Summary: James knows what he has to do, but sometimes he just can't let go.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Original story: You Must Know That I'll Follow You, by kyuuketsukirui.
Notes: Thanks to A and S, love you guys.
James sighs, cause it’s like this when he thinks about them (yeah, them, always them – sometimes just the one, sometimes just the other, but most of the time he’s dreaming he’s got Sirius on his cock and Lily biting his neck, or maybe Sirius lucking his arse and Lily sucking his cock or – oh God, shut up, stop thinking about it, about him) – he’s so hard, and it’s all he can do to hold the lip of the bathtub and just try and relax and pretend he can’t feel his heartbeat thump from the pulse of his neck to the head of his cock with the warm water lapping at him, to the red of his chest.
And he knows he shouldn’t because – because Lily; red hair and freckled-sweet. And it’s her, and she’s his and he’s hers and all that complicated love stuff you hear about in films – so he just shouldn’t think about Sirius in that way anymore, no. That’s old news, that’s time long gone by, and now he can’t have that black-headed boy sucking him or touching him or doing stupid wonderful things to him. He’s got Lily, right?
Then why (fuck, why?) when he hits that crawlspace between waking and sleeping, he imagines that Lily’s sleeping on his left and Sirius on his right? And why does he grab their hands and fall asleep like a little kid, all warm and snug in his bed?
He sighs, and looks down, and he’s still hard.
And his palms itch.
The bathroom door opens and a cold breath of air hits him like a slap in the face.
James opens his eyes and looks at Sirius like he hates him, which he does. James gets out of the bath, and it’s almost like clockwork, all muscles flexing and kinda showing off; just total touch memory, fleeting thoughts of when he was younger and when he actually wanted Sirius to suck him off, and when he wanted to see Sirius fling off the invisibility cloak and stand proudly, and when he wanted to see Sirius grinning ‘cause he’s going commando, and when he wanted to pull Sirius – clothes and all – into the tub so they can kiss like teenagers. And when he actually wanted to be in love with the stupid, stupid fucker.
“You know you’re not supposed to be in here.” James licks his lips, which are dry and chapped.
“Never stopped me before.” God, just look at him. Smiling like this is normal. Smiling like they’re fifteen.
James takes his wand from the wooden bench, and dries himself off with a sudden flick. “Yeah, it’s different now.”
“What’re you on about?”
James tilts his hips and he’s still kinda hard, and that should be way more embarrassing than it is. And then Sirius’ hand joins the tilt in his hips; his fingers slide into the grooves of his bone and skin like they belongs there, the circle block in the circle hole, and then James is back against the cold tile and he’s pretty sure he wants to kiss Sirius a little and then punch him out a lot. “Are you daft?”
Sirius shifts closer a little, just sheer arrogance and demand, little fingers wrapping around him and twisting and pinching just right. James is hard in Sirius’ hand – and can he possibly express how right that feels? Really, at this point, at this level, being in Sirius grip is almost like masturbation. Almost.
James clears his throat, and he sounds a little less than certain: “I have Lily now.” It’s almost a question.
Sirius leans in a bit more, like he’s asking for a kiss, or maybe he’s just doing that so he can press his clothed-cock against James, ripples of the jeans scraping him in little fists of pleasure. James swallows a whimper and expels a punch: “You need a girlfriend, Pads.”
Sirius speaks in that breathy voice that James hates: “I don’t like girls.” Yeah, Sirius is leaning in now and kissing that stubbly spot on the edge of his jaw, and his hands are doing stupid things to his cock and James almost feels a stirring in his tummy that speaks of friendly days long gone. “Anyway, Lily isn’t here.”
“Fuck off.” No real conviction, just the nudge of ten fingers in Sirius’ chest, pushing him away. Sirius takes a step back himself, and James tries to hold his composure, not really sure why he doesn’t just leave the room full stop. He runs a hand through still-damp hair, and flicks it back in a way that makes him look twelve. Sirius looks at him, a little shocked, a little confused – Sirius has that soft red swell in his lower lip that speaks to how nervous he is (suckling on it when he’s anxious) and looking more like a kicked puppy than he should.
“I bloody well won’t,” Sirius says quietly, determined, needy.
Sirius is into James like a tidal wave, all smooth hands and kisses, sliding him right back against that cold tile wall. James gasps into Sirius’ mouth, and pulls away, smashing his head into the tile behind him. He sees stars, and he sees Sirius, and he doesn’t see Lily.
“Sirius,” is all James manages, on the crest of a growl. “Don’t, just fucking don’t.” Please, James nearly begs, please don’t, please don’t.
Sirius kisses him again, urgently, and James feels their stubble brush like sandpaper. It’s all hot and wet, and James isn’t sure if he’s giving as much resistance as he really should because he’s not dating Sirius, he’s dating that girl – Lily. And she doesn’t kiss all rough like this, and he misses that a little. The roughness. Boy kisses, stuff Sirius seems to have in great measure; boy lips and boy limbs; awkwardness and roughness. Currency you can’t get from women.
It starts to hurt, and the more it hurts the less James wants to peel away. He barely notices when his elbows get shoved roughly into the hard tile, and when his lips start bleeding when Sirius bites down too hard, too possessively. Sirius is rolling into him, pressing those skinny hips against his own, shifting and rubbing.
It’s like a beer after years of sobriety; it’s like that sniff of cocaine that puts you back on the streets. Just touching Sirius was a mistake, because James finds himself slipping back into that old habit of wanting him – wanting to fuck him raw, until his ears bled, until they were sore and bruised and lying panting on the ground, sweat-soaked and tasting come on his lips – wanting to slip his tongue into Sirius’ mouth and tell him just how much he means to him; the good stuff too.
James knows what it means when Sirius does that whimpering, moaning, gasping bit. He’s sucked him off too many times not to know that sound. And when Sirius bites James’ shoulder like a little puppy marking and playfighting, James knows it can’t be long now, and maybe if he just rides this last bit out he won’t have to love Sirius anymore, because they’ll both get what they wanted. (He doesn’t really believe that.)
“Come,” James says, barely trusting himself to speak. Sirius slips another bite into his neck, and James’ insides collapse. “Come for me.” He feels like an executioner, killing what’s left of Sirius, the part of him that still loves James, because it’s what has to happen.
Sirius mumbles something into James’ neck and James knows he succeeded, in just those few words. Sirius is coming and damn near cries and James knows, just from his face, that the pleasure is excruciating.
James knows what comes next, and he feels empty when Sirius’ fingers press against the insides of his thighs, making white circles where they push him apart. And when that one white, slim finger slides in, James feels cold, really cold. Sirius sucks him off harder and deeper than he’s ever done before – it’s almost violent, the way Sirius’ teeth scrape along his cock, tongue swiveling along the head and flexing down to press flat along the underside.
James comes and empties whatever’s left inside. White come and slickness; that condensation of love that clung to him like a dew; seven years of memories and heat, of sticking his tongue in Sirius’ arse and licking the come from his fingers. Sirius swallows, and James can only imagine it’s bitter.
Sirius stands, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and they look at each other for a few blank minutes.
“Are you happy?” James is trembling, his legs don’t feel stable and he feels weak all over, and in that moment he knows he’s won. Sirius hates him.
“What do you think?”
Sirius is gone, then; just gone, far gone. And James sits back down on the bench, and curls his knees so they press against his chest, and he hugs them tightly. His cock is still wet from Sirius’ mouth.
He sits there for a long, long time.