Fic: Of Nothing in Particular (Sirius/James, R)
Okay. If you ignore the wangst at the start, the rest isn't too bad. And don't even ask about the title. Apologies for how badly cross-posted this will very soon be.
EDIT: Oh god, sorry; I'd forgotten that all my little fic-things were for people. So, for spessartine:
Title: Of Nothing in Particular
Pairing: Sirius/James
Rating: R, maybe nearly NC17, so be warned
Word count: 3000-ish
Summary: While Sirius turns his worries over one night, James is lying in the next bed, plotting…
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Of Nothing in Particular
He sat alone in bed, doing nothing, eyes focused vacantly on the curtains that surrounded him, only thinking. On one side of him he could hear the pages James turned, and on the other Remus snuffling irritably in his usual, restless sleep.
It felt strange to be back at school, everything having changed so much that something so normal as Hogwarts felt blurrily surreal. It seemed like his whole life should have been irrevocably altered by the summer’s events, everything in the wrong place and nothing quite the same. Sirius Black was, suddenly, a very different person, no longer a Black, no longer a child, and, most disturbingly, now completely unsure of himself.
When younger, any secrets he’d known had been wonderful, sharp little sparks of exciting brilliance, from innocent, childish schemes to their exhilarating experiences as Animagi, they’d always been pleasurable, wonderful things. But now, secrets were horrible and sharp and bitter to the taste. They burned icily in his chest; that dragging ache of shame that coloured everything he said and did and saw, clouding his whole life up.
As if it wasn’t humiliating enough for your parents not to want you or love you, and that they couldn’t even bear to look at you, or you them, there was now this new part of him too, new and disturbing and horrible. Previously, secrets had always been hard to keep, difficult to stop the beaming grin from lighting up his face, his whole body itching with excitement, but growing up had ruined even that.
And this was worse, worse even than his family, and he wondered if he’d ever be able to admit this to anyone, speak it aloud, or even in his own head (where he still lied to himself) because if there was even the slightest possibility that it wasn’t true, wasn’t him, then he would clutch it with both hands. He’d never understood how you could hate yourself before this; you had to be you, so you may as well like it. Previously, he’d always quite liked being him.
‘Padfoot?’ James murmured, crawling blinkingly through the curtains and onto his bed.
‘Mm?’ he asked, slowly turning his head towards his best friend.
‘What’s wrong?’
Sirius had thought he was doing a passable job of hiding it, but then James would always know anyway, and perhaps sitting up in bed, arrow-straight and wide-awake, at nearly 2am wasn’t quite the perfect impression of normality.
He shrugged, only to find James had shuffled closer, his face inches from Sirius’. ‘Sorry, did you nod or shake, because I can’t tell.’
‘I shrugged; put your glasses on.’
‘Don’t need to; I’m only short-sighted, I can see things that are very close.’ He leaned nearer, slinging a leg over Sirius and settling. Sirius almost groaned, because the last thing he needed right now was James like this; naked save for his pants, and curled neatly into his lap. ‘So what were you thinking about?’
Sirius really didn’t want to answer that, not when James’ nose was practically touching his, and he was gazing intently at him, with those squinty, myopic, little deep-brown eyes.
‘Well it doesn’t matter, because I’ve been thinking too.’
‘Mmm?’
‘Yeah.’ James hesitated. ‘I mean… you know that I’m your best friend, um, yeah?’
Sirius sighed, wearily, despite the fact that he knew James could see him clearly, because of course they were best friends, but it didn’t mean they had to be all lovey-dovey, friendship rings and late-night giggles like girls were.
‘So… er.’ One of James’ hands lifted, away from where it had rested on the smooth curve of his bare, muscled thigh, and slid it’s way onto Sirius’ shoulder, one thumb-pad pressed to his collar-bone. ‘So I thought I should, you know, remind you, just so you know that- that you can tell me anything.’
That’s it, thought Sirius, we are turning into girls. ‘James-‘
‘Because,’ James interrupted, ‘whatever you did, whatever you are, I wouldn’t mind.’
Sirius winced, because James’ thumb was rubbing in little circles, and it was all he could do to concentrate on not concentrating on that, so he couldn’t face telling James, even if James truly did mean that he wouldn’t mind anything he did, or was, or felt.
‘So you aren’t going to tell me?’ James asked, sounding a little tired and disappointed, ‘well it doesn’t matter, because I know anyway.’ He carefully neatened the collar of Sirius’ nightshirt, as if this wasn’t utterly mortifying and suddenly painfully uncomfortable.
Again, there was nothing Sirius could say, and he could only hope that James didn’t know everything that he was fretting about.
‘I didn’t say anything before; I thought you wouldn’t want me to,’ James continued, ‘and there was so much else to worry about, but- but I was thinking, at dinner, and when I was in bed. Because, because I know it must be very difficult, but you could have anyone really - that seventh-year, Andrew something, is interested, I know- and it didn’t seem fair.’ That errant hand was on the front of Sirius’ shirt now, fingers curling into gentle strokes. ‘Because I am your best friend, aren’t I?’
Sirius nodded slightly, because the question hadn’t seemed wholly rhetorical, and there was nothing else to do; with his eyes filled with shame still and scared to meet James’, and knowing, somehow, that it would be too dangerous to watch James’ lips, or the hand pressed to his chest, the thumb of which was flicking idly at a button.
‘So it isn’t fair, is it?’
The right answer could have been anything, as far as Sirius knew, because those wicked fingers had clenched, thumb coiled under, trying to loosen a button. ‘J-James? What are you-‘
‘I thought, I just thought, that I should be first…’ And that was the first button open, James’ fingers tracing so lightly down his chest that it tickled.
‘But-‘
‘Shh, shh, it’s okay; I’ve thought about it.’
Sirius’ next question didn’t even meet the air; instead it met James' lips as he tilted his head to the side and pushed them, sticky and soft, against Sirius’. James’ fingers continued their awkward fumble with his shirt-buttons, as Sirius froze, scared and uncertain, and, still, ashamed of this.
‘You’ve never kissed a boy before,’ James said, and Sirius just sat, body still rigid (humiliatingly so in some areas), feeling sick and dirty, uncomfortable in his own body and too hot to be able to breathe. ‘You’ve never kissed a boy?’ James repeated, and Sirius realised it was a question, forcing himself (because this was James) not to suddenly laugh and make a flippant joke.
‘No,’ he whispered.
‘Good,’ James said, and Sirius felt his smile against the corner of his lips. ‘Because I should be first, shouldn’t I?’
Sirius sighed, as James kissed him again with his mouth a little more open, not knowing if he was finally so confused that he couldn’t recognise insanity when he found it, or if this idea of James’ (bred maybe in long, hot painful hours this summer, or even just five minutes ago whilst lain in bed listening to his best friend worry) actually did make sense. Sirius tilted his head too, parting his own lips and tasting hot breath, because James should be first to do this; James who was the first person, the only person, that he loved this much. James who had awakened these feelings in the first place, in hours of wrestling and prolonged contact, in a pile of growing, squirming, awkward limbs every time they fought, eventually making him realise that what was normal at thirteen was less normal three years later, the realisation forcing him to stop, stop and miss it once it was gone.
James’ kisses were strange, self-conscious and a bit too rough, but despite the occasional click of their teeth or a tongue missing a mouth and leaving a wet trail over the other’s chin, it still felt good, good like flying and madness and drunkenness. Anyone else and he would have died from simultaneous shame and pleasure, and from relief at finally having a boy to do this with, no perfume and ribbons, just sweat and hardness. But this was James, and therefore a different kind of love and need, James wanted to share this and be part of this (for which Sirius was endlessly grateful) and even continued to open his buttons. Sirius’ lust wrenched in the same places the shame did, removing it, replacing it, because if James didn’t mind, and could let his mouth slide saliva-slick against that of another boy, then what was there to be ashamed of?
When James pulled away a little, Sirius was still afraid, fleetingly scared that he would be rejected, but James only smiled; that cheeky, tentative half-smile that he only shared when they were up to no good, or, more importantly, when they had a secret, a perfect, beautiful secret, the sort of secret that Sirius wanted to share joyfully with the entire world but was somehow all the better for only belonging to him and James.
And then James had finished with his buttons and was slowly edging the shirt down from his shoulders. Sirius tried to protest, half-heartedly, but James merely shushed him again, and helped his arms out of the shirt sleeves while they were too tense to bend of their own accord. Sirius didn’t know what to do, and ended up finally just looking at James, at his body, paper-pale skin and long lines and sharp angles, the perfect edges of his narrow shoulders, the way his hip-bones jutted above his underwear, the delicate bones of his wrists.
‘Okay?’ James asked, a little awed, presumably not used to being watched and studied, not used to having his nakedness so carefully, lustfully considered. ‘Yes?’
Sirius nodded, then in case James couldn’t see, reached for his chin and pulled him in a little. James just smiled, leaning to kiss again, and Sirius smiled back, feeling the curve of James’ lips against his own.
‘You really want me,’ James murmured, and that wasn’t a question.
It would have been a particularly stupid question anyway, because of course Sirius wanted him, had wanted him since he was eleven and Bellatrix had slunk by the Gryffindor table to remind him (as if he’d needed it) what his mother was going to say about all this, but James had been pulling faces behind her back and with that making her words cease to be at all important, and that instant he had known he wanted James all for himself.
James sighed and shifted, too close now on Sirius’ lap, sat on him now, making him all too hard and begin to tremble with desperation. James showed no hesitation, no sign that he’d noticed he was now sitting on his best friend’s erection, something that he’d caused. He simply slid his hands down, away from Sirius’ shoulders and let them slip lower, to his waist then up his back, even closer as he did so and pressing their chests together.
It was this that made Sirius forget his fear, forget, almost, that this was James he was with, because he was overwhelmed with want, with becoming-harder kisses and the unmistakable male-ness of James’ body; his smooth, flat chest, bony arse and the rough movements of his tongue and jaw. Just the sensation of the soft skin of another boy’s chest against his was mind-blowing; hot and slightly clammy and pressed tightly against him, and made his nervous hands finally unclench themselves from the bed-clothes and fist firmly into James’ hair, holding him in place against his lips and pressing their kisses more deeply.
He experienced a sharp needle of fear every time James moved, when he shuffled his body around or re-angled his head or hands, but James still displayed no indication of minding this, of being uncomfortable or wanting to stop, he was just kissing back, mouths even wider now, teeth clicking more regularly as their kisses became more like furious biting. Sirius had to clutch harder at James’ hair to stop himself from grasping James’ hips and trying to thrust upwards, try to somehow break through their clothing and the sheets, to thrust against and into James.
‘Oh,’ James mumbled, pulling away.
‘Sorry,’ Sirius whispered breathlessly, ‘sorry.’
‘No, I- Oh, I never thought I’d enjoy this so much.’
Sirius dragged his palms down to rest on James’ cheeks, his whole arms trembling as he panted for air. James’ eyes were still half closed, but were no longer squinting to help his vision; they were half-lidded and glazed over, his cheeks flushed and his upper lip a sheen of sweat and saliva. Sirius found he could do nothing but stare, breath still shaky, because previously his need for James had been vague and inspecific, if still urgent, but now he couldn’t imagine not having experienced this, to not have seen James like this; shuddering and lustful, and so beautiful because of it. Could he really have lived without feeling this? Without feeling James’ sweaty palms slapped against his shoulder-blades, his hot breaths juddering out so close to his own lips, the curve of his lithe thighs as they gripped his own.
‘Oh hell, James,’ Sirius finally managed to say, head spinning too fast to make sense. ‘What now?’
James just nudged in closer, arms wrapped tight around Sirius’ back, and began distributing little kisses over his cheek. Sirius could hardly pay attention to those, though, because he could now feel James, his own arms holding him close, could feel him, hard, pressed into his stomach.
‘James-‘
‘See what you’ve done?’ James accused, sliding his kisses round to Sirius’ ear and neck.
‘What I’ve done? Are you sure it isn’t just… because?’
‘Yes… yes, I’m sure,’ James said, and almost moaned, making Sirius sigh and stretch his neck out as James’ kisses reached there.
‘I- I made you hard?’
‘Yes, you,’ James replied, head bent and biting at Sirius’ shoulder, ‘you made me.’ He wriggled, letting Sirius feel it better, and Sirius’ hands, having found their way to James’ hips, twitched and tightened their hold involuntarily.
‘So what now?’
‘Right.’ The weight on Sirius’ legs lifted suddenly and his hands reached out, missing the contact and scared, but James lifted the sheet and wormed his way under and they lay there, wrapped together and trembling. James was nervous, Sirius could tell, despite his calm, self-assured behaviour. He could feel his best friend shaking, and wondered if it was all nerves, or if it was more like his own reason; a disquieting mixture of nerves and of the effort of holding back, of stopping himself from losing control and grinding as roughly as he could against James. He squirmed as James rolled on top of him, relieving the ache of need a little and groaning aloud, unabashed, because James was nearly naked and on him, chest to chest, forearms either side of his head and one warm thigh nestled between his.
James leaned in to rest another kiss to his mouth, combining the movement with a neat thrust of his hips, causing Sirius to moan into the kiss, unable to choose which was better; James’ hip rubbing along the length of him, or the feel of James, so hard and alleviating that hardness by pushing himself into Sirius’ hip.
‘Am I doing this right?’ James whispered, thrusting more.
Sirius almost laughed because of course he was, and besides, he didn’t know any more than James did, not about this. ‘Does it feel good?’
‘Mm, uh, yes…’ A gentle twist and a heavier press of James’ body accompanied the remark. ‘Yes, it does. Sirius…’
Words were hard to concentrate on now, James saying his name and his own palms exploring James’ hot back, but he managed a smile and, ‘then you are doing it right,’ before he lifted his chin up for a deeper kiss.
They were rocking themselves slowly, but roughly, clamped tightly together and legs intertwined, Sirius wanting more (and hoping James did) but not knowing what more was, knowing only that he had to be desperately careful not to scare James, because he never wanted this to end. Of course it would end, because despite the imperfection of the angle and the friction, the contact was wonderful and male and James, and the kisses were amazing, and he’d made James hard, which was a beautifully mad thought, though it was truth. James aroused was a wonderful thing; tiny shuddering breaths, sticky skin and erratic, sloppy kisses, and for all its awkwardness it was more than perfect.
‘James,’ he found himself saying as he realised he was about to come, wanting it both slow and fast, smiling at the knowledge that there would be bruises on his hip and side in the morning as James pressed in harder and faster.
‘Are - are you-‘ James asked, looking into his eyes, an expression of almost-awe mixed with pure lust on his face that Sirius could only marvel at having inspired.
He finally allowed his hands to reach James’ hips, to move him, so they were properly in contact now, hard together.
A strange, hitched little gasp escaped James’ lips and Sirius caught it with his own, trying to hold back, just a few seconds longer.
‘No, oh- fuck, Sirius, I’m-‘
The moment seemed to hang there, James’ expression tensing but his eyes still open, nose to nose as they watched each other. Sirius no longer needed any friction at all, because he was watching James come, hearing the strained, desperate noise he made, and following himself, long and hard and the sweetest thing in the world.
Sirius didn’t know what to do after, gasping through his own come-down and holding James, who was shyly curled into him, his face buried in Sirius’ neck.
‘James, James, I’m sorry…’
Sirius felt the body in his arms shift a little. ‘Mmm, no, s’okay.’
‘But-‘
‘No, it’s fine, nothing to be ashamed of,’ James mumbled into Sirius’ neck, his palm curled clammily around his cheek. ‘Really, it’s fine, we just won’t tell anyone, will we?’
Sirius’ stomach plummeted coldly. But when James wriggled up, so they were eye-to-eye again, he didn’t look ashamed either, was only smiling wickedly, warm, brown eyes almost glittering. ‘Our little secret,’ whispered Sirius, beginning to smile back.
‘Yes, indeed,’ James replied, his lips already touching Sirius’ again.
EDIT: Oh god, sorry; I'd forgotten that all my little fic-things were for people. So, for spessartine:
Title: Of Nothing in Particular
Pairing: Sirius/James
Rating: R, maybe nearly NC17, so be warned
Word count: 3000-ish
Summary: While Sirius turns his worries over one night, James is lying in the next bed, plotting…
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Of Nothing in Particular
He sat alone in bed, doing nothing, eyes focused vacantly on the curtains that surrounded him, only thinking. On one side of him he could hear the pages James turned, and on the other Remus snuffling irritably in his usual, restless sleep.
It felt strange to be back at school, everything having changed so much that something so normal as Hogwarts felt blurrily surreal. It seemed like his whole life should have been irrevocably altered by the summer’s events, everything in the wrong place and nothing quite the same. Sirius Black was, suddenly, a very different person, no longer a Black, no longer a child, and, most disturbingly, now completely unsure of himself.
When younger, any secrets he’d known had been wonderful, sharp little sparks of exciting brilliance, from innocent, childish schemes to their exhilarating experiences as Animagi, they’d always been pleasurable, wonderful things. But now, secrets were horrible and sharp and bitter to the taste. They burned icily in his chest; that dragging ache of shame that coloured everything he said and did and saw, clouding his whole life up.
As if it wasn’t humiliating enough for your parents not to want you or love you, and that they couldn’t even bear to look at you, or you them, there was now this new part of him too, new and disturbing and horrible. Previously, secrets had always been hard to keep, difficult to stop the beaming grin from lighting up his face, his whole body itching with excitement, but growing up had ruined even that.
And this was worse, worse even than his family, and he wondered if he’d ever be able to admit this to anyone, speak it aloud, or even in his own head (where he still lied to himself) because if there was even the slightest possibility that it wasn’t true, wasn’t him, then he would clutch it with both hands. He’d never understood how you could hate yourself before this; you had to be you, so you may as well like it. Previously, he’d always quite liked being him.
‘Padfoot?’ James murmured, crawling blinkingly through the curtains and onto his bed.
‘Mm?’ he asked, slowly turning his head towards his best friend.
‘What’s wrong?’
Sirius had thought he was doing a passable job of hiding it, but then James would always know anyway, and perhaps sitting up in bed, arrow-straight and wide-awake, at nearly 2am wasn’t quite the perfect impression of normality.
He shrugged, only to find James had shuffled closer, his face inches from Sirius’. ‘Sorry, did you nod or shake, because I can’t tell.’
‘I shrugged; put your glasses on.’
‘Don’t need to; I’m only short-sighted, I can see things that are very close.’ He leaned nearer, slinging a leg over Sirius and settling. Sirius almost groaned, because the last thing he needed right now was James like this; naked save for his pants, and curled neatly into his lap. ‘So what were you thinking about?’
Sirius really didn’t want to answer that, not when James’ nose was practically touching his, and he was gazing intently at him, with those squinty, myopic, little deep-brown eyes.
‘Well it doesn’t matter, because I’ve been thinking too.’
‘Mmm?’
‘Yeah.’ James hesitated. ‘I mean… you know that I’m your best friend, um, yeah?’
Sirius sighed, wearily, despite the fact that he knew James could see him clearly, because of course they were best friends, but it didn’t mean they had to be all lovey-dovey, friendship rings and late-night giggles like girls were.
‘So… er.’ One of James’ hands lifted, away from where it had rested on the smooth curve of his bare, muscled thigh, and slid it’s way onto Sirius’ shoulder, one thumb-pad pressed to his collar-bone. ‘So I thought I should, you know, remind you, just so you know that- that you can tell me anything.’
That’s it, thought Sirius, we are turning into girls. ‘James-‘
‘Because,’ James interrupted, ‘whatever you did, whatever you are, I wouldn’t mind.’
Sirius winced, because James’ thumb was rubbing in little circles, and it was all he could do to concentrate on not concentrating on that, so he couldn’t face telling James, even if James truly did mean that he wouldn’t mind anything he did, or was, or felt.
‘So you aren’t going to tell me?’ James asked, sounding a little tired and disappointed, ‘well it doesn’t matter, because I know anyway.’ He carefully neatened the collar of Sirius’ nightshirt, as if this wasn’t utterly mortifying and suddenly painfully uncomfortable.
Again, there was nothing Sirius could say, and he could only hope that James didn’t know everything that he was fretting about.
‘I didn’t say anything before; I thought you wouldn’t want me to,’ James continued, ‘and there was so much else to worry about, but- but I was thinking, at dinner, and when I was in bed. Because, because I know it must be very difficult, but you could have anyone really - that seventh-year, Andrew something, is interested, I know- and it didn’t seem fair.’ That errant hand was on the front of Sirius’ shirt now, fingers curling into gentle strokes. ‘Because I am your best friend, aren’t I?’
Sirius nodded slightly, because the question hadn’t seemed wholly rhetorical, and there was nothing else to do; with his eyes filled with shame still and scared to meet James’, and knowing, somehow, that it would be too dangerous to watch James’ lips, or the hand pressed to his chest, the thumb of which was flicking idly at a button.
‘So it isn’t fair, is it?’
The right answer could have been anything, as far as Sirius knew, because those wicked fingers had clenched, thumb coiled under, trying to loosen a button. ‘J-James? What are you-‘
‘I thought, I just thought, that I should be first…’ And that was the first button open, James’ fingers tracing so lightly down his chest that it tickled.
‘But-‘
‘Shh, shh, it’s okay; I’ve thought about it.’
Sirius’ next question didn’t even meet the air; instead it met James' lips as he tilted his head to the side and pushed them, sticky and soft, against Sirius’. James’ fingers continued their awkward fumble with his shirt-buttons, as Sirius froze, scared and uncertain, and, still, ashamed of this.
‘You’ve never kissed a boy before,’ James said, and Sirius just sat, body still rigid (humiliatingly so in some areas), feeling sick and dirty, uncomfortable in his own body and too hot to be able to breathe. ‘You’ve never kissed a boy?’ James repeated, and Sirius realised it was a question, forcing himself (because this was James) not to suddenly laugh and make a flippant joke.
‘No,’ he whispered.
‘Good,’ James said, and Sirius felt his smile against the corner of his lips. ‘Because I should be first, shouldn’t I?’
Sirius sighed, as James kissed him again with his mouth a little more open, not knowing if he was finally so confused that he couldn’t recognise insanity when he found it, or if this idea of James’ (bred maybe in long, hot painful hours this summer, or even just five minutes ago whilst lain in bed listening to his best friend worry) actually did make sense. Sirius tilted his head too, parting his own lips and tasting hot breath, because James should be first to do this; James who was the first person, the only person, that he loved this much. James who had awakened these feelings in the first place, in hours of wrestling and prolonged contact, in a pile of growing, squirming, awkward limbs every time they fought, eventually making him realise that what was normal at thirteen was less normal three years later, the realisation forcing him to stop, stop and miss it once it was gone.
James’ kisses were strange, self-conscious and a bit too rough, but despite the occasional click of their teeth or a tongue missing a mouth and leaving a wet trail over the other’s chin, it still felt good, good like flying and madness and drunkenness. Anyone else and he would have died from simultaneous shame and pleasure, and from relief at finally having a boy to do this with, no perfume and ribbons, just sweat and hardness. But this was James, and therefore a different kind of love and need, James wanted to share this and be part of this (for which Sirius was endlessly grateful) and even continued to open his buttons. Sirius’ lust wrenched in the same places the shame did, removing it, replacing it, because if James didn’t mind, and could let his mouth slide saliva-slick against that of another boy, then what was there to be ashamed of?
When James pulled away a little, Sirius was still afraid, fleetingly scared that he would be rejected, but James only smiled; that cheeky, tentative half-smile that he only shared when they were up to no good, or, more importantly, when they had a secret, a perfect, beautiful secret, the sort of secret that Sirius wanted to share joyfully with the entire world but was somehow all the better for only belonging to him and James.
And then James had finished with his buttons and was slowly edging the shirt down from his shoulders. Sirius tried to protest, half-heartedly, but James merely shushed him again, and helped his arms out of the shirt sleeves while they were too tense to bend of their own accord. Sirius didn’t know what to do, and ended up finally just looking at James, at his body, paper-pale skin and long lines and sharp angles, the perfect edges of his narrow shoulders, the way his hip-bones jutted above his underwear, the delicate bones of his wrists.
‘Okay?’ James asked, a little awed, presumably not used to being watched and studied, not used to having his nakedness so carefully, lustfully considered. ‘Yes?’
Sirius nodded, then in case James couldn’t see, reached for his chin and pulled him in a little. James just smiled, leaning to kiss again, and Sirius smiled back, feeling the curve of James’ lips against his own.
‘You really want me,’ James murmured, and that wasn’t a question.
It would have been a particularly stupid question anyway, because of course Sirius wanted him, had wanted him since he was eleven and Bellatrix had slunk by the Gryffindor table to remind him (as if he’d needed it) what his mother was going to say about all this, but James had been pulling faces behind her back and with that making her words cease to be at all important, and that instant he had known he wanted James all for himself.
James sighed and shifted, too close now on Sirius’ lap, sat on him now, making him all too hard and begin to tremble with desperation. James showed no hesitation, no sign that he’d noticed he was now sitting on his best friend’s erection, something that he’d caused. He simply slid his hands down, away from Sirius’ shoulders and let them slip lower, to his waist then up his back, even closer as he did so and pressing their chests together.
It was this that made Sirius forget his fear, forget, almost, that this was James he was with, because he was overwhelmed with want, with becoming-harder kisses and the unmistakable male-ness of James’ body; his smooth, flat chest, bony arse and the rough movements of his tongue and jaw. Just the sensation of the soft skin of another boy’s chest against his was mind-blowing; hot and slightly clammy and pressed tightly against him, and made his nervous hands finally unclench themselves from the bed-clothes and fist firmly into James’ hair, holding him in place against his lips and pressing their kisses more deeply.
He experienced a sharp needle of fear every time James moved, when he shuffled his body around or re-angled his head or hands, but James still displayed no indication of minding this, of being uncomfortable or wanting to stop, he was just kissing back, mouths even wider now, teeth clicking more regularly as their kisses became more like furious biting. Sirius had to clutch harder at James’ hair to stop himself from grasping James’ hips and trying to thrust upwards, try to somehow break through their clothing and the sheets, to thrust against and into James.
‘Oh,’ James mumbled, pulling away.
‘Sorry,’ Sirius whispered breathlessly, ‘sorry.’
‘No, I- Oh, I never thought I’d enjoy this so much.’
Sirius dragged his palms down to rest on James’ cheeks, his whole arms trembling as he panted for air. James’ eyes were still half closed, but were no longer squinting to help his vision; they were half-lidded and glazed over, his cheeks flushed and his upper lip a sheen of sweat and saliva. Sirius found he could do nothing but stare, breath still shaky, because previously his need for James had been vague and inspecific, if still urgent, but now he couldn’t imagine not having experienced this, to not have seen James like this; shuddering and lustful, and so beautiful because of it. Could he really have lived without feeling this? Without feeling James’ sweaty palms slapped against his shoulder-blades, his hot breaths juddering out so close to his own lips, the curve of his lithe thighs as they gripped his own.
‘Oh hell, James,’ Sirius finally managed to say, head spinning too fast to make sense. ‘What now?’
James just nudged in closer, arms wrapped tight around Sirius’ back, and began distributing little kisses over his cheek. Sirius could hardly pay attention to those, though, because he could now feel James, his own arms holding him close, could feel him, hard, pressed into his stomach.
‘James-‘
‘See what you’ve done?’ James accused, sliding his kisses round to Sirius’ ear and neck.
‘What I’ve done? Are you sure it isn’t just… because?’
‘Yes… yes, I’m sure,’ James said, and almost moaned, making Sirius sigh and stretch his neck out as James’ kisses reached there.
‘I- I made you hard?’
‘Yes, you,’ James replied, head bent and biting at Sirius’ shoulder, ‘you made me.’ He wriggled, letting Sirius feel it better, and Sirius’ hands, having found their way to James’ hips, twitched and tightened their hold involuntarily.
‘So what now?’
‘Right.’ The weight on Sirius’ legs lifted suddenly and his hands reached out, missing the contact and scared, but James lifted the sheet and wormed his way under and they lay there, wrapped together and trembling. James was nervous, Sirius could tell, despite his calm, self-assured behaviour. He could feel his best friend shaking, and wondered if it was all nerves, or if it was more like his own reason; a disquieting mixture of nerves and of the effort of holding back, of stopping himself from losing control and grinding as roughly as he could against James. He squirmed as James rolled on top of him, relieving the ache of need a little and groaning aloud, unabashed, because James was nearly naked and on him, chest to chest, forearms either side of his head and one warm thigh nestled between his.
James leaned in to rest another kiss to his mouth, combining the movement with a neat thrust of his hips, causing Sirius to moan into the kiss, unable to choose which was better; James’ hip rubbing along the length of him, or the feel of James, so hard and alleviating that hardness by pushing himself into Sirius’ hip.
‘Am I doing this right?’ James whispered, thrusting more.
Sirius almost laughed because of course he was, and besides, he didn’t know any more than James did, not about this. ‘Does it feel good?’
‘Mm, uh, yes…’ A gentle twist and a heavier press of James’ body accompanied the remark. ‘Yes, it does. Sirius…’
Words were hard to concentrate on now, James saying his name and his own palms exploring James’ hot back, but he managed a smile and, ‘then you are doing it right,’ before he lifted his chin up for a deeper kiss.
They were rocking themselves slowly, but roughly, clamped tightly together and legs intertwined, Sirius wanting more (and hoping James did) but not knowing what more was, knowing only that he had to be desperately careful not to scare James, because he never wanted this to end. Of course it would end, because despite the imperfection of the angle and the friction, the contact was wonderful and male and James, and the kisses were amazing, and he’d made James hard, which was a beautifully mad thought, though it was truth. James aroused was a wonderful thing; tiny shuddering breaths, sticky skin and erratic, sloppy kisses, and for all its awkwardness it was more than perfect.
‘James,’ he found himself saying as he realised he was about to come, wanting it both slow and fast, smiling at the knowledge that there would be bruises on his hip and side in the morning as James pressed in harder and faster.
‘Are - are you-‘ James asked, looking into his eyes, an expression of almost-awe mixed with pure lust on his face that Sirius could only marvel at having inspired.
He finally allowed his hands to reach James’ hips, to move him, so they were properly in contact now, hard together.
A strange, hitched little gasp escaped James’ lips and Sirius caught it with his own, trying to hold back, just a few seconds longer.
‘No, oh- fuck, Sirius, I’m-‘
The moment seemed to hang there, James’ expression tensing but his eyes still open, nose to nose as they watched each other. Sirius no longer needed any friction at all, because he was watching James come, hearing the strained, desperate noise he made, and following himself, long and hard and the sweetest thing in the world.
Sirius didn’t know what to do after, gasping through his own come-down and holding James, who was shyly curled into him, his face buried in Sirius’ neck.
‘James, James, I’m sorry…’
Sirius felt the body in his arms shift a little. ‘Mmm, no, s’okay.’
‘But-‘
‘No, it’s fine, nothing to be ashamed of,’ James mumbled into Sirius’ neck, his palm curled clammily around his cheek. ‘Really, it’s fine, we just won’t tell anyone, will we?’
Sirius’ stomach plummeted coldly. But when James wriggled up, so they were eye-to-eye again, he didn’t look ashamed either, was only smiling wickedly, warm, brown eyes almost glittering. ‘Our little secret,’ whispered Sirius, beginning to smile back.
‘Yes, indeed,’ James replied, his lips already touching Sirius’ again.