Three Weeks 'Till the Wedding
"So let me get this straight…" Sirius slowed to a jog, then a stroll, breathing heavily as he shook his head. "You voluntarily offered to go three weeks without sex—"
"Or any sexual activity beyond kissing," James interjected, stopping to bend over for a moment, hands on his legs as he caught his breath.
"—because of something her dad said to you?" When James glanced up, he could see the laughter just waiting to burst out of his so-called friend. Laughing at him was one of Sirius' most favoured pastimes: with mates like these, who needed enemies? "Blink twice if you've been brainwashed and need help."
James rolled his eyes, straightening up again to wipe the sweat from his face. "You make it sound weird when you say it like that."
"That's because it is weird," Sirius pointed out. He took a long swig of water before passing the bottle to James. "You don't think the meaning is lost somewhat in the fact that you two have been shagging like rabbits for years now?"
"The past is in the past," he replied airily. "What matters now is the present."
Sirius heaved a sigh. "You sound insane," he informed James as they started jogging again. "Actually, I can't believe you talked Lily into this."
"I was a bit surprised myself," James admitted. "I think she's just in it to watch me fail, though, which is a charming colour in your own fiancée."
"It will be good entertainment," Sirius agreed. "And it's very sweet that you think you could go three hours, let alone three weeks—"
James scowled. "What is this narrative being spun about me being, what, insatiably horny?" he demanded. "I'm not a one-track mind, you know."
Sirius' laugh carried them all the way around a corner and almost halfway down the next road. "Sorry, sorry," he struggled to recover his breath, forcing his smile down when he saw the look of frustration on James' face. "I just—you lose your mind with Lil, that's all. Admit it."
James was reluctant to confess to anything at this point—strangely, being openly laughed at as they jogged through the streets of London was enough to rile him up—but his friend wasn't wrong. There had always been something about Lily, from the very first time he'd met her at school. She had tolerated him, at best, back then; he had openly worshipped her in return, never one for moderation. Several years had passed where their relationship had resembled a demented weathervane: in her favour one minute, out of her favour the next.
Luckily, she'd come round after he'd shed some of his more immature habits (or, as Sirius liked to say, "you wore her down"—a charming summation) and, once they'd started dating aged seventeen, he knew he would do everything in his power to make her happy, to keep her close.
And that was even before they'd started doing anything more than frantic snogging behind the bike sheds at school. Once he got under her clothes? All bets were off.
Besides, surely being attracted to his own fiancée was no bad thing? Surely wanting to have sex with her was considered healthy, given they were about to enter into a lifelong union? And yes, maybe he wanted to shag her most of the time, and maybe even that morning as she'd sauntered across the bedroom wrapped in a towel, hair damp down her back, he'd wondered if he was truly prepared for what was in store over the next three weeks—but that didn't mean he wasn't capable of it. He could swallow down his urges. He could take lots of cold showers. It would be fine.
"I don't lose my mind," he replied. "I have a perfectly normal reaction to the beautiful woman I love."
"If you say so."
"And I have to say," James continued, playing up the hurt undertones as they slowed again, nearing Sirius' flat. "It is deeply hurtful that one of my best friends could be so unsupportive—"
"Fucking hell," Sirius sighed heavily.
"—could think so little of me that he assumes all I can do is think with my cock!" It was unfortunate that this declaration came as they stopped outside Sirius' building, and even more unfortunate that his elderly neighbour Mrs Renley happened to be exiting said building at the same time. She looked, perhaps understandably, shocked and horrified. "Erm, morning…"
She bustled past them, shooting James an appalled glare; Sirius just grinned, looking like all his Christmases had come at once. "Morning Mrs R!" he called after her, before turning back to James cheerfully. "You know I don't think that. You're a strong, independent man who doesn't need Lily Evans' magical vagina to get through the day."
At that, James rolled his eyes. "What have I told you about talking about her—"
"Right, right, no vaginas," Sirius winked, then gestured to the door. "Coming in for a coffee? Or have you got to get home and have what I can only assume will be the first of many, many shameful wanks in the shower?"
"Alright, well, it's been helpful as ever to have your listening ear," James sighed, giving his friend a mainly playful shove as he turned to walk away. "Where would I be without you, eh?"
"Not worth thinking about, Prongs!" Sirius' voice followed him down the street.
WhatsApp private message
Monday 15th March 2021, 2:17pm
Euphemia Potter, James Potter
Mum: Lily set me up with WhatsApp, darling!
James: That's great mum! x
Mum: She's getting your dad on, too, and then we can have a family group! What fun!
Mum: She also said you called us horny idiots
Mum: Seems rather rude dear
James: I thought her becoming my wife meant that she would be on my side?
Mum: No love that's not how these things work
Mum: We can discuss the idiots comment when you come for dinner on Sunday
James: …
James: Can't wait!
WhatsApp private message
Monday 15th March 2021, 2:46pm
Lily Evans, James Potter
James: Didn't peg you for a snitch, Evans
LOML (Lil): Don't do the crime if you can't do the time, Potter.
LOML (Lil): Oh & your mum made rock cakes again, bringing a batch home! xxx
He remembered vividly their friend Mary describing the first few days of a no-carb diet she'd tried (a diet that she definitely had not needed, but had insisted on trying anyway, in her words, "for bikini season", as if that was even a thing in England at any time of year). "The first few days were hell," she'd said wisely, clutching a protein shake in her hands as if someone might try to snatch it from her. "But once I got past the withdrawal stage…" She'd paused, considering it. "Diet Hell. Hell Zero. Not as bad."
As they reached the middle of their first week of abstinence, James felt he could identify with Mary's words. To term it withdrawal seemed melodramatic, but he enjoyed a bit of drama, and it seemed the most apt description. Lily, and her soft, undulating curves, and her achingly sweet touch, was a drug. And James? He was a full-blown addict.
He largely managed to resist temptation by avoiding being alone with her—you know, the manful way to deal with things. Of course, that wasn't easy, given that they lived together and he was in love with her and she with him. She openly laughed at him on Wednesday evening, ducking into their house at nine, red-faced from another unnecessary jog. His Strava app thought he was training for the Olympics by this point. "Are you really so sex-addled that you can't even sit on the sofa with me and watch Grand Designs?" she asked, a look in her eyes that told him she knew exactly how sex-addled he was.
"It's hardly my fault that you look so bloody gorgeous all the time," he grumbled in reply, making a beeline for the bathroom. "Take a day off, would you?"
"A day off?" she called, mirth in her voice; he could so perfectly picture the twinkle in her eye, the way she would have inevitably tugged her lower lip between her teeth, coquettish and frustrating all at once. "From being bloody gorgeous? This is a calling, not a career!"
Shut in the bathroom for a shower, he rested his forehead against the cool of the tile and wondered if it was possible to arrange to slip into a coma for the next two-and-a-bit weeks.
Sadly, even if it was possible for some enforced coma time, there was still plenty of things that needed doing for the wedding, as well as the fact that his boss insisted that he work for his paycheck, so he had to battle on instead.
Thursday ended, as it usually did, sitting in bed and messing about on his phone. He'd managed to avoid temptation so far today by the tried and true method of having to work late, coming home to find Lily an hour deep into what ended up being a three hour facetime conversation with her mum, and then settling in to watch a run of episodes of the least sexy television show he could find: Chernobyl. There was just no way to be aroused when everything was so fraught and sad.
His fiancée had taken herself off for a restorative bath—"I'm sorry, but I can't watch anyone else succumb to horrible side effects"—and eventually, James made his way to bed. He was just scrolling through Twitter when she emerged, wrapped in her dressing gown (a fuzzy, dove grey number which swamped her lithe frame), skin flushed a delicate pink from the heat of the water.
"I think you've been selfish."
He glanced up from his phone, pushing his specs up his nose to truly take in her frustrated expression. She was framed in the doorway of the en-suite bathroom, lit up from behind in a way that gave her an ethereal glow. He tried not to be distracted. "Eh?"
"Selfish," she said again, moving to stand next to his side of the bed. He could smell the scent of her lavender bath bomb lingering on her skin. "Withholding all sexual intimacy from me for three whole weeks."
"Two weeks and two days, now," he answered automatically.
Lily gave him a withering look. "What I'm saying is that I'm already bored of touching myself."
His eyebrows shot up. "That doesn't sound boring at all, Lil."
There was a pause, and then before he knew how to react, she had clambered into his lap, swinging herself across him and settling neatly over his boxer-clad legs. Her hands slid up to rest gently at his neck as she spoke. "As a great philosopher once said, when you're halfway up you're always halfway down. It's a lovely idea but it's torture."
James gulped; his hands had slipped, without thought, to rest on her thighs—laid bare as she had moved and the coverage of her dressing gown shifted from modest to somewhat indecent—and he knew he was reacting to the delicious warmth of her body against his. It took him a moment to find his voice and actually reply. "Isn't that…from a Celine Dion song?"
She nodded gravely, pressing herself forwards, her hand slipping into his hair. "Think Twice. A seminal work."
"I'm…not sure I understand the relevance," he murmured; her mouth was so very close to his by now.
"See? I'm driven to distraction through wanting you," she whispered back; her hips shifted, and apparently found some much-needed friction there, because her eyelids fluttered closed, and she let out a sound which made James want to rip both their clothes away. "I've stopped even making sense."
It would have been so easy to let his hands slip further up her thighs, to seek out the familiar, wonderful warmth of her lips. But… "Well, to quote Dion back at you," he murmured, and forced himself to lean back, away from her. "Baby, this is serious."
She pouted—actually pouted, like a forlorn toddler. "I know it's ruddy serious—"
"We can't abandon our, our principles, for a flash of a good time," he said, lifting his hand to gently brush her cheek. "I'm sorry, Lil. You know I want you—"
"Funny way of showing it," Lily muttered.
"—but we have to stay strong. It'll be worth it in the end," he assured her.
She climbed off his lap with a huff, moving to find her pyjamas. "I hate you."
"I love you, too," he offered.
Saturday evening came, and Lily was swept away by Mary and Marlene for their monthly excursion into trying to drink their way through the country's stock of White Zinfandel, leaving James at the house with Sirius and Remus, trying to write his vows.
'Trying' being the operative word, really: he'd never expected Sirius to be much help—he was too busy eating lamb bhuna, hogging the peshwari naan they'd ordered to 'share', and making smart-arse remarks—but even Remus, the normally more dependable friend, was having trouble staying focused.
"D'you remember," Remus asked from his prone position on the sofa, bottle of beer dangling between his fingers, "back in year 12, when you two first started seeing each other?"
James, stood by the fireplace (it seemed the most cinematic place to write his vows from; one elbow resting on the mantelpiece, his gaze reaching far off into the middle distance), raised a weary eyebrow. "Yes, mate, I do remember that."
"I mean," Remus swung himself up into a seated position, taking a quick swig of his drink, "the period of time when you were just snogging and groping?"
Sirius let out an obnoxiously loud hoot of laughter, waving an onion bhaji in the air. "Christ, yes, Moony—he was so pent up he was scared he'd blow his load the minute she went near his dick!"
James frowned. "I am trying to write my vows," he pointed out. "You know, the declaration of love? For my wedding? The most important and romantic day of my life? Maybe you could save talking about me 'blowing my load' for another time."
Remus, for his part, did not look remotely sorry, even as he said the words, "I'm sorry." He grinned up at James. "I just mean, aren't you a bit worried that your wedding night is going to last about five seconds after all this…build-up?"
It was at that point that James decided it had been an error, inviting these two round. He couldn't help but feel that he would have been better off just sitting alone. "I'm not seventeen anymore," he pointed out. "I have more…control."
"Of course," Remus agreed, the sort of flattering tone that reeked of lies and laughter at someone else's misfortune. "And, like you said—the meaning of it all."
"Fuck off," James said, as Sirius started laughing once again.
He didn't get very far with his vows, unsurprisingly, a notepad with the words 'My beautiful Lily, I vow…' at the top being all he had to show for the evening's efforts. Lily returned home around midnight, finding Sirius asleep in the armchair and Remus similarly passed out on the sofa, a foil tray of rice resting delicately on his chest. She shot James a smile, one loosened by alcohol. "A fun night, then?"
"The most," he confirmed, even if most of the fun had been had at his expense. He sidled up closer to her, his arms slipping round her waist with the ease of their shared years: this was where he belonged. "You?"
"The most," she echoed, her hand sliding up his chest, resting at the curve of his neck. "Had a few drinks, have we?"
He grinned, lowering his head to press a soft, lingering kiss to her lips, only pulling back barely to murmur his reply. "What makes you say that?"
"Oh, I don't know…" She let her lips rest mere inches from his, her breath warm against his skin. "The discarded bottles, the lowered inhibitions…"
"Lowered inhibitions?" he asked; his hand slipped under her top, painted delicate circles at the small of her back. "I don't know what you mean…"
"James," she whispered. The movement of her lips as she spoke made them brush against his, and he felt a surge of desire so strong that he had to close his eyes for a moment. "You've barely gone within five feet of me all week, the other night I tried to lay it on you and you sent me away, and now you've got your hand up my top."
He groaned, let his forehead fall against hers for a moment. "Lil…"
He could sense her smile, even if he couldn't see it. "Time for bed, baby," she murmured, taking one last kiss from him before she pulled back, eyes twinkling. She started up the stairs and all he could do was stand there, trying to breathe and think unsexy thoughts. He did look up, though, when she paused at the top of the staircase, looking back down at him with a grin so alluring that it was all he could do not to tear up there after her. "But hey," she noted, and his only thought was, I'm screwed. "One week down, right?"
Her soft laughter and his broken groan were not, luckily, enough to wake their soused guests.
One week down. Two weeks to go.
