Room Service

Chapter 23

Oct 23 | Part 1

"Ready?"

"Honestly?" She swallows to try and get rid of the dryness in her mouth. "No."

"What are you scared about?"

"Um—" A heavy exhale. "Have you ever even ridden a bike?"

James shrugs casually. "Not exactly. But it can't be too difficult, I reckon."

Immediately, her eyes bug out. "What the fuck? James!"

"I'm teasing, Evans! Of course, I've ridden a bike before. Relax." He laughs, putting on his helmet; wild hair hidden from sight. When Lily remains sitting stiffly behind him, he leans back slightly, one hand comfortingly sliding up to rest over her knee, the skin there bared to the cool October air. Thanks to how she straddles the seat of the bike, her dress and coat pool around as she keeps her heeled feet firmly locked on the bars on either side. His touch, strangely enough, relaxes and burns at the same time, and a smile flitters over his lips when goosebumps sprinkle under his fingers. "Cold?"

"Very," she deadpans, clipping on her helmet.

"Hold on tight, then. It'll help you stay warm."

What an arse.

She does as he says.

Begrudgingly pleased.

"You're bloody annoying, you know that?"

In lieu of an immediate response, the bike roars to life beneath them, the vibrations from the engine spreading down her limbs and sending a spark of thrill shooting up her spine. Lily grins, teeth sinking over lip, arms firm around James's torso. He'd been right, of course; she's immediately warm all over. It's like embracing a damn furnace.

A smirk thrown over his shoulder. "You like it."

He's wrong here.

She loves it.

But the affection is quickly replaced by a glittering wave of excited adrenaline when he reverses the bike out of parking, and then speeds them down the empty road, quick enough that Lily is left with no choice but to let out a shriek of delight as the wind tears at her braid. Her arms wrap around him even tighter; cold air whipping over face and eyes; body strumming with the movement of the bike underneath as James manoeuvres them through the light traffic, the lanes, past buildings that rush by in a colourful blur.

She's pretty certain he swerves and zig-zags a bit unnecessarily just to keep her deathly-hold on him persisting, but probably more tellingly than that—she doesn't mind one bit.

"All okay back there?" He shouts over the wind several minutes later, and she hears the joy in his voice.

"Yeah," she breathes. "This is fun!"

His left hand slips behind to squeeze her knee again. "Good. I'm glad!"

"I'll be even more glad if you use both of your hands to keep us alive, please!"

"Yes, ma'am," he chuckles, the sound rumbling against her warmly as he focuses on the road again.

All too soon—and much sooner than she's willing to let go of him—they arrive at her place. "You can stop here," Lily says, waiting until James pulls over near the entrance of the building before getting off the bike and smoothing down her dress. Without understanding why, a strange sort of nervousness seems to spark in her belly. "Um, so..."

"Wait." James reaches out, and her lips part slightly in anticipation, heart drumming, rapid. But his knuckles simply skim under her chin, a quick pinch of forefinger and thumb that releases the helmet she still wears. "You forgot that."

"Oh." She bites the inside of her cheek, handing the helmet over to him. "Right."

"So." James repeats, now, brows arched high. There's uncertainty flickering over his face, and she's selfishly grateful for it, because it means she's not the only one out of her depth. "Are you, um—"

"Do you want to come upstairs?" Lily blurts, cheeks already staining red. When hazel eyes widen, she fumbles, cowardly instincts kicking in under the intensity of that gaze. He reads her correctly—and that's bloody fucking terrifying. "Stay for some ice cream, if you want."

For several long seconds, he just watches her, and she knows he must see through her pathetic attempt at a cover-up, knows he must want to prod her about it further. Mercifully, he doesn't; instead, a smile spreads, slow and genuine. "I'd love some ice cream, Evans."

James Potter is in her flat.

Shoes by the door, jacket slung on the rack alongside her coat.

She blinks, and he's still there—inside the little apartment, eyes sweeping over her tiny living room, the small table she sometimes eats at when she has the patience to carry food over from the kitchen, the funky, mismatched throw pillows on her couch, the darkened space of her bedroom, door standing slightly ajar. It's like the already humble-sized flat shrinks even more in his presence.

"Well?" Lily clears her throat, keeps her voice even despite the flutter of self-consciousness at the back of her neck. "What's the verdict?"

He spins to look at her; something soft on the edge of his expression. "I just… you're real."

She huffs a laugh. "No, shite, Potter. Did you think I was an android all this time?"

A roll of his eyes. "You know that's not what I meant." When she continues to stare curiously, he runs fidgety fingers through the mop of his hair. "It's like… I've only been seeing you at the hotel so far, right? All gorgeous and cool and perfect behind the reception counter, not a hair out of place as you smile and greet everyone. But now, here, when I try to see and imagine you in this space, I realize you're… real. And you probably eat and sleep and slob around like the rest of us sometimes."

"I'm afraid so," she chuckles, "Sorry to disappoint you."

"Disappoint?" He stares at her incredulously. "No, Evans, I—it's actually… well, it makes you slightly less intimidating, to be honest."

"Intimidating? You find me intimidating?"

"Are you kidding?" And now he's laughing, a full, rich sound that she feels all the way down to her toes. Very inconvenient, that. "I've never been intimidated more by a person in my entire life. Probably."

"Right," Lily scoffs. "I'm expected to believe that when I've not been able to stop you from acting insufferably even once?"

James leans against the back of the couch, one leg bent at the knee, palms coming up to rest on either side, over the headrest. He already looks more at ease here than she feels in her own home. "That had nothing to do with you and everything to do with me acting like a prat because of how nervous you make me."

And then he's got to go and say things like that.

She pulls in a silent breath, turns away to hide the pleased blush on her skin, and walks over to the freezer to finally grab the promised ice cream. "Strawberry, alright?" she asks over her shoulder.

He nods.

"You've said that before, you know." Lily says, grabs two spoons from the kitchen counter, heart beating, unsteady. "About you being nervous around me, I mean. Why is that?"

"Why?" She takes one of the chairs around the table, waits for James to join her. He does, a small smirk curling over lips. "Are you being deliberately obtuse?"

Cheeks burn. "No, I just—"

"Well, if you must know—it's because I fancy you something mad, and that makes me act like a fucking idiot sometimes," he admits. Lily jams a spoonful of ice cream in her mouth, stares at the box in the middle of the table to avoid replying. The heat of her skin and the burst of cold flavour on her tongue makes quite the contrast, addling her brain further. James huffs from across the table, knee knocking into hers. "Come on. Surely, you cannot be surprised about that?"

She pulls away the spoon. "I'm not. Simply… affected."

"Ah." He reaches for the tub himself, takes a bite, hazel eyes sparkling. "Good affected?"

"Maybe."

The spoon remains sticking out of his mouth adorably as he considers her, dark hair flopping over forehead, glasses sitting a little crooked over nose. Lily busies herself with the ice cream again to break that stomach-fluttering stare.

"So. When were you going to tell me that you've spoken to my mother before?"

Eyes widen; throat constricting; tongue almost swallowed.

What the fuck?!

James watches on, one eyebrow cocked, smile twitching at the corner of his lips.

"I—wait, what?" she squawks. "How do you know about that? Was it Sirius?"

"No." He narrows his eyes. "Mum told me. Why didn't you?"

"Because she told me not to!" She drops the spoon back inside the tub, splays out her hands. "And I wouldn't have told you anyway, because it was a bloody mortifying conversation to have, Potter. She asked me if I thought you were attracted to someone in the hotel! What the hell was I supposed to say?"

He shrugs, now smirking. "I don't know. The truth, perhaps? It's not like you didn't know."

"Actually, I didn't," she grumbles. "I wasn't sure if that was what was bothering you anyway, and it would have been presumptuous to tell your mother, the owner of the hotel, all of that. Besides, can you imagine? I was already in such a state back then. It's a wonder I didn't have a fucking breakdown when the call—"

"Back then?" he swiftly cuts across her rant. "Are you saying—what about now, then? Have more certainty, do you?"

Lily chews over the question silently, watches him watch her.

"A bit more, yeah." And then, before he can immediately drop another question that leaves her reeling, she inclines her head towards the ice cream tub. "You done?"

The light in his eyes shifts like he sees right through her deflection. But as if truly determined to let the situation play out as Lily desires, he simply licks off his spoon one last time before dropping it inside the now-empty tub. Something bursts beneath her ribcage at the sight of him, right then, sitting around her dining table with cold-kissed cheeks, pink lips, bright eyes. And only a second more of self-assessment tells her that the feeling is unadulterated adoration.

There's a bit of ice cream clinging to the underside of his lower lip. She smiles, reaches across the tabletop, and gently swipes her thumb over the spot.

What she doesn't expect—probably should have expected, in hindsight—is for James's mouth to part under her touch, for him to draw in a silent rush of breath.

"You had some ice cream, just there," she breathes, feeling fully winded as she moves to pull back.

His fingers come up to wrap around her wrist in a flash, freeze her to the spot. "You kill me, you know? It's fucking torture," he whispers.

She swallows thickly.

And then, gaze pinned on hers, unwavering, James's lips brush over the pad of her thumb ever so lightly, warm tongue darting out, licking away the sweetness gathered there. A gasp of air hitches in her chest; heat liquifying lower, singeing every single inch of her skin, until a fire roars in her ears. She pulls back her hand as if in a daze, gets up from the chair on feet that have forgotten how to function.

"Lily?" James calls, voice tentative. The blood pounding in her face is too loud. His own cheeks have reddened. "Lily, are you—? I'm, um, I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, or—fuck, I told you I'm an idiot—"

"Shut up."

"What?"

"Shut. Up," she repeats, same whispered tone. Her fingers slant over his jaw, tilt his chin up, until all she sees is surprised gold, growing darker, watching as she leans down, brushes her nose against his. A pause, to take a breath, to give him the chance to pull away if he wants. He doesn't. And so, she closes the negligible distance, softly slants her mouth over his, tongue sliding languidly over his lower lip.

James groans, a half-anguished sound, an expulsion of hot breath, hand coming up, fingers spreading over her hip. He presses his mouth more firmly over hers; once, twice, tasting, and then—seemingly not satisfied with that—drags her down with the grip, sideways onto his lap. Lily sighs, the sound laced in relief, twists hands into his hair, tongue greedy, the frames of his glasses cool against her burning face. It feels—so familiar; so new; so maddeningly, unreally, good.

His fingers travel up her back, make swift work of the braid Mary had painstakingly threaded, and bury themselves in the thick length of her strands with contentment. "Lily," he says, kisses harder, brows stitching in strange pleasure, in pain. "Fuck, I want you."

Her heart: thundering helplessly.

"You have me." She pulls just far enough to breathe, to get the words out. "I'm sorry it's taken me so long to get here, but—" A brush of her knuckles over his lightly flushed cheekbones. James's eyelashes flutter, a gentle smile curving up under her touch. "I know what I want now. And I don't know what that looks like, at work, at the hotel, but—"

He cuts her off with another press of that perfect, soft mouth. When he looks at her again, his eyes glow brighter than she's ever seen, like warm honey and sunsets. "We don't have to worry about that right now. We'll figure it out. Yeah?"

"Thank you." Lily smiles, and then leans forward to deposit the words on his skin. "Now, kiss me, Potter."

A hand cups the back of her neck, drags her face impossibly close to his. "Thought you'd never ask."

Any cheeky response to that never makes it past the tip of her tongue, because James keeps that particular part of her rather occupied for the next several minutes; he angles her head, lips stealing breath from her lungs to the brink of collapse, only to pull back, trail open-mouthed kisses down the length of her neck, over collarbones, shoulder. "James—" her voice comes out needy when his teeth scrape momentarily over the strap of her dress; he pauses, eyes gliding up to look at her with a burning stare.

A silent question.

"Take it off," she whispers, not a waver in her tone as she holds that gaze.

Something flickers in James's eyes, then, and instead of doing as asked—when has he ever? she thinks fondly—his mouth seeks hers again, the pressure there more frantic now, one of his palms making a scorching journey up her leg, knee, thigh, the dress of her skirt bunching around his wrist. And when a soft sound of frustration clambers up her chest, vibrates against her throat, his hand curls, grips tighter on the underside of her thigh; left arm moving to slide firmly around her waist.

"Hold on," is the only warning she gets before he lifts off the chair, leaving her to hook her other leg around his back, ankles locking together as he simply resumes moving his mouth over hers, feet advancing in the direction of her bedroom. Heartbeat thundering in her ears, Lily's fingers rush to fumble over his shirt, one button falling open after another under clumsy movements, secure in the knowledge that he won't let her fall.

And yet, despite the frenzy of the moment, despite the heat pooling steadily between her legs, when the last button comes undone, she takes a second to pause, to pull away from his mouth, unable to help herself from marking kisses down his neck—gentle, soft.

A long-held breath seems to shudder out of James when she lets her tongue dart over the spot behind his ear. "Lily." He groans, hand sliding slightly higher, squeezing around her arse. Pleasure tingles up her spine from that contact, all patience instantly chucked out the window, and she rakes hands through his hair, pulls sharply at the strands until his eyes are blazing at her. "You're going to kill me," he says.

The race of pulse under her skin makes her think she feels quite similarly about him, and the desire coating her insides, filling her every pore, only intensifies when James's arm around her waist slants the barest distance, finds the zipper of her dress. And then, in the most torturous pace Lily can imagine, he sets her on her feet, fingers dragging down, letting the garment slump loosely around her shoulders, past her arms. Before she can blink, he's got the lights in the bedroom flicked on, watching with faintly-parted lips as she steps out of the dress, clad in matching black-lace underwear that she'd—not presumptuously, but rather hopefully—picked out that evening.

"Fuck," James exhales, the word hitching in his throat, it falls so low. "Jesus, fuck, you're perfect." And he strides forward before she has the chance to feel self-conscious or absorb the impact of his words, so easily given. Mouth latching onto hers, he guides her back towards the bed, all while her own fingers wrangle with his open shirt, shove it off of his shoulders.

He's so warm, feels so good against her, that she finds a ballooning emotion stuck in her throat.

It's awe, she'll realize later; awe at how well they fit together.

But at the moment, she simply swims in the sensation, heels sliding over bedsheets as she moves to position herself near the headboard, hand hooked around James's neck, bringing him with her. Much to Lily's frustration, however, right after his leg manages to slot between hers, he's pulling away, breathing hard, eyes dark.

"What?" she pants, tries to bring him back.

But he simply smirks, shakes his head, and then starts kissing down her neck, chest, the valley between her breasts. A sigh coated in anticipation filters out of her, stomach clenching deliciously when his mouth presses hotly against the soft skin there. His hands, planted around her hips, smoothly guide her down the bed. "James—" Lily's voice catches, cheeks flushing red when his thumbs hook around the edge of her knickers, dark eyebrows arching gently.

"Can I?"

She bites her lip around a smile, nods her head.

With a slight quirk to his mouth, James hikes her leg up, tenderly kisses up her inner thigh; Lily makes a soft noise at that, fingers sifting into his hair, other hand tangling into the sheets under her. But despite the half-wrecked state of her mind, his movements remain unhurried as he pulls her knickers down to her ankles, drops the material away, settles himself between her thighs. At the first touch of his fingers over her aching center, a moan tears out of her throat, surprisingly loud.

"Alright, Evans?" James asks, eyes caught onto her face, strangely out of breath himself.

"Yeah," Lily chokes out, teeth sinking over lip. "Quite alright. Too alright."

He laughs, glittering gold, and as if immensely pleased by her response, slips a finger inside her. "God, James!" she cries out, eyes scrunching shut momentarily, before snapping open again to find him lowering his head, maddening mouth joining his hand on her skin. Boneless and brain-scrambled, Lily falls back against the bed, a string of nonsensical sounds making it past her lips as James licks and touches with unwavering attention; persistent and diligent in this task as he is in every other aspect of his life. "Oh, oh—James, fuck—that feels fucking good—"

He hums against her heat, not to be distracted; the vibrations of that sound send an entirely different jolt up her spine, and then she's clutching every part of him she can reach, legs unsteady as pressure mounts below her stomach. "Shit, shit—"

"Come, Lily." James looks up, lips wet and curved into a smug smile as he watches her struggle to stay sane under the perfect circles his thumbs draw against her.

And though she tries to keep her eyes on him, lids half-hooded as the whimpers he wrenches out of her soak up every ounce of energy in her body, in what feels like no time at all, Lily shatters under the wave of pleasure wracking through her. A long-caught tension unspools from her limbs at the release, and she takes more than a handful of seconds to regain her bearings.

By that time, James is already trailing kisses up her throat again; too far away. She cups hands around his face, brings him closer to pry his mouth open with hers. A groan spills out of him, and the sound pleases her enough that she bucks off the mattress slightly, pushing her hips against his, feeling the hard outline of him straining against his trousers.

With a distressed moan and wild eyes, James breaks off from her. And then, holding that stare, she does it again; a deliberate roll of hips, a keen sense of him brushing against her skin.

This time, the pained, pleasured noise belongs to them both.

"Do you—" the words dissolve, mind derailed by the hand he squeezes around her breast. In retaliation, Lily slips her own palm down to cup him through the trousers, stroke firmly against his length. With a barely-there curse, his head drops over her chest, tongue circling around her nipple through the lace in a way that drives her fucking mad. But the need for him grows strong enough that she remembers what she had to say; pushes the question out. "Do you have a condom?"

James's hand wraps around her wrist at that, stopping her movements. He looks up slowly, carefully. "You're sure?"

She smirks. "Is that a yes, then?"

"Is that a yes, then?"

"James Potter—"

"I have a few, yeah." A grin lights up his face at her cocked brow. "Don't look like that. Sirius tossed some into my pocket when we were leaving."

Well.

That tracks.

A beat passes, and then Lily marginally lifts herself, the hand not caught under James's fingers finding its way around her back to locate the hook of her bra; swiftly unhooking it. "It is a yes," she whispers, slipping the garment down her arms and to the floor as he lets go of her wrist.

"Fucking hell, Evans..." His brows thread together, thumb brushing over her now exposed breasts with tender reverence. She shivers under that look, under that touch, quite aware of the way her skin flushes even as she moves to remove his belt, the button of his trousers. James helps her by kicking the fabric free just as soon as it's loose around his legs, but not before fishing into the pockets for a condom foil. Impatience has Lily reaching under the waistband of his boxers already, holding him, heavy, ready, in her palm. And here, his eyes fall closed, redness creeping around his neck and ears, disappearing near his hairline. "Ah, fucking—"

But he's kissing her already, words forgotten, mouth pressing hard enough to bruise, tongue plunging deep enough to tangle with hers. In a matter of moments, he's got the final barrier between them discarded, and he pulls away for a second to slip on the condom before lining himself up with her.

With just the tip of him brushing against her, Lily already feels like she teeters on the edge of combustion. But they hold like that for a few beats; James leans down, presses an achingly sweet kiss at the corner of her lips. "Okay?"

And she nods, holding his gaze and using the leg hooked around his waist to tug him closer, into her; the stretch delicious and slow.

"Oh—" She moans softly, eyes widening at the feeling that blooms—not only down below, but also somewhere alarmingly near her chest. It's something glowing and elastic; spreading father and farther inside the longer they stay that way, and she sees it—this emotion—mirrored on his face above hers. "James—"

In response, he starts moving, pleasured tension written across his forehead as his hips snap against hers, pace getting steadily faster. James groans, matching the noises she's helpless to hold back, and latches warm lips and tongue around a breast, sucking and licking as she digs fingertips into his shoulder blades to anchor herself. And when one of his hands slides between their bodies to find her most sensitive spot again, Lily loses herself to James and his smell and his feel entirely; happily.

"Go harder," she chokes out, and he muffles a tormented sound against her sternum before following through—finally. The slam of his hips against her during the next thrust positively rattles everything inside her, pulling a moan loud enough that she becomes quite certain she's never had sex so good before. The confidence over this fact is only amplified when, a few minutes later, James cups a hand around the underside of her right knee and sets an angle so calculated that it prompts her hand to go flying up, clutching tightly around the headboard behind. "Oh my fuck—fucking God, James—"

"Lily, love, I need you to come," he grits through a clenched jaw, fingers frantic on skin, slippery with wetness. "I can't hold on much longer…"

"There, there, right there!" Her back arches off the bed, flushed chests pressing together, words seeming to lose all meaning. "I'm almost th—oh—James!"

And as she clenches around him, colours blooming behind eyelids when they flutter shut to the feeling of pleasure ringing through her body, James empties into her a few seconds later, his own relieved groan crushed against the side of her damp neck.

They lie there, like that, for several silent minutes, before he eventually pulls out of her, expression flickering at the sensitive sensation drawn out by the movement, and rolls to the side, tossing away the foil and condom in a trash can.

"Wow," Lily sighs when he settles beside her again. Her eyes blink up at the ceiling of the room, heart still reeling from all the thundering it underwent. "That was something."

The mattress dips and shifts, and she cuts her head to the left to find James leaning up on one elbow, watching her with a soft smirk. Naked naked naked. "Are you surprised?"

"Aren't you?"

"Not at all." He shrugs. "I always knew we'd have roof-shattering sex when we finally shagged."

"Oh my God, you're unbearable, Potter," Lily laughs, the hilarity of the situation finally catching up to her; she dissolves into chuckles that stain her face red, prompt tears to roll down her cheeks as she clutches onto her stomach. And James—he laughs, too, loud and warm and for no other discernible reason than the fact that he sees her laughing. There's really nothing for her to do in the face of such open adoration but to roll onto her stomach, catch his chin between her thumb and forefinger, and find his lips with hers. "Good thing unbearable seems to be my type."

A/N - I had seriously just written up to the point where Lily leans down to kiss James and ended it with "[insert light smut]"

And then I went batshit crazy today during editing.