Harry Potter, Red Means (Don’t) Stop

Title: Red Means (Don’t) Stop [Lily/Peter, Lily/Remus, Lily/Sirius, Lily/James]
Authors:
Rating/Warnings: R, for sex.
Summary: James isn’t the first. Or the second. Or even the third.
A/N: Co-authored with Musesfool, the James to my Sirius. This was really all her idea, but there was no way I could let this all go down without a decent Peter section. Thanks to Laura Smith for the beta, and to Vic for letting me keep in the CD.

Red Means (Don’t) Stop

1. Love Me On Your Knees

“Are you busy?”

Lily looks up from the tower of books surrounding her to find Peter Pettigrew standing awkwardly in the doorway, glancing between Lily and her books and no doubt on some ridiculous errand for Potter.

“Yes,” she answers, hoping to ward off further interruption with brusqueness.

“Oh,” Peter seems to deflate a little, and Lily brushes off guilt by reminding herself that Peter is a desperate Potterphant, but then Peter straightens up a bit. “Look then, can we make a deal?”

“What sort of deal?” Lily narrows her eyes. She watches as Peter pulls a crumpled half-sheet of parchment out of his trouser pocket, scribbled lines visible on one side.

“I’m supposed to read you this…” Peter waves the parchment helplessly, “…poem. Only, it’s rubbish, and you don’t want to hear it any more than I want to read it. So I thought, maybe you could just act like you hated it, save us both some time?”

“What do you get out of it?” Lily knows that the other boys treat Peter as if he’s simple most of the time, but she’s noticed a streak of shrewdness in him that borders on ruthless at times. And if it’s too subtle for Potter and Black to see…well, most days Bludgers are too subtle for Potter and Black.

“Is that Charms you’re doing?” Peter asks, eyeing her parchments and books, “because I’m a bit behind…”

So Peter shows up every few days with another parchment from James and tosses it in the dustbin, and in return Lily catches him up with Charms. And Potions. And Defense. And, well everything. She wonders at times if Potter will never run out of insipid verses, and when she finally asks Peter the question out loud, Peter turns bright red and admits that for the last two weeks, the parchments he’s been dropping in the bin have been blank.

Lily is surprised to find that she isn’t irritated by this somehow, and even more surprised when Peter looks up and kisses her suddenly, leaning awkwardly over in his chair and holding his hands clenched in his lap because he clearly doesn’t know what to do with them.

As a boyfriend, Peter doesn’t make the wand shoot sparks, so to speak, but he’s pleasant and kind, and he always brings her sweets. It’s like they still have a bargain in some ways: Lily doesn’t care that he’s shorter than she, or that he’s a little soft around the middle, and Peter never brings up the fact that she’s too tall, and that until last summer, she was flat as a board.

He’s comfortable, and he never pushes her into things she isn’t ready to do. Sometimes she has a hard time keeping a straight face when he asks his earnest little questions–“please touch my prick?” or “can I touch your breasts?”–but the last few boys Lily had brief liaisons with had more demands than requests, so Lily knows to keep her mouth shut when she’s got a good thing going. Peter’s a very polite boy, and she likes that.

The only thing she doesn’t like–well, maybe not the only thing, but the most pressing–is the way he follows Potter around, and the way he won’t hold her hand in public, won’t admit she’s his girlfriend, because he’s scared of Potter. As if Potter has some god-given right to her person. But then again, Lily has to admit that it is rather satisfying to let Peter slip his hand up her skirt, knowing that Potter thinks Peter is there to plead his case with her.

Somehow he talks her into going down on him, the process so gradual that Lily is barely surprised when he whispers in her ear what he wants her to do. She shivers, the words Peter uses making a blush spread over her nose and heat gather in her stomach, and it doesn’t seem strange at all when she slides off his lap to her knees and replaces her thumb on Peter’s head with her lips, even as she dimly realizes in the back of her mind that Peter’s been herding her toward this for weeks. She doesn’t really care, because now she can demand that Peter return the favor.

She has no idea what she’s doing, but Peter is patient, slipping a hand through the hair on the back of her neck and gently pushing her into the places he likes, the rhythm he wants. He murmurs directions and Lily loves to hear him say those sorts of things, they make her feel wanted and dirty at the same time, and she asks him to go on doing it long after she is proficient in the art.

Lily likes the whole process of giving a blowjob, actually, even though she gets the feeling from the way the other girls speak of it that she isn’t supposed to. She likes the weight of Peter in her mouth and in her hands (she can’t get him the whole way in even with the practice), likes the power of being able to reduce Peter to involuntary gasps, likes when he tugs her hair harder than he means to, although what that says about her she isn’t sure. Even Peter notices that it doesn’t take much to bring her off after she’s got through with him.

Shortly after Easter hols, Peter broaches the subject of them going all the way, asks what she thinks about it as though he’s asking what she thinks about Ravenclaw’s chances for the Quidditch Cup. Lily isn’t sure what she thinks about it, so she distracts Peter with her body and sends him on his way so she can figure it out. He brings it up again next time, and the next time and the next, not pushing her, but determined to get an answer one way or the other.

In the end it’s the way Peter thinks her reluctance is because this is her first time that pushes Lily over the edge. It’s just so damn adorable, how hard he tries to be non-threatening and then he actually uses the words ‘your honor as a lady’ and Lily doesn’t have any defense against that sort of earnest cute.

And she does admire how well Peter seems to know his way around the castle after dark, edging along walls and peering around corners with a stealth that she would have never credited him with if she wasn’t seeing it for herself. She isn’t half so comfortable prowling around where she might be caught at any moment by Filch, or even worse McGonagall, and she twitches at every sound until Peter finally pulls her into a doorway on the fourth floor that she’s never seen before.

It’s small and dark, and the dust makes her sneeze, and when Peter lights his wand there’s a couch against the wall that looks like a human being has not sat on it since Ollivander made his first wand. Although why a couch would even be in a closed off room on the fourth floor is beyond Lily’s ken. Drawing her own wand, Lily casts a charm that she’s overheard Madam Pince use to tidy library shelves, and as the dust flies up off the couch and makes both of them choke Lily wonders exactly what Pince would think of Perfect Prefect Evans using that charm here for this.

Her heart is still pounding from the threat of being caught when Peter pulls her onto the stained but now dust-free couch and kisses her, imbuing the situation with a false sense of chemistry. Lily is fully aware that Peter has never made her heart pound on his own, but chooses to ignore the reality of the situation while Peter undoes the buttons of her blouse, chooses to believe for the sake of romance that her lightheadedness is from Peter’s palms on her skin rather than the adrenaline.

Lily, by this point, is more than marginally familiar with Peter’s not-so-little friend, but now that the acquaintance of their respective parts is imminent, Lily can’t help but be nervous about exactly where it’s all going to go. It certainly doesn’t fit in her mouth. She kisses Peter quickly before he can ask for permission like usual because she isn’t positive she’s going to say yes, and she doesn’t want to put it off any longer.

Peter’s technique isn’t quite equal to his endowment, Lily thinks afterwards, but then again he has been practicing with his fingers for weeks, so if he’s better with them it’s no small wonder. Although she privately thinks the sex isn’t really worth the danger of getting caught it entails, it seems to make Peter happy so she goes along with it. She doesn’t initiate it very often, but now and again while sucking Peter off, when he’s saying just the right things and pulling her hair just so, she’ll suddenly crawl up into his lap and beg him to fuck her, sliding down onto him and reveling in the feel of being in control.

They don’t talk much about what will happen when the school year ends. Lily’s family is going abroad for nearly the entire summer, so there’s no question of visiting. They trade owls, more frequently at the beginning of the holiday but the number dwindles as the end of summer nears. Lily can’t say she’s surprised when Peter pulls her aside the second day of school and quietly explains about a Ravenclaw Chaser who lives in his hometown.

“It’s easier,” Peter murmurs, looking at his feet, and Lily knows he’s right, and knows it even more during lunch when she sees the girl in question walk by and hears Potter hooting, “Nice pull, Wormtail!” and then looks up to see Potter slapping a grinning Peter on the back.

Lily is not jealous. And she certainly does not smirk self-righteously when Peter fails his first Charms exam.
<>***

2. Love Rain Over Me

The first Hogsmeade Saturday of sixth year is overcast, but that doesn’t stop everyone from being excited about it. Freedom is precious, and Lily knows things are changing in the outside world, that there’s been talk of canceling Hogsmeade trips, or forcing chaperones on them all, though it hasn’t happened yet.

Lily sneaks away from her friends as they leave Honeydukes for Zonko’s; she heads toward Scrivenshaft’s instead, hoping nobody notices. She’s been lucky so far, and hasn’t seen Potter since breakfast, where his attentions had been perfunctory at best. Maybe he’s finally got the hint, she thinks, and will leave her alone.

She shoves her hands deeper into her pockets, hunches her shoulders as the wind picks up, ignoring the vague feeling of disappointment that Potter was too preoccupied to engage in their usual verbal sparring.

She’s not paying attention, and the first cold drops of rain surprise her. Of course, her umbrella is currently in Amy Mackey’s rucksack, and her coat has no hood. While Lily quite enjoys the refreshing spray of a summer storm, she has no desire to be soaked by a sudden November squall.

Cursing her forgetfulness, she stops, wondering if she should wait at Scrivenshaft’s, or just head back to school.

Before she can make the decision, rescue arrives in the form of Remus Lupin’s black umbrella.

“I wasn’t sure you were coming,” he says, and she wants to kiss the faint furrow between his brows.

She smiles. “It was hard to get away. You know.” He nods, but the frown remains. She rubs her thumb over his forehead, brushes his fringe off his face and slides her hand over his chilled skin to cup his cheek. She can’t stop touching him whenever they’re together, and they are together far too infrequently for her taste.

“Are you all right, Remus?”

“I’m fine,” he says with a small smile, “but you’re rather damp. Wouldn’t want you to take a chill. Let’s go.” His words sound impatient, but he waits for her to start walking before he moves.

Halfway back, the rain hasn’t let up. Lily’s shivering, her nose is running and her teeth are chattering. He wraps an arm around her shoulder, pulling her flush against his side. She smiles at him gratefully, still slightly surprised that he’s taller than she is, but thankful for his summer growth spurt, because she hates being taller than boys she likes. Not that Remus has ever called her ‘beanpole’ or ‘rail.’ He never stopped Potter and Black when they did, but she doesn’t hold it against him anymore. She’ll forgive Remus almost anything, because he has a smile that shines like the sun, though she sees it far less often, and it always makes her melt. She’s secretly written poetry about his smile, though she hasn’t worked up the nerve to show him.

They separate almost unconsciously as they enter the castle amid groups of other students. While it had chafed Lily that Peter wouldn’t admit he was her boyfriend, she wants to keep this–thing–between her and Remus a secret, wants to hug it close and keep it safe, the way she feels when she lies in his arms.

They meet in secret the mornings they have Ancient Runes, which none of his friends take, and in the stacks during the chilly autumn afternoons when his friends are at Quidditch practice. They snog in empty classrooms after Prefects’ meetings, and shag in the common room when everyone else is asleep.

That’s how it began, actually. Three weeks ago, she stumbled down into the common room after a terrible nightmare, to find him asleep on the sofa. He looks so unguarded when he’s sleeping, and she wishes she could see him that relaxed more often, and while he’s awake. She considers herself lucky to have seen it at all.

He’d woken when she’d built up the fire, and they’d talked for a long time before falling asleep, about everything and nothing at all. She’d felt comfortable curled up next to him, safe, and when morning came, she’d kissed him, surprising herself almost as much as she’d surprised him. She’d kissed him, and she’d liked it, even with the stale taste of sleep in her mouth, and in his. He’d kissed her back, and she didn’t want him to stop. She hopes he never does.

The next night, she’d crept down the stairs once everyone was asleep, to find him sitting near the fire with a book.

“I hoped you’d come,” he’d said, holding out a hand, and she’d let him pull her down into his lap.

Things had moved fast after that, faster than she’s used to, but she doesn’t mind. She trusts him and believes he’d never hurt her, and the last three weeks have been wonderful, her very own clandestine romance.

“You’re soaked,” he murmurs, snapping her back to the present. She isn’t, really, though. His umbrella kept her from a thorough drenching. “You ought to get out of those wet clothes.”

“And into a warm bath?” she asks, unable to keep from smiling.

“Oh, yes.” The heat in his eyes is enough to counteract the chill, and her shiver this time isn’t from the cold.

They split up, the fleeting touch of his fingers on the bare skin of her neck sending another burst of heat through her, and she meets him fifteen minutes later in the prefects’ bathroom.

They don’t speak much as they undress each other, too busy kissing to talk, and still a little shy, though this is the sixth time they’ve actually done it. He’s slightly smaller than Peter, and not much better at the actual act, though he’s far more willing to use his mouth, which she likes a lot. They don’t really have time for that today, though, so when he sits down in the pool, she kneels over him, slowly sinking down until he’s all the way inside. It’s better this way, when she has control; this time she actually comes shortly after he does, and because of his hand, not her own.

As they get dressed, he tells her he wishes they didn’t have to rush all the time, and sneak around like this.

“I don’t mind,” she says, and he nods.

“Don’t want to be seen with me. I get it.”

“I didn’t mean that at all,” she says, horrified.

He smiles wryly. “I know. And believe me, I appreciate it.” He kisses her again, and they agree to meet again after curfew.

Which is why it’s a surprise when, three days later, he’s not in their usual meeting place before Ancient Runes, and he sits with Kingsley Shacklebolt during class.

She finally corners him in the Great Hall at lunch. He’s laughing with Sirius, and he looks happier than she’s seen him in a while. Her stomach twists, and there’s a sour taste in her mouth. It takes her a moment to realize that what she’s feeling is jealousy. He rarely laughs that way with her.

“Remus,” she begins, ignoring Potter’s boasts that he can do things with a broom she’s never seen before, “may I have a word?”

“You can have a whole dictionary if you’ll just go out with me,” James says, and Sirius and Peter laugh.

“Sure, Lily,” Remus says, smiling. “What can I do for you?”

“Alone,” she snaps. “Can I see you alone?”

“Oi, Remus,” James says, “should I be worried?”

“It’s just prefect stuff.” Remus laughs nervously, and allows her to lead him out of the Great Hall.

“What’s going on?” she asks, brushing his fringe off his forehead.

“I think we should stop,” he says, gesturing vaguely. He won’t look her in the eye.

“What? Why? Is it Potter? I don’t belong to him, you know. He makes me so angry. I swear, he thinks–”

“Lily,” Remus cuts her off. “You’re lovely, and I really like you, but I don’t like sneaking around–”

“You love sneaking around,” she says, unable to keep her voice from rising. “You do it all the time with them! And–Oh. I see. I was a nice way to occupy your time while you and your friends were on the outs–”

“Don’t be stupid–”

“Don’t call me stupid,” she shouts, though really, she feels incredibly dumb for not realizing it sooner. She swings at him without thinking, but he catches her hand easily, which only makes her angrier. She jerks out of his grip and crosses her arms across her chest. “And don’t touch me.”

“I didn’t–” He takes a deep breath. “You’re as bad as Sirius.” She opens her mouth, but he holds up a hand to forestall her. “I’m sorry. I really like you. I do. But there are things you don’t know, you can’t know–”

“About your curse?” All the blood drains from his face, and he looks like he’s been kicked in the stomach. She waves a hand and presses her advantage. “Everybody knows your family is cursed. I don’t care, really. I understand–”

He laughs bitterly. “No, you really don’t.”

“But I’d like to, Remus. Please?”

He shakes his head and reaches out a hand, dropping it before he actually touches her. “I’m sorry. I can’t. Believe me, you’re better off this way. You’d only end up hating me in the end if–”

“I could never hate you, Remus.” And it’s true, though she wishes she’d got to slap him.

He gives her one last kiss, his lips warm on hers, and she thinks she sees regret in his eyes. She hopes he does regret choosing Black and Potter over her. Painfully.

“Thank you, Lily. Really.”

She watches him walk away, torn between wanting to cry and wanting to hit something. Or someone. If her friends had known about Remus, they would say it’s all very romantic, the way he’s giving her up for her own good, just like in the trashy Muggle romances that they beg her to bring from home, but Lily can’t help thinking if she’s fuckwitted enough to keep shagging Potter’s friends, then maybe she’s getting what she deserves.

Thankfully, Black is the only one left, but that’s more than Lily can bear to think about as she hurries back to her room to have a good cry.

***

3. Speak of the Devil

The club is dark and the lights flash wildly, and if she were sober, Lily would probably have a headache. As it is, she exists in the dark and the world is reborn with each lightning strobe. She can’t keep track of the time — it stops and starts at irregular intervals marked by the flash of lights, and the steady stream of drinks pressed into her hand.

Concentrating, she sees her cousin, Margaret, the pride of the family for reading history at Oxford, shaking her hips and swinging her hair. Margaret’s not a natural blonde, and her roots are showing, but the men around her don’t seem to care; they swarm with groping hands and low, lewd laughs that make Lily shiver.

Petunia left after half an hour, thin face pinched in discomfort at her short skirt, the loud music, the taste of rum and Coke. Petunia doesn’t know how to have fun, Lily thinks, not like she and Cousin Margaret do.

Lily was thrilled when Margaret deigned to invite her out dancing, pleased to be treated like the adult she believes she is. Margaret dressed her in a short, tight, black skirt and a shiny, silky, emerald top that threatens to slide right off Lily’s shoulders when she dances, but somehow, never quite does.

She has her own entourage of interested men, but she’s set her sights on Damon Weathers, who went away to university last autumn a gangly, pimple-faced wreck and came back a tall, handsome man.

A tall, handsome man who’s sticking his tongue down Cousin Margaret’s throat.

Lily feels her heart seize in her chest at this betrayal, all her hopes for the night shattered. She pushes her way to the ladies’, choking back angry tears.

She reapplies her lipstick and touches up her eyeliner. Flipping her hair over her shoulder, she is determined to find the best-looking man in the club, someone who’ll make Damon Weathers look like the slope-shouldered boy he really is.

Lily melts into the crowd, dancing with abandon, alert for prey.

She spots him dancing on the stage, of course. He wears tight black jeans that show off a nice, firm arse, and a clingy black t-shirt that reveals broad shoulders and a flat stomach. Lily likes to believe she isn’t shallow, but she’s only human and this man moves with fluid grace she’s only seen in a few people.

His hair is dark and slightly shaggy; it falls over, oh, god, a collar fastened around the strong column of his neck. He is, of course, surrounded by writhing bodies, male, female — Lily can’t tell with half of them, and she doesn’t really care. She’ll be replacing them shortly. She pushes her way through so she can slide herself in next to him, tossing her hair and shaking her hips, his chest warm against her back through the thin material of her blouse. He has elegant hands, long tapering fingers that appear bone white and bloodless against the black of her skirt, like a negative imprinted on her retinas as the lights flash over them.

She drops her head back, closing her eyes, the heat of his body and the enormous amount of rum coursing through her veins makes her feel as if she’s melting. He licks her throat as she grinds against him, the heavy beat of the music echoing in the warm, wet pulse between her legs.

“C’mon, Red,” he murmurs in her ear, one hand finding the bare skin of her thigh beneath her skirt, above her garter, making her quiver. “Let’s get out of here.”

They stumble out of the smoky, flash-lit darkness and into the relatively cleaner, cooler air of the London night. He presses her up against the building, his mouth covering hers in a fierce, gin-soaked kiss. She hooks her leg around his thighs to get closer, rubbing against the hard bulge of his prick. She can feel his chest hitch against her palms.

He pulls back, smiling lips smudged with her lipstick, and in the dim light of the streetlamp she suddenly recognizes him and shoves him away.

“Black!”

“Evans!”

Then both of them, at the same time, “Fuck!”

She glares at him, trying hard to get her breathing under control, wondering how he can look so composed so quickly and furious that she can’t match it. She swallows hard and turns her head, trying to will away the anger.

Long, elegant fingers grip her chin, raising her face. “Fuck, Evans. Lily. What–” His eyes soften slightly, or maybe that’s just the amount of alcohol she’s drunk.

“I just, I wanted–” She’s finding it hard to breathe with him touching her, but she doesn’t want him to stop. He radiates heat and sex and a very familiar form of danger, and her body is still humming in response to it.

“Yeah,” he says, moving closer, his thumb tracing over her cheek. “I know what you want.”

“I suppose you do,” she answers, her voice low and breathless. She skates a hand down over his erection.

His other hand is hot on her thigh and his lips are very close to her ear when he says, “You can pretend I’m someone else, if you like.”

Her laugh has an edge to it. “Is that what you’re going to do?”

“Fuck, yeah,” he says, a little too forcefully. She chooses to believe it’s a lie as her eyes flutter closed. If she can’t conjure up another face, another pair of hands or lips, if she is all too aware that she is kissing Sirius Black at this moment, she damn well needs to believe he knows he’s kissing Lily Evans.

And then she doesn’t care. She lets the wet heat of his mouth and the feel of his hands on her skin drive thought away.

He pulls back, murmuring a spell she doesn’t quite catch, and then her knickers are in his hand, without having to undo her garters. She raises an eyebrow and he smirks, tucking them into his back pocket. He seems inclined to be impressed with himself, and she’s not having with that, so she twines her fingers in his hair and yanks him close, hooking her leg around his hip.

“Stop faffing about and fuck me,” she snaps, and pushes her tongue into his mouth, hands already working at his flies.

“Bossy wench,” he mutters when she lets him up for air. Her laugh turns into a gasp when he thrusts into her.

Even through the silk of her blouse, the brick is rough against her back, and her hair snags on it, but she doesn’t care. The tinge of pain just makes the experience more real.

Sirius fucks her hard and fast, his hands tight on her arse and his teeth sharp against her skin. She bites the soft flesh above his collar, wanting to leave a mark, enjoying the scrape of stubble and leather against her lips.

She opens and closes her eyes, recreating the effect of the strobe lights in the club, and the sight of his face, eyes closed, mouth open, straining toward climax and then slackening with pleasure as he comes, will linger in her mind for years. He looks like a debauched angel, Lucifer after the fall.

Her own orgasm is muted by how much rum she’s had, pleasure rolling through her in soft, slow waves that leave her legs weak when she lowers them to the ground.

Sirius rests his head on her shoulder, his lips warm against her neck, and she wraps her arms around him, holding him tightly for a few moments, surprising herself by wanting the experience to last a little longer.

He cleans them up, pulls back and opens his mouth to speak.

“Don’t,” she says, putting her finger to his lips. “You’ll just ruin it.”

He smirks and leans in to give her a swift, hard kiss before Disapparating. She can feel the headache beginning behind her eyes and rests against the wall, suddenly sober and exhausted with it. She’s trying to work up the energy to go back inside and find her cousin when she realizes her knickers are still in Sirius’s pocket. She wonders how he’s going to use them against her. Owl them to her at breakfast? She’s too tired to worry about it now.

No sense in thinking about Sirius Black if she doesn’t have to, she decides. He thinks about himself quite enough for everybody. Happy in the thought that Margaret will worry and be drunkenly hunting the club for her while she is sleeping in her bed, Lily Disapparates as well, leaving only a few strands of red hair caught in the brick wall.

***

4. He Actually Tasted Fresh Air

It’s two in the morning when James staggers into the Gryffindor seventh year boys’ dormitory and wakes everyone up for his grand announcement.

“Lads!” James is practically incandescent with glee, hair staging a coup, clothes askew enough that they all know what the announcement is anyway. “Lads, I’ve finally done it! I’m a genius! It was like breaking into Gringotts and getting away without the Goblins even noticing!”

“Has there been a break-in?” Peter asks, still half-asleep.

Sirius, who doesn’t look like he’s been in his bed long anyway, glances over at Remus, and Remus raises a shoulder. The fearless leader must have finally managed it then, the shrug says.

Fucking great, there’ll be no living with him now, Sirius’s raised eyebrow replies.

“I,” James sounds like he is announcing the secret to eternal life, or at least the answers to the Potions NEWTS, “have got into the knickers of Lily Evans. Lily Evans! Lily! Evans!”

The other three boys exchange glances, and Peter, mostly awake now because of the shouting, loses the silent battle of wills.

“How was it then?” he asks, stifling a yawn.

“I thought you’d never ask!” James throws himself down on the end of the nearest bed, which happens to be Sirius’s. He ignores it when Sirius attempts to kick him off. James is clearly gearing up for an explanation of epic scope and detail. “Let me set the scene for you…”

“Oh, do,” Remus murmurs, sliding out of his bed and coming over to Sirius’s, Sirius sitting up and budging over so they can both lean against the headboard. Peter seems to think it is safer to remain where he is, and in fact, seeing as he is only the next bed over, thinks about moving farther away.

“Well first,” James draws a deep breath, which does nothing to calm him, “I took her up to that room we found on the fourth floor, the one with the couch? I thought I’d impress her with my knowledge of hidden castle trysting spots, but she walks right in as though she’s been there a thousand times!”

Peter coughs.

“I should have known she wouldn’t be impressed by something as piddly as that.” James’s tone is one of pure reverence. “So we start fooling around like usual, and everything is perfect, we’re alone and have all the time in the world, and sneaking around really does something to Lily, let me tell you! You wouldn’t believe, I mean look at the size of this!” James tugs down his collar to show a Galleon-sized bruise against his collarbone, “Have you ever seen a bruise like that before?”

Sirius’s hand lifts and seems to be headed towards his own neck, but at the last second changes course and runs through his hair instead. Drawn in reluctantly by the story, Peter finally gets out of his bed and comes over to sit on the edge of Sirius’s, opposite James, keeping one leg dangling to the floor in case immediate flight is necessary.

As James continues his story, his eyes slip closed, as if he is overwhelmed by the memory, leaving the others free to exchange as many looks as they like.

“So by now,” James continues, “all I want is to get her on her knees in front of me and see those pouty lips wrapped around the little wizard, but I’m afraid if I just ask she’ll have some girl moment and storm out. But then I can’t help it, she’s kissing me and stroking me and wriggling around on my lap and I just blurt it out! And do you know, that saucy bint just eats it up! A few well-chosen Potter words, and she’s just begging to suck me off!”

Sirius smirks as Remus lets out a soft snort, Remus’s expression mostly one of guilt, while Sirius’s is nothing but amusement.

“And that mouth of hers!” James raves. “She’s like…like a Cock Dementor! It’s like an ungodly natural talent!”

“The hell it is!” Peter grunts before he can stop himself, then slaps a hand over his mouth. Remus looks over sharply with raised eyebrows, and Sirius’s jaw drops.

No, Sirius mouths at Peter, shaking his head, no, you?! Peter shrugs, and Remus and Sirius choke down laughter, while James carries on, blissfully unaware of the exchange of information.

“So she’s down there, sucking my brains out through my prick, and then all of the sudden she’s back in my lap, and do you know what she says to me?”

“No,” says Remus, the only one of the other three who can keep his voice even at this point, “what does she say to you?”

“She says to me–you won’t even BELIEVE it, I TOLD you she was hot for me–she says, ‘Stop faffing about and fuck me!’ What do you think about THAT?!”

Sirius has a sudden epileptic seizure, and only Remus’s frantic grab for his arm saves him from tumbling off the side of the bed.

“NO!” Peter exclaims, pointing at Sirius. “NO!” Sirius begins to cackle from between jaws clenched shut. Remus takes a good look at him before letting go of his arm and shoving him to the floor with a crash.

“I swear to Merlin she did,” James says with utmost satisfaction, opening his eyes to witness their reactions. He seems pleased by them. “I swear on Merlin’s ancient wrinkly scrotum that she said exactly that.”

Sirius wheezes painfully from the floor. Peter kicks him with his dangling foot.

“So I figured,” James continues, “best to give the girl what she wants, yeah? So we do it right there, with her straddling me on the couch, and let me tell you, she rode me like a Cleansweep Two! Take some advice from Uncle James, boys, let the woman be on top. You can’t imagine!”

“Like a Cleansweep Two…” Remus echoes faintly. Peter’s hand is over his mouth again, and Sirius’s weak giggling is echoing off the stone floor.

“Well, I’m for a shower!” James says, bouncing off the bed and grinning down at them. “Don’t stay up too late, we’ve classes tomorrow!”

As James saunters out of the room, resplendent in the knowledge that his manly duty has been fulfilled, Sirius claws his way back onto the bed and the three no-longer-boys peer at each other.

“You…” Sirius cannot stop the snickers from leaking out. He looks at Peter, still not convinced. “You?”

“Cock Dementor,” Peter raises his hand as though he were in class. Sirius turns to Remus and narrows his eyes.

“Cleansweep Two,” Remus admits, raising his hand as well. “You?”

“‘Stop faffing about and fuck me,'” Sirius grunts, waving several fingers.

“You,” Peter tries and fails to hold in the laughter, “you both…”

“We all,” Remus tries to look stern, but can’t quite manage it and gives in, all three of them sprawling across Sirius’s bed and clutching their sides because it hurts to laugh anymore.

When James returns, freshly laundered, they are all snuggled peacefully in their beds, and he ignores the way their snores all sound like soft “ahaha”s, and falls into his own bed to dream of Lily Evans, who is and always has been all his.

end

~*~

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