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firewhiskeyficTitle: No Excuses
Author:lq_traintracks
I am of legal drinking age in my region: (yes/no) Yep
Pairing(s)/Characters/Fandom: James Sirius/Albus Severus
Challenge/Prompts used: Amortentia (but a real lusty one)
Summary: James is drugged, yadda yadda, they ~have to~ yadda yadda.
Rating/Warnings: NC-23; sibling incest, nonconsenual drug use, underage
Word count: 2,800-ish
Author's Notes (if any): This is not good. It’s made worse that it tries to be .lol. I seriously don’t really evenknow what happens in this?? There’s sex. In a bathroom.
This was not a normal red currant rum. That’s what James was thinking as he finished it, downing the last few delciious drops and licking his lips. He probably shouldn’t have finished it, come to think. But it tasted really good. (And I know better than to try to use italics omg. No more of that.)
The pub swam dizzily before him, tilted, righted itself, and then blurred again. He gripped the back of a chair for balance.
“Oi!”
And apparently that chair belonged to a rather pissy Ravenclaw he sort of recognised as somone he might have snogged after a match once? It was hard to say; she had more than one face now.
Which was not right. He’d only had two drinks.
Albus. He needed to find his brother.
James shook his head to clear it, but it just shook out more lights and lurkingn shadows and… wewll, it didn’t help matters. And matters were becoming rather, uh, achingly clear. (Stop that, goddamit.,)
He stumbled through the pub, wishing he’d never come out to Hogsmeade tonight. He knew better. He has a match tomorrow. He shouldn’t be drinking. You never know when a scout for the Wasps or the Cannons (shit though they may be) might be lurking in the stands. And Merlin knows he doesn’t have the marks for a real job. He’s not Lily. And he’s certainly not Al, genius wizard that he is. Though, if he’s honest, Al has more problems than he can count, and James wouldn’t wish that on him in a million years.
Nor would he wish his current state on his worst enemy, and he’s starting to seriously suspect foul play. He eyes Thom Zabini at the table in the corner and the cruel smirk that seems to sit on his face at all times. Zabini winks at him but then turns his attention back to his crew.
James, wobbling now, starting to breathe heavily, makes his way to the booth in the far corner… the one with the smart kids, the goth kids, the reject kids. His brother.
“Albus, I…” he says, interrupting some band kid (tho9ught there are no band kids in HP, but this kid, if given the chance, would likely pick up a trombone) in the middle of a diatribe about magical ethics, of all things.
And since James tends not to use Al’s full name, like, ever, it gets his attention. Al’s in the middle of the semi-circular booth (which befits him… to be centred like that; Al’s brilliant; he deserves friends and accolades and all the things that come easily to James but that Al seems to have to fight for, or lacks). But since he’s boxed in, he has to budge people up to get out. Which doesn’t exactly work quickly, and maybe it’s a look on James’s face, maybe it’s the sweat rolling down his brow, maybe it’s the urgency in his gaze, the way he grips the table, the way his eyes plead with his litttle brother, but Al gives up trying to get people to move and simply crawls under the table and out the other side.
“What is it?” he asks.
“Um, can we talk… over there?”
And who the fuck knows where over there is, but Al follows. He comes where James calls. Thank fuck. Because James thinks he’s never needed anything more.
They’re near the back exit, next to the magical jukebox that’s turning out all the Muggle hits that are so popular of late. James leans on it and looks at his brother in the technocolor glow. “I think I’ve been… compromised.”
At this, Al’s lips quirk. “Have you been watching Dad’s spy movies again? You know you don’t actually work for the American CIA.”
“No, I know. That’s not…”
“It’s not what?”
James meets Al’s eyes. Which ois the worst thing. Just the worst possible thing. Because Al’s eyes are beautiful, deep and green, like a forest, like being underwwater. And James is underwwater right now. He’s bloody drowning,..
“I think someone drugged me.”
(And if you think you’re going to find out who by the end of this please adjust your expectations because I have no idea and that’s only going to get worse as I drink more. Okau thanks.)
“What makes you thiknk that?”
Now he’s concerned. Properly so.
James can’t help it: He glances down at hisown hard dick and back up.
Al follows his gaze, his own getting, mortifyingly, stuck there a moment. Which only makes it all so. Much. worse. (STOP IIIIT.)
“Wh--” Al starts.
“Up here,” James grits out, and Albus’s eyes return to his face.
“What is it?” he gulps “do you think?”
“Best guess? I mean, I’m not a potioneer; you are, but…”
“Amortentia?”
James winces. “I mean, yeah, but… more, like…”
“A lust potion?”
“Probably?” He bites his lip. “God, it’s getting worse. Why is it getting worse, Al?”
And bloody hell, just saying his name makes James’s dick throb. (And I just realized I was in past tense before. Motherfucker. Oh well. LOL.)
“Love, and lust, potions… tend to accumulate, or… accelerate, until they’re--”
“Christ, speak English.”
“I am speaking English, you dickswab. You’re just too dumb to--”
“Oh fuck… Albus…” He’d give anything to reach down and squeeze his own dick. It’s hard as hell.
“Is it worse?”
“Yes.”
“Just now? It’s worse?”
“YES, dammit, Al, why--”
But Albus has stepped closer. “How about now?”
“What?” James gasps, nearly in a panic now. “Is it worse? Yes! It’s worse. Why would--?”
He steps closer. “And now?”
“What are you…? \Jesus, Al. I want… I want…”
“Okay. It’s okay,” Al says soothingly. And why the FUCK should that tone of voice make James’s cock ache?
“Shh,” Al murmrus. “”It’s alright.” Then, when James shudders, some precursor, a tremor so strong he’s afraid he just might… that he very well might…” Al takes his hand and whispers it, “James.”
His eyes fly to his brother’s intent gaze. He frowns. It’s not… it shouldn’t be… “Albus…”
“It’s alright,” Al says. And then, surreptitiously, covertly, he steps in even closer, and he palms James’s hard cock through his jeans. He squeezes it.
“Oh my God,” James exhaales. No. It can’t be. They can’t.
But Albus massages his dick, slowly, fuck expertly, and James closes his eyes tight, tries not to like it, to need it.
“Let me,” Albus says.
And there’s no getting around it: This is why he sought him out. Because he had to.
He bloody had to.
“Jamie,” Al says. And then he takes James’s hand again, abandoning his prick so that James moans in complaint before he can stop himself. Thank fuck for Muggle music pouring out of the speakers at a terrible volume.
His brother leads him, drags him, toward the bathrooms. And God help him, James goes.
They’re in the stall. Lock thrown.
“Al. I can’t.”
“But you need to.”
Al’s deft hands already on his flies, already ripping into the button, the zip. His hand… his delicate, beautiful hand… shoved down into James’s pants.
“Oh fuck.”
Fingers. Wrapped around.
“Just let it happen,” Al whispers.
“But you’re… you’re my…”
“Not right now. Not tonight.” he starts pulling on James’s hard cock.
“I can’t,” he pleads--a whine, because it feels so good.
“You can,” al says. “You will.”
HIs face screws up, appalled. Not ready to give in. And yet his body already has. He’s thrusting minutely into his brother’s fist.
“That’s it,” Al croons softly.
“I don’t,” James whines. “I don’t want…”
And Al rips his hand away, provoking a truly miserable response. “And yet you found me,” Albus reminds him. “You came for me.”
“Because I already love you,” James says helplessly. “I… I just needed…”
“Yes,” Al says to him, hand held tortuously away. “You needed me.”
His heart thuds dangerously in his chest. His erection strains toward his brother. In this cold, sterile room, locked away in a dirty bathroom stall, he stares into Albus’s eyes, sees the determination there, the resolve and the… fire. Albus has always had a fire.
And James burns.
He snatches for his brother’s hand, and then shoves it back between his legs, wrapping Albus’s nimble fingers around his cock. “Finish me then,” he says sickly.
But though Albus smiles at him… and fuck, that is not right; that is not okay… what he feels, seeing it... he doesn’t wank James off--
Instead he sinks to his knees, tugs James’s jeans and pants down, and then he leans in and breathes against James’s stiff cock.
(Omg I CANNOT STOP with the italics wtaf)
“Fucking…” James exhales. “No,” he croaks. But then, at the first lap of Al’’s tongue, a the first tantilzing breath of heat from his mouth… “Hurry up.”
If this is going to happen, and it appears that it will, James just needs it over with. The drug pulses through his system, keeping time with the crash and reverberation of his heart, and every moment it goes unsatisafied, a dull pain chokes him, steals his breath, and makes him want all the harder.
And what he wants is his brother on his knees before him.
What he wants, undeniably, is his Albus.
“Al,” he sighs, the name a pain to him, an admission he can’t look in the face. And he doesn’t. As Albus pulls his erection in line with his beautiful lips, James turns his face away. The stall wall is cold against his cheek as he closes his eyes and feels that hot mouth envelope him fully.
It’s not a decision. It’s not even impulse. To grab him by the hair like he does. The soft strands strangled in his twisting fingers. As Albus dives down, slowly, and takes James’s cock into his wet mouth. His gentle, sweet mouth. “God,” James groans as he, on a rush of breath, starts to thrust.
The drug drains out of him. It happens so fast, so perfunctorily. He’s come in his brother’s mouth, down his throat (because God, he was so deep when it happened), and now he sags against the wall, finished. Wrecked.
Albus pulls off, breathless. James stole his breath from him.
“Shit,” James pants. “God.”
Albus rises from the floor. “Is that better?” he breathes. His breath smells like…
James’s face screws up. “No, it’s not better.”
Albus presses into him, body to body. A warmth he doesn’t want. Can’t live without. It’s like when they were boys and they’d fall asleep together on the sofa, curled up in one another, like it was nothing.
Nothing at all.
Albus speaks, a moist gust against his neck, time suspended, “Was it really so bad?”
And that’s the rub. That’s the shit of it. It wasn’t.
It was good.
It was better than.
James shoves his brother away from him. He stays at arm’s length, James’s fingers skimming his taut stomach.
And below… God, he’s so hard.
“Albie,” James pleads. Like it will do anything. Change anything.
And it won’t. He can see in Al’s face that it won’t. He sees what he always sees there… what he’s tried not to. What he’s denied.
“It’s not going away, is it?” he asks, dick still hanging from his pants, an obscenity, something he can’t and doesn’t want to account for,
The look on Albus’s face tells him he doesn’t have to.
“James,” Albus says.
But before he can say anything else, James takes him, moves him, flips their perspectives so that Al is against the wall, and it’s James dropping to his knees.
Albus’s black jeans come open like a charm. So easy. A bloom. A surrender. Though he’s already there. James knows that now. He sucked James’s cock like he’d dreamed of it. Like James knows he has, in the darkest of his hours… in that time outside of time, when he can pretend it’s something other than what it is. A distraction. A deviance. A projection.
Anything but something real. Something he needs.
He looks up. Sees his brother’s face. For once, unraveled. For once, unignored. He’s falling apart for the very idea of James’s mouth on his cock. Which is enough. More than enough. James sinks down on his length like he’s taking a Catholic’s communion.
“JamesJamesJames,” comes from his brother’s lips. His back leaned against the stall wall. And of course that’s when someone rattles the lock. He doesn’t care. For the first time in this life, James doesn’t give a fuck. He going down on Albus, and he’s loving it: the taste, the plunge down his throat. It’s the first time he hasn’t given a sodding shit what anybody thinks. He’s flying for himself now.
He grabs the backs of Albus’s skinny thighs. And he deep-throats him.
Vaguely, like another self, another sense, he can hear the beat of the music from the other room, hushed, as though they can’t be bothered. Whover’s at the door… fuck them. It’s not important.
This is.
This always has been.
Albus groans as he comes, as he bucks against James’s face, his cock stroking over James’s tongue. James indulges in a groan… a feeling he so rarely even acknowleges. And it;s sick… that the drug has done its work… that’s it’s gone. And still here he is, choking on his brother’s flushed cock, high on it.
Albus ahakes aaginst the mewwtal wall. James slowly laves his cock. HIs knees hurt. His soul hurts. There is no excuse for this,
Except for what he sees now on his brother’s face.
Elation. Some circular confusion unravelled into a linear trajectory. An arrow, true and unerring. And here he thought everything about this was in error. Albus’s face says othwrise.
(I serikousy almost passed ot on the floor, bbut I am SO CLOSDE to being done. I’m back in ttyhe chair and I am FIKNISING THIS FIX)
“Stand up,” Albus says. And when James does, “Kiss me.”
“Albie…”
But the protest dies on his lips and Albus dras his in. (Did he stand up? Jesus, okay, he stood the fuck up.)
Al’’’s mouth on his, warm adn invitingg, is a drug in and of itself.
“Do you know?” Al asks against his lips, “how long?”
“Don’t aslk me thtatt,” James says, on the edge of somethigngg, something atrocious, inescapable..
“Forever,” al says, confirming every weorst fear he’s ever had. (I really wish I weren’t driunkn for this; it might asktucally be good? lol)O
(Okay maybe not.)
They kiss. Al’s mouth on his own. James shares Al’s taste with him. He shudders, body to body, Albus’s slender frame coming, willing, into his arms.
James has never been willing to share this.
He religusishes Al’s grip on him, moving back. “I shouldn’t have,” he says. “I never should have…”
“And yet I’ve always wanted you to,” Albus tells him. “What do we do about that?”
James bblinks. His brother’s t-shirt clings to his chest. When did that happen? When did this heatt overcome them?
“Someone drugged me,” James explains.
“I kinow that<” al says. “I don’t have such a convenient excuse,”
James palms his face. Because this is his little brother, and he loves him.
Albus takes his hand and gently moves it away. “I helped you,” he says. “Let’s just leave it at that.”
He places James’s hand back down by his side. He pushes past James, regretful smile on his lips, through the stall door.
“Albie,” James says.
Al smiles at him, halfway through the door, It doesn;t’ seem possubel tht they’d kjust sucked ecach tuerh offf. Buut James can see it onhis face. The blush. The shine to his lips.
“You’re okay?” Al asks. “YOu’’ll be alright?”
To whuch James nods. He can feel it… the drug drained away. His body his own again. His heart… is another matter. “Yeah. I’m… I’m fine.”
“Good,” Al says. His smile encompasses everything.
Just… everything.
James’s mind can’t hold it all.
And he doesn’t have to. Albus leaves. And James watches him go like the tide, pulling out to sea as though its gifts are all gone, as though that last lap was the only one, if only he’d known.
If only he’d known.
Author:
lq_traintracksI am of legal drinking age in my region: (yes/no) Yep
Pairing(s)/Characters/Fandom: James Sirius/Albus Severus
Challenge/Prompts used: Amortentia (but a real lusty one)
Summary: James is drugged, yadda yadda, they ~have to~ yadda yadda.
Rating/Warnings: NC-23; sibling incest, nonconsenual drug use, underage
Word count: 2,800-ish
Author's Notes (if any): This is not good. It’s made worse that it tries to be .lol. I seriously don’t really evenknow what happens in this?? There’s sex. In a bathroom.
This was not a normal red currant rum. That’s what James was thinking as he finished it, downing the last few delciious drops and licking his lips. He probably shouldn’t have finished it, come to think. But it tasted really good. (And I know better than to try to use italics omg. No more of that.)
The pub swam dizzily before him, tilted, righted itself, and then blurred again. He gripped the back of a chair for balance.
“Oi!”
And apparently that chair belonged to a rather pissy Ravenclaw he sort of recognised as somone he might have snogged after a match once? It was hard to say; she had more than one face now.
Which was not right. He’d only had two drinks.
Albus. He needed to find his brother.
James shook his head to clear it, but it just shook out more lights and lurkingn shadows and… wewll, it didn’t help matters. And matters were becoming rather, uh, achingly clear. (Stop that, goddamit.,)
He stumbled through the pub, wishing he’d never come out to Hogsmeade tonight. He knew better. He has a match tomorrow. He shouldn’t be drinking. You never know when a scout for the Wasps or the Cannons (shit though they may be) might be lurking in the stands. And Merlin knows he doesn’t have the marks for a real job. He’s not Lily. And he’s certainly not Al, genius wizard that he is. Though, if he’s honest, Al has more problems than he can count, and James wouldn’t wish that on him in a million years.
Nor would he wish his current state on his worst enemy, and he’s starting to seriously suspect foul play. He eyes Thom Zabini at the table in the corner and the cruel smirk that seems to sit on his face at all times. Zabini winks at him but then turns his attention back to his crew.
James, wobbling now, starting to breathe heavily, makes his way to the booth in the far corner… the one with the smart kids, the goth kids, the reject kids. His brother.
“Albus, I…” he says, interrupting some band kid (tho9ught there are no band kids in HP, but this kid, if given the chance, would likely pick up a trombone) in the middle of a diatribe about magical ethics, of all things.
And since James tends not to use Al’s full name, like, ever, it gets his attention. Al’s in the middle of the semi-circular booth (which befits him… to be centred like that; Al’s brilliant; he deserves friends and accolades and all the things that come easily to James but that Al seems to have to fight for, or lacks). But since he’s boxed in, he has to budge people up to get out. Which doesn’t exactly work quickly, and maybe it’s a look on James’s face, maybe it’s the sweat rolling down his brow, maybe it’s the urgency in his gaze, the way he grips the table, the way his eyes plead with his litttle brother, but Al gives up trying to get people to move and simply crawls under the table and out the other side.
“What is it?” he asks.
“Um, can we talk… over there?”
And who the fuck knows where over there is, but Al follows. He comes where James calls. Thank fuck. Because James thinks he’s never needed anything more.
They’re near the back exit, next to the magical jukebox that’s turning out all the Muggle hits that are so popular of late. James leans on it and looks at his brother in the technocolor glow. “I think I’ve been… compromised.”
At this, Al’s lips quirk. “Have you been watching Dad’s spy movies again? You know you don’t actually work for the American CIA.”
“No, I know. That’s not…”
“It’s not what?”
James meets Al’s eyes. Which ois the worst thing. Just the worst possible thing. Because Al’s eyes are beautiful, deep and green, like a forest, like being underwwater. And James is underwwater right now. He’s bloody drowning,..
“I think someone drugged me.”
(And if you think you’re going to find out who by the end of this please adjust your expectations because I have no idea and that’s only going to get worse as I drink more. Okau thanks.)
“What makes you thiknk that?”
Now he’s concerned. Properly so.
James can’t help it: He glances down at hisown hard dick and back up.
Al follows his gaze, his own getting, mortifyingly, stuck there a moment. Which only makes it all so. Much. worse. (STOP IIIIT.)
“Wh--” Al starts.
“Up here,” James grits out, and Albus’s eyes return to his face.
“What is it?” he gulps “do you think?”
“Best guess? I mean, I’m not a potioneer; you are, but…”
“Amortentia?”
James winces. “I mean, yeah, but… more, like…”
“A lust potion?”
“Probably?” He bites his lip. “God, it’s getting worse. Why is it getting worse, Al?”
And bloody hell, just saying his name makes James’s dick throb. (And I just realized I was in past tense before. Motherfucker. Oh well. LOL.)
“Love, and lust, potions… tend to accumulate, or… accelerate, until they’re--”
“Christ, speak English.”
“I am speaking English, you dickswab. You’re just too dumb to--”
“Oh fuck… Albus…” He’d give anything to reach down and squeeze his own dick. It’s hard as hell.
“Is it worse?”
“Yes.”
“Just now? It’s worse?”
“YES, dammit, Al, why--”
But Albus has stepped closer. “How about now?”
“What?” James gasps, nearly in a panic now. “Is it worse? Yes! It’s worse. Why would--?”
He steps closer. “And now?”
“What are you…? \Jesus, Al. I want… I want…”
“Okay. It’s okay,” Al says soothingly. And why the FUCK should that tone of voice make James’s cock ache?
“Shh,” Al murmrus. “”It’s alright.” Then, when James shudders, some precursor, a tremor so strong he’s afraid he just might… that he very well might…” Al takes his hand and whispers it, “James.”
His eyes fly to his brother’s intent gaze. He frowns. It’s not… it shouldn’t be… “Albus…”
“It’s alright,” Al says. And then, surreptitiously, covertly, he steps in even closer, and he palms James’s hard cock through his jeans. He squeezes it.
“Oh my God,” James exhaales. No. It can’t be. They can’t.
But Albus massages his dick, slowly, fuck expertly, and James closes his eyes tight, tries not to like it, to need it.
“Let me,” Albus says.
And there’s no getting around it: This is why he sought him out. Because he had to.
He bloody had to.
“Jamie,” Al says. And then he takes James’s hand again, abandoning his prick so that James moans in complaint before he can stop himself. Thank fuck for Muggle music pouring out of the speakers at a terrible volume.
His brother leads him, drags him, toward the bathrooms. And God help him, James goes.
They’re in the stall. Lock thrown.
“Al. I can’t.”
“But you need to.”
Al’s deft hands already on his flies, already ripping into the button, the zip. His hand… his delicate, beautiful hand… shoved down into James’s pants.
“Oh fuck.”
Fingers. Wrapped around.
“Just let it happen,” Al whispers.
“But you’re… you’re my…”
“Not right now. Not tonight.” he starts pulling on James’s hard cock.
“I can’t,” he pleads--a whine, because it feels so good.
“You can,” al says. “You will.”
HIs face screws up, appalled. Not ready to give in. And yet his body already has. He’s thrusting minutely into his brother’s fist.
“That’s it,” Al croons softly.
“I don’t,” James whines. “I don’t want…”
And Al rips his hand away, provoking a truly miserable response. “And yet you found me,” Albus reminds him. “You came for me.”
“Because I already love you,” James says helplessly. “I… I just needed…”
“Yes,” Al says to him, hand held tortuously away. “You needed me.”
His heart thuds dangerously in his chest. His erection strains toward his brother. In this cold, sterile room, locked away in a dirty bathroom stall, he stares into Albus’s eyes, sees the determination there, the resolve and the… fire. Albus has always had a fire.
And James burns.
He snatches for his brother’s hand, and then shoves it back between his legs, wrapping Albus’s nimble fingers around his cock. “Finish me then,” he says sickly.
But though Albus smiles at him… and fuck, that is not right; that is not okay… what he feels, seeing it... he doesn’t wank James off--
Instead he sinks to his knees, tugs James’s jeans and pants down, and then he leans in and breathes against James’s stiff cock.
(Omg I CANNOT STOP with the italics wtaf)
“Fucking…” James exhales. “No,” he croaks. But then, at the first lap of Al’’s tongue, a the first tantilzing breath of heat from his mouth… “Hurry up.”
If this is going to happen, and it appears that it will, James just needs it over with. The drug pulses through his system, keeping time with the crash and reverberation of his heart, and every moment it goes unsatisafied, a dull pain chokes him, steals his breath, and makes him want all the harder.
And what he wants is his brother on his knees before him.
What he wants, undeniably, is his Albus.
“Al,” he sighs, the name a pain to him, an admission he can’t look in the face. And he doesn’t. As Albus pulls his erection in line with his beautiful lips, James turns his face away. The stall wall is cold against his cheek as he closes his eyes and feels that hot mouth envelope him fully.
It’s not a decision. It’s not even impulse. To grab him by the hair like he does. The soft strands strangled in his twisting fingers. As Albus dives down, slowly, and takes James’s cock into his wet mouth. His gentle, sweet mouth. “God,” James groans as he, on a rush of breath, starts to thrust.
The drug drains out of him. It happens so fast, so perfunctorily. He’s come in his brother’s mouth, down his throat (because God, he was so deep when it happened), and now he sags against the wall, finished. Wrecked.
Albus pulls off, breathless. James stole his breath from him.
“Shit,” James pants. “God.”
Albus rises from the floor. “Is that better?” he breathes. His breath smells like…
James’s face screws up. “No, it’s not better.”
Albus presses into him, body to body. A warmth he doesn’t want. Can’t live without. It’s like when they were boys and they’d fall asleep together on the sofa, curled up in one another, like it was nothing.
Nothing at all.
Albus speaks, a moist gust against his neck, time suspended, “Was it really so bad?”
And that’s the rub. That’s the shit of it. It wasn’t.
It was good.
It was better than.
James shoves his brother away from him. He stays at arm’s length, James’s fingers skimming his taut stomach.
And below… God, he’s so hard.
“Albie,” James pleads. Like it will do anything. Change anything.
And it won’t. He can see in Al’s face that it won’t. He sees what he always sees there… what he’s tried not to. What he’s denied.
“It’s not going away, is it?” he asks, dick still hanging from his pants, an obscenity, something he can’t and doesn’t want to account for,
The look on Albus’s face tells him he doesn’t have to.
“James,” Albus says.
But before he can say anything else, James takes him, moves him, flips their perspectives so that Al is against the wall, and it’s James dropping to his knees.
Albus’s black jeans come open like a charm. So easy. A bloom. A surrender. Though he’s already there. James knows that now. He sucked James’s cock like he’d dreamed of it. Like James knows he has, in the darkest of his hours… in that time outside of time, when he can pretend it’s something other than what it is. A distraction. A deviance. A projection.
Anything but something real. Something he needs.
He looks up. Sees his brother’s face. For once, unraveled. For once, unignored. He’s falling apart for the very idea of James’s mouth on his cock. Which is enough. More than enough. James sinks down on his length like he’s taking a Catholic’s communion.
“JamesJamesJames,” comes from his brother’s lips. His back leaned against the stall wall. And of course that’s when someone rattles the lock. He doesn’t care. For the first time in this life, James doesn’t give a fuck. He going down on Albus, and he’s loving it: the taste, the plunge down his throat. It’s the first time he hasn’t given a sodding shit what anybody thinks. He’s flying for himself now.
He grabs the backs of Albus’s skinny thighs. And he deep-throats him.
Vaguely, like another self, another sense, he can hear the beat of the music from the other room, hushed, as though they can’t be bothered. Whover’s at the door… fuck them. It’s not important.
This is.
This always has been.
Albus groans as he comes, as he bucks against James’s face, his cock stroking over James’s tongue. James indulges in a groan… a feeling he so rarely even acknowleges. And it;s sick… that the drug has done its work… that’s it’s gone. And still here he is, choking on his brother’s flushed cock, high on it.
Albus ahakes aaginst the mewwtal wall. James slowly laves his cock. HIs knees hurt. His soul hurts. There is no excuse for this,
Except for what he sees now on his brother’s face.
Elation. Some circular confusion unravelled into a linear trajectory. An arrow, true and unerring. And here he thought everything about this was in error. Albus’s face says othwrise.
(I serikousy almost passed ot on the floor, bbut I am SO CLOSDE to being done. I’m back in ttyhe chair and I am FIKNISING THIS FIX)
“Stand up,” Albus says. And when James does, “Kiss me.”
“Albie…”
But the protest dies on his lips and Albus dras his in. (Did he stand up? Jesus, okay, he stood the fuck up.)
Al’’’s mouth on his, warm adn invitingg, is a drug in and of itself.
“Do you know?” Al asks against his lips, “how long?”
“Don’t aslk me thtatt,” James says, on the edge of somethigngg, something atrocious, inescapable..
“Forever,” al says, confirming every weorst fear he’s ever had. (I really wish I weren’t driunkn for this; it might asktucally be good? lol)O
(Okay maybe not.)
They kiss. Al’s mouth on his own. James shares Al’s taste with him. He shudders, body to body, Albus’s slender frame coming, willing, into his arms.
James has never been willing to share this.
He religusishes Al’s grip on him, moving back. “I shouldn’t have,” he says. “I never should have…”
“And yet I’ve always wanted you to,” Albus tells him. “What do we do about that?”
James bblinks. His brother’s t-shirt clings to his chest. When did that happen? When did this heatt overcome them?
“Someone drugged me,” James explains.
“I kinow that<” al says. “I don’t have such a convenient excuse,”
James palms his face. Because this is his little brother, and he loves him.
Albus takes his hand and gently moves it away. “I helped you,” he says. “Let’s just leave it at that.”
He places James’s hand back down by his side. He pushes past James, regretful smile on his lips, through the stall door.
“Albie,” James says.
Al smiles at him, halfway through the door, It doesn;t’ seem possubel tht they’d kjust sucked ecach tuerh offf. Buut James can see it onhis face. The blush. The shine to his lips.
“You’re okay?” Al asks. “YOu’’ll be alright?”
To whuch James nods. He can feel it… the drug drained away. His body his own again. His heart… is another matter. “Yeah. I’m… I’m fine.”
“Good,” Al says. His smile encompasses everything.
Just… everything.
James’s mind can’t hold it all.
And he doesn’t have to. Albus leaves. And James watches him go like the tide, pulling out to sea as though its gifts are all gone, as though that last lap was the only one, if only he’d known.
If only he’d known.
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Date: 2021-02-17 08:36 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2021-02-23 02:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-02-18 07:34 pm (UTC)This is totally worthy of a sincere, sober edit.
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Date: 2021-02-24 01:46 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2021-02-24 01:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-02-20 06:44 am (UTC)(And I think my favorite part, was all of your little notes lol)
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Date: 2021-02-24 01:55 pm (UTC)Same though! *cries laughing*
And you are absolutely right: It was Al. Like... hello! LOL! ;P
I'm so glad you enjoyed it! I was really afraid I wasn't going to finish it, as the alcohol seemed to hit me all at once near the end, but... I managed. ;P Thanks so much for your wonderful comments about it here. I really appreciate it! <3
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Date: 2021-02-21 04:23 am (UTC)Also, wtg with the coding. You couldn't help the italics, but you made them work!
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Date: 2021-02-24 01:56 pm (UTC)