James takes the stairs one at a time, carefully, dragging his feet that are as heavy as sandbags while trying to squint away the blurriness that is eating away at his vision. His head is spinning, and slanting and grating and doing everything else that makes him unbalanced.
His hand is running along the wall, taking in the texture of the striped wallpaper, acting as a stabilizer, guiding him to his room safely.
The house is quiet. It must be early in the morning.
The party is over.
He laughs – pretty loudly only he doesn't realize it – at something he remembers happening that night and nearly trips over his shoes.
"Oh, shit…"
His stomach is starting to take cues from his head but throwing up here would do more harm than good. His mother likes to pretend she has a gift for household spells but she really doesn't and if the carpet is stained, James wouldn't be seeing Hogwarts until he scrubbed it out.
He levels his breathing. Deep breaths… Deep breaths… you're not new to liquor, Prongs. But he is new to this type and this quantity. He should've listened to Monte.
His bedroom door is before him, so no worries. He'll sleep it off; he's got no pressing plans tomorrow.
Sweaty hands, uneven vision, hysterical laughter, it's a wonder he gets the door open.
He stumbles in, discarding his obnoxious Christmas sweater and tweed slacks as he's hot now. Too hot. He's left in his long-sleeved cotton undershirt and his festive candy cane patterned boxers. His hair matted to his forehead with sweat.
He goes to the frost covered window and presses his cheek against it, enjoying how it makes his hot body feel cool.
There are fingers, dancing their way underneath his shirt and up his back, walking around his sides and across his belly.
He turns around.
Monte is standing behind him. ."I must say that these are perfect, if not a little ironic." He pulls the waistband of James' boxers and lets it go.
"Monte? W-Why're you in… in my house?" he slurs, swallowing a lump in his throat.
"You're in my room," he replies croakily, his lips forming a half sneer that is unnaturally sexy.
And so he is. He recognizes everything; Monte's wardrobe, his bureau, his bed, his side table where one sole candle flickers.
"Why are you here, James?"
He's staring; at the disheveled hair that hangs in his face, his bedroom eyes, thickly lashed and heavy, seductive, his pouted lips, parted. "I don't know, I thought…"
The hand on his belly moves to his face to remove his glasses. "Merlin, I hate when you do that."
"Do you really?" They are fully facing each other, James' glasses are thrown on the bureau, and now two hands have his waist captive, thumbs rubbing circles on his flesh.
James swallows again. His heart rate has increased tenfold. "Yeah, I do."
"Why?"
"Cause, it makes me – "
Monte moves his hand swiftly to cover James' eyes, tilting his head back till it touches the window.
"Excited?" A soft mouth pressed against his ear, warm breath making his hair stand on end. It sends a vibration straight down to his toes, a spark that makes him shudder.
The mouth is gone. If he were to name his weakness, this would be it.
He doesn't know where he will be touched next. Anticipation makes him hyper aware of every single inch of his body.
Where?
Where?
A very wet kiss on his neck, tongue swirling circles on his oh so sensitive weak point. How did Monte know! He gasps, his mouth remaining open. "Oh, god." his hands fumble to hug Monte and draw him closer, to touch him more, to feel him more.
"Why can't you admit you want this?" Monte whispers against his neck, slowly and torturously licking in firm strokes. James whimpers.
"Admit it."
A semi-shake of his head. No.
Monte tugs his hair, pushing his head back roughly and bites just above his collarbone. Hard. A mark will be there.
"Admit it."
"No." He says it this time, albeit softly.
"No?"
"No."
The hand slides from his head, down his shoulders and holds his hand in place behind his back.
"No?" Monte repeats, coming closer, touching their noses.
"No." James' other hand is now pinned behind his back as well. He can open his eyes now but Monte is a blurry outline without his glasses so it doesn't matter.
"No?" Monte runs his tongue along James' lower lip and bites it softly. A throaty moan and whimper combined escapes James' throat. This is no time to be embarrassed, if he had the capacity he would be though.
"N-No. No. No- unnghh."
Monte rubs his hips against James' and there is no more breath in his body, no more thoughts in his head, only a very small part of his pride is left.
"No. No."
Monte rubs against him again.
"No. No…"
And again.
And then a moment goes by where Monte does nothing and James swallows thickly, missing the contact, the jolts that electrify his body with small spasms of pleasure, the friction. It feels so fucking unreal, better than anything ever felt in his life, but…. No. He's not like this. No.
Why isn't Monte moving? Christ!
But he doesn't want this! He doesn't!
"I don't – " Monte's tongue invades his mouth the same time he crushes their hips together and that's the end.
"Yes…." James concedes. He's lost and he doesn't even care. "Yes…yes."
"Yes?" Monte confirms, smiling against his lips.
"Yes, a thousand fucking yes, Gabriel. Yes. Just-just don't stop."
Monte kisses him again slowly, sliding his hand between them.
The candle goes out.
Yes.
Yes.
"Shit. Shit Shit."
"James, honey you okay?"
James was on the ground, dressed only in his boxers, his sheets tangled in his legs and around his torso.
"James?"
"I'm fine mum, okay. Stop knocking." James held a hand to his chest, his heart hammering, mouth dry and a pounding in his head that quite matched pummeling his mother was inflicting on his door. Sweat flecked his face like tiny beads.
"I heard mumbling… you sure?"
"Mum I'm fine!" he shouted. Wasn't she going to go away! Never had he even been so thankful that they respected his privacy when he reached a certain age. This would not be something he'd like her to walk in on.
Sunlight streaked into his bedroom bringing the grim realization with it. He'd just had an erotic dream about a boy. And not just any boy.
He ran his fingers through his hair, pulling hard enough to bring tears to his eyes but then stopped when it reminded him of that particular scene from the dream – which he could recall with stunning clarity.
He would not comment on the tent in his pants, far more impressive than when he had questionable dreams about Lily Evans, nor the fluttering in his stomach that would take a while to subside. Needless to say, he took a shower immediately with the water being the coldest it could be without freezing him alive.
XD what do you guys think?