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Actual James

James has too many girl parts for Sirius to be entirely comfortable.

Sirius/James  |  NC-17  |  900 words  |  February 2005


James has too many girl parts for Sirius to be entirely comfortable.

His hands, for example. He slathers them in lotion daily and never rides a broomstick without gloves, so his hands are soft and smooth. Sirius wonders how those hands would feel on his body, trailing over his bare skin, teasing over his nipples, wrapping around his cock. Would they be firm and knowing, confident like James is with everything else? Sirius' own hands are rough and calloused and the nails are always broken or bitten to the quick; when he touches himself, he does it as lightly as possible, imagining it's James. Sirius thinks he spends a little more time imagining this than he probably ought.

James' eyes. They shine from underneath eyelashes which are obscenely long and pretty, dark against golden skin. When Sirius cocks things up, when he almost gets Snivelly killed, James' eyes are the only ones that don't dim. Sirius imagines that when James comes—when Sirius makes him come—he keeps his eyes open, his glasses on, lets Sirius see everything he's thinking. Of course, mostly he is thinking ohfuckyes while Sirius fucks him, but the point is that Sirius knows it, can look into those hazy hazel eyes and lay James open.

On the other hand, maybe James' eyes aren't so girlish after all. The girls he knows have Slytherin eyes, even Evans. Especially Evans. Sirius likes Evans, but she's not exactly an open book.

Sirius knows he's not the only one who spends too much time picturing James wanking in the showers after Quidditch (tan skin glistening back arched head thrown back long slim throat convulsing crying out 'Pads!'). Wormtail is more lovesick for James than James is for Evans, and that's saying something. He probably writes James poetry. And the lower-form boys have served countless detentions getting caught at pranks they've undertaken to catch James' eye.

James' lips. They're sculpted, just a little too full. Sirius imagines them wrapped round his cock, stretched thin and rubbed red. James' tongue, small and pink and sharp, swirls around the head, presses against the base. Sirius messes up that dark hair, stares into those open eyes, fucks into that open mouth, and comes straight down his throat. Imaginary James gives fantastic blowjobs.

Most of the time, Sirius wants very badly to know if Actual James gives fantastic blowjobs. Unfortunately, there are a few very important girl parts James is missing, and maybe, for James, he's willing to overlook that. Or possibly he's willing to brew up a potion to fix it, although he's pretty sure James wouldn't be happy about that. And anyway, he doesn't think James is willing to overlook his own lack of girl parts, whatever James' own status might be at the time.

Sirius watches James watch Evans, and he believes Moony when he says Evans is only pretending she's not watching James back. And once Sirius knows what to look for, he doesn't understand how James keeps missing it. She's a little too disinterested, a little too aloof, a little too intent on catching James at pranking. Sirius doesn't understand why she won't just come out with it, like James. Sirius thinks more people ought to be like James.

James' hair. It's not nearly as long as Sirius' own, of course, but James works for his hair. It's infinitely softer, silkier, more fine. Sirius imagines it damp with sweat, plastered to James' forehead, spread across a white pillow. He imagines it tangled around his fingers, how it would look from above while James moves between his legs.

And then one night they're in Sirius' flat over Easter hols, and Evans has just shot James down for the thirty-second time that month (James has been counting). They're both pissed—James moreso than Sirius, but only just—and James says, "Well, Pads, you want me, don't you?" And kisses him to find out.

Sirius goes very still, not quite believing this is happening. He is very drunk, and it's possible he's passed out, and he's going to wake up any time now with sticky sheets. Then James' tongue slides across his own, hot and sweet and tasting of firewhiskey, and Sirius moans before he can stop himself. James presses him back into the couch, curls a hand around his neck, and Sirius shifts. He spreads his legs a bit, wraps an arm around James' back, pulls him closer.

And then Sirius' erection digs into James' hip and James hesitates. It only lasts a millisecond, but Sirius notices, and James might as well have dumped a bucket of ice water on his head. (And, as that's something James has done before, Sirius knows his analogy is not wrong.) James leans in for another kiss, and Sirius holds up his fingers, presses them to swollen lips.

"Prongs," he says. "We can't." It is the last thing he wants to say, but one of them has to, and James is too pissed. "Evans..."

"Evans doesn't want me!" James insists, running a shaking hand through his hair. But he backs off, sinks into the other end of the couch.

Sirius is quiet for a while. Then, "Yeah, she does." James give him a sharp look, far too sharp considering the amount of alcohol he's consumed, and sees the truth in Sirius' eyes. He grins, slow and lopsided, and Sirius' heart shrivels.




Fluid 960 Grid System, created by Stephen Bau, based on the 960 Grid System by Nathan Smith. Released under the GPL/ MIT Licenses.