His fingers are warm and delicate as they fold against her jawline and his gaze blazes like a bonfire, the heat from the hazel nearly as intense as flame. The ache that has been inside her for so long is lessening, like a tightly wound knot that is finally being pulled undone. When he brushes his thumb gently over her bottom lip, her eyes snap closed with a shuddering breath.
“I want to kiss you,” he tells her, voice as soft as his touch.
She exhales again, wondering how she can even remain standing when her bones have turned pliable at his words. “I want you to kiss me too.”
At these words, her eyes open to feast on the image before her: James and his bright smile, a direct reaction to her words of affirmation. Gods, yes, yes, kiss me.
His fingers slide down to her chin, raising its angle as he bends lower. Just before his lips touch hers, he hesitates; she can feel his breath mingling with her own, forces her eyes to stay closed and hopes—hopes that he does kiss her, that he finally gives in to the temptation they have been dancing around for months.
A long moment passes. Then another, then—
He kisses her.
It is slow and gentle, with the deliberateness that comes from experience—everything a first kiss should be. The knot inside her falls apart at his touch, but at the same time, she feels like the tattered pieces of her are being stitched back together. She is a patchwork quilt, made up of so many different pieces—moments, places, people, gone too soon, gone without choice—forced to build herself from the life she never asked for. And yet, now, the fraying edges don’t seem so worn, the stitching she once thought sloppy seems immaculate, the once dull fabric is brightening like new.
The Road Back to You
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the highway to getting the hell over you
whoops...my hand slipped
a TRBTY AU in which James learns who Lily is from the start, and he’s not a big fan
(rated m)
He just had to invite Lily to his birthday party.
Upon reflection, he won’t know why—or at least, won’t admit to it. But he justified it to himself with the inclusion of Gideon. If she came with her boyfriend, he would have little obligation to talk to her.
What he hadn’t accounted for was the possibility that Gideon and Lily would break up.
Equally short-sighted of him: not thinking about what Lily might wear to a club.
(A terrible misstep on his part because she came looking absolutely phenomenal. Even in her post-breakup state.
When he and Annie broke up, he looked like he’d lost several consecutive fights for weeks.)
“So Evans is single,” Sirius said as he sidled up next to him at the bar.
James stopped himself from turning toward the dance floor where he knew she was as he gave a nonchalant, “Mm.”
“Right, yeah. You don’t care. No interest in her at all.”
“Padfoot.”
“What? I know you think she’s fit.”
“What’s that to do with anything?”
Sirius laughed. “Well, not much apart from the simple fact that you are both now single!”
As if he needed reminding. As if he hadn’t been trying to not think about that fact since she dropped the news a couple of hours ago.
“You! And Lily Jones! Your first handie”—James sent him a glower—“fine, your first love”—James’ glare didn’t waver—“fine, whatever the fuck she was. You were crazy about her and now—”
“I’m not interested.”
Thankfully, Sirius was cut off by the arrival of the bartender with their new drinks, and James took the opportunity to push himself away from the bartop and head back to the nosiest part of the club. He dodged Sirius’ follow-up questions and comments. They’d beaten this horse so many times that it had been ground to dust. Beyond snapping at Sirius with words he’d promised himself to never say aloud—angry, cruel, damaging words—James didn’t know how to articulate how uninterested he was in pursuing anything, even friendship, with the woman who broke his teenage heart.
Problem was, Sirius might not even believe him. Not when James’ actions over the past year had shown the exact opposite. He’d gotten very proficient at masking animosity with cordial friendship. He could never, would never again, let her get close enough to fracture his heart.
As the night wore on, the conversation evolved beyond Lily, though he couldn’t keep his eyes off of her despite his efforts. Time sped by with much laughter and many drinks and James let himself welcome twenty-nine by drinking far more than he ought to have. After spending most of the night successfully avoiding Lily, they happened to meet at the bar.
“Hey.”
“Hi birthday boy.”
She sent him a sweet smile that churned his insides with anger and desire; the combination felt toxic when mixed with whiskey.
“Having fun?”
“Time of my life,” he said dryly.
“Well, I’ve been having fun. Thanks for inviting me.”
“Sure, yeah.”
He should have walked away then, at the natural end to their conversation. But then Lily told him she was going to head home, and he let himself properly look at her in her tight black dress, and then before he knew what was happening, his stupid drunken brain was urging him out of the club with her.
As they walked, she asked about his past birthdays, the ones that had happened in the intervening years, and he made up answers, he told the best of his past—as if he could convince her that he’d been nothing but happy since she left England.
Duty, or whiskey, prompted him to follow her up the stairs to her flat. He lingered in the doorway as she slipped her coat back off her shoulders. His eyes were glued to the curve of her back, to the way her shoulders shifted at the motion, to the movement of her arse as she walked further into her flat.
“So birthday boy…as far as birthdays go, how will this one be remembered?”
James deliberated for a moment as she perched herself against the back of her sofa; fuck, she was fit. “Better than I expected.”
She seemed to be able to read his mind, a siren smile appearing on her face as she watched him. Twisting a lock of hair around her fingers, she said, “Good. But more importantly… are you thinking of the sofa or the bed?”
It should have been a sign for him to leave. Her words. Her inviting eyes. The whiskey igniting his blood, slowing the cognitive part of his brain. “Sofa or bed?”
Lily hesitated and it became clear to James that she was also aware that she was about to cross a line. Perhaps she, like him, was weighing whether the reward outstripped the risk. “Yeah… for your birthday shag. It was… a joke.”
Last chance, he thought to himself right before taking a step further into her apartment and letting the door close slowly behind him. “Was it?”
She swallowed and the pettiest part of himself reveled in the well-hidden panic on her face. For the first time in over a decade, he felt like he could read her every emotion, feel her feelings as if they were his own. Her stare followed him as he closed the space between them, bright green eyes rising to keep his gaze as he stood in front of her.
“Because I don’t think it was a joke, Evans. I think you really want to shag me.”
James smirked when he slid his thumb along the curve of her cheek and her eyes fluttered closed.
“Well?” he prompted when a moment passed with no reply.
A split second later she nodded, and James wasted no time in claiming her lips with his own. She melted into him, arms wrapping around his shoulders just as he grabbed her by the waist. She met his mouth with a ferocity of her own, clear proof of a mutual want that burned between them like a roaring fire.
He loved her once. He hated her once, too. Part of him still did.
But what was now becoming annoyingly hard to ignore was the fact he had never, not once, stopped wanting her.
As a teenager, he would have given in without a second thought, but only if he knew she was ready. He would have made it special; he would have taken his time to worship every inch of her body; he would have made their first time about love.
There was nothing close to love between them now.
There was nothing loving about the way he tugged up her dress. Nothing loving about the way he pulled her knickers down as he bent her over the sofa. Nothing loving about the bruising pace he set that got them both off quickly.
He loved her once and would never have imagined walking away after sex and leaving only meaningless platitudes behind. But this was nothing like love.
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