Chapter 6
Storm
James burst through the back door, hands dropping instantly to his knees as he tried to catch his breath, his lungs burning from the mad sprint up the grounds. Sirius and Lily tumbled in after him, spluttering and coughing through ragged breaths.
James looked sideways at his friend. "Where—is—everyone?"
Sirius panted, "Sitting room. Wouldn't have—had to—get drenched—if you two—would've kept it—at seven minutes."
Lily retorted, "Says the one—who put us in there—in the first place."
James looked over at Lily, standing with her hands at her waist, and felt his breath catch. Her tank top was plastered wetly to her skin, her chest was heaving with rapid breaths, and droplets of rain were sliding down her neck, into the crevice between those swelling curves he'd just been touching—squeezing—down in the broom shed—
"Prongs?"
"Hmm?"
He looked back over to Sirius, who was clearly trying very hard not to laugh.
"I asked, do you mind drying us off? I left my wand inside before I ran down to get you."
His hand went immediately to his back pocket—empty—and his heart sunk. "Fuck, I don't have my wand."
Sirius rolled his eyes. "Good thing Evans didn't try to hex you in there."
Lily looked sheepish. "Well, I don't have my wand, either."
"Fucking hell, you guys."
Lily scoffed and retorted hotly, "You were the ones who took them away to play the game."
"Oh, yeah." Sirius gave her a wide grin. "We did, didn't we?" He shot James a wink, then said, "I'll just retrieve those, shall I?" before disappearing down the hall in squelching footsteps.
James looked at Lily, his heart rate picking up rapidly at the sight of her, his mind racing to comprehend that he'd just snogged—hell, he'd just made out—with Lily Evans.
Who was now standing in his back foyer, hugging herself with goose-fleshed arms as she visibly shivered. Fuck.
"This way." He indicated to their left, then led her down another hall, into the area of the house that was primarily the house-elves' domain, until he reached a small room lit only by a fading sconce where stacks of folded laundry sat on a table flanked by a low bench, a row of four hampers lined one wall, and large open shelving filled with fresh towels and linens lined another.
Lily asked tentatively, "You have…house elves?"
"Yeah," James told her. "I think all of the old wizarding families do."
He made for one of the piles of folded clothes, thumbing through it until he found a couple of Quidditch sweatshirts he'd thought would be down there.
"Here." He set the sweatshirts on the bench. "These'll at least be warmer."
And without really thinking about it, only possessed by the damp chill sunk deeply into his skin, James peeled his shirt from his torso and pulled it over his head, knocking his glasses slightly crooked, before balling the wet shirt and throwing it across the room and into his hamper on the opposite wall.
His eyes caught on Lily and his heart leapt into his throat at the look on her face just then. She looked…hungry. Her eyes left his to travel down his torso, and James swallowed hard, knowing what she was seeing because he'd worked damned hard to have the physique that he did—primarily for function, of course, seeing as he was Gryffindor's Quidditch Captain and was thinking about trying to play professionally after Hogwarts, but the side-effect of having girls—well, Lily Evans—ogle him like that was the runner-up motivator for all his intense training.
So quietly he barely heard it, she closed the door behind her, and then, before he had time to process what was happening, she was pulling her own shirt off over her head and letting it drop to the floor.
His mouth fell open. Her pale skin was luminous in the low light of the room, and she was wearing a black bra that framed her curves, and that solidified it. Lily Evans had the most perfect breasts James had ever seen. Not that he had seen very many, at least not in person, but still. Hers were perfect. She was perfect. And she was suddenly right in front of him, pressing a tentative hand to his bare chest, and his senses caught up to him in a rush of adrenaline and without sparing a single second to second-guess himself, James leaned down and kissed her.
This time, they didn't bother with slow, with testing each other, with easing into it. This time, it started fast and hot, a continuation of where they'd left only minutes before. Lily's hair was cold and wet, her skin damp and clammy, and yet a new fire deep within him was warming him from the inside-out as those perfect breasts pressed against his chest and her hands squeezed his sides, tracing his obliques with her thumbs. She was pushing him backward, and when the back of his legs hit the the bench by the laundry table, he sat abruptly, belatedly realizing that this must have been her goal when her legs settled on either side of his and her arms rested on his shoulders. James ran his hands over her skin, resuming his quest to touch every centimeter of her that he could, trying to warm her up from the chill of getting caught in the storm, and when he slid his hands up the satiny sides of her bra, cupping her perfect curves in his hands while he rubbed gentle circles with his thumbs, Lily whimpered into his mouth and rolled her hips over him in a way that made him wish they didn't still have their soaked shorts on.
They eventually broke for air, and James groaned a soft, "Evans," but she didn't respond, just dropped her lips to his cheek, his jaw, his neck, the heat of her mouth sending searing jolts of pleasure through him wherever they touched. He slid his hands lower, cupping her arse and pulling her tighter against him, and he heard her muffled moan in time with his, felt her roll her hips again, another zap of that delicious friction going straight to his core.
James had no sense of time, no clue how long they'd been in the laundry room, no thought whatsoever of whether their friends were looking for them or even aware of their absence. He was lost, completely adrift in the heat of her rubbing against his lap, the heat of her mouth on his neck, the heat of her hands pressing into his skin where she gripped his arms, the renewed heat of her skin, radiating from her whole being like she was a star, and he was on a collision course toward being melted down and consumed in her fire. Lily was somehow touching him everywhere and in every way, all at once; her face was nudging his jaw, her mouth was sucking his throat, her legs were squeezing around him, her hips were rotating against his lap, her hands were squeezing his shoulders, running through his hair, pressing against his back. His need for her ached, his brain too distracted by her infiltrating all of his senses to care about the way they were rubbing together and what it would do, and with what seemed like no warning whatsoever, he was suddenly on the brink, that familiar pressure threatening to burst.
"Lily—" He heard the hoarse breathlessness in his voice, vaguely registered the responding smile in hers as she replied with a soft, "James."
"Fuck, you—you feel too good—"
He squeezed her thighs, trying to still her movements, and he felt her hesitate just before she pulled her mouth from his neck and fixed those liquid eyes on him. "James?"
His throat felt tight, his mouth suddenly dry, and he just shook his head, trying to collect himself, trying to course-correct.
"Are you okay?"
He closed his eyes. "Just give me a minute."
She shifted slightly in his lap, and he bit down on his lip, his fingers digging into her legs as he willed himself to hold it together, wondering if this was the moment he would finally die at the hands of Lily Evans. Here lies James Potter, who came in his pants. He couldn't even think about what she must be thinking, how she was probably looking at him like he'd gone loony and wondering why she'd started snogging him in the first place. Their previous banter about that dumb magazine and stupid snog grading flashed in his mind. Surely this was Troll territory, being too randy to even be able to make out properly—
"James." Her lips brushed his cheek, and then her breath was hot on his ear. "You can come."
His eyes snapped open and a breathless, "What?" flew from his mouth.
Lily's face hovered in front of his, her lips twitching with a smile. "It's okay. If I made you—if you need to—" Her cheeks darkened, and she averted her gaze to his hair as she pushed it back with a tender sort of motion. "You don't have to stop."
James couldn't believe what he was hearing, and he might have just kept staring at her, dumbfounded, if she didn't gently roll her hips over his lap just then.
A small groan rose up in his throat, that simple movement enough to send a new surge of pleasure to where they joined, any progress he'd made in reversing his demise now lost from the renewed friction of her hips.
His eyes searched hers, his mind buzzing with questions that he didn't know how to ask, and his mouth started to say, "Are you—" without having any idea how to end that question. Sure? For real? Ready?
Lily nodded, managing to answer everything he hadn't asked with a simple, "Yeah."
She ducked down to his mouth, kissing him sweetly as her hands explored his neck and shoulders while her hips started rocking against him again. James let his hands slide back up to her chest as he deepened their kiss, feeling her heat wash over him again. His mind still raced, still panicked, as he felt arousal surge through him and bring him back to the brink he'd just left, but now he had Lily's voice echoing in his mind. You can come. You don't have to stop. The way she squirmed in his lap and sucked at his lip was all the confirmation he needed that she'd meant it.
He broke from her mouth, too close to be able to concentrate on kissing her. "Lily—"
Her fingers pushed through his hair, cradled his face, as her eyes fixed on his, sparkling with something that seemed faintly dangerous but that made his stomach flutter. And then he felt it—her rubbing against him, but differently this time. Deliberately this time. Not just a circular roll of her hips, but a thrust, one even motion up and down where he was straining against his shorts.
"Fuck, Lily—"
Her lips pressed against one corner of his mouth, then the other, as she did that thrusting motion again, and suddenly James knew this was it, there was no turning around, he was one-hundred-percent about to come in his pants, and he knew Lily knew, knew she wanted him to, because she covered his mouth with hers as she rubbed along him again, her hands deep in his hair, and he was suddenly consumed by heat, by her, and his climax hit him abruptly in a snap of pressure. Lily gasped softly against his mouth, her whole body stilling over his, right before his own moan escaped him.
For several blissful seconds, he didn't even have the sense to care about the sticky mess that was now inside his pants, or the embarrassment of climaxing from making out with a girl, or the disbelief that said girl was Lily Evans. The forefront of his mind was filled only with the deliciously warm heat radiating between where they joined, with the pleasure flooding his veins as his pulse pounded in his ears, with Lily's lips dotting kisses at his mouth while her fingertips caressed the back of his neck.
The laundry room door swung open with a creak, flooding the room with more light, and James whipped his head around to see Sirius standing dumbfounded in the doorway, his own wand lit and two other wands in his other hand.
Sirius raised his eyebrows and gave him a pointed look, and James felt new heat flood his face as he remembered: he had a fucking tell.
Damnit.
His friend flashed a toothy grin and James braced himself for the worst, but mercifully Sirius only said, "I'm just going to leave these right here, shall I?" before setting the two wands on the end of the table.
"Thanks, Black," Lily said simply, her voice not betraying any unease whatsoever. How had Lily Evans become so much braver than him?
Sirius bowed himself out and shut the door, and then Lily slid gracefully from his lap to retrieve their wands. She cast a drying charm over herself, then lit her wand and handed James back his.
"I can—wait outside?"
He nodded, not trusting himself to speak, especially when she was standing there in only denim shorts and a black bra, looking better than any vision he'd ever conjured of her. She smirked, then picked up one of the folded sweatshirts he'd set to the side and pulled it over her head before fluffing out her now-dry hair.
James swallowed hard. Amendment: now, wearing one of his red Gryffindor hoodies, so oversized on her that it hung around the tops of her thighs, she somehow looked even better. He had a momentary fantasy of Lily at Hogwarts, wearing that hoodie in the Great Hall on game day, those gold letters spelling Potter emblazoned across her back—
The door shut softly, closing her off from view, and James let out a deep breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He was losing it. His sanity, his self-control, his grasp on reality.
He stood up slowly, stretching out his legs and then casting a couple of charms to deal with everything going on with his shorts and his hair. After he pulled his own hoodie—this one black for the Montrose Magpies—over his head and straightened his glasses, he opened the laundry room door and found Lily leaning against the opposite wall, the flickering light of the hallway scones casting a soft glow over her face.
"You look good in my sweatshirt, Evans."
She smiled up at him. "I might just have to steal it."
James chuckled softly. "Like it that much, eh?"
Lily pushed off the wall and stepped up to him, threading her fingers through his, and for the first time, James thought she seemed shy. "I like you that much."
It was like all the air had been sucked from the room, his breath knocked from his chest at the same time as his stomach dropped into the ground below.
"You—you do?"
Lily chewed her lip. "Yeah. I—well, I thought I was being kind of obvious."
He shook his head absently. "I'm an idiot."
She snorted. "Only sometimes."
"Only around you, you mean. Because I like you so much that I lose my bloody head whenever you're in same room, Evans."
She laughed softly, but her hand squeezed his. "You drive me pretty mad too, you know."
James reached up a hand to push her hair behind her ears, cup her face, hoping that she couldn't tell his heart was pounding like a drum in his chest. "Do you—want to hang out? Just the two of us?"
Lily quirked a brow. "Are you asking me on a date, or asking me to go back in the broom shed?"
"Yes."
She burst into a laugh, and James only belatedly realized that hadn't made sense.
"I mean—both. Well, no, hold on. Date, yes. Literal broom shed, no. What, er, happened in the broom shed—yes. Please."
Her eyes sparkled in the dark, something mischievous. "Alright, Potter, I'll go on a date with you"—his stomach fluttered as he watched her eyes flick down to his lips—"and then maybe we can find a better spot than a broom shed or a laundry room?"
She was his dream. His fucking dream. Leaning down, he hovered near her mouth. "This is a pretty big house," he whispered.
"You'll have to show me," she whispered back. And then she kissed him, something quick and sweet, before she pulled away and added, "Later."
She turned, tugging his hand, and he had no choice but to follow her, because somehow in the span of what had been probably no more than a half hour, she'd managed to steal not just his sweatshirt but all of his heart right along with it.
