Pairing: Lily/James
Author: Dr. Fawkes
Disclaimer: Yeah. Yeah. I'm J.K. Rowling, and I'm writing these one-shots because I've nothing better to do. And if you believe that, you deserve a special place in Mrs. Norris's rice bowl.
Summary:
Lily and James, all alone on an old forgotten side of the sea beach, and resting under a shady umbrella…. What happens next? Nothing much, just pure fluff.
And the story begins:
SEA FEVER
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"I
must go down to the seas again."
John Masefield
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James likes to recline back on the golden sands of the Xanadu Beach and watch Lily's fairy-like fingers as they dance across the strings of her guitar. He also likes to catch Lily's wrist now and then, clasping a kiss to it and whispering her name, ever so softly.
"What would you like to hear today, m' lord?" she asks him, running her long index finger lightly over his stubble, and he hides his shiver with a shrug.
"Something bright and chipper, perhaps. Like the sun above us," he says, looking heavenward.
…
…
When Lily sings, it seems to James that time stands still, and all of Nature falls into a blissful siesta. James always loses himself in her soft silver voice, as if his soul was but a young dream, hovering and somersaulting across the blue sky with its giant wings, merrily chasing the clouds hither and thither.
Lily is humming now, in that poignant, haunting voice of hers; a song about two young seagulls building their first nest. James recalls this song to be one of Sirius's eternal favourites. Gypsy music, Sirius calls it. James doesn't know much about music, but as long as Lily has a song upon her lips, he can never know the meaning of discontent.
The white birds above them have heard her; they watch her in curiosity, linger behind in awe.
And suddenly, it strikes James with the intensity of a supernova, that they are alone on this forgotten beach, all alone beneath a lazy midsummer blue sky. They are all alone by the laughing sea, and she belongs to him.
A surge of pride submerges him, and he looks fondly at the wedding ring on his finger, not even two months old.
He remembers the encoring chants of the guests at their wedding, their gay cries of "James and Lily", "Lily and James". Their names sound so perfect together, and so incomplete without the other. It is the work of Fate, of Destiny, to allow love to blossom even amidst the monstrosity and terror of their world.
He is struck again by the surprising lightness of his heart. Where did all the pain disappear? How did all the despair sink without a trace? The winds whisper their answer into his ears…. Love. The reason is love, the winds say.
So he writes their names with a twig upon the sandy bed, Lily and James, James and Lily. She rolls her eyes at him. Then he tries to pull her towards himself, but she knows what's lurking in his mind, and throws an apple at him.
Her beautiful laughter spills over the pebbles, and seeps into his heart. Always.
Perhaps the sea is not very pleased, being ignored like this. For it sends a foamy wave lashing at them, washing away James's doodles in one gigantic sweep. Lily laughs, but James scowls slightly. He doesn't want the sea to interfere with his calligraphic skills.
Lily had once told James that the sea was an artist. A breathtaking blend of varied hues of purple and blue and green, the sea brush-strokes the sands with its waves and bubbles. And James grudgingly agrees.
The sea reflects the pale blue sky, donning clouds of five different shades of white, and being tickled by the merry winds incessantly. The sun is smiling down upon them, indulgently, permitting them this little sacred space to bury their tears and rejuvenate themselves.
A new energy ripples through his chest, setting his blood on a dizzy reel. He throws a pebble at a nearby seagull, which was eyeing Lily, his Lily, with its cheeky black eyes. The stupid bird gives him a scornful look of distaste before taking off, and James turns around to grin at Lily.
"Did you see what I just did?" he asks her in a conspiratorial whisper, looking happy and boyish, as if he has not a worry in the world.
Lily continues humming and doesn't answer him, but he knows she's only trying to hide her amused smile. He knows, because he's seen the corners of her delectable mouth twitching.
He decides to teach her a lesson. He pulls off the black ribbon in her hair in one practiced move. Her thick, lustrous titian hair cascades down to her waist, spiralling, pirouetting, like layers of rich red silk. The sun is kissing her brow, the sand lies in obeisance at her feet, there is a look of infinite mischief in her eyes, and suddenly her beauty has become too much to bear.
"I love you, Mrs. P.," he says, his heart contracting painfully. And he gets his reward, when she wraps her arms around him, and gives him one of her rare coy smiles. He holds her as if he is afraid that she might break in his arms, yet he holds her as if afraid that he might lose her. He is timid and demanding, tender and imperious, submissive and avaricious. He is still such a boy in so many ways and such a man in others. She doesn't understand how such delicious contrasts can be possible.
His mouth is on her throat, her hands are over his eyes, and she is in his arms, a treasure to be cherished, never to be freed again.
They really must come down to the sea again.