"My Mistress' Eyes"
Title: My Mistress' Eyes
Author: museme87
Pairing: Lily/James
Rating: R
Word Count: 629
Warnings: sexual situations
Summary: Lily Evans is nothing like fire.
Author's Note: This was originally intended for the Stag & Doe Comment Ficathon, but I never posted it because I didn't much like it at the time. This is my attempt to turn the trope of Lily-as-fire on its head. The title of this piece was stolen from Shakespeare's infamous Sonnet 130, though I have to admit that this is a little more Petrarchan than Shakespearean in some sense.
James doesn't care what anyone says; Lily Evans is nothing like fire. He wonders how they could even think that as he gazes down on her, body swathed in the low lighting of her girlhood lamp. She's all grace, all curves. Her hips wide and breasts beautifully round.
If anything, Lily is like water-stubbornly persistent and confident in finding that one path that will let her continue on. Dangerous as a tempest, soft like morning dew. Ever-changing. Life giving.
She pulls him towards her with her arms wrapped about his neck, and James is struck-is always struck-by the way their bodies fill each other. His lips seek out the curve of her neck, breathing in her fruity perfume as much as he breathes in her.
And she's beautiful like this-so vibrant in the dark, so ethereal even in the tangible. It strikes him that this is what it is about her, this is why he could never let her go; he loves the paradox. Strong, despite the delicacy of her name. Flowing, despite the fire of her hair. Passionate, despite years of coldness.
"I love you," he whispers in her ear, because really there is no other way to express all that he feels. Some things are beyond words, and the emotion she stirs within him is one of these things.
Sometimes he wonders if it's not magic-raw and powerful-that wrought the changes in him, magic like he senses now as their lips meet in a lazy fervour. It lays on the surface of their flesh, unable to be contained because they are young and desperate now. And maybe when they grow old together-when their magic has become so intertwined that it is no longer theirs separately but as one-this subtle fizzing and snapping will fade. But for now, it is a part of them, part of their every touch, skin to skin.
What she does to him when she spreads her legs is an altogether different sort of magic. Still theirs, still primal, but something entirely beyond what James can try to bend and shape to his will. He settles there-watches her watching him-and presses forward.
Her eyes flutter shut, her lips part, and she exists more now than ever. It's all he can ever think about when he's enveloped in her tight wetness. Lily. Lily and how this is what he's been waiting for his entire life, even if he wasn't always aware of it.
"James," she whimpers, meeting him thrust for thrust.
He feels her shudder, feels her body begin that slow climb to inevitable descent. Lily is tense to her very nerve, filled with want and desperation. For you, he has to remind himself. She wants you. And that in itself is enough to unravel him.
Yet he lingers, fights off that moment of complete and blissful nothingness. He winds a hand between their sweat-slicked bodies, dipping his fingers into her folds and bringing her off with the ease of familiarity. She hums with his touch-her magic crackling just slightly with his-and after a strangled gasp, bears down around him.
And it's all he can do to focus on moving when she has him fraying to the very ends. Just as he registers her rigidity fading, his own is suddenly upon him. And he can't quite remember how to breathe because this rush of something so utterly indescribable demands all his attention. And he feels it-wave after wave surging through his blood and he knows nothing. Nothing but Lily as he comes inside of her, her hands tangled in his hair. Lily. His Lily, and only ever his because she gave herself to him as he gave himself to her years before.
Author: museme87
Pairing: Lily/James
Rating: R
Word Count: 629
Warnings: sexual situations
Summary: Lily Evans is nothing like fire.
Author's Note: This was originally intended for the Stag & Doe Comment Ficathon, but I never posted it because I didn't much like it at the time. This is my attempt to turn the trope of Lily-as-fire on its head. The title of this piece was stolen from Shakespeare's infamous Sonnet 130, though I have to admit that this is a little more Petrarchan than Shakespearean in some sense.
James doesn't care what anyone says; Lily Evans is nothing like fire. He wonders how they could even think that as he gazes down on her, body swathed in the low lighting of her girlhood lamp. She's all grace, all curves. Her hips wide and breasts beautifully round.
If anything, Lily is like water-stubbornly persistent and confident in finding that one path that will let her continue on. Dangerous as a tempest, soft like morning dew. Ever-changing. Life giving.
She pulls him towards her with her arms wrapped about his neck, and James is struck-is always struck-by the way their bodies fill each other. His lips seek out the curve of her neck, breathing in her fruity perfume as much as he breathes in her.
And she's beautiful like this-so vibrant in the dark, so ethereal even in the tangible. It strikes him that this is what it is about her, this is why he could never let her go; he loves the paradox. Strong, despite the delicacy of her name. Flowing, despite the fire of her hair. Passionate, despite years of coldness.
"I love you," he whispers in her ear, because really there is no other way to express all that he feels. Some things are beyond words, and the emotion she stirs within him is one of these things.
Sometimes he wonders if it's not magic-raw and powerful-that wrought the changes in him, magic like he senses now as their lips meet in a lazy fervour. It lays on the surface of their flesh, unable to be contained because they are young and desperate now. And maybe when they grow old together-when their magic has become so intertwined that it is no longer theirs separately but as one-this subtle fizzing and snapping will fade. But for now, it is a part of them, part of their every touch, skin to skin.
What she does to him when she spreads her legs is an altogether different sort of magic. Still theirs, still primal, but something entirely beyond what James can try to bend and shape to his will. He settles there-watches her watching him-and presses forward.
Her eyes flutter shut, her lips part, and she exists more now than ever. It's all he can ever think about when he's enveloped in her tight wetness. Lily. Lily and how this is what he's been waiting for his entire life, even if he wasn't always aware of it.
"James," she whimpers, meeting him thrust for thrust.
He feels her shudder, feels her body begin that slow climb to inevitable descent. Lily is tense to her very nerve, filled with want and desperation. For you, he has to remind himself. She wants you. And that in itself is enough to unravel him.
Yet he lingers, fights off that moment of complete and blissful nothingness. He winds a hand between their sweat-slicked bodies, dipping his fingers into her folds and bringing her off with the ease of familiarity. She hums with his touch-her magic crackling just slightly with his-and after a strangled gasp, bears down around him.
And it's all he can do to focus on moving when she has him fraying to the very ends. Just as he registers her rigidity fading, his own is suddenly upon him. And he can't quite remember how to breathe because this rush of something so utterly indescribable demands all his attention. And he feels it-wave after wave surging through his blood and he knows nothing. Nothing but Lily as he comes inside of her, her hands tangled in his hair. Lily. His Lily, and only ever his because she gave herself to him as he gave himself to her years before.