And a third chapter! Omg, look at her go. Writing Harry Potter fanfiction. Astounding.
The roar of the crowd shakes the stage. Vibrating through the soles of his shoes.
James can feel their chanting in his chest.
Pulsating alongside his heart.
"Marauders! Marauders! Marauders!"
If they brought the building down, he'd believe it.
Backstage is chaos. The crew is dashing about, pre-show jitters and adrenaline and a little bit of coke fueling everyone.
James can see Remus out of the corner of his eye, bashing the shit out of his practice pad, working himself up into a lather for the show. Peter's practically bouncing off the fucking walls. He doesn't have eyes on Sirius.
James stops.
He doesn't have eyes on Sirius.
"Miss me, miss me, now you've got to kiss me." Sirius sings softly.
His voice coming from right behind James.
And James yelps. The sound lost to the crowd.
"Got you." Sirius chuckles, darting away from James as he tries to punch him.
"You motherfucker." James snorts, giving him a shove and Sirius laughs for a moment before quieting.
They stand shoulder to shoulder at the edge of the stage. Watching the crowd work themselves up into a frenzy.
"This is the biggest venue we've ever played," Sirius says, tugging nervously at the silver crucifix that always dangles around his neck. "You ready?"
James pushes his glasses up his nose. Trying to ignore the fact that they keep sliding down because of the thin sheen of sweat covering his face.
"Fuck no. You?"
Sirius cocks an eyebrow at him.
"You think I'd fucking look like this if I was?" He asks, picking at the sweat stains forming under his armpit and James laughs.
And it's only a little shaky.
He gives Sirius a once over.
"You're gonna get heat stroke in that outfit."
Sirius shrugs, looking down at himself.
Leather pants, satin polyester shirt, leather combat boots.
"But I look hot though, right?" He doesn't wait for James to answer. He knows he looks good. "What about you?"
He brushes his fingers over the lapel of James' suit coat. "Like, what the fuck is this?"
James shrugs him off, skin tingling as he thinks of how close Sirius' fingers were to his neck.
"I'm trying something here."
"Oh yeah? Wait, let me guess, Lily thought—"
"It's a good look!"
"We're a punk rock band, who the fuck is wearing three pieces suits beside you?"
"David Bowie, for one, and I'll just take the jacket off—"
"Would the two of you shup up about your outfits." Remus emerges from the shadows, twirling his drumsticks nervously. Peter trails him, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
The four of them stand there as the stage lights go dark, the smoke machines start up, the crowd ratcheting up to a new level of noise.
"Ready?" Remus asks, his drumsticks still twirling through the air, all nerves and endless energy.
James closes his eyes. Pushes his glasses up his nose. "Yeah. We're fucking ready."
Sirius catches his eyes, "you swear?"
It's an old joke. So old it's not even funny anymore. But it sets them all at ease. Smiles creasing all of their faces at the sound of it.
"We solemnly swear," Peter answers for all of them.
And then it's time. The stage manager gives them a sharp whistle. Remus slaps Sirius on the ass, hard. And James sucks in a deep breath of marijuana-tinged smoke as they step out onto the stage.
Lights. Smoke. Screaming.
The microphone is hot under his palm.
Sweat drips from his forehead onto the painted plywood of the stage.
The jacket is gone.
Crumpled on the ground beside him.
His shirt is unbuttoned.
The entire back drenched in sweat.
His slacks stick to his tights.
His feet feel like they're on fire.
Behind him, through a cloud of smoke and flashing lights, Remus is slamming his entire body into his drum kit, like he's trying to fucking pound it to death.
Peter is to his right, jumping from speaker to speaker, endless energy, his bass a constant, throbbing, pulse as he bounces up and down all over the stage.
Sirius is to his left. The tips of his fingers red and raw as they fly across the strings, the wall of speakers vibrating as they relay his genius to the world.
And James feels the heat of the crowd. The rawness is his throat. The stink of sweat. The slickness of his skin.
He feels the raw energy radiating through him.
And in that moment—
He can do anything.
Anything.
He steps back up to the mic, gripping it with white fucking knuckles, and opens his mouth.
The words pouring from his cracked lips.
Like it's pure motherfucking poetry.
Sirius presses his back against James' as they hit the guitar riff together, their voices mixing together in the mic, and James clings to the microphone stand to keep him upright as Sirius puts his full weight on him.
So close.
He's so fucking close.
The heat of his body. His dripping hair. His wet lips.
Fingers flying over the guitar, Sirius steps toward the crowd, giving them a show like they've never seen before.
Toward the crowd. Away from James.
And James feels a chill, running through his body.
Lost in the music.
Lost in the moment.
All he wants is—
He doesn't even realize. His hand snaking out. Grasping onto Sirius' arm.
Pulling Sirius back to him.
The crowd goes wild as they embrace. Their screams drowning out James' lyrics.
Sirius laughs, playing to the fans, leaning in close, adding his voice to the fray.
His cheek presses against James', their lips, mouths, voices, harmonizing as they sing the chorus from deep in their chest.
These words, feelings, memories that they wrote together. Created together. Dreamed of together.
And the crowd screams it back at them.
And Sirius looks at James.
And James can see his wonder, amazement, euphoria, at this moment, this life that they've created, reflected in Sirius' face.
He steps forward.
Reaching for him. For Sirius. For this.
But then the chorus is over.
The song is over.
And Sirius dances away from him to swap out his guitar for their next set.
And it takes everything. Everything. James has not to pull him back again.
"What a fucking show, am I right?" Remus laughs, breathing out an acidic cloud of cigarette smoke. His hands are shaking. James doesn't comment.
His hands are shaking too.
"Gimme that." He snaps.
And Remus passes over the cigarette, digging out a new one for himself.
James takes a deep inhale. The smoke filling his lungs. The nicotine hitting his bloodstream.
"Fuck." He hisses. He'd told Lily he'd quit but—
Exhaling through his nose. It burns. In a good way. The best way.
The night air is cold. The afterparty is wild. The cigarette is smoldering.
James feels himself coming down from the adrenaline high.
He looks around the back deck of the house the party is at.
Empty.
Except for him and Remus.
He looks at the cigarette in his hand.
Less shaky now.
He takes a chance.
"I don't think I can fuck Sirius."
Remus flicks the ash from the tip of his cigarette and nods.
"Fair. Sirius is…a lot."
The unspoken words 'I would know' remain unspoken. James had never really talked to Remus about him and Sirius. Their whirlwind of a romance. How it crashed and burned. How Sirius slowly clawed his way back into Remus' heart. How The Marauders barely survived the wreckage.
Remus takes another drag and examines James.
James never asked. But then again, Remus never told him.
"Maybe work up to it? Let's just find you someone to make out with."
James sputters. Coughs. "Here?"
Remus shrugs, "Yeah, it's a fucking house party James. You're a fucking rockstar who just played one of the hottest sets this fucking city has ever seen. There's gonna be a line of guys around the block trying to kiss you."
James feels his cheeks burning and knows he looks like a goddamn tomato right now. "You think?"
And this time Remus just laughs. But not unkindly.
"I know." Remus says.
"What about him?" Remus nods to a lanky man with sandy brown hair and a surfer's tan. James chews on his lip.
Shakes his head.
"What about—"
"I need a drink." He announces, trying not to think about how he's fleeing. Turning on his heel, fighting his way through the crowd to get to the kitchen. Barely aware of the fact that Remus is following him.
The kitchen is crowded too. Stuffed with bodies, half-clothed, half wrapped around each other. A too-skinny chic latches onto him and James shakes her off.
"Here." Remus holds out a beer.
"No," James heads to the counter where the liquor bottles are cluttered around. Digs through them until he finds the vodka. "A real drink."
Pours himself a shot. Looks to Remus.
Remus shrugs.
James pours Remus a shot too.
They click glasses and knock 'em back.
It burns all the way down.
James coughs.
Pours another.
Remus just shakes his head smiling.
It burns.
Lighting a fire in his stomach.
James grabs the beer Remus holds out and together they begin fighting their way back through the crowd.
"Him?" Remus nods to a stocky blond who looks like he could bench-press James.
"Naw."
"Him?" A sweet, kinda nerdy looking guy in a sweater vest.
James shakes his head.
"Okay, what about—"
Shaggy dark hair. Slouchy jeans. A worn-out-looking waffle knit.
"Him," James says. Pointing.
The man looks up, as if he can sense James's gaze.
They lock eyes.
"Ahh." Remus hums under his breath as he catches sight of the man. "Go get 'em tiger." He slaps James on the ass and shoves him into the fray.
James trips, steadies himself, and walks over to the man with more confidence than he thought he had.
"Hey." He says.
The man gives him a smile. "Hey."
"I'm James." He holds out a hand.
The man takes it, bringing James' fingers to his lips. "I know."
Remus was right.
A fucking line out the door.
"You wanna…get some air?" James asks.
The man nods. He still hasn't let go of James' hand. And he doesn't. As he leads James through the house to the back deck.
His lips are eager. His tongue pushy. His five o'clock shadow scratchy.
James feels the cold brick of the house against his shoulders, the heat of the man's body, Josh, he said his name was, against his chest.
With Lily, he always has to bend down to reach her.
But he and Josh are almost the same height.
Josh's fingers are tangled in his hair and James' are curled in Josh's shirt as he yanks him closer.
Hot. Possessive. The vodka and pot and something else—
Something else.
Burns.
In the pit of his stomach.
"Fuck." Josh breathes out against his neck. And James laughs.
He's a little, or a lot, crossfaded by now.
The world is fuzzy at the edges. Warm. Hazy. And fuck is right.
Because fuck him.
It feels good.
What Josh is doing with his tongue.
His teeth.
His mouth trailing down James' neck.
"Do you wanna—" Josh mutters and James can't even speak.
He wants it.
So bad.
They stumble back into the party together, Josh still gripping his hands. With more urgency this time. They find their way to the stairs, the second floor, the endless array of empty bedrooms.
Josh shoves James against a door, his leg nestling between James, pressing against him and James groans something primal.
His hands fumbling for the door handle because he needs this. He needs this. He needs him. Now—
The door swings open and together, limbs intertwined, they fall backward into the room.
"Oi! Occupied!" A voice calls out.
A familiar voice.
And James yanks himself, his hands, away from Josh.
Spinning on his heel.
He sees Sirius. Naked. Splayed across the bed. While an equally naked man works his way down Sirius' chest with his mouth and a stunningly naked woman straddles him, a waterfall of dark hair falling down her back.
"Hey Jay." Sirius says casually, his fingers, still red and bloody from the show, only hours ago, gently tease the woman's nipples and she tosses her head back and moans. Her hips moving of their own accord, gyrating on top of Sirius.
And Sirius looks at James. As James looks at him.
A curious smile at the corners of his lips.
And James just stares.
Unable to tear his eyes away from Sirius' naked body. From Sirius. Himself.
"Come on." Josh finds his hands again and pulls him out of the room.
But James can't shake that little curl. At the edges of Sirius' lips.
Like he had a secret.
Trapped between his teeth.
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