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Ticklish	By : Phantom17 Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > James/Lily Views: 14531 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Ticklish
- 1
Lily
Evans had been born too damn ticklish.

It
had been very cute when she was still an infant, of course. A total
stranger could simply run a gentle finger over the bare skin of her
knee or shoulder, and she would crinkle up her green eyes in a
toothless smile and emit a shriek of laughter.

Such
acute ticklishness in a three-year-old was adorable. In a
seventeen-year-old, it borders on ridiculous.

Lily
stands before a full length mirror in the dormitory and surveys her
reflection. She's stunning. She knows she's stunning. And she
knows that nearly the entire male population of Hogwarts thinks so as
well.

Tragic,
yet comical, she thinks as she unbuttons her blouse and lets it fall
off her shoulders, leaving her standing in a pleated skirt and pale
green bra. She sighs. It was a cruel trick fate had played on her,
making her body so gorgeous, yet so unable to bear human contact.

She turns to the side, examining herself in profile. Her frame is
not perfectly proportioned, though she knows that is to her
advantage. Her torso is a bit too short, but it offsets her pale,
shapely legs, giving them the appearance of added length. Her chest
is already overly large, and is made noticeably more so by her
unusually narrow ribcage and shoulders.

“Breasts
on legs,” she says to herself with a wry grin, remembering the
low whispers and overheard fragments of Hogwarts gossip that always
eventually passes to her ears. Another girl might be offended at
this blatant “objectification.” But Lily doesn't mind at
all. If anything, she enjoys it, enjoys knowing that she is
helplessly desirable, and enjoys the fact that she could, in all
likelihood, have her way with anyone she chooses.

Which
is why it is unacceptable that she is still a virgin.

Lily
craves sex, craves the abstract palate of sensations she has conjured
in her mind but has never actually experienced. Wonders if the
shadowy mysteries of the night and unspoken secrets of the bedroom
are anything like what she's read about in the novels she's stolen
from Petunia over the years. Wonders what it would feel like to be
subject to a man's caresses, licks, nibbles, and to be suddenly
penetrated in a wild rush of indescribable pleasure.

Wonders
what it would feel like to have a man touch her and to keep her
absurd giggling to herself.

***

When
she was just fourteen, the summer before her fourth year at Hogwarts,
Lily met Ryan, her first boyfriend. He was a nice Muggle boy from
around the corner, and she doesn't remember much about him now other
than that he had very soft brown hair and a dimple in his left cheek.
They used to hold hands as they walked around the neighborhood, and
he would sometimes muster up the courage to kiss her innocently on
the mouth. Once or twice he shyly held her face in his hands and
slid his tongue against hers.

She
thought it to be pleasant, though a bit strange. Being acutely
sensitive to tactile sensations, Lily found herself contemplating the
foreign wetness of another's tongue in her own mouth, and felt its
multiple bumps and grooves. It wasn't an especially exciting thing,
kissing Ryan, but she had found it to be very educational.

That
was also the summer she had discovered her sister's “library.”
Petunia had been staying over at a friend's, and Lily had taken the
rare opportunity to snoop through her belongings. The romance novel
was one of the first things that Lily picked up, and seeing as once
she did so, she began to read and did not stop until she was through,
it was the last thing she picked up as well.

Lily
had at some point or other felt ticklish on the nearly every part of
her body, but as she continued to read the forbidden words, the faint
and almost imperceptible prickling between her thighs brought an
entirely new rush of sensations. She had felt warm, and as she began
to take more notice of the dull, hot pulse and faint wetness in her
knickers she became confused, but she knew that she had to learn more
about this enlightening biological discovery.

A
few days before the close of August, she leaned into one of Ryan's
inexpert kisses a bit more than usual and guided one of his hands
beneath the cotton fabric of her T-shirt. As soon as his index
fingers grazed the bare flesh of her back, she inadvertently let out
a snort. Followed by a low giggle. Ryan hastily pulled his hand
back, insulted that she should laugh at his feeble attempt toward
physical contact. Lily's mouth gaped open, unsure of what to say.
Was she supposed to apologize for being overly ticklish?

She
left for Hogwarts some days later, and the two never spoke again.

~~~

Lily
returned to Hogwarts, determined to test the boundaries of her
tactile sensitivity. She desperately, even obsessively, wanted to
stimulate those sensations thus far reserved for novels alone, and
she wanted a boy to help her do it.

Still
adjusting to her newfound resolutions, Lily was initially shy around
members of the opposite sex. She went on a date to Hogsmeade about
once a month, and there may have been some mild kissing, but nothing
so memorable that would make Lily fancy herself a heroine from a
romance novel.

But
the reticence faded, and Lily quickly learned the tricks to the trade
of flirtation. It also didn't hurt that over a span of about three
months, Lily had felt her bra getting tighter by the week. By
February, she had perfected the technique of leaning over just
so -- enough
to reveal the slightest hint of what lay beneath her crisply ironed
white blouse – with a slow smile and flicker of darkened lashes
to suggest a sweet, secret promise of things to come.

By
April, Lily was already deep in her experimentation. She didn't have
to work nearly as hard anymore to attract her lab rats; she was a
piper, and they flocked to her in near desperation. Eventually she
had learned to ignore the minute details of a kiss – like an
irregular pattern of taste buds or a single drop of spittle in the
corner of a mouth – and she instead began to experience the
bigger picture. Her lips and tongue became autonomous experts,
absorbing the stark physicality of their actions but sending to her
brain only the sensations of slick and soft.

More
than once a boy tried to feel her up, and she usually allowed it.
She would passively permit a hand to cup her or stroke her through
her clothing, but once a finger would venture beneath the hem of her
skirt or the fabric of her blouse, and once that finger would make
contact with her bare skin, she would start to giggle uncontrollably
to the point where neither she nor the boy were enjoying themselves
in the slightest and all she could think about was getting that
bloody boy off her so she could shut up dammit. Generally speaking,
the young man in question would be generously understanding about
Lily's ticklishness – obviously, since her surprising outburst
was then in no way his
fault, and he would never tell because who would ever admit to not
fucking Lily Evans – but seeing as the circumstances were
unavoidable, and seeing as said circumstances were less than
pleasurable for both parties involved, Lily was not known for her
lasting relationships.

Looking
back, Lily thinks it probably would have been wiser for her
fifteen-year-old self to just give up already, because the very body
that craved erotic stimulation betrayed her every time she came
nearer to having it. But perhaps some indefinable impulse within
that fifteen-year-old self was searching for something. Or searching
for someone. Because maybe out there there would be some bloke who'd
take her breath away so completely that she would have no air left in
her for laughter.

And
search she did.

***

Lily
tears her eyes away from her pleasing reflection, picks her blouse up
from the floor and buttons it quickly, tucking the tails neatly into
her pleated skirt. As she finishes getting dressed, she contemplates
her several years of “experimentation.” Now that she
thinks about it, she is probably considered by many to be something
of a tart. Not that she minds. A small smirk graces her lips.
Maybe she even enjoys it, this hypnotic power over men and this surge
of superiority over women.

Not
that it's done her all that much good. In her many unsuccessful
attempts at physical satisfaction, Lily has learned that her tactile
threshold is crossed with foreign contact anywhere above her knees
and below the hollow of her throat. Lucky her, she can do anything
with or have anything done to the lower half of her legs and the
entire breadth of her arms, but there's a limit to how much fun she
can get out of those bloody pointless appendages.

Yes,
her situation is both comical and tragic. Comical, because she is
allowed an aura of experience and a reputation for seduction, while,
in reality, she
has earned neither. Joke's on them. Tragic, because she wants to
have a man hot and throbbing inside of her, but she can't even bear
to have someone touch her stomach, let alone a couple of inches
lower. Joke's on her.

She
swings her bag over her shoulder and heads to Advanced
Transfiguration, where she knows she'll be sitting next to James
Potter, the prick.

Potter
had begun to express an interest in Lily in the second half of their
Fifth Year. Or rather, he hadn't actually expressed
anything verbally so much as visually. More than once a class she
had caught him staring at her chest or tracing the length of her
legs. If this had been anyone else, she would have followed the
usual course of action; she would have slipped into the uniform of a
scientist, let the experimental subjects do their thing, and then
taken down all relevant data. Yes, James Potter had always been
boyishly handsome, and yes, James Potter's body appeared to be very
nicely sculpted underneath his robes, and yes, he was rumored to have
had actual
experience. But this was Potter.
Arrogant, snot-nosed, impossible, incorrigible Potter. She might
have been a tart, but by Merlin, she had standards.

When
Potter's not-so-subtle observations sprouted irritatingly incessant
requests for her company, it became easier and easier for her to
reject his offers. The more he flirted, the more she haughtily
turned away. The more outlandish his antics to capture her
attention, the more exaggerated her biting responses.

A
part of Lily has always known that this probably turned on Potter
even more. Yet she's never stopped the game. There is something
oddly gratifying, and even erotic, about the roles of chaser-pursuer,
and she derives a sweet, primal pleasure from his occasional looks of
disappointment. He could probably have any girl he wanted, and she
is the one empowered to reject him.

The
game has cooled considerably since Seventh Year began. She knows
she's more sensual and desirable than ever, but maybe Potter's pride
has taken enough blows. Maybe his fixation had turned to someone
else. Or maybe he's just tired of the chase.

She
finds her seat in McGonagall's classroom and starts to straighten out
her books, when she feels the familiar prickling feeling that she's
being watched from the left. She smiles to herself as she casually
lets her quill fall next to the desk. She flips her long curls
behind her back and leans forward, aware that the top two buttons of
her blouse are conveniently open and that as she goes down lower, her
skirt rides up ever so slightly. She
keeps her head bowed and her eyes low and as she slowly raises
herself up, she gently lifts her lashes to reveal her famously green
eyes. A wave of heat pulsates through her body as she realizes that
she's just met the enraptured gaze of James Potter.

Her
instinct should be to growl and turn the other way. She should feign
outrage and cross her arms over her chest to draw attention to what
waits beneath them. She should do what she usually does.

But
she doesn't. She can't,
because
Potter's eyes are locked on hers and she can't possibly conceive of
tearing them away. They're a soft brown, flecked through with green
and gold, and there's a darkness and a hunger
to them that brings a rush of heat between her legs and makes her
cheeks burn. And at this moment, she knows without a doubt that if
he would ask to have his way with her, she would topple into his arms
without missing a beat and let him ravish her over and over, tickles
be damned.

At
the front of the classroom, McGonagall begins her lesson, and Lily
knows that sometime soon she's going to have to tear her eyes away
from Potter's. He starts to turn to the front of the room, but then
gives her one last, lingering, searing stare, laced through with a
message that pierces her with desire.

I
want you.

***

Lily
isn't sure what's worse: having to deal with someone leering at you,
or pathetically wanting someone to leer at you in the most obscene
way possible every second of the day.

Definitely
the latter, she concludes.

The
game has changed. Potter had always been the active hunter,
persistently strategizing and setting up cunning traps;
Lily had been the elusive prey, dancing out of Potter's reach,
teasing him with the hopes of a successful catch, before darting off
again in glee.

But
now Potter plays by a new method. He never speaks to her, never
acknowledges her presence.

Except
when he does.

She'll
be sitting in class, studying in the library, walking in the
corridors, and she'll feel his eyes burning into the back of her
head. Those sultry, smoldering eyes that never blink and never
waver. Those eyes that drive her insane. Potter is still the
hunter, but he has decided to wait. And watch. And beckon his prey
to come closer.

And
fucking hell, it's working. Lily finds herself going out of her way
to pass by Potter's favorite spots in the castle. She looks over at
him during meals with her most seductive expressions. She yearns to
make him cast one of his looks,
but she can never successfully will them to exist. They only come
when she least expects them.

She
knows she's becoming obsessive. Over Potter.
Potter and his fucking gorgeous eyes.

I
want you,
they say.

She
lies awake in bed at night with a reel of images flickering in her
mind. Potter with his lips on her neck. Potter cupping her bare
breast. Potter running his hands all over her body as he licks
between her legs. No man has ever really touched her, yet when she
runs her own hands over her most sensitive regions, it's really
Potter's fingers, Potter's lips, Potter's tongue...

I
want you.

She
starts to watch him when she thinks he's not looking. Notices the
way his right eyebrow darts up when he's concentrating. Notices that
he always eats his vegetables first, then his meat, and then washes
it down with a long swig of pumpkin juice. Notices that he prefers
navy blue ink to black, purple grapes to green, and beech trees to
elm.

She
steadily memorizes his every facial expression, and learns the
different tones of voice he uses with different people. She knows
when he being genuine, or falsely friendly.

I
want you.

It's
been weeks and the only communication they have had has been via owl,
discussing Head Boy and Girl business. She feels the friction
augment the longer they are in a room with one another. She tries to
stare him down, and he deliberately looks the other way. She knows
he's aware of her presence, sees the way he tenses when she moves and
the way his breath hitches ever so slightly when she speaks.

She
cannot be touched, and so she fantasizes about the mysteries of
sexual contact. She cannot have James Potter, and so she fantasizes
about sexual contact with him.
The game is taunting, erotic, and unbearable.

And,
she resolves, it has to stop.

***

The
next day Lily has Advanced Potions with Potter. She knows that this
will be the day she breaks the silence, the day the prey gives in to
the hunter. The entire class she feels him smoldering across the
room. She absently sucks her quill, strokes a single wayward curl of
hair, makes lazy circles with her finger just above her knee. She
knows he's watching, and wants to be sure he knows it's for him.

As
the class draws to a close and she slowly puts away her ingredients,
she's sees out of the corner of her eye that Potter's making his way
toward her. She refuses to look up, instead making an overly large
production of scooping her crushed beetles into a jar. As he passes
by her, something falls to her feet. A quill. He kneels next to her,
eye-level with her hip, and picks up the feather with slim, long
fingers. As he rises, the edge of his robe brushes the hairs on her
arm. He leans in, and she can feel his warm breath against her cheek.

“Rumor
has it you're ticklish, Evans,” he whispers into her ear, his
voice low and smooth.

She
is unprepared for the onslaught of heat that shoots down her torso.
She grips her cauldron. “Yes,” a shaky voice answers.
“Yes, I am.”

He
inhales her mass of red curls. “Hmm.” Hot air vibrates
just at her ear. “That's very
interesting.”

Lily
closes her eyes, and by the time she opens them, he has disappeared.
Reality sets back in and she exhales sharply.

She
stomps off to the girls' room. How dare he! How dare he be the one to
break the silence! He must have known that she was finally giving in,
and he had
to
be the one to initiate, had
to
be the one to take control like the arrogant arsehole that he's
always been.

Merlin,
why is he so fucking hot?

The
girl staring back in the mirror over the sink is paler than usual,
eyes large and dark, dominating her face. Lily splashes cold water on
her cheeks and wills herself to composure.

The
next move would have to be hers. She wants him. Headily and greedily
and lustfully, she wants him. And she's bloody well going to have
him, tickles be damned.

***

There
are a few minutes yet until dinner, but Lily doesn't feel remotely
hungry. Instead of heading to the Great Hall, she paces an empty
classroom, furiously biting her nails.

How
to do it? The lab rats had always followed her blindly. Never
before did she have to actively ensnare. And besides, this is no
ordinary lab rat. Not a lab rat at all, in fact. This is James
Potter.

How
had she let herself get into this situation? Virgin Lily Evans,
never been touched, madly in lust with that big-headed,
smooth-talking prick with the ridiculously unruly hair and the
sculpted torso and that pair of intense hazel eyes --

The
eyes.
The eyes are blinking back at her. James Potter is standing in the
doorway with his mouth gaping open, and his fucking beautiful eyes
are wide in surprise. “Sorry, thought I forgot something–
” he stammers. “I'll just...”

Lily
doesn't know how to rationally respond. So she just lets her
instincts guide her.

And
she pounces.

Within
milliseconds, she has pulled his head down to her mouth and one hand
tightly grips his shirt. She feels his quickening heartbeat beneath
her palm, feels an increasing awareness of the hard heat emitting
from his body.

She
devours him, tugging at his lips with all the need and hunger that
has been building up inside for what seems like forever. His breath
is warm and tastes vaguely like cherry candy, and his lips are full
and positively delicious. She doesn't give him a chance to respond
because she's nipping too quickly, and her head is swimming from a
lack of oxygen.

Her
mouth releases his for a quick intake of breath, and her eyes shoot
open to meet The Stare. Boring into her face, unflinching. He
breaths heavily and the swirling green and gold are hypnotic.

I
want you.

There
is barely a pause. With startling fluidity, he kicks the door shut,
pins her against it, and plunders her mouth with his tongue.

And
oh, she feels every groove, every nook and cranny of his mouth, and
the minute details of his teeth and tongue and lips only heighten the
intensity of sensation because she's not only experiencing a kiss but
experiencing him
and it's the best thing she's ever felt in her whole god dammed life
and he hasn't even touched
her
yet, but she knows he will, and when did he put her on a desk and
remove her shoes and oh merlin,
he's
playing with her toes...

James
– she calls him James now – releases her mouth to leave a
hot, wet trail along her jawline, one hand ravishing her hair and the
other slowly tracing looping patterns up her calves. She wraps her
legs around him, pulling him to her, reveling in the sensation of his
arousal pressed against hers. He grunts and slides his tongue to her
neck, sucking her skin through his teeth. She lets out a small moan
as the wet path meets the cool, open air, and she fumbles with his
jumper, desperate for the touch of his skin.

She
is distracted – a chilly wetness on her neck, the heat from his
back against her palm, the force of his erection through the layers
of clothing – and she doesn't notice at all when James mutters
a quick incantation and flips up her skirt.

Shocking
coldness on her thigh. Her eyes shoot open, and she sees James's
right hand glistening and dripping with water, making a wet imprint
on the skin just above her knee.

James
Potter has his hand above her knee. Touching
her bare skin.
And laughter is the farthest thing from her mind.

She
gasps at the thrilling, foreign sensation and pants out the first
words she has said to him all night. “James...You're –
touching me...” His hand rises an inch or two higher and he
picks his lips up
off her collarbone for an instant. “Mm. Yes, I
am...Moistening Charm...” The fingers find their way to the
inside of her leg, and another soaking hand fumbles at her waist to
pull her blouse out from her skirt.

Fingernails
lightly trace her inner thigh, and she moans incoherently, “I
never...touch...ticklish...” Her eyelashes flutter and she
shakily runs her hands over the hard flesh of his abdomen.

A
lick behind her ear. “Have a baby cousin...” A suck on
her lobe. “Same thing...” A freezing droplet sliding up
to her hip. “Can't touch...without laughing...” A cold
finger on her waist. “But in freezing water...” A
breath on her neck. “Not a problem...”

His
left hand steadily creeps up underneath her shirt, and he is soaking
her side, drenching the cloth around her. Her breathing quickens and
she strokes the silky, hot skin of his hip. “You're telling
me,” she rasps between feathery gasps, “that you're
comparing me – to your baby cousin – in the –
bath...?”

The
tongue on her neck moves away, and when she whimpers in agony, her
knee bends of its own accord and his dripping hand slides down to the
front of her knickers, already soaked through with a different sort
of wetness. His other hand is moving around to her front and
upwards, and she feels his breath in her ear as he murmurs, “I
want you, Lily, and I want to scrub
you clean.”

The
words shock her like a jolt of electricity and she convulsively bucks
toward him as a rush of liquid meets his fingers through the thin
layer of fabric. Her mind goes numb and she is only aware of his
fingers pressing against her knickers, the hard bulge against her
hipbone. She drives her hand farther up his shirt and runs a nipple
between her fingers, thrusts her tongue into his mouth.

It
is a battle for dominance now, with their tongues and teeth nipping
and sucking, and their hands roaming and pinching. She is vaguely
aware that some of the buttons on her blouse have gone missing and
James has moved both hands under the remains of her shirt, touching
her breasts through the sopping wet bra, massaging her right with one
hand, tracing the outline of the rock-hard left
nipple with two fingers of the other.

She
slips her hands under the waistband of his trousers and strokes the
clenched muscles beneath his boxers. His breath hitches and she
pulls him upward, forcing the bulge in his trousers to the heat
between her legs. He thrusts instinctively and oh gods,
he's replaced one of his hands with his mouth, and the only thing
separating her nipple from his tongue is a layer of heavy and wet
green lace.

One
hand pulls out of his pants and clutches, presses, his head to her
chest, as she whimpers, please,
James, please.

Her
words make him buck again but when her fingers flutter to the zipper
of his trousers, he grabs her hands and holds them still, his body
frozen and alert.

They're
both panting, and Lily stares down at the head on her chest as she
feels his ragged breaths on her stomach.

“No,”
he says quietly. He picks up his head and stares into her face, eyes
all swirly and lustful. At some point he had flung his specs to the
side; now he picks them up off of a nearby desk and places them on
his nose, taking a few steps back to distance himself from her.

“Why
ever not?” she asks in a voice she nearly doesn't recognize as
her own. When had she ever sounded so husky and innocent at the same
time?

When
his eyes graze over her current position and his Adam's apple bobs
heavily, she imagines how she must appear to him. Elbows supporting
her as she leans back, chest thrust forward and tightly pulling at
her torn blouse, held together by only
two buttons at the level of her waist. The center portion of her bra
meeting the open air in the gap between the ripped cloth, the rest of
it starkly visible beneath the sheer, wet fabric. Her skirt roughly
bunched around her waist, and her legs dripping with water, widely
splayed, dangling over the edge of the desk. Her hair must be
tousled, her eyes must be dark, her breasts must be heaving, and the
darkened, dampened patch in the front of her knickers must be
brazenly staring him in the face.

Her lips move into a feral grin as she feels a primal satisfaction
stir in her upon witnessing his obvious reaction. Yes, the
tenting in his trousers seems to be justified. And she knows that
whatever has made James suddenly pull away will seem pitifully
unimportant once she wiggles just
so...

He
lets out a soft moan as she feels her breasts strain against the
fabric constricting them, and he starts to take a step towards her,
before visibly mustering his self-control and forcing his legs to
remain still. He breathes heavily. “I can't.”

She
frowns and feels her face fall. All those years of waiting to be
touched, caressed, fucked,
and she's finally met a man who's made her wetter than she's ever
been in her life...Now he wants to stop?

“Fine,”
she says brusquely, as she jumps up from the desk, grabs her wand,
dries herself off and carelessly throws on her socks and loafers.
Her shirt could be repaired with a simple charm but she's so overcome
with frustration and anger and raw, unfulfilled need
that
she can't even bother with that, and instead just shoves the tails of
her open blouse into the waistband of her skirt.

“No!”
James lets out with panic in his voice. His palm rises, fingers
splayed as though to stop her. “I didn't mean that I don't
want you. Merlin knows
I want you.” His eyes glance briefly at the heavy swells of
her breasts against the dark green lace, and then they dart up to her
eyes. “But not here, not like this. Not some quickie in a
classroom against a desk.”

The
muscles in her shoulders relax when she sees the sudden tenderness
that crosses his face. She takes a few steps forward and tentatively
strokes the soft hairs at his temple.

His
eyes flutter shut for a moment. “I've wanted you for years,”
he whispers softly, bending to murmur into her ear. “And I
want to linger over your body and savor every stroke, teasing every
nerve of your skin.” His tongue sweeps across the pulse at her
neck, and she gasps, gripping his jumper tightly with both hands.

He
breathes into her ear. “You're Lily Evans, and I want to make
you come long and hard.”

She
pulls him to her again and his hands are still dripping wet as they
clamp onto her waist. There is barely enough time to enjoy the
slickness of his tongue and the cold droplets seeping into her skin
because he mutters in the most seductive voice she's ever heard,
“Let's go.”

Within
two seconds, he is both dragging and leading her out of the doorway
and down the nearby corridor. In the back of her mind, she vaguely
makes out the din of students rushing to dinner, but her sense of
hearing is overwhelmingly dwarfed by the immediacy of James...His
powerful body moving quickly a few steps ahead of her, guiding her
with a wettened hand bound tightly to one of her own. His heady,
masculine scent wafting a few feet in front of her. His lusty eyes
and that feral, mischievous grin that occasionally peek over his
shoulder at her. She doesn't even feel her legs moving at all, and
she's rather surprised that they don't just turn to jelly right
there.

She
loses track of where there are in the castle, lightheaded with lust.
Right, left, up stairs, through a tunnel...A tunnel...James
expertly navigates his way deep
into darkened passages within the castle walls...Rhythmically pounds
his feet and moves swiftly and skillfully, echoes throbbing
in the caverns behind them...Fuck,
she's wet...

“It's
right here,” she hears him pant as they stop in front of a door
she had never noticed before. The wood paneling looks frayed, as
though it was carved centuries before the castle was erected. By
now, the Moistening Charm has worn off, and he lightly presses a dry
hand against the doorknob; a dim light fills the archway.

James
leads her into the room and steps back so she can observe her
surroundings. The room is square, not very large, and is dimly lit
by golden torches at each corner. They cast shadows on the weathered
stone walls, and she detects intricate carvings along the molding of
the ceiling and arbitrarily chosen panels of wall. At the center of
the chamber is a large bed covered with a velvet spread, once
luxuriously scarlet but now thinned and faded with age. The pillows
bear embroidered patterns and scenic images, rust-colored thread on a
plane of tarnished gold.

She
suspects the room has lain dormant for hundreds of years, and the
idea of James's hands roaming her flesh as she stands on untouched,
virgin medieval stone sends a shiver through her body. The room is
archaic, Gothic, forbidden, erotic...fucking perfect.

The
lust courses through her and she must resist jumping him against the
stone wall. She remembers his sweet, sweet promise...I
want to make you come long and hard...

She
resumes the role of prey, and as she catches his gaze, she silently
lets him know that she hereby relinquishes all power to the hunter,
that he can do anything to her that he pleases, that this tacit
submission is what now makes her loins throb with anticipation.

He
takes a step towards her and brushes a stray lock off of her cheek.
She closes her eyes and can faintly smell the cherries on his breath.
“Lily,” he whispers softly, as his head descends to
hers.

The
kisses in the classroom had been frantic, wild. Now James chastely
caresses her lips with his own, and she can meticulously memorize the
texture of his mouth, the hard lines of his waist where she clutches
him with one hand, the silky strands of jet black hair in her other.
He holds her gently at the waist, heating her skin through her thin
blouse.

His
lips slide to her jaw, her chin, her neck, and she tilts back her
head, eager for his tongue to touch every bit of available skin. A
small moan escapes her, and she realizes that her hands have been
roaming of their own accord, fingers making small circles on his
back, lightly brushing at the hem of his jumper.

The
two of them go slowly. A bit too
slowly, Lily thinks. She remembers the feeling of James's wet hands
erotically caressing her thighs and the tops of her breasts, but
right now his hands are staying put at her waist, dry and gentle.
He's being so gentleman-like it's maddening.

She
wants to be touched,
dammit.

But
even as these thoughts flit through her mind, her hand moves up to
James's chest, and she feels the warm pulse of his quickening
heartbeat beneath her palm. James's heartbeat. James Potter's raw,
animalistic, bloody perfect heartbeat.

She
had wanted him to ravage her, take her completely, and use her for
his every sexual whim. And now, as he lightly begins to nibble at
her collarbone, she knows that she wants to ravage him just as much,
to taste him and devour him and imbibe him whole.

A
hand snakes up his jumper and rests lightly on the left side of his
chest. He lets out a sharp gasp against her throat and she grins in
satisfaction. The tide has turned.

She
pulls his face up to hers, swiftly removes his glasses and whips her
wand out of her pocket, muttering softly. His eyes widen and he
shudders slightly as a new sensation washes over him, and then he
gasps when Lily sticks out her tongue and slowly sweeps it up his
neck.

“What
was that?” he breaths out harshly.

“Charm,
only temporary...” she murmurs in between nibbles. “But
now you'll be able to see me perfectly...Every
inch.”

Her
fingers brush against his nipple and he arches into her. “Gods,
Lily...”

She
slips her other hand beneath the hem of his jumper and traces lazy
circles along his hard abdomen. His muscles clench, and he lets out
a low moan.

“And
you know what isn't fair?” she whispers into his ear,
purposely tickling him with her breath. “In that classroom, in
here...” She lightly nips at his earlobe with her teeth.
“You've always been fully dressed...”

And
just like that, she and James yank the jumper over his head.

Her
fingers and mouth wander and stroke at random. Hands explore his
waist, his shoulders, his powerful arms, and her tongue travels
aimlessly, dips into his navel and out, creates erratic webs of
wetness across his skin.

His
muscles are long, hard, and lean, and as her eyes graze over his
shoulders, she realizes how surprisingly narrow they are. Lily has
always been attracted to hulking men with figures that look as though
they could swallow her up whole. But James's build is perfect in its
own way, she realizes, because the grip of his large, calloused hands
at her waist is firm, the muscles of his stomach clench with every
caress of her fingers, and the taste of his skin is salty and tangy,
and it sends a rush of warmth shooting downward.

She
roughly backs him up against the wall and assaults his right nipple
with her tongue. He releases a low grunt and bucks against her,
letting her feel the increasingly pronounced bulge against her
stomach. She grins against him as she lets her lips slide across his
chest to the other nipple, where it nips teasingly, and then across
his collarbone, along the length of an arm, again into his navel.
The overwhelming need for more of his skin consumes her, and his
constant stream of savage groans only encourages her more.

She
kicks her shoes and socks off of her legs and runs a bare foot down
to his ankles, encouraging him to do the same. As she lefts her head
to capture his mouth and dive her tongue inside, she lets her
fingers softly trace downward to stroke the skin just above his belt.

She
begins to move her fingers to the buckle when his hands abruptly
leave her waist and grab hers. He slowly lifts her arms out and
intertwines his fingers with hers.

“Not
yet,” he whispers against her lips. “I want to see you
first.” She gasps as he bends his head to suck at the
sensitive skin where her collarbones meet, and his tongue lightly
traces a meandering path along her neck.

She
clutches at his hair and feels herself melting into him. Her
position of control has abruptly flown from her and returned to
James, leaving her once again in his complete power. This lack of
consent, this theft of dominance, this violation of her will...It
turns her on even more. And she knows that she only ever had power
to begin with because he had allowed it. She may be able to nip and
lick as she likes, but she is utterly subject to him. The thought
sends a fresh wave of wetness into her knickers.

He
kisses just at her ear and nudges her neck with his nose, lightly
whispering against her skin. “Take it off, Lily. I want to
see you give yourself to me.”

No
disobedient thought could possibly cross her mind now. Her legs move
slowly backward to bring her just beside the bed. Between them is a
space nearly as long as the room itself, and she finds the distance
satisfyingly frustrating. Her eyes lock on James's as she slowly
pulls the tails of her blouse out of her skirt. The remaining
buttons pop open easily, and she lets the garment slide noiselessly
to the floor.

His
eyes widen and darken as he takes in the sight of her. A smirk
crosses her lips as she notices the bulge in his trousers jump a bit.
She proudly juts her chest out and feels the dark green lace dig
into the undersides of her breasts. The fabric pulls at her pebbled
nipples, and the tension is just delicious.

James's
mouth drops open and his eyes seem to slide out of focus as he
watches her flesh against the lace. Then he blinks and directs his
gaze downward. “Your skirt, Lily,” he speaks in low,
rolling tones. “Take off your skirt.”

She
bites the corner of her lip and slowly brings down the zipper along
her left hip. Instead of letting it slip off on its own, she bends
over, sliding lower and lower along with the garment, letting her
breasts gently undulate beneath her. Where is this wantonness coming
from? She yields to the impulse to obey, but some carnal force
heating her insides makes her want to do so as seductively and as
tantalizingly as possible. Her eyes have never left his face, and
she sees his Adam's apple bob as he takes in several large gulps of
self-control.

She
rises slowly, straightening her long legs and stepping out of the
skirt. Her feet stand firmly apart from one another and her
shoulders pull back. James lets out a strangled sort of moan as his
eyes catch the large, slightly darkened patch in the center of her
dark green knickers. “More,” he rasps, and his voice is
so soft, she almost has to read his lips.

Without
hesitation, she reaches around and snaps open the clasp of her bra
before flinging it to the side. She feels the heavy weight of her
breasts drop as they are released, free in all their glory.

And
then, before she has time to gauge his reaction, James crosses the
room in three broad steps and fastens his lips to her left nipple.

Snakes
of fire course through every nerve, and she has to remind herself to
breathe. In the heat of moment, James had forgotten to reapply the
Moistening Charm and his bare hands are roaming along her naked
thighs and hips, his bare tongue is laving her naked nipples. Sounds
escape her lips, but instead of giggles they are moans,
moans of pleasure and desire that come out in low erotic tones, and
as she presses his head harder to her chest and arches into his mouth
she thinks that this is it,
this is the one,
because pleasure like this can only come once in a lifetime.

His
lips crash onto hers and pries them open with his tongue as his hands
move up to the heavy breasts so recently abandoned by his mouth. He
rubs, swirls the sensitive tips, and gently massages the mounds of
flesh, letting them ripple between his fingers, experimenting with
their weight. Her mind tries to process the unfamiliar contact but
she couldn't possibly be analytical now. Heat is all she feels: his
heat searing into her, her own radiating back into him. She pants
against his mouth and unsuccessfully tugs at his belt buckle, needing
more raw heat,
knowing that what waits for her in his trousers may very well sear
her skin.

Without
moving that delicious mouth from hers, he moves his hands behind her
and places them at the very tops of her thighs, right at the edge of
her lacy knickers. Effortlessly, he lifts her up and sets her down
on the bed, leaning her into the pillows.

He
pulls his head back and she sees his lashes lift. The eyes are
darker than she's ever seen them before, and they nearly drip with
want. Her breathing is short and shallow, and she feels a thin layer
of sweat against the sheets. Never tearing his eyes from her face,
his fingers fly to the buckle at his hips and pull out the belt in
one single tug. He roughly pushes down his trousers and then
crouches on top of her, knees bent, a certain organ barely pressing
against her thigh.

All
that separates them is two thin scraps of fabric.

A
wicked grin crosses his face and he plunges his tongue into her
navel. Fucking hell, what a tongue...The way it dips and swirls and
oh gods
he's heading there...

But
no, he teases her mercilessly and skips down below the lace, placing
hot open-mouthed kisses along her trembling thighs, ever so slowly
easing his way up toward what she so hopes is his final destination
but never quite making it...Her legs open wider of their own accord
and she grips his hair, trying to force his head upwards to relieve
the aching and throbbing beneath that bloody piece of fabric. She
bucks her hips in frustration, and looks at him in wild, frantic
desperation when he picks his head up completely and moves it close
to her face, in the precisely wrong direction.

“I
think,” he whispers into her ear, “you need a lesson in
patience.” He lightly grazes a nipple with his teeth. “I've
waited this long, Lily, and now I'm going to milk
– every – second...”
He punctuates each word with a long, drawn-out suck on her breast,
and then moves on to the other one. She doesn't know where her hands
should go, and they dart out at random, touching every spot of his
skin that she can reach.

And
then - “Oh, fuck...”
There's a finger pressing against her knickers, and it's tracing the
outline of her lower lips through the fabric. His mouth is doing
things to her neck and a finger finds its way under her knickers and
slips inside her.

And
oh, there are hot, white lights dancing in front of her eyes because
James bloody Potter is touching her where no one has ever
touched her. His thumb finds that aching bundle of nerves and
circles it with a painfully, torturously slow rhythm. Her hips start
moving against his fingers, and her thighs spread farther apart,
allowing him to dip inside her even more deeply.

Abruptly,
his ministrations stop, and her eyes fly open, desperate to know how
he could possibly bring her pleasure to a halt this way. And then
she looks at his face, and sees the questioning, confused, slightly
curious look about him, and he lightly dips into her once.

That's
it then. He's felt that treacherous membrane. Knows that she's
untouched.

An
uncomfortable heat settles in her cheeks and she prays to Merlin and
whatever deities have any chance of existing that he won't care if
she's inexperienced, won't care that the rumors were all a lie, won't
care that she's been misleading them and god damn them
all. She lets out a long breath, and nods once in acknowledgment.

The
corners of his lips turn up ever so slightly, his nostrils flare, and
his eyebrows dip low in the center, accentuating the fierce emotion
beaming out from those amazing hazel eyes.

Triumph.

He
adds a second finger inside her and releases a low growl. Those eyes
send her another piercing, tacit message.

You're
mine.

His
mouth descends, his fingers plunge, and a calloused thumb circles
that inflamed nub ever so gently. A gasp escapes her, and her pelvis
begins to rise and fall, moving with the thrusts of his fingers and
his tongue. Knots of pleasure are flooding from her tongue and the
tips of her breasts down to that surface beneath his thumb, and all
of the tension is building up inside that tiny bundle of nerves and
it feels so god damn good
she can barely think about anything else. All she knows is that this
is James
Potter
and fingers and pumping and circling even faster and her hips and the
tiny fireworks behind her eyes and bucking and increasing intensity
and pleasure building up so much she knows she'll fucking explode...

She
climaxes with a heady groan into James's neck and she feels her
entire body shudder beneath him, muscles clenching around his
fingers.

As
she slowly regains coherent thought, she is aware that she is no
longer wearing her knickers and that James's head has moved down to
the area so recently dominated by his hand, and he is hungrily
lapping up the sticky juices on the insides of her thighs and lips
and merlin
that's his tongue
inside her.

Barely
recovered from her first orgasm, Lily feels her pulse quickening once
more as his tongue and fingers work in unison. She throws her head
back and clutches those silky strands of jet black hair in her
fingers, forcing his face deeper into her, desperate for those chords
of pleasure to race through her once more.

She
comes faster this time. Faster and harder. Even as she feels her
release unfolding, James continues to thrust into her with that
fantastic tongue, and even though she begins to climax within
seconds, she feels herself coming over and over, nearly drowning in
that mouth.

He
finally lifts his head, and she looks down at him between her
breasts. Her chest is heaving as she tries to regain her breath, and
her nipples are reaching for the ceiling, more aroused and erect than
she has ever known them to be.

Those
eyes glint mischievously, and his tongue darts out to catch one last
drop of her release. That look is primal and dirty, and her
shoulders automatically brace themselves for the unexpected, her
hands gripping the sheets on either side of her.

He
slowly crawls up her body with all the litheness of a cat, letting
the bare skin of his gorgeous chest graze her legs, her hips, her
stomach. He opens his mouth so she can see that it is still filled
with her juices, and without warning, he fastens his lips onto a
nipple and coats it with her sticky fluids, smearing some onto the
other nipple with the hand that only moments before had been plunging
into her like there was no tomorrow.

She
gasps at the contrast of her body heat to the shockingly cold air
hitting the moistened tips of her breasts, and she arches her back,
feeling his nipples straining to get closer to him.

That's
what she wants. Closeness to him. She wants to feel
him
the way she has never felt anyone before, and she wants to bring him
to the height of pleasure she has only just discovered exists.

A
sudden jolt of clarity settles over her, and though she is writhing
and moaning in heady tones, her aim is certain and merlin, please let
it be true.

She
slides a hand down his side, feeling the silky smoothness of his
ribcage, his waist. When her fingers reach the waistband of his
shorts, she lightly trails them along the edge of fabric, bringing
her hand between them to play with the coarse hairs trailing down...

He
groans against her breast as it suddenly slams into him what she is
about to do, and her hand slips under the waistband of his boxers and
wraps around him.

Fuck,
there's that heat she'd been craving, and it's pulsing and twitching
in her hand. Touch has always fascinated her, but testing her own
boundaries has always distracted her from experimenting on other
people. She vaguely wonders what he feels like all over, and as she
clutches his hair and holds him close, she slowly moves her other
hand, gliding it downward, tracing the length of him from base to
tip.

His
breath against her bare skin is coming out in short, ragged gasps,
and she feels him steadily hardening and thickening in her hand.

James
is caught off guard, and she takes the opportunity to flip him over
so that she straddles his stomach, one hand firmly pressed against
his chest and the other behind her, still deep in his boxers. His
eyes roll back as she puts slight pressure on one of the heavy sacs
at his base.

Truth
be told, she really has no idea what she's doing, but she's just so
overwhelmed by curiosity, and the glazed look in his eyes is making
her wet again, so she slithers down his torso to settle on his knees.

His
chin is tilted back, and his hands clutch the headboard so tightly
his knuckles have gone white. His chest rises and falls in deep,
steady breaths, and she knows that he's trying to control himself,
knowing what she's about to do when her fingers play like that with
the waistband of his boxers.

But
it isn't enough. She can feel that she's turning him on, but she
needs to see
it
in those fucking beautiful eyes.

“Look
at me,” she whispers to him, and his head snaps down, eyes
wide, dark, desperate.

Wild.

That's
sufficient for her. She locks her gaze onto his and doesn't lift it,
even as she teasingly tugs his boxers down his legs and off of his
ankles.

And
there he is. All of him.

Her
eyes run over him in fascination, and her cheeks redden as she
realizes that she has every right to do so. James had claimed her as
soon as he placed a finger on her bare skin, and now she wants to
capture him
and learn just what the sensation of touch can do.

She
feels his body clench beneath her as she slowly lowers her head, and
primeval instinct overtakes her...Her tongue darts out to touch his
tip.

He
shouts her name at the brief contact, and Lily wants to see if she
can make him do that again. Several times in slow succession, she
swiftly meets him with her tongue, and then tries one long, sweep up
his length. His pelvis bucks into her face, and she raises her eyes
to see him violently clutching at the sheets, a trickle of sweat
pooling into his navel, glistening in the torchlight.

She
tilts her head to the side and feels her groin start to burn again.
Memories assault her. It may have been minutes earlier, it may have
been hours, since she felt James all over, felt nothing but him and
his presence in every cell of her body. She grinds against his
calves for momentary relief. He has to feel the same way because of
her, needs his whole universe to narrow and funnel into the one
pointed fact of her existence.

She
opens her mouth up wide and encases him as far as she is able. Her
hands run circles over the exposed flesh at the base and behind the
sacs underneath. Bobbing her head up and down ever so slightly, she
grins inwardly when she realizes the effect she is having on him.

Because
something tells her it's exactly what she had been after. His pelvis
is arching up to meet her, his head is thrashing from side to side,
and pouring out of his mouth is the most delicious stream of
incoherently mumbled syllables she's ever heard.

If
it's even possible, she thinks that he's lengthening in her mouth,
but she doesn't want him to lose himself just yet. Not before he's
had a chance to make contact with her body's deepest and most
secretive parts.

She
releases him with a small pop and stares at what before had been
delectably large and what is now impossibly long and thick, and an
angry shade of purple. And that,
she knows, will touch her everywhere.

Busy
observing the effects she has reaped, she is caught completely
unawares when James roughly pulls her up under the arms and flips her
over with a brutal kiss.

It's
brutal but it's intimate and wonderful and his hands are roaming
everywhere. She finds herself panting as his mouth leaves hers to
slide his tongue down along her neck, her jawline, that very
sensitive spot behind her ear. He whispers into it.

“I
want you.”

And
even though she has read them in his eyes countless times before,
the words are beautiful, lyrical, erotic, and hearing them voiced out
loud makes her nearly choke with emotion. She cups his face in both
hands and whispers, “Then take me.”

Bracing
his powerful arms on either side of her, he maneuvers himself up and
over her entrance. This is it, she thinks and she spreads her legs
wider.

But
he doesn't move at all; he is waiting for her signal. She gazes at
his face and is convinced she's never seen an expression so tender
and concerned. This is James
concerned about her,
and she nods her head once in assent.

“I
love you, Lily,” he whispers, and thrusts into her.

Maybe
it's the shock of his words and the lightness and warmth making her
tingle all over, but somewhere in her mind she realizes that she
isn't experiencing the excruciating pain that generally marks a
girl's first time. All she feels is a giddy sort of happiness and
the stark, reassuring knowledge that James Potter is fully sheathed
inside her and her hands are gripping his back and he's looking at
her with that swirling, melding fusion of concern and affection she
knows will be fixed in her memory for years to come. She makes a
small movement with her pelvis, and a searing shot of pleasure races
through her as he slides along the walls of her tight passage.

It
is as though a sudden beam of understanding passes between them and
James starts to thrust forward. Then backward.

Slowly,
agonizingly, he moves within her, adhering to a steady, unhurried
pace to ease her body into the feel of him, but even when she feels
the burning need to move faster around him and wraps her legs around
his waist to pull him deeper inside her, his rhythm remains
frustratingly consistent.

His
lips move to her neck and his wonderful hands are entwined in her
hair, and the pace of his thrusts increases by only the tiniest
increment.

He's
teasing her, she knows, permitting her to experience this fullness,
this sense of completion, for as long as possible.

She
allows herself to melt into him, letting his body take over hers as
her pelvis rises and falls in time with his. Small moans escape her
mouth when she feels him sinking deeper and deeper, touching spots
within her she had never known existed.

His
beautiful name is coming out of her mouth in short, airy breaths, and
as his speed slowly and maddeningly increases, so do the snakes of
pleasure that surge throughout her body.

Their
breaths mingle together, pant together in escalating intensity, and
she feels herself clamping around him, urging him on and making him
grunt in those delicious, animalistic tones. Who could have ever
described pleasure and completeness like this? Physical euphoria
pumping, pumping, pumping through every ounce of blood and safety and
warmth and such fucking happiness
that should only exist in fairy tales...

Hips
slap ferociously together...muscles clench...juices flow and
flow...everything is on fire...and she's
falling...falling...falling...

Her
orgasm soars and rushes through every nerve of her body, the wind is
roaring in her ears, and somehow she identifies that scream as her
own, and it seems like it never ends because James is still thrusting
into her with that frantic pace because he wants her to come long
and hard,
and sweet Circe, she does,
over and over and over...

With
a long and earthy groan, he finally lets himself spill into her, and
somehow, the sudden rush of his seed inside her makes her come
again...Their bodies convulse together, and for an instant, Lily's
mind goes numb...blissfully blank.

After
their shared shudders subside, James lightly kisses her lips and
looks at her with an expression of satisfaction that surely must
mirror her own. Without disconnecting himself from her, he slides
down to her side and encloses her in his arms.

Lily
sighs into his warmth, and the slight fluttering of her stomach makes
her eyes close and she snuggles closer. He places a kiss on the top
of her head.

“James?”
she softly murmurs into his chest.

“Mm?”

“What
you said before – you know, before you -- we – er...”
She takes a deep breath. “Did you really mean that?”

The
two seconds of silence that follow are almost painful with suspense.
And then his hand lifts her chin so she can see his face, and those
eyes are boring into hers.

“Lily
Evans,” he says firmly, “I am utterly, completely, and
desperately in love with you. I have been for years, and I know I
will be for years to come.”

He
traces her cheek with his thumb, and his lips turn upwards in a
smile. “Does that answer your question?”

Exactly
when she has started crying she doesn't know, but though she has
never been the sentimental type, she feels the tears as they start to
flow, and she knows that as she smiles up at him, her green eyes must
glisten at him like precious stones.

She
nods and sucks in a breath. “I'm asking because...well...I
think I may be falling in love with you.”

With
those words, a softness crosses over his features, and he looks so
bloody beautiful and blissful he could be an angel. “I know,
love,” he says , wiping away a tear from her nose. “But
it feels so damned good to hear you say it out loud.”

She
beams at him and holds him closer. They are still intimately joined,
and as they gently kiss each other while they fall asleep, she knows
that this
is true happiness, and she never wants to let him go.

Moments
later she is in that hazy stage where everything seems a fog, when
she feels him vibrate beneath her head and hears a soft chuckle.

“James?”
she says sleepily, looking up at him. “Is everything okay?”

“Of
course, love. It was just that stunning hair of yours against my
chest.” There's a twinkle in his eye. “It makes me feel
rather ticklish.”
- 1
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Ticklish