of our lives," she laughed then and James grinned and pressed a swift kiss to her lips, "I'm going to ask you. Not now, not while we're here at school, but I'm going to ask you. I just wanted you to know that."
She studied him for a moment, her gaze, as always, unsettling him, stopping his heart, lifting him up, making him soar with happiness, and then she grinned. "Well, I guess I could wait a little while longer… but," she cocked her eyebrow at him and her grin became a mischievous smirk, "don't make me wait too long."
James smiled so broadly he thought his face might crack in half and whispered, "Not a chance," and caught her lips with his. And this moment, like so many others, burned itself into his memory, the vision of her, eyes blazing into his, his fingers tangled in her hair, her cheeks alight with freckles and flushed with love, and James knew he would never, ever see anything more glorious.
Until next time xx