Well, hello there. This is another one-shot (hears the crowd's collective groan and shouts of "WHAT HAPPENED TO CHOCOLATE?! I HATE YOU!"). I'm sorry, but chocolate is on hold. I have the next chapter, but it's so bad, I have to re-write it. Forgive me?
Anyway, I wrote this in three in the morning, so no judging.
Don't forget to review!
She loves me.
Lily Evans has fallen in love with me.
Yes, me as in James Potter.
Of course, who else did you expect? Filius Wilfrick?
Don't be daft. He's got bushy eyebrows. Lily would never love him. Because she only loves me. And hates bushy eyebrows. Thank Merlin mine are well-shaped.
She loves me. And I love her.
She loves me. Glorious, charming, idiotic, loveable ME!
No, I'm not conceited.
Oh, yes. Yes, indeed. Would you like to know how I know? I'll tell you how I know.
Because, I looked at her with my amazingly irresistible, sexy, smug little crooked smile, and said, "Lily Evans, you love me." And then she looked at me, all mystified and completely in love with me, and said –
"GET YOUR ARSE OFF ME POTTER!"
James sighed fondly, and began fiddling with a strand of his maiden's hair. Crying out in disgust, she swatted his hand away, but he wasn't disheartened. On the contrary, in fact.
"Lily dear," he said softly, "Would you please stop denying your feelings? You are obviously deeply infatuated with me."
Lily growled, baring her teeth. Feeling the rumbling in her chest on his back, James flinched slightly, but placed a strained smile on his face. She wasn't fooled. "You are delusional, Potter," she snarled, struggling to get her hands out from underneath him so that she could poke his eyes out. Or something. Her struggles did not pay off. He was firmly trapping her limbs in place. She cursed under her breath at his ability to put together fool-proof plans spontaneously. It was most definitely a Marauder trait.
"You are cutting off my circulation with your giant arse!"
That declaration hit home.
"Am not!" He gasped, putting a hand over his heart in indignation. "I happen to have a perfectly normal sized arse!"
"Hate to burst your bubble, Potty," Lily spat through her teeth, his name rolling off her tongue with a sneer, "But it is not normal sized, it is unpleasant, and it is on me!"
He chuckled and tapped her nose, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. "You know you like it, Lily." She recoiled, severely grossed out.
"Oh, yes," she growled sarcastically. "I like it almost as much as I like broccoli."
"Oh," he said loftily. "So you like broccoli?"
"No. It makes me hurl."
They had been sitting in front of the dwindling flames in the fire place, doing their homework for the past two hours. Not that they'd ever sit together under normal conditions. Dumbledore, the batty old man that he was, had declared James and Lily head boy and head girl, therefore they had been forced, under school rules, to share a dormitory together for the past four months.
Needless to say, Lily wasn't very pleased.
And as expected, James was utterly ecstatic.
After much screaming, shouting, complaining, questioning of Dumbledore's sanity and the destruction of school furniture, she came to a decision.
She had to bear it.
A year, she told herself, it's just a year.
Just a torturous, painful year.
Forced civility and extreme amounts of personal space was employed by Lily, who under no circumstances, not even if the prattiest of the prats was made head-boy, intended to lose her head-ship that she had worked so hard for. As it turned out, this plan worked pretty well.
James succeeded in not particularly annoying her (after a slight spat involving a hot curling iron, a declaration of love, and severely burnt limbs on his part), and she did not go out of her way to punch his face in. Or poke at him with sharp implements.
In short, all was well.
Of course, this was until Lily, who, with a stroke of pity and guilt, decided that his behavior had been acceptable for the last few months, and attempting to reconcile, offered James a chunk of the chocolate she had bought from Honeydukes that previous week.
And so, that was where it all began.
She was trapped.
Trapped under a lunatic.
That was the end of it.
"Potter, get the hell of me this instant!"
Now, Lily had never been a weak girl. She was always the strongest in her class, both emotionally and physically. She'd never cried when angry, but chosen to hit, shout and scream. Or tackle. The way she was taught. She'd been playing football since she was eight, and was not afraid of physical confrontation. It had come as a handy skill in the muggle world.
However, she was extremely ill-equipped against a tall, still-growing, quidditch-playing, seventeen year old boy. Naturally, this posed a problem.
James shrugged merrily, examining her expression with amusement. "Nope."
"Why not?" she demanded crossly.
"Because you love me."
Lily shrieked something unintelligible, high pitched, hysterical, and utterly deafening. She struggled as hard as she could, but he wouldn't budge. She felt her legs go numb with the pressure, and shouted even louder in annoyance.
"That's a lovely sound, dear," James cooed, smiling up at her cheerily, though he winced at her loud volume.
"Nope. You love me."
"What in the world gave you that idea? Have you lost the remaining pieces of your bleeding mind?"
He continued to smile despite the fact that it was perfectly obvious she was prepared to brutally murder him with his school tie. Honestly, why did men begin the day with hanging a noose off their necks? It was an enormous safety hazard. Especially when homicidal maniacs were around.
"It's simple," James stated lovingly, tapping her nose repeatedly with his index finger. "You offered me chocolate."
"What are you – you – what – WHAT?" She stuttered incredulously. "What's that got to do with anything?" she asked, flinging her head from side to side trying to escape his finger that seemingly paid no heed to the previously established limitations of her personal space.
"It means you love me," James declared confidently, smiling. "As if I needed another confirmation of your feelings."
"I was being nice!" She said scornfully, her hair cascading down her face. "There is no ulterior motive for me giving you chocolate!"
"Why would you give me chocolate unless you harbored some deep, emotional feelings for me?" James asked wickedly.
Now, James Potter allotted many different connotations to the giving and receiving of food. As is happens, he was best friends with one Sirius Black, who would not share his food even if his best friend was hungry to the point of starvation and contemplation of cannibalism. Therefore, food was a declaration of love.
"I gave you chocolate because you looked hungry!" Lily shouted.
"AHA!" he barked, fist in the air. "You love me!"
He nodded, unconvinced and still smirking. "Uh-huh…"
"You're crazy!" She shouted, annoyed. "I don't love you!"
He continued to smile inanely.
"You belong in a mental asylum!"
He ignored her, and grinned in a way that he was told was charming and infectious. "You love me."
"ARGH!" Lily shrieked, flailing her limbs about uselessly. James bobbed around on her lap, his arms stretched out around his head, his toes fixing him in place so that she couldn't move. Or throw him off, for that matter. "You are such an infuriating arsehole!"
James grinned proudly, the dimples in his cheeks in close proximity to Lily. This bothered her more than she liked to admit. "Being an arsehole is a part of my manly essence, Lils."
"To hell with your manly essence! GET OFF ME!" She barked, bucking her hips in attempts to throw him off. "I have stuff to do! People to meet! Homework to finish! Rounds to make! You're keeping me!" she yelled in desperation.
James let out an elitist laugh and secured her in her place in the couch effortlessly with a grip of his hands on either side of the cushions. "Nope."
"Because I love you, too."
Lily whimpered and dropped her head.
Unfortunately, James Potter was on top of her. She momentarily forgot this minute but extremely irritating detail.
And due to this peculiar and uninvited position, her head fell softly into the crook of his neck.
They both froze. James sucked in a surprised breath as her nose grazed across the sensitive skin beneath the corner of his jaw. A shiver whirled down his spine despite his attempts to control himself, and he barely had time to get a whiff of her before she straightened up, hacking and gasping.
"What is that smell?!" she demanded, looking horrified as she wrinkled her nose at the overpowering scent of him.
James frowned, offended now. "My cologne," he muttered indignantly.
"Nice perfume," she scoffed, raising her eyebrows with a disgusted twitch of her mouth. "Is it necessary for you to marinate in it?" Truth was, she was rather intoxicated. Light-headed, even. He smelled faintly of musk; earthy and pungent.
"Now, now," James reprimanded, gaining back his usual attitude. "Let's not be mean."
A second of silence passed as Lily glared at him. He did not cower, surprisingly. It seemed that the second of the invasion of his personal space had given him confidence. Lily kicked herself mentally for the lapse in her attention. She kicked herself again for finding his scent intensely inviting.
She grit her teeth. "What do you want?"
"Excuse me?" James asked, caught off guard. "What do you mean, what do I want?"
She sighed, impatient. "What do you want in exchange for removing yourself from my lap?"
"I want nothing," James said simply, lifting his shoulders in a slight shrug. "You'll just never get rid of me. I'm afraid I can't be bought off."
"You lie," she countered, looking down at him with a suspicious narrowing of the eyes. "You always want something."
"I do not."
"Are too – "
"Would you stop?!" She interrupted viciously, her body tensing as she shouted. "You're acting like you're three!"
He gasped. "Am not!"
"Am – "
"STOP IT!" Lily shrieked irately, twitching in agitation. "Stop doing that! You're so bloody immature!"
He stuck out his jaw. "Oh, that's rich coming from a girl who can't admit her own feelings," he retorted angrily.
"For the thousandth bloody time, get over yourself!" Lily shouted, furious. "I am not in love with – "
" – Admit it Evans," he cut in stubbornly. "You want me."
"Yes, that's right," Lily snapped flippantly, smiling an enormous fake smile. "I want you. You are so unbelievably sexy that I want to have sex with you right now, this instant, on this fucking couch."
"What?" James faltered, his eyes widening sincerely. "You do?"
"As if!" she laughed, disbelieving. "If you think I can so much as stand you, you've got severe mental issues!"
James narrowed his eyes at her, staring with a scrutinizing expression. Her shout echoing around the room, she looked away through the awkward silence, suddenly interested in the dying flames.
"You're sexually frustrated."
"Excuse me?" she snapped, her gaze switching from the fireplace to his face. "What did you just say?"
He shrugged noncommittally, his mouth pressed into a thin, aggravated line.
"Repeat that!" she demanded shrilly.
"I said, repeat it!"
"I'm not sexually frustrated!" She shouted, appalled.
"Whatever." He suddenly heaved himself to a sitting position, and she felt the blood rush down her body, the cool air in the room hitting her torso and legs where he had been seconds previously. She suppressed a shiver.
Moving to the opposite side of the couch, he turned his face to her and quirked a painfully sarcastic eyebrow. "There," he spat, cocking his head. "I'm off. Shouldn't you be running now, keeping to your busy, busy schedule?"
"I'm not going anywhere."
He shrugged and looked away. "Fine."
Her jaw locked into place, and she turned on the couch, staring straight at him. "I am not sexually frustrated," she grumbled furiously, breathing through her nose.
"Okay." He reached across the table, grabbed a chunk of chocolate and pushed it towards her with a irritated sort of smile. "Have a piece. It'll help with all the frustration."
She grit her teeth and growled at him. "I-am-not-sexually-frustrated," she spat, her tone in comical contrast to her words. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever h – "
And then she was interrupted.
In a sudden lunge, he leaped across the couch and crashed himself against her, his lips coming alive, hard and demanding against hers, and before she knew it, his hot breath was in her face, on her neck, her throat, in her ear. His hand clutched the back of her head and pulled her in closer, his fingers tangling in her hair, the other at the small of her back, playing with the hem of her shirt.
This could not be happening.
Surely, she was not kissing James Potter.
It was unreal. Not possible. Not probable.
What was worse, she was kissing him back.
And it wasn't a normal, passive response. It was needy, hungry, a completely incontrollable urge to have him as close as possible, touch as much of him as she could.
This was a complete and utter catastrophe. Disaster. Social suicide. Alarm bells began ringing deafeningly in her brain. Get out of the building! Run for your life! She'd have to murder him to hide this treachery.
And besides, she hated it. Right? She hated the way his lips grabbed a hold of hers, controlling and so fucking incredi –….she couldn't like it. Surely, she couldn't. She didn't. She wouldn't.
As sudden as it had happened, the kiss stopped. She barely stopped herself from nose-diving into the couch.
"Oh, yeah," James grunted sarcastically, his breath coming out in rugged, hard gasps as he leaned back and stared at her with a new glint in his eye. "Yeah, you're not sexually frustrated at all."
"That," she breathed, her throat protesting against the lack of air. She shuffled to the opposite side of the couch in alarm. "That was nothing. That proves nothing."
"You're ridiculous." James chuckled darkly. "You're unbelievable. I was there too, you know. That wasn't nothing."
"It was nothing," she insisted stubbornly, something inside growling as she saw his flushed face, ruffled hair and pink lips.
"Right," he muttered irately, looking at her up and down. "If that was nothing, I don't know what you would define as – "
"Potter," she moaned in a low voice, unable to resist anymore, "Shut up."
She pulled his lips back onto hers, surrendering with a groan. She saw his satisfied smirk as he let himself be drawn to her, and thought she heard him utter a small, "Told you so," before their lips met. The chocolate that had initiated everything fell to the ground with a thud, but neither cared anymore.
The second was worse than the first. Worse, but so much better. There was nothing gentle, soft, or tender about it, the way a kiss should be between people. There was no tear-jerking love ballad swelling in the background. A rock song would have been more appropriate. Because there was nothing stereotypical or fluffy about it. Nothing.
It was hot. And wild. And so, completely, them.
Their lips danced, a crazy, song-less, dance, and she forgot everything. She forgot the fact that this was James-toerag-Potter, the same stupid thing that had infuriated her, poked her, disturbed her, drove her absolutely fucking crazy for the past seven years. She only felt his hands, his lips, his face, his hair, and she loved every fucking second of it. She only felt the soft rumbles in his throat when he said her name softly against her jaw and it made her weak; had she been standing, she would have crumpled to the ground.
It hit her like a battering ram, the hard truth of it all.
She loved this stupid boy.
She loved his stupid face, his stupid hair, his stupid smile, and his stupid, stupid, stupid brain.
She wanted to scream. It was a moment when one should want to scream.
But all she did was to pull him closer, his body tighter around hers as she grabbed his neck and kissed him harder.
After all, he would find out in good time.
"You owe me ten sickles, Remus." The comforter in the corner of the room twitched visibly, but Lily and James were too busy to notice it, not even the limbs poking out from beneath the carpet.
"I do not," the table whispered. "Shut up."
"Guys," the carpet said, blowing dust everywhere. "I think I'm going to sneeze."
"Keep it in, Wormy, attaboy. You don't want James murdering us, do you?" The comforter replied. "Let's give the lovebirds some peace."
The comforter in the lead, the table and carpet filed out of the room suppressing bouts of laughter with their fists.
Review? You know you want to.