Author's Note: This is the longest chapter so far, so I hope you enjoy! M rating for language and sexual content
Chapter 25 – By Your Hand
By your hand is the only end I foresee
I have been dreaming you've been dreaming about me
As Sam apparated to Janey's house the following evening, he wasn't sure whether the overriding feeling he felt was excitement at getting to see her again, or nervous anticipation at what he suspected was about to happen. It had only been a week, but it felt like a month since he'd seen her beautiful face, held her slight frame in his arms, and heard her soft, sweet voice uninhibited by phone static.
He had thought about bringing something—flowers maybe. She had so loved the ones he'd gotten for her birthday, but he had been surprised by how much a bouquet really cost, and he didn't want her to become accustomed to it. Not whilst he was an unemployed schoolboy.
Don't think of yourself like that, Sam ordered himself fiercely. He was not some little schoolboy. Not tonight. He was a man. A grown man. And he had his stepfather's cologne on the base of his throat, and an entire box of condoms in his pocket.
Before he could realise what was happening, Janey was sprinting across her driveway squealing with delight, and just like he had in Rosewood Manor all those weeks ago, Sam took her into his arms like it was effortless.
"Hi," he breathed, unable to contain his delight at being reunited with her.
"Hi," she breathed back, beaming down at him as she continued to straddle his waist. "Are you hungry?"
Sam wasn't sure if that was a euphemism or not, but he was hungry in many senses. "I could eat," he said, beaming back at her.
"Good," she squealed again, "because I cooked!"
Five minutes later, standing in her kitchen, Sam learnt that when rich people said they 'cooked' what they meant was they had overseen and given verbal input into what their personal chef had made for them that evening, but he still thought it was sweet.
Janey's mind was preoccupied. She couldn't be sure what her game plan was, but she knew that wine would be a good call. A sip of something strong would achieve two things. Firstly it would make her feel classy and grown-up, and maybe it would help encourage the same thoughts in Sam's mind. She wasn't a dumb teenage girl—she was a sophisticated and mature woman. Secondly, it would calm her nerves. She needed to hit that sweet spot—enough to give her an edge of charisma but not enough to tip her into messy incoherence.
A lot of alcohol had been flowing the first time, after all—the night of her birthday. Even though, in that incredibly intimate moment, her mind had never felt clearer, and she'd never felt more assured of what she was doing, she had been drinking a lot beforehand. They all had. It had made her daring and bold. It had made her unashamed of asking for what she wanted.
It had also made her head pound the next morning, because she had committed her cardinal sin of not keeping hydrated between every glass.
But this time, she was prepared. And so was Sam. He knew exactly what he was there for. All their cards were on the table. It would be different this time, Janey vowed. It would be better. It would be everything it should have been last time.
She had arranged dinner, she had selected the perfect bottle of Chardonnay to accompany it, and she had already pre-laid the table with their finest cutlery. Or, at least, she had asked one of the staff to do so.
When Sam had arrived, he was wearing a button-down shirt, and Janey felt her heart swell at the realisation that he had somewhat dressed up for the occasion. Of course he had. And when she instinctively fell into his arms, she couldn't help but notice that he smelt divine. Something deep and earthy, and nothing like he had smelt like before.
Janey's mouth formed a hidden smile as she burrowed deeper into his chest. Who had he asked to borrow cologne, she wondered. His stepdad or his stepbrother? Because it smelt expensive, and she highly doubted Sam had been able to procure his own. God, she thought, she really hoped he hadn't alluded to the reason why he'd wanted to borrow it.
"When you'd said you'd cooked," Sam said slyly, "I assumed you meant you had cooked."
Janey just blinked up at him with innocent confusion. "Like some kind of housewife?" she scoffed. "Are you insane?"
Sam broke out into a wide grin, thoroughly endeared. "Janey," he asked politely, eyebrows raised, "do you know how to cook?"
She looked thoughtful.
"Any signature dishes?"
"I could… I could probably make pasta," she mused.
"But you never have?"
Janey's face suddenly contorted into an expression of hostility, riling herself up for the defence. "Do you know how to cook?" she countered.
Sam's mirth faltered. "I… I can make beans on toast!" he finally claimed with triumph. "Or put a pizza in the oven."
"And do you handroll the dough and stew the tomato sauce for the base yourself or…?"
"Touche," Sam said coolly, but he was grinning once more.
"I just don't understand why I would ever need to know how to cook," Janey pointed out, "when I can always just hire someone who's actually trained to do it?"
Different worlds, Sam thought. He had watched his mum cook for himself and their extended family his whole life. Delia Tyler would never have outsourced such an intimate act of love as cooking for one's family to a hired stranger. Not to mention the fact that she'd have never financially recovered had she ever done so.
Sam supposed he was privileged in a different way. His mother had always lovingly handcooked his meals, and now that was extended to the house-elves at Hogwarts, but he realised neither of Janey's parents had probably ever cooked for her.
He couldn't imagine sitting back whilst another person waited on him, like every day he was dining at a gourmet restaurant. Hogwarts was an entirely different sort of situation. (Although the food was phenomenal, it had to be said). But in the comfort of his own home, if he ever had a family of his own, he would want to know how to cook for them. He imagined Janey would want to follow the way she'd been brought up and hire somebody.
Not that Sam was considering they would necessarily ever consider themselves to be a family one day.
"I could probably cook beans on toast," Janey said thoughtfully. "How hard can it be?"
"Maybe we could try together," Sam said without thinking, and then they were both blushing.
Cooking together seemed intimate. It evoked thoughts of a blissful home life together. It also evoked thoughts of breakfast. Or brunch. But either way, an early meal. A meal that followed… a night. Sam had enjoyed poking fun at their joint lack of ability to prepare a homecooked meal, but now he was remembering exactly what he was there for.
Or not.
Janey had been unclear in her requests for him to come over.
She seemed to sense what was on his mind, likely because it was on her mind now too, but it was clear neither of them felt comfortable enough to outright address the elephant in the room.
"So, uh, so what is for dinner?" Sam asked politely, diverting her attention away from whatever uncomfortable thing Janey might have been pondering, as her eyeline dropped to her feet. Better to establish a safe, comfortable environment for her first if she did have anything she wanted to say. Pushing never worked.
"Carbonara," Janey replied, her eyes refocusing on Sam.
"Sounds good."
"I… I didn't know what you would like, but I thought spaghetti would be safe?"
"Janey, in all the time you've known me, has there ever been a dish at Hogwarts I've declined? There isn't much I wouldn't eat."
Janey smiled bashfully. "I wouldn't have noticed."
"I lie," Sam said. "Those asparagus tip thingies they had last Christmas… That was a hard no. And anything with spinach."
"Spinach has no flavour," Janey pointed out. "It just hides in meals. How could you possibly dislike it?"
"It's the texture," Sam protested. "It's… slimy."
Janey snorted. "I feel the same about mushrooms, I suppose."
"Well, see, a nice mushroom risotto—that's good stuff."
"You will never eat that in this house, I promise you. The chef knows better than to even buy mushrooms. It's a strictly prohibited food item."
Sam was grinning. He loved moments like that with Janey. Where it was just the two of them, learning things about each other that only seemed important to know when you cared about someone. Who else would know or even care that he didn't like the texture of spinach?
He also liked that Janey didn't flinch, or blush, or seem perturbed in any way at the thought of Sam eating more meals in her house.
"I lied too," Janey confessed.
Sam cocked an eyebrow, confused.
"I have noticed you eat."
"What?"
"Yes, it was one of the first things I ever knew about you."
Sam was thoroughly confused, unsure whether she was joking or not.
"Rose mentioned it one of our first nights in our dorm together."
"Rose mentioned how I eat?" he asked in disbelief.
Janey was very much enjoying herself. "Yeah, she said she met a boy at the Welcome Feast who basically unloaded his entire family history onto her and was the most disgusting eater she'd ever seen, so I made sure to see it myself. We called you chicken boy for a week."
Sam held her gaze, trying to read exactly what was in her expression, but she remained perfectly stoic. "You're lying," he said after a while, though he couldn't be sure. Janey had a very good poker face.
"I am being perfectly honest."
"Chicken boy?" Sam repeated, torn between whether he should find it funny or offensive.
"Yeah, we had those chicken drumsticks that first night, and you apparently really went to town."
Sam was mortified that that had been Rose's first impression of him, and not only that, she had gone and immediately told all her new roommates. But he had an uncomfortable feeling brewing in his stomach. He was sure that if he unlocked the memories from that night almost six years ago, he could recall the chicken drumsticks at their very first feast.
"Hmm," he said thoughtfully, as Janey struggled to suppress her smirk. "I mean, really, I'm not ashamed at all, because tasting that food for the first time was a lifetime experience, I'm not going to lie. And eleven-year-old Sam didn't have much decorum."
"Eleven-year-old chicken boy," Janey corrected.
"I think in all this, I just feel sorry for you," he said slyly.
Janey's gleeful smirk faltered ever so slightly. "Me?"
"Well, yeah," Sam went on. "I mean, it's one thing to be chicken boy, but it's an even sadder state of affairs to be chicken boy's girlfriend."
"Hey!" Janey protested.
"To actually go and snog chicken boy, and walked the streets in public with him, and—"
"Well, it was my plan all along," Janey interrupted. "After that first night. I thought, I have to witness this guy in action for myself, and sure enough, feast number two, there you were, going to town on some mac and cheese."
"Yeah?" Sam asked.
"Yep."
"And then what—you thought, hey, I know, I'll play the long game. I'm going to dedicate my next six years here to riling this guy up, constantly combating him on every single issue every single day of my life, engaging in screaming matches every instant I can get, and then—then—after embarking on a dangerous adventure in some cursed woods, where he'll almost get his throat slit and I'll act like I couldn't care less, being imprisoned in a dingy cell for twenty-four hours where he thought he'd never see me again, I'm going to emerge from the rubble, snog the life out of him, and he'll be mine. Locked down for as long as I like."
Janey nodded along thoughtfully, seconds stretching out in silence. And then she too was grinning. "Yeah, that's pretty much it."
"Well," Sam said, his eyes shining with adoration, "you've executed it flawlessly."
He thought he might kiss her then, and she looked like she was eager too, but they were interrupted before either could even lean in to initiate anything.
"Miss Davington, your dinner is served."
Both Sam and Janey blushed, reminded they weren't actually alone in the vast house. Sam also remembered, with alarm, the security cameras that always watched him come and go. He wondered if there were any internal cameras. He flashed his eyes to the few corners he could see, nothing flagging up as abnormal. Not that he'd really know.
Sam felt like royalty as he was seated at Janey's dining table. The glass table was abnormally large considering that only two people infrequently lived, and presumably dined there, far bigger than the one in his home that often had to accommodate seven. He was amused by the fact that they might be seated at opposite ends of the extended table like he saw rich people do in films, but their placemats had been set perpendicular to each other at one end. He wondered if this was Janey's request or if the staff had just naturally set it that way.
Porcelain bowls were filled to the brim with the most enticing carbonara he'd ever laid eyes on—including the one at Hogwarts—and he even noticed there were crystal wine glasses delicately set out. His mum would never have served him wine with dinner. Maybe a tipple of sherry at Christmas, which he thought was repulsive anyway, but this was incredibly upper-class to him.
For Janey, he realised, this was just her daily life.
"Is Chardonnay okay?"
"Sure," Sam said, deigning not to volunteer the fact that he couldn't have told you the first thing about wine, let alone what was or wasn't good. He had rarely drunk wine. Not Muggle wine anyway. But he didn't want to remind Janey of the vast differences in their upbringings and current social standings if he could help it.
Janey poured the wine with expertise, and Sam was surprised she didn't have a personal sommelier to do it for her. Maybe they were off-duty.
"Do you have a wine cellar?" he asked, the instant the thought had entered his mind.
"Of course," Janey said in surprise. "Why? Do you want to choose something else?"
"Yes, I'd like the Number Five Vin du Blanc," Sam said with a perfectly serious expression.
Janey stared at him, mid-pour. "Hilarious."
"But for a second there, you thought I knew what I was talking about, didn't you?" he smirked.
Janey continued pouring, perfectly passive. "Where most parents taught their kids actual life skills like riding a bike, or how to iron, mine taught me wine."
"An incredibly important life skill for a pre-teen," Sam said wisely. "Although, it's not like I was ever taught to iron. Or cook. Except for beans on toast, of course."
Janey replaced the bottle and took her seat. It was kind of nice, Sam thought. Having dinner with her in this way. He would have liked to have taken her out, but given that she had a personal chef and a cellar full of more expensive wine than he could have ever afforded anyway, he didn't think she'd be at all impressed.
Janey began winding her spaghetti around her fork. Sam followed her lead. He made to lift it towards his mouth and then suddenly stopped.
Janey had noticed. "What's wrong?" she asked. "I promise there's no spinach."
Sam smiled. "No, it's not that. It's just… now I'm self-conscious that I eat in a weird enough way to have garnered a hilarious nickname upon first meeting my supposed friends."
Janey laughed, taking a sip of her wine.
Sam mimicked her and was surprised by how bitter the wine tasted. He tried not to make a face as he swallowed, acting like he enjoyed white wine on the regular, even though Janey knew this wasn't true anyway. It left a surprisingly sweet aftertaste after the initial sharpness. Sam took another swig. Maybe he could wing this fine dining thing after all.
"You don't eat weird," Janey said kindly. "You just acted like a starved animal that first week."
"Well, please don't tell my mother that. She'd be devastated if she knew her cooking came second only to house-elves."
"You've not tried this yet," Janey pointed out.
With as much conscious class as Sam could conjure, he took his first mouthful of carbonara. Of course it was exquisite.
"Okay," he conceded, "my mum is third."
Janey smiled, as though she had personally prepared the meal herself. "And look at that," she teased. "You just ate that like a normal human boy instead of a ravenous wolf cub."
Sam truly did feel at ease with her, no self-consciousness lingering despite her jibes. It was weird how well they really did know each other now, given that they had never considered themselves anything close to friends throughout the course of their six-year relationship. Sam felt more comfortable joking around with Janey in this way than he even did with Rose who he'd been friendly with since day one, or Albus, his Gryffindor roommate.
He felt a warmth in his heart as a wayward thought entered his mind. Of course he would never dare voice it to her, but he rather thought, in such a short space of time, Janey had become his best friend.
He took another gulp of wine to cover any sign of fondness flickering across his face that Janey might probe into or otherwise get irritated by. They were still working on emotional affection, after all. As well as, he thought nervously, physical affection.
What would happen that evening, he wondered. Had Janey planned much beyond dinner or was she winging it in the way he felt he surely was? Sam was not going to push or presume anything—he wanted everything to be entirely on Janey's footing. If she said yes, or she said no—well, he would follow her lead. He wouldn't be initiating anything himself.
"For the record," Sam said, "I never learnt to ride a bike either." He wound another mouthful of spaghetti around his fork with gracefulness that impressed even himself.
"No?" Janey asked, sipping her glass of wine.
"I was going through a defiant phase when Gabe offered. The whole 'leave me alone, you're not my real dad' thing."
Janey looked interested but then immediately like she was trying not to seem it.
"And then I got my Hogwarts letter, so everything changed anyway. And since then," he said, reaching for his own glass once more, "it never seemed worth it."
"And you belittled me for never having learnt to swim!" Janey pointed out.
"Only because you have a massive swimming pool to use at your leisure," Sam pointed out cheerily. "It's completely different."
"But Gabe seems like a nice guy," Janey said carefully.
"He is," Sam agreed. "It's just, my mum was expecting the twins, and I started to feel like an outsider. So he was trying extra hard to help me feel like I still belonged in the family, and I was stubbornly rejecting any kind of fatherly love he was trying to show me."
Janey looked thoughtful, a haunting sadness swimming in her eyes. She glanced at him nervously, like she wasn't sure if she should dare ask what was on her mind, but taking courage, she did. "It must have been strange," she said delicately, "to not be able to have a relationship with your real dad properly."
Sam appreciated that this was the first time they'd ever really talked about his dad. He had openly spoken about his childhood situation with his friends before, and knew Janey had always been aware that he'd lost his dad at a young age, but there had never been any real deep conversation about it with anybody in his life. Family had always been off-limits from Janey's end so Sam had never delved into his own circumstances, but she seemed harrowingly interested all of a sudden, and he was happy to indulge. He wanted her to know everything she wanted about him, in the same way he wanted to reciprocate with her.
Sam shrugged in response to her musings. "I really didn't know him at all. I don't have a single memory of my dad, so it's hard to feel any kind of sorrow or loss," he said truthfully.
Janey looked saddened by the idea. Strained as her relationship may be with her parents, at least she had the choice to have a relationship with them should she so desire.
"Was he a wizard?" Janey asked.
Sam nodded. "My mum didn't tell me until I got my letter. She hadn't known how I would turn out after all."
"Weren't there signs?"
"Well, yeah, I guess," Sam answered. "But I didn't realise at the time."
"Me neither," Janey confessed. "I just assumed I was a freak."
"You're not a freak, Janey," Sam assured her, stretching his hand out across the table to take hers in his own.
"I turned a girl in my class purple," she said.
"Yeah?" Sam smiled. "I made it rain in my English classroom because I didn't want to take a test once."
Janey smiled in response.
"They told me it had been a leak, but there were full-on storm clouds in there."
"Oh, they told me the girl had had some kind of allergic reaction, but I knew it had been me. I'd just watched Charlie and the Chocolate Factory."
They both smiled at each other as they realised they were united in this uniquely shared experience. That they had both, for the first ten years of their life, had no idea the strange occurings that sprang up around them during each flicker of intense emotion were the result of an uncontrolled power brewing deep within. Separate though they had been, they had both been experiencing this incomprehensible phenomenon at the same time, neither knowing what lay ahead.
"Are you ever sad about it?" Janey asked, her smile faltering back into the look of sad concern she'd worn before. "About… not knowing your dad."
Sam swallowed a rogue lump in his throat, unsure if it was emotional or just some spaghetti that had lodged itself there. "I… I guess," he said eventually, deigning to be truthful with her. "It's weird," he tried to explain, "because I never knew him. I was only two years old when he died. It's hard to grieve the loss of someone you're not aware of ever having met, but at the same time, I feel a sort of… longing," he gulped, "to have that relationship I never got to have. Gabe is great," he said quickly, "despite some rough patches, but I've always been aware that he wasn't my dad. And it was hard, having to see Elliot, and Kayleigh, and then Zoe and Morgan, have a relationship with him I knew I could never truly have with anyone."
"I'm sorry," Janey suddenly burst out, and Sam looked at her inquisitively. "I feel like I'm always dragging on my dad," she explained, "and I should be grateful that I even have one in the first place when… when not everybody does."
Sam let his thumb run over her knuckles, moved by her sudden show of emotional vulnerability. "It's okay," he assured her. "Your experiences with your dad are completely valid. You don't need to apologise or justify why you sometimes feel… overlooked."
Janey seemed to be pondering this line of thinking. "It's just weird," she said, "when you have everything I have, and you've lived the life I've led, I feel selfish for sometimes wanting… more."
Sam didn't say anything. He wanted Janey to say whatever it was she was comfortable enough to say on her own terms.
If she were considering saying anything else though she clearly thought better of it, reaching for her glass once more, their other hands still clasped atop the table.
"Are you still hungry?" Janey asked, placing her now empty glass back down. There was a weirdly charged energy between them, but not one either of them could have pointed to experiencing before.
Janey's bowl was empty and Sam realised, with surprise, that his was too.
"Err, no, I'm, okay. Thank you," Sam added, the uncertainty of what was going to happen next suddenly fully present in his mind. This was the first time he'd ever come round for dinner. Normally they'd just hang out, make out… and he'd go home.
But things were different now. Their boundaries had shifted. And this was still unchartered territory for the both of them. The wine had provided a nice settling of nerves to some extent, but Sam was still very much aware of all his faculties.
"Dessert?" Janey suggested.
"That depends on what you're offering," Sam said without thinking, and then immediately flushed with colour. He had not been trying to be suggestive—he had purely been thinking of food.
He noticed a small blush form in Janey's cheeks too, but she didn't outwardly react to the comment. Their hands were still locked together, but now Sam could feel the claminess forming on his palm.
Thankfully, Janey's chef chose that moment to enter the dining room, alleviating any awkwardness that had been building.
"Thank you, Katya," Janey mumbled as the lady began clearing the table.
"May I get you anything else, Miss Davington?"
Janey glanced at Sam.
"I'm okay, thank you," he said quickly, half to Janey, half to the friendly Russian woman. "And it was really, truly delicious," he added politely.
The chef beamed, gave a polite nod to them both, and then departed.
Before any nervous anticipation could creep back into the room, Janey seemingly took matters into her own hands. "Should we open another bottle?"
"Yes please," Sam said, hoping he didn't sound too eager, but knowing the enticing flow of alcohol would certainly help him to further relax.
Janey gestured for him to follow her, and soon enough Sam was being introduced to a room that had been avoided on the initial house tour.
"I never normally come down here," Janey said by way of explanation as they entered the cavernous wine cellar that was hidden beneath the already huge house.
Sam looked around in awe. The room alone was probably bigger than the whole downstairs of his family's home. And the contents combined was surely worth more than his mum's annual salary.
"These are the, err, reds," Janey pointed out. "White, rosé, champagne…"
"Woah," was all Sam could offer in response, completely out of his depth once more.
"I suppose we shouldn't mix," Janey said thoughtfully, selecting another slender bottle of white wine from the refrigerated section. Sam was grateful, because God knows he'd have made a fool of himself if she'd expected him to pick something for them. Having any kind of knowledge of wine, beyond the basics of what was considered red and what was considered white, was completely beyond Sam's comprehension.
Soon enough, they were back upstairs, and Janey was expertly pouring them each another glass.
Sam was once more thinking about how the events of that evening were going to possibly play out. How did you even initiate what he was certain Janey wanted to do with him. Was she just going to casually announce it was time to go upstairs and he would have to strip down and perform at her request? Would it happen organically? But how could it, he thought awkwardly. Not when they were both clearly thinking about it.
Things had been different before. Firstly, because neither of them had been anticipating it happening. Or, at least, he certainly hadn't been. Last time it had been a heat-of-the-moment thing. They had been in her bedroom already, they were both beyond the realms of sobriety, and it had just fallen into place once the wheels were in motion.
But they were now downstairs drinking wine. If Janey suggested they go upstairs, Sam was going to know what was coming. There was no casual way to initiate it without it being awkward and stirring up nerves. So what if they just started going to town downstairs, he thought, and then had the awkward minutes to fill whilst they ascended the stairs to her bedroom.
Sam took the glass Janey had offered him, hoping liquid courage would be all he needed to settle his nerves and calm his mind.
"Should we, err, sit in the living room?" Janey suggested.
So it was going to be the latter, Sam thought nervously. If indeed anything got frisky between them, they would have to somehow transition from downstairs to upstairs. Sam reminded himself as he followed Janey to the off-white sofa that he didn't actually know what she expected from him that evening, but he thought the insistence on alcohol was a sign that she intended for things to go in the same direction as she'd implied on the phone when she'd first invited him over.
And Sam was keen, he couldn't help but think. He very, very much wanted to rewrite their sexual history as quickly as possible, now that the awkwardness of total surprise was alleviated. But he also thought that might allow for a less forgiving situation. He had been awkward, and nervous, and, to put it frankly, bad, their first time, and all of that could be excused by the shock and inexperience. But now he was prepared, and level-headed, and he supposed now incredibly mildly experienced.
What if Janey expected cool expertise this time around? No awkward fumbling, no stupid questions, but straight to the point with more ease and charm than he'd ever been able to muster before. Even the thought of tackling the clasp of her bra once again was enough to make Sam sweat underneath his collar.
He had taken every precaution he could with his preparation when grooming that time around. He had showered and scrubbed every inch of his body, doused himself in Gabe's cologne (without his permission), brushed each tooth with minty precision. Hell, he had even flossed!
For the first time in his life, Sam had even shaved. He had noticed the stubble almost imperceptibly sprouting on his chin all summer with mild curiosity and realised it was time to take that step into manhood. He couldn't be sure if he was grateful or not.
Sam would be lying if he said he hadn't considered several times that there might have been something biologically and developmentally wrong with him. Every other man in his life had seemed to be sporting facial hair much younger than him. Elliot had been shaving since he was fifteen. James and Mason, he had noticed, had sometimes shown the tell-tale signs of a five o'clock shadow as evening drew near in the Gryffindor Common Room over the past year, only to be fresh-faced in the morning once more.
And in Rosewood, even Scorpius had looked kind of rugged in that region. It could have been the overall impact of camping out in the haunted woodland, Sam considered, none of them privy to a shower or any kind of basic hygiene facilities, but he'd not been close enough to the boy's face to examine it in detail. In fact, the only one of them who still looked baby-faced and youthful as ever following their adventure over the summer was Albus.
Sam felt like his body was finally catching up with him in that sense—the undeniable transition into adulthood—for which he was grateful, but he was worried this introduction would encourage unwanted hair growth in other areas of his body. He was well aware he had long gone through puberty, and it hadn't been particularly pleasant. In fact, Janey had been the first to notice, and instantly mocked him, when his voice had broken in the middle of a Potions lesson at age fourteen.
The sprouting of hair anywhere other than his face had been most unwelcome and inevitable, and Sam had reluctantly accepted it as he noticed his body changing throughout his teenagehood, but this sudden introduction of facial hair had him worried his body would be frantically generating even more hair elsewhere.
Sam had not asked for his stepdad's help or permission as he'd used his razor on his chin that afternoon, instead trying to self-teach himself via a YouTube video. It had gone horribly wrong, shallow cuts releasing a worrying amount of blood, leaving him looking like a werewolf had gotten a swipe at his face, and instead used magic to mop up the damage as best he could.
He had lingered, ever so slightly, as he acknowledged the thick trail of hair which led from his bellybutton to beneath his waistband, before realising it was perhaps already impolite and unhygienic of him to have borrowed Gabe's razor in the first place, let alone use it anywhere other than his face. Sam didn't really have excessive chest or back hair, but below that waistband was another story altogether. He knew it was normal, of course it was, but how did he know how normal his body hair situation was compared to other guys his age, and, more importantly, to what level of disgust Janey would feel if she were to lay eyes on it.
He had opted not to mess with anything he couldn't be sure he could undo, and remembering the warzone his face had been, resolutely put the razor down.
And then had come clothes. Sam had chosen a smart but not too-smart button-down shirt which would be easy to remove, and jeans. He hoped it said, 'I'm making the effort to look nice but not too formal like it's some kind of big deal or whatever.' Janey, of course, looked effortlessly beautiful and chic. But to her credit, Sam thought, she could be dressed in a mouldy binbag and he'd still think she was the most stunning girl he'd ever seen. Even in Rosewood, he had never seen her look bad. He wasn't sure it was even possible.
"You look beautiful," Sam said aloud for good measure, he and Janey now nestled together on the sofa. They were facing each other at one end, knees touching, wine glasses still clutched in their hands.
The tell-tale signs of colour flared up in Janey's cheeks. Sam wondered how she was still surprised whenever he complimented her. But as long as he got a welcome reception, and even if he didn't, he wasn't going to stop. Someone like Janey deserved to be told every waking second how incredible she was, and not just physically.
"I like your shirt," Janey said in response. She never expressed gratitude when Sam praised her, the blush letting him know she found it flattering but overwhelming to be told so, so instead she always deflected.
Sam grinned in response. He wondered if she was aware of how well he already knew these little tells she had. And then wondered if he had any that she had been perceptible enough to notice too.
It felt like they were both stalling. An awkwardly palpable tension hung between them, flickers of charged sexual longing, but an overriding mental block preventing either of them from having the confidence to act on it.
Sam held firm in his decision to let her entirely take the reins. He would let her kiss him first, touch him, undress him—should she so wish to—and he would eagerly follow her lead. He was not going to be the one to initiate anything—Janey was going to set the boundaries that evening.
But God, it was difficult. He remembered how it had felt that first day in the alcove. They had just snogged the life out of each other for the very first time and had then had to awkwardly sit there, unsure what to say to each other, but both longing to once again act on that physical yearning they had both been feeling so urgently. Their knees had been touching then too, Sam recalled, and he remembered how exhilarating it had been to have that physical sensation of her body resting against his, no matter how slight.
They were like that now, knees resting against each other, invisible heat coursing between them, but awkwardly withholding from those animal urges that were longing to rip through them. Back then, it was as intimate as he'd ever been with Janey, but now he knew what it was like to have more. So much more.
Sam took a nervous gulp of wine just to give himself something to do, any kind of delay to stop him from being the first to cave.
Janey followed suit, taking a sip from her own glass before she placed it on the coffee table in front of them.
Sam watched this movement with intrigue and decided to do the same. About a third of his glass was still full, as was Janey's, but she had put hers down as though to signal some kind of silent declaration.
Sam held her gaze, heart thumping so loud with anticipation that he felt for sure she must have been able to hear it, but if she could she didn't let on. Her eyes were so incredibly blue.
Fuck it, Sam thought, because he couldn't spend a second longer without kissing her, throwing away his resolve as he eagerly leant towards her.
Their lips touched for one fiery second—the exact amount of time it took for Sam's knee to collide with the wine glass resting on the edge of the table and promptly soak the remaining contents into the crotch of his jeans.
He swore loudly as Janey let out a squeal of shock.
"Shit, I'm sorry, Janey," Sam said frantically as they both leapt to their feet. He looked down in horror as the dark stain spread from his crotch down one thigh, the absorbent denim hungrily drinking up every drop of wine it could. It truly looked like he was in the process of wetting himself. Perhaps the least seductive move he could have possibly made.
"Did I get any on you?"
"No, I'm fine," Janey said quickly, but she looked dazed. Her eyes glanced towards the sofa, and Sam had a new panic.
"Oh my God, did I—?"
"No, it's fine," Janey confirmed. "It's white wine anyway, it wouldn't have mattered." She offered a small, conciliatory smile, but Sam felt awful. Why, why, couldn't he act like a normal human being for once—why did he always have to ruin everything?
He felt her eyes glance southward, directly at his crotch, and Sam went redder than ever.
"I think you managed to get the entire contents on just yourself," Janey said brightly.
"I, err, I should—" But Sam wasn't sure what to suggest. Take my jeans off?—he thought scathingly, furious at himself. He had very much hoped this evening would lead to him slipping out of his jeans, but not in this context. And what if it had seeped beneath his jeans, he thought in a panic. What if he was now stewing his crotch in white-wine-sodden boxers. God, he was an embarrassment. Further proof he shouldn't remotely be trying to have an adult relationship. it felt like the universe was mocking him.
"I can clean it up," Janey offered, and Sam's eyes went wide.
He would very much like the sensation of Janey dabbing at his crotch with a cloth. In fact, he rather thought he'd enjoy the sensation a little too much, and for that reason, he didn't want her going anywhere near that region at all. Not in this context.
"With—with magic," Janey stuttered, as though she too had realised the implications suggested by that interaction.
Sam relaxed. Of course. They were magical, he remembered, and could easily clear up a spilt drink. Nobody needed to touch anybody's crotch at all.
Janey looked nervous but excited as she retrieved her wand, intently eyeing Sam's jeans with a wistful look on her face.
Sam gulped under the scrutiny, regardless of the context. Why had he worn denim, he thought angrily. The most absorbent and unforgiving fabric of them all. Although, it wasn't like he had intended to upend a glass of wine onto his jeans.
Janey seemed hesitant.
Sam couldn't help but grin, realising that Janey probably hadn't done much, if any, magic outside of Hogwarts. She had only been of-age for just over a week, after all.
"It's okay," he assured her. "I trust you." And it was true. Normally, he'd have felt some trepidation at somebody aiming a wand at his crotch, but if it were going to be anybody, he was glad it was Janey.
"And what if I accidentally make you infertile?" she teased, but he could sense the genuine worry in her voice.
"Well, err, try and focus the spell on the jeans, and not, err, what's underneath," Sam said, immediately wincing once the words had left his mouth. He was desperately trying not to make her think of what lay beneath, but everything sounded more and more like innuendo.
Janey quirked an eyebrow upwards. "Noted. I'll try and think of your jeans and not the contents."
Sam further reddened. "Just do it," he pleaded, wanting any and all attention drawn away from the region it was currently on.
A serious, concentrated expression crossed Janey's face. "Okay." She took a steadying breath, and Sam closed his eyes in preparation.
Seconds later, the spell was done, and Sam's crotch was bone dry once more.
"I did it!" Janey squealed, full of awe and delight.
Sam relaxed and let her bound into his arms. "Like a pro," he said proudly.
After embracing for a while, Janey unwound her arms but remained close to Sam.
"I, ah, I really am sorry," he apologised. "Spatial awareness is not my forte."
He wondered if he had ruined not only the moment but the entire evening. Despite all the attention on his crotch, Sam felt the heat of the moment had passed. And yet, with Janey so close, something seemed to be sparking between them once more. Sam involuntarily gulped. Perhaps he could still salvage this evening.
"You know," Janey said, her voice low and suggestive, as she peered up at him from beneath her long, thick lashes, "if you'd wanted me to take your trousers off, you could have just asked."
Sam had to desperately fight against his body's urges in order not to gulp again. He wanted to kiss her, but remembering the disaster that had occurred last time he'd broken his resolve, he resisted. Janey was going to take the lead, he firmly reminded himself.
Something playful flickered into her eyes, immediately to be replaced by a look of solemnity. "I'm, ah, I'm going to go freshen up," she said breathlessly.
Sam was confused. "I thought I didn't get you?" Had she been lying in order to preserve some of his dignity?
"You didn't. That's not what I meant." Janey looked like she was trying to convey something much deeper with her eyes, but Sam didn't understand at all.
"I'll be back in a second," she declared before hurrying off in the direction of the enormous downstairs bathroom.
Ten seconds later, it finally dawned on Sam what she'd been saying, and he was glad she was gone so she couldn't see him once more turn as red as a tomato. A sexually inept tomato. He wondered what she could possibly be doing in order to 'freshen up' and wondered if he should do the same. He had brushed his teeth before he came but they had since eaten, as well as consumed a lot of wine, so what if his breath now stunk?
Sam felt awkward, stood waiting in Janey's living room, feeling like he should be doing something else. He replaced the fallen glass on the coffee table, now completely drained of its contents. "Scourgify," he said, aiming his own wand at the fluffy cream carpet, and then repeated the spell for the sofa, just in case the wine had left an invisible stain.
He nodded to himself, proud of his work, and then, wand still in his hand, had an idea. He checked his pocket, reassured by the bulge of the cardboard box Elliot had gifted him, but it wouldn't hurt to do the contraceptive spells they had been taught at Hogwarts too. And actually, he considered, he'd rather do it now, away from Janey's eyes, than have to stop what they were doing later to recite the spell under her scrutiny. The spell's effectiveness lasted sixty minutes, Sam recalled. Likely more than enough time, he thought a little bitterly.
Once it was done, and Janey still hadn't returned, he glanced around the room, feeling like he should be doing something else to prepare but unsure what. Should he, perhaps, he considered, sit back down on the sofa? Or was she expecting him to meet her, he thought with another nervous gulp, in her bedroom? He felt for sure that whatever he chose to do, it would be the wrong decision.
Sam decided to sit. And then he was immediately in his head about how, exactly, he should even be sitting. He crossed his legs but felt like he was in a business meeting, way too formal. So instead he uncrossed them, spreading his knees ever so slightly, and throwing one arm up to casually rest along the back of the sofa.
At which point he caught sight of himself in the reflection of the ginormous flatscreen TV that stretched across the wall opposite. He looked like a complete idiot, weirdly manspreading all over her sofa in a way that said, 'I'm a total douchebag,' rather than, 'Come hither'.
Sam heard Janey's footsteps approaching and immediately sprang to his feet, making sure his wand was properly concealed in case it raised awkward questions. She hadn't actually said in any certain terms that they were going to be engaging in any sexual activity that evening—he might have actually misinterpreted what was happening entirely. It wouldn't have been the first time. Maybe 'freshen up' was a conceptual ritual rich people engaged in after dinner which had zero sexual connotations at all.
And in fact, as Janey returned to the room, her face gravely sullen, Sam rather thought he must have misunderstood completely, because she certainly didn't look like someone who had any seductive desires on her mind at all.
"Are you okay?" he asked instinctively, because she did truly look like she had somehow received devastating news. Perhaps she wasn't feeling well.
"It's, ah, it's not happening," Janey declared, looking partially frustrated and partially embarrassed.
"Oh," was all Sam said, because he very deeply did not know what was happening. Obviously, she had changed her mind, which he fully respected, but why did she look so irritated by her own decision? In truth, he felt guilty for perhaps having made her feel like it was expected of her. "That's fine," he said awkwardly. "I didn't mean to… I wasn't, ah, expecting—"
Janey shook her head, cutting him off. She was avoiding looking him in the eye, and obviously avoiding telling him the reason for her sudden change of decision. Maybe she was just too in her head about it, Sam considered. Maybe, though it seemed hard to imagine of Janey, she felt too self-conscious.
"It's nothing to do with you," Janey assured him.
"Oh," Sam said again, because he still didn't understand, but wasn't sure he was supposed to press her for a substantial answer. She didn't need to justify her choice, obviously, but it was clear she had a justification that she, for whatever reason, was hesitant to explain.
Finally, she met his eyes, and there was deep apology swimming within, her lips forming a slight pout as though she were being punished for something he couldn't fathom.
"I'm… on," she said awkwardly. "Again."
"On," Sam repeated, and then feeling like an idiot said, "On what?"
Janey rolled her eyes, redness rushing to the surface of her face. "On," she said delicately, looking like she was desperately searching for words other than the most straightforward. But ultimately realising there was no nuanced way to communicate past Sam's utter confusion, she said in a reserved voice, "My period."
If Sam had blushed before, which he knew he had many times, he didn't think he had ever blushed that hard in his entire life. Not even when Janey had first propositioned him.
"Hmm," he said, like he was pondering something thoughtful, because he didn't think he could say 'Oh' for a third time, realisation finally dawning. If there was one thing Sam knew even less about than sex in any form, it was a woman's menstrual cycle, which he now knew was what was being discussed.
Janey wouldn't look him in the eye once more, but she was scrambling for words to fill the awkward silence that followed her declaration. "I thought I had finished," she frantically explained, "two days ago, which was why I invited you round—and I've always been really regular—and there hadn't been anything for twenty-four hours, so I assumed I was in the clear, but apparently, I'm, uh, not done yet."
Sam only half understood what she was saying to him. Unlike their feeble sex education classes at Hogwarts, there had been no such educational talks on menstruation whatsoever. In fact, the only insight Sam had ever had into this strange female phenomenon was when he was eight and his mum had awkwardly tried to explain the biology to him after she'd found him innocently playing with a box of tampons he'd fished out of Kayleigh's bag. A talk he had barely understood at the time and had frantically tried to block from his mind as he'd gone through puberty himself. Girls were already complicated enough without him trying to understand their complex inner workings too.
"Right," he said, nodding in faux understanding. "Okay."
In truth, Sam had many, many questions. Firstly, what on earth did she mean by 'on'? Was this not a singular event that occurred every month? How did it seemingly come and go over the space of several days with twenty-four-hour stretches of uncertainty about whether it was happening or not? It had been his understanding that this was just something women went through each month for a few grim hours, or maybe a day, where they locked themselves away as they battled through the unpleasantries and emerged later, refreshed and renewed.
Kind of like a werewolf.
He was also concerned for her. Was she not in pain? Her body, if he understood correctly, was literally gushing blood—how was she acting like it didn't bother her? Or was that not how it worked at all, he thought. Most of the girls at school would have been frequently 'on' and he'd never heard of or noticed any of them taking time out of lessons or spending any extended time in the hospital wing. He'd have definitely noticed if Janey had been absent for any significant amount of time every month. She was annoying enough. (Or at least that's what he would have previously told himself).
"Are you okay? Do you need to lie down?"
Janey stared at him like he'd offered to perform a tap dance for her. "What?"
"Are you in pain?" Sam asked, trying to come across as caring but fearing it was just making him seem incompetent.
"I'm fine," she said, apparently dumbfounded by his remarks, a slight smile forming at the corners of her mouth. "I guess I'm just having a weirdly heavy flow this time. It has been a bit irregular compared to normal."
Sam felt sure she had only said this to see how he would react, because he certainly didn't understand anything she'd said. He nodded like he did though in order to save face, but Janey was fully smirking at this point, and he knew he wasn't fooling her at all.
"You don't have the slightest clue about what I'm talking about, do you?" she accused. Any embarrassment she might have been feeling had evidently dissipated.
Sam's flushed face had certainly reduced in colour since her initial declaration, but he knew he was still very red in the cheek. "I'm not entirely familiar with all the intricacies," he said indignantly, "but I understand about…" But he couldn't even say the word, and really that said everything.
Janey continued to smile, but she didn't say anything in response, and Sam wasn't sure what he should say next. As disappointed as he was that they wouldn't be getting physical that evening, he was also kind of relieved. It at least bought him more time to mentally prepare for his next performance. Although, how much time it would buy him, he couldn't be sure, and he daren't ask for fear of further revealing his lack of knowledge about female biology.
Janey looked bashful once more. "Should we… watch a film or something?" she suggested.
Sam was pleasantly surprised by her suggestion. Most of the time they had spent in her house had been dedicated to physical activities, either bedroom or swimming pool-related. Or else they were just lolling around and chatting. But having dinner together? Watching films? It was almost like they were a real couple.
"Sure," he said, beaming. He'd have been lying if he said he hadn't very enviously considered what it would be like to make use of the TV that was surely bigger in size than his family's dining table. But to ask Janey if he could enjoy her material possessions seemed thoughtless. He had already strongly pushed for the swimming pool, after all.
Janey located the remote and began operating the technology. Sam watched, trying not to outwardly act as awed as he was, like this was a perfectly normal-sized bit of tech to have in one's house. She was flicking through the channels, clearly unsatisfied with what was being offered. "I mean, we also have Disney Plus, and Prime, and Apple, and, well, everything really."
Sam didn't want to admit that he wasn't sure what all of those words meant—at least not in whatever context Janey was using them. He had heard of Disney, of course, as had every kid raised in a Muggle household, he would assume. But since going to Hogwarts, Sam rarely watched TV. He wasn't caught up with all the latest Muggle technology in the slightest.
"What about Star Wars?" Sam suggested with a wicked grin.
Janey rolled her eyes. "No, because you'll actually want to watch that."
Sam frowned. Wasn't that the point? What use was it putting on a film they didn't actually want to watch?
Janey continued flicking through their options.
"Ooh, Inception," Sam impulsively said out loud, and then regretted it, hoping he hadn't sounded lame.
"Leonardo Dicaprio?" Janey asked, still staring at the screen.
"Yeah," Sam confirmed.
"Well, he's kind of hot—in an old man way."
"He's not old," Sam said indignantly, not sure why he was defending the celebrity he didn't particularly have any strong feelings towards.
"Oh, my apologies," Janey said, turning to grin at him. "But you'll have to get in there quick if you want a chance, because we're almost ageing out of his preferred dating pool."
Sam returned the grin even though, once more, he had no idea what she was referencing.
As Janey let the film play and came to settle down on the sofa, Sam deigned not to point out that it was already part way into the film and he'd have preferred to watch it from the start. She seemed not to care. They had switched places from where they had been earlier, Sam now in the corner with Janey nestled into his side, the still part-full wine glasses at a safe distance. It was a simple moment of mundane romance, and once more Sam thought of how much disbelief he'd be in if someone a year, or even a few months ago, had told him he'd be experiencing this with Janey Davington.
For a while, they watched the film in silence, perfectly content. Sam let his hand run down the side of Janey's arm, absentmindedly stroking her like she was a cat. Surprised, he felt the tell-tale bumps rise on the surface of her skin.
"Are you cold?" he asked, concerned.
Janey shook her head, training her baby blue eyes on him, head resting on his chest. "Well," she said, and there was no denying the flirtatious lilt in her tone, "I wouldn't mind warming up…"
Sam had only a few seconds of confusion before she had crept along his body to place her lips against his. He was surprised, but he wasn't going to fight it. He had barely gotten to kiss her before the wine had made contact with his crotch last time. This was a much more pleasant experience—though he was trying not to focus on his crotch.
What started as mildly gentle, as usual, morphed into something much hungrier and more passionate. Without really thinking about it, Sam found himself pushed backwards so he was practically lying on his back, Janey crawling atop his body with ease. It was kind of exciting knowing that this time there was no chance of it developing into anything further. He could lose himself in the incredible sensations without the anxiety of where it might lead.
But all of a sudden remembering why it wasn't to go any further, Sam felt guilty and concerned for Janey's wellbeing. "Are you okay?" he managed to ask, feeling slightly breathless. "Am I hurting you?"
Janey looked dazed. "Hurting me?" she repeated.
"Yeah. You know, because of your, err..."
She just stared at him. "Sam," she said bluntly, "do you know how many lessons I've had to endure whilst it feels like a small, very angry creature, is trying to claw its way out of my uterus?"
Sam blushed, unsure whether it was rhetorical or she actually wanted him to answer.
"Do you know how many Quidditch matches I've played—and won, I might add—whilst my body is literally shedding from the inside, pushing chunks of flesh out through a tiny hole in my cervix?"
She had to be lying, Sam thought, surely. That's not actually… that's not actually what happened? And every month?
"Believe me," Janey concluded, looking fierce, "this is one of the most pleasant things I could possibly be doing in this situation, so please shut up and let me enjoy this."
Sam obliged, resuming the snogging with even more vigour. He felt he ought to give Janey, and women in general, more credit than he did. He'd had no idea it was all that bad. He also didn't understand how, given all she'd just described, she could possibly be finding what they were doing enjoyable at all, but who was he to argue?
An undeniable warmth spread through Sam's body as they continued to writhe on the sofa. He very much liked the feeling of Janey's body pressed against him, his back comfortably supported by the deep sofa cushions. For someone who had just been told under no circumstances was there the possibility of them having sex that evening, Janey was certainly acting very… enthusiastic.
She had unbuttoned the top half of his shirt so expertly that he hadn't even realised until he felt the undeniable sensation of skin upon skin.
As she ran a hand down his chest, each fingertip leaving a dizzying new tingling sensation, Sam had to consider whether she might have changed her mind. He wasn't against the idea, if she wasn't, but she had been the one to call it off, and after having explained in vivid detail what her body was going through, Sam couldn't possibly imagine why she would want to do anything other than curl up in a ball and scream until it was all over.
Janey had softened in her approach ever so slightly, no longer animalistically frantic but taking her time to run her hands over every inch of skin she could reach, her mouth savouring each kiss with varying pressure.
Being at her mercy was intoxicating. Sam had been in the more dominant position that first time, feeling awkward and self-conscious, very much aware of where his body was at all times in case he was hurting or smothering her. But this was something else entirely. He could feel Janey's body pressing into him, and he liked it a lot. He liked the sensation of her hands running over his body, her hair falling around her face to gently tickle his own. He liked the feeling of her slight weight atop him.
Her lips tasted like wine. If Sam had thought it had been even vaguely too bitter or unappealing during his first sampling then he now thought it was the sweetest-tasting delicacy he'd ever allowed his lips to touch.
With seductive expertise, Janey sucked Sam's bottom lip into her mouth, letting her teeth gently scrape across the soft flesh, at which point any self-control he might have still possessed was well and truly gone. He emitted an involuntary groan, praying with all his might that the chef was long gone. He thought he could feel Janey smile as she continued her work. God, she knew exactly what she was doing.
It was now also undeniable and completely pointless to pretend he wasn't entirely aroused by this display, Sam realised. He had thought by sheer willpower alone he could force his body into fierce obedience and keep certain impulses at bay. Which was probably the stupidest thing he'd ever attempted. It would have been like standing in front of a tidal wave and expecting it not to come crashing into you at full force simply because you asked it not to. Idiotic and impossible.
He was sure Janey had noticed, by the breathy gasp she let out as her hips pressed against him. But if she had, she didn't seem to mind, and if anything it urged her on. Sam had to fight the strong temptation to apologise to her, realising she would not appreciate it. Well, he thought wickedly, she had been the instigator. She couldn't possibly think she could do what she'd been doing and it not result in exactly what had happened. If she wanted to stop, she would stop—but God, Sam really hoped she didn't.
One of Janey's hands was wrapped around the side of Sam's neck, every now and then a wayward thumb tracing the line of his jaw. Her other hand slid almost imperceptibly down his half-exposed chest. And where it would usually stop, it didn't.
Sam's head felt muggy, perhaps due to the alcohol, perhaps due to the dizzying intoxication that being with Janey in this way provided, but even so, it took a few seconds of getting lost in the sensation before his mind fully processed what was happening.
Janey's hand was creeping beneath the waistband of his jeans, her fingers unbuttoning his fly with far more expertise than he'd shown when trying to operate the clasp of her bra. Maybe it was not her first time, he considered, but he really didn't want to think about that right then. Nothing following or preceding them in that moment mattered at all.
"Janey," he said in a breathy whisper before she could go any further.
She pulled her lips away to look at him with question, their noses still practically touching.
"You really don't have to…" Sam wasn't sure how to finish the sentence because he didn't want to be presumptuous in his vocalisation of what it was, exactly, she might have been about to do.
But Janey continued to meet his gaze with a steely glint that let him know she was absolutely going to do whatever it was she wanted, and he by no means wanted to discourage her. They both seemed to be holding back a nervous breath, the anticipation of crossing boundaries so far unexplored hanging heavy between them.
Janey brought her lips back to Sam's, both of them relaxing slightly as they melted back into the ease they were now accustomed to. And then, every graze of her fingertips sending something akin to electricity sparking through his body, she ran her hand southwards.
Sam fought to suppress a shuddering breath as her slender fingers wrapped around him, chartering territory previously untouched by any human other than himself. And, it had to be said, the sensations now shooting through his body at her delicate touch were already far, far more desirable.
Sam wasn't even aware that he was holding his breath, nor that his body had pretty much frozen in shock as he focused purely on the deeply pleasurable warmth where he and Janey's hand connected.
She herself let out a slight gasp as her hand clasped around him, as though surprised by her own daring. Or maybe, Sam considered, she had not known exactly what to expect. After all, she had not handled him, as it were, that first night together exploring each other's bodies. They had not actually touched each other with their hands outside of the areas they already had, despite having been fully sexually engaged. Maybe she had not known it would feel quite like this, and something about this thought made him feel perverted. Like he had stripped away her innocence, exposed her to something so personally intimate and mature that she had perhaps not been prepared for and that now he could not undo. It was a weird, self-conscious mix of euphoric pleasure and intense disgust for his own body.
Janey was not kissing Sam anymore, but instead staring intently into his eyes, a look of curiosity and intrigue on her face, her lips slightly parted in breathless awe as all her energy and attention was focused on what she was doing with her hand below, the other wound into his hair.
He could not deny that the sensations Janey was providing were not greater than anything he'd ever experienced by his own hand, but he could also sense how reserved and unsure she was. It was obvious that she did not have any experience in this area, and it was a refreshing change for once, to feel on equal footing with her when it came to their sexual exploration. It wasn't like Sam had ever done this with another person before either—they were navigating it together. And, if anything, he could even guide her.
"You can…" Sam started to say, desperate for more but unsure if he could ask for it. "Grip it," he gulped, "ah, tighter."
Janey didn't look offput by his suggestion, even though he now felt more perverted than ever. Curiosity still brimming in her eyes, she obliged, tightening her hand. An immediate shooting pain ripped through Sam's body in a place you certainly never wanted to experience pain.
"Not that tight," he gasped through clenched teeth.
The pain immediately dissipated as Janey relinquished her grip. "I'm sorry," she burst out, looking mortified.
Sam half thought she might be so embarrassed that she stop, and he would have ruined the moment by asking for more than he should have, but Janey looked more determined than ever. Her hand tightened once more, but much slighter, and an even bigger surge of euphoria seemed to overwhelm Sam's body as she adopted a rhythm that very much worked for him.
"Is this okay?" she whispered, eyes wide and uncertain.
Sam nodded enthusiastically, feeling words could not possibly do justice to how incredible she was making him feel. "Yes," he managed to gasp, the breath hitching in his throat. "That's… It feels amazing."
They didn't say much, but Janey continued her rhythm whilst Sam lay frozen, terrified to move but entirely overwhelmed by just how amazing it truly felt. He closed his eyes, shutting out all sensations save for the vast warmth beneath his waistband. Never in his wildest dreams could he have imagined he could reach heights of pleasure such as this. It felt almost, if not just as good, as it had felt to actually be inside her.
Sam wanted to tell her to stop. Not because he wanted her to, but because he felt selfish. Why should he get to endure such extreme pleasure when he couldn't reciprocate? What was even in it for her? Reluctantly, he thought of what James had said—about making sure she got as much pleasure from it as he did. But how could Sam reciprocate, when the very reason they were in that situation was because penetrative sex was off the table, and Janey had been the one to initiate this new exploration. Was there even anything he could do—that she would allow him to do—given her circumstances?
"Janey," Sam murmured, hearing his own voice through a heady, distorted haze. "You really don't have to—"
She shut him up by way of bringing her mouth to his once more. Not one to discourage her if this was really what she wanted, he hungrily matched her enthusiasm.
As their kissing became frantic once more, Sam couldn't help but notice that so had her pace elsewhere. Whilst it remained incredibly, dizzyingly blissful, he also couldn't pretend that he wasn't starting to feel slightly restrained. Confined to a denim prison, there was a certain pain as the tight fabric strained against his crotch, providing a mingled combination of both great pleasure and great discomfort. Sam daren't suggest he be allowed to slip out of his jeans, even though he was greatly craving it—for several reasons. Primarily, because he was embarrassed. Regardless of what Janey was doing, it felt a step too far to force her to have to actually see him free from his trousers, clad in all his naked glory.
There would also be an awkward dynamic—if he were to be de-clothed from the waist down only, whilst she remained presumably fully clothed, because why on earth would she strip down too? And, of course, he was currently a guest, being groped on a millionaire's sofa. A very white, very clean sofa, that no doubt cost more money than he had ever had in his bank account. Sam was not entirely dissuaded from his paranoia that Mr Davington had cameras trained on him, and even if Janey was quite happy for him to sprawl out on the sofa in nothing but his birthday suit, it would probably still be in his best interests to not, in fact, do that. For hygienic reasons more than anything.
So the jeans remained, as did the persistent throbbing. Sam also didn't know how to tell Janey that, at the speed she was currently going, he was starting to feel the effects of friction taking over. Her slender fingers provided a magic far greater than he'd ever witnessed anyone perform at Hogwarts, but dry skin rubbing against dry skin at such a frantic speed was almost crossing the barrier between pleasure and pain. And yet, he really, really did not want to ask her to stop.
But Janey must have sensed the tension that had set in as his jaw clenched, unable to focus on kissing with as easy passion as before. "Are you okay?" she asked, obviously noticing his enthusiasm had fractionally lessened. And then, before Sam could figure out how to politely word his request, she asked of her own accord, "Am I hurting you?"
"No," Sam said quickly, not wanting to offend her. "It's more… a bit slower would actually be better."
Janey did not look offended, but instead mildly curious. Well, Sam supposed, it's not like she had one of her own, and clearly she did not have any prior experience in what she was doing. But she seemed more than eager to learn, and Sam was certainly more than eager to educate.
As she slowed her pace, she hit that sweet spot once more, the friction subsiding almost immediately, though the tight confines of his jeans still proving inconvenient. Sam had to muster every ounce of strength not to emit any audible noises, incredibly self-conscious. But it was proving impossible with every second that passed, the intense pleasure coursing through his body almost too much to bear.
"Fuck," Sam involuntarily burst out in a low moan, almost like he was pleading, and then immediately, "Shit, I'm sorry," fearing Janey would be put-off. But if anything this seemed to encourage her.
She had increased her speed again, but this time it was working, no friction this time but pure, unadulterated blissfulness. Sam hadn't even realised that he was frozen no more, thrusting his hips in time with her motions in order to fully maximise the sensation.
Janey seemed to be enjoying his response. She placed her lips against his earlobe and the tickle of her breath as she whispered, "Tell me what you like," was enough to set something in motion Sam had very conveniently forgotten about as he lost himself in the whirlwind of sensations.
An undeniable surge of pleasure was building up with increasing urgency, and Sam's head was suddenly flooded with panic. "Janey," he managed to say in a strangled breath, needing to warn her, to beg her to stop before it was too late. He mustered all his strength in order to steady his hips, to stop the involuntary grinding within her keen grip. "Janey, please," he begged, though he wasn't entirely sure what for. And nor did she seem to know what he was asking of her, because she showed no signs of letting up.
"I'm—" Sam spluttered. Close, he wanted to say, but was suddenly, naively uncertain if Janey would know what he meant, and that it was a warning, not an encouragement. "If you keep going," he gasped, the crescendo rapidly increasing, and so too his own sense of urgency, "I'm going to—I'm gonna—"
And it was too late.
Every intense feeling of pleasure Sam had experienced that evening, and also in his entire life, suddenly culminated in one brief surge of euphoria that sent his body shuddering with heights of pleasure he never could have comprehended had he not been currently riding that formerly unattainable high.
"Janey," he had completely involuntarily gasped as he'd reached the pinnacle, a strangled moan, an expression of gratitude, a begging for mercy. He was already mortified by what had happened, but as the name escaped his lips, he surely turned as scarlet as the Gryffindor robes they wore during Quidditch.
Whether she heard or not was unclear to Sam because as everything had rapidly occurred, the outburst, the outburst, Janey had squealed in shock, hand immediately withdrawing, leaping away from Sam for good measure with reflexes one would expect from an expert Seeker. She looked shell-shocked by what had happened. By what she had done. By what he had done. By what they had, united, done together.
Sam lay on the sofa, utterly humiliated, vulnerable and exposed now that Janey was no longer atop him. The pleasure, though insurmountable, had been fleeting, and total mortification was setting in in its place. "I'm sorry, " he burst out, attempting to clamber to his feet also, hurriedly zipping up his fly but completely unsure what to do.
The sofa—oh, God, the sofa. But a quick glance let him know that his jeans, the denim prison he had been cursing, were now his greatest asset. It all seemed to have been contained within, and Sam could not believe, that for the second time that evening, his crotch was sodden. He'd have taken the white wine again any day.
Shit, shit, shit, he thought in a panic, desperate to clear up the mess he had created, truly hoping Janey herself was free from it, but having no idea how he was supposed to go about it, especially with her watching him.
But like a prayer being answered, she mumbled something about going to the bathroom and was gone from the room, neither of them making eye contact as she hurried away.
Sam looked around, heart thumping, ready to assess the situation. His wand, he realised, was now his best friend. He hoped Scourgify would do the trick again. He used it everywhere. His jeans, his body, the sofa, the carpet—everything for good measure—willing there be no trace of any debauchery left behind. His heart was racing, and he could feel how grimly he was sweating. As soon as he got home, which he truly hoped would be imminent, he was going to take a very long, very intense shower.
Before Sam could really process any further steps he should take, Janey had reappeared. He gave a start, having expected more time to himself before she returned so he could figure out what the hell he was supposed to say, exactly.
Janey was avoiding making direct eye contact, and Sam felt for sure that she might never look at him again. God, maybe it really would be better if they just went back to Hogwarts and didn't have to deal with any of this sex stuff.
Sam wasn't sure if he should apologise, and if he did, what exactly he should be apologising for. Because it had very much been a two-person activity, which she, in fact, had initiated. She couldn't surely not have known that this was exactly what would happen with her doing what she had done? But he also hadn't discouraged it or taken any kind of steps to shut it down before, well…
He almost thanked her, meaning it to be for dinner, but feared she would assume it was for the other thing, which he knew she would very much think was the lamest thing anyone could possibly say. But then if he clarified he meant dinner then it would look like he wasn't grateful for the other activities.
Sam had just about resolved to simply say goodnight and go home, escaping the awkward situation as he was often prone to do, but he recalled how much it had hurt her when he'd done that the first night, and she didn't deserve that again. It wasn't her fault that Sam was such an awkward loser.
A sudden noise sounded from the television, drawing both of their attentions to the huge screen. As it faded to black and the credits began to roll, music had started to play, signalling the end of the film they had very much not watched.
"Well, that was a bloody good film," Sam said to break the tension.
And whilst Janey didn't outwardly laugh, her lips did curl into an unmistakable smile, and she playfully rolled her eyes.
"We should definitely watch that again," Sam said eagerly, hoping humour would be the way to make it less awkward.
"It's getting late," was all Janey said, and Sam understood that this was his cue to leave. They weren't going to talk about it, and maybe that was for the best.
Sam wanted to ask when he could see her again, but didn't want it to come across like he just wanted a repeat of what they'd engaged in that evening. "Are you okay?" he asked instead, hoping she was neither scarred from what had just happened, nor in any great pain from the reason why they'd even done what they had in the first place. He felt incredibly selfish.
Janey had wrapped her arms around her stomach like she was embracing herself. Sam wanted to wrap his own arms around her, but he wasn't sure she'd appreciate it.
"I'm okay," she confirmed. "I think I just want an early night."
Message received, Sam thought to himself. He hadn't really brought anything with him, but he made a show of retrieving his wand, twirling it around his fingers as he did so, to show he was compliantly making his exit.
Silently, Janey walked him to the door, arms still folded.
As they reached the doorway, Sam lingered, still unsure what he could possibly say upon walking away from this situation. "Thank you for dinner," he said quietly, meaningfully, resisting adding 'and for dessert' afterwards, because the humour he'd attempted prior seemed to have since slipped away.
Janey looked like she wanted to say a lot of things, but as per usual, she opted to say nothing. Sam wasn't sure his flushed face had returned to its normal pallor since their escapades on the sofa, but he was trying to act calm and mature.
"And I'm sorry about…"
Janey looked mortified.
"…spilling the wine. And, err—"
"Goodnight, Sam," Janey said quickly, letting him know they were very much not going to talk about it that night.
"I'll call you," Sam replied, because he was sure that would go down better than him suggesting they meet up in person so soon. But he didn't want them to put it off like they had done at the beach.
Janey nodded. "Okay." Her eyes were wide and childlike, and she did look genuinely tired.
Before she could protest, Sam had pulled her towards him and wrapped his arms around her. He could feel Janey's surprise, but she didn't protest, nor did she reciprocate, merely letting Sam's warmth speak for both of them. He planted a kiss atop her head before he too bade her goodnight, and seconds later, he had apparated to his own home, once more feeling incredibly satiated and incredibly mortified.
God, being a teen was hard.
Author's Note: Title and epigraph inspired by Los Campesinos!' 'By Your Hand'—very on the nose, I know ;)