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Talk to Me

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When James barges unannounced through Teddy’s floo, he finds his boyfriend sitting cross-legged in the middle of his enormous wooden desk, surrounded by a pile of healer textbooks, empty crisps packets, and two apple cores.

Teddy startles at the sudden intrusion, sending one of the apple cores bouncing across the rug.

“What’s wrong, Jamie?”

James brushes the soot from his shoulders, thinking that Teddy really should have his fucking floo cleaned one of these centuries. His thunderous mood is not helped at all by the feeling of embarrassment that is beginning to creep over him.

“Nothing,” he replies, even as he knows his face tells a different story.

“What’s happened?”

Maybe it’s because Teddy lost both parents as a baby, or maybe it’s due to growing up with Andromeda, who has always been a bit high-strung, but whatever the reason, Teddy—calm, optimistic, unflappable Teddy—always gets a bit rattled by unexpected visitors, as if one’s appearance can only mean bad news.

“Nothing,” James repeats.

And it’s true, nothing has happened. His boss at the broom shop gave him an entirely deserved telling-off for forgetting to order more Lightnings and losing a sale, and then just before closing, some tosser James beat out for Gryffindor chaser in fourth year stopped in to ask if it was true that James had been dropped as a reserve for Puddlemere. When of course the git knew it was true—it was all over the fucking papers three months ago. But that’s just life, nothing to sulk at or complain about. Especially not when you’re James Potter, who has every fine thing in life handed to him on a silver tray. That’s what people thought about him at Hogwarts, anyway, and when he pores over the histories of the second war—which he sometimes does obsessively and without telling anyone that he’s still doing it—he’s inclined to agree.

“Just a bad day,” he amends.

Teddy uncrosses his legs and scoots to the edge of the desk, a grin erasing the worry from his face.

“In that case, Jamie, why don’t you come over here and let me greet you properly?”

But James stays where he is in front of the fireplace.

“Teddy. I was thinking maybe you’d—you know.” James feels his face flush, and drops his head to hide it. God, he’s a prat. “That you’d—you know. Talk to me.”

“Talk to you?” Teddy repeats.

His tone is even; a little too even, actually. James raises his gaze just a bit. Teddy’s expression is neutral, but his clear brown eyes have lightened almost imperceptibly to hazel. No one else would have caught it. But James does. Fuck, yes: they’re on. His heart speeds up and all the blood rushes to his groin.

“I’m reading a very interesting chapter about new treatment options for spattergroit,” Teddy says conversationally, nodding at the open book on his desk. We could talk about that.”

“I fucking hate you,” James says.

Teddy’s grin breaks out again, wider this time. The man can’t keep a poker face to save his life.

“Do you now, Jamie?” he asks. “Your cock has a funny way of showing it.” He looks pointedly at the crotch of James’s work slacks—trousers which, James knows, are too well-fitted to obscure the truth of Teddy’s observation.

Teddy settles comfortably back on the desk, spreading his dangling legs apart and knocking The Healer’s Diagnostic to the floor in the process.

“Your cock,” he continues thoughtfully, his eyes still on James’s trousers, “suggests you don’t hate me at all.”

James presses his lips together. He’s so wound up already that it’s hard to remember Teddy is not, that James has burst in on him in the middle of studying for his specialist exams, for god’s sake. It’s just that it feels like there’s a million kilometers between where James is now and where he needs to be. But sooner or later Teddy will take him there. Teddy always does. James just has to be patient and let Teddy do this his way.

Teddy reaches for his wand on the desk and waves it lazily at James. The buttons on James’s trouser placket come open, revealing his erection straining up behind the thin blue cotton of his briefs.

“Take it out for me,” Teddy says gently.

James’s fingers are already shaking, which is fucking embarrassing, and which Teddy must have noticed, hence the unbuttoning spell. All James has to do now is lower an elastic waistband. And there he is, so hard. Hot and aching in the cool room. Exposed.

“Your cock,” Teddy repeats for the third time, and the words sound so sweet in his mouth. “You’s lovely just like that, Jamie. I’ve half a mind not to let you come for a long, long time. Just so I can keep looking at it.”

James feels a stream of precome leak inside his foreskin, his sac tightening as the heat of Teddy’s words blooms in his belly like a warming spell.

“Please,” he says, before he can stop himself.

And that one word makes Teddy’s magic actually pulse toward him in response; James can feel it flare over him, strong and sure and delicate all at once. If he can do that to Teddy with just one word, imagine what would happen if he could really speak—really say all the things he wants. But just the effort of that one syllable slipping free feels like too much, like his whole body is burning. He presses his lips closed again.

Teddy brings his hand to his own crotch, stroking himself through his jeans.

“Please what?” he asks innocently.

He fucking knows what. Once Teddy’s turned on, his mouth will open and out of it will pour all the words for what James wants, all the words James can never bring himself to say aloud. This is James’s problem. He can blather on from morning to midnight in the most charming way imaginable—the life of the party, the only really well-adjusted Potter of the bunch. Always with a full dance card, always quick with a clever quip or a kind word where the rest of his family is tongue-tied, shy of the paparazzi that still dog them even now. But when it comes to this—to things involving his body in general, and sex in particular—he goes mute. His second year at Hogwarts, he once went an entire week with a handful of broken fingers after a Quidditch match, because he couldn’t bring himself to ask anyone for help.

His body scares him. It’s not anything to do with the fact that he’s queer. Albus bushwhacked that path so wide through the family as a sodding third year that all James had to do was stroll down it himself a couple of years later, feeling sheepish about the whole thing. It’s not even that he’s ashamed of what he likes sexually. Teddy’s helped with that, a lot. No, the fear has to do with something deeper, something about having a body at all.

Sometimes, thinking about it, James thinks of the scarred words his father bears on the back of his right hand: I must not tell lies. James doesn’t tell lies, but there are truths in his body that he can’t give voice to. They are too big, too demanding, too intense.


“You know exactly what,” James replies through gritted teeth, and suddenly he’s on the verge of angry tears. He hates that what he wants is so hard for him.

Teddy’s teasing grin vanishes, his eyes flickering all the way into hazel as he takes in the degree of James’s agitation.

“On your knees, then,” he says quietly.

James drops at once, shuffling forward until he’s just a few inches from the desk, right between Teddy’s spread legs. Teddy’s groin is just an inch or two higher than his mouth, and the worn denim of Teddy’s jeans almost brushes James’s shirtsleeves. Teddy reaches out and takes hold of James’s hair, tightening his fist. It’s hard enough for James to feel the pull, but not enough to really hurt, not yet. James feels his scalp grow taut with the tension, then feels the rest of his body balance out by relaxing just a bit. He unclenches his teeth, lets his breath out. This is Teddy, reading James the way he always does, the way only Teddy can. This is Teddy giving him what he needs. This is Teddy taking care of him, always, and if James ever thinks otherwise, then he, James Sirius Potter, is a fool.

Without letting go of James’s hair, Teddy reaches for his wand again and points it at himself. His belt unbuckles, the button on his jeans slips its hole, and the zip comes down. James thinks distractedly that Teddy’s metamorphmagus clumsiness is no match for his mastery of a thousand little household spells most people never bother with. Most wizards, if they couldn’t open their jeans one-handed while pulling their boyfriend’s hair, would just Vanish the damn things. But Teddy knows how much better it is like this, with his leather belt dangling on either side of his opened denims, the outline of his thickened cock tightening the thin material of his pants, and that trail of gold-brown hair just visible between the hem of his tee shirt and the waistband of his boxers. James is fairly panting in anticipation as Teddy fumbles himself out, Teddy with his already-hard prick in his hand, Teddy with pink stains of arousal blooming high on his pale cheeks when he looks back at James.

“You want this,” Teddy murmurs. “You want my cock, Jamie.”

James nods. Teddy’s cock looks so heavy, resting in his hand with the foreskin pulled back to reveal the dark, curved head, which Teddy now angles right toward James’s mouth.

Teddy tightens his other hand in James’s hair again, forcing his head back a little. James feels the heat in his own cock course down his thighs and up his spine, throwing off what feels like tiny sparks. Like the sparks from the end of a wand that’s just chosen you for the first time.

With Teddy it’s like that every time.

Teddy pulls his hair a little harder.

“Am I right, now?”

James nods again, but Teddy doesn’t release his hair. He’s waiting for James to answer properly.

James takes a breath, but no words come out.

“Jamie.” Teddy lets go of his cock and strokes James’s cheek with the back of his knuckles. “Do you want me to open your sweet mouth with my thumbs?”

Merlin. That would be hot as hell, but it’s not what James wants, not really. He wants to be able to fucking talk—on his own, for God’s sake. James shrugs miserably, even as his cock fairly pulses at the idea.

“You want me to tell you how you want it?” Teddy continues, in a purr of a voice that runs as soothingly across James’s distress as a hand smoothing velvet. “Want me to say it for you?”

God, yes. He needs to hear it, needs the words just as much as he needs what the words stand for. He needs to hear the words in Teddy’s mouth, in Teddy’s voice, because when Teddy says it, he makes it okay—for James to be like this, to want what he wants. To need this. To have a body.

Teddy’s waiting for him to answer. He wants this just as much as James does, but he won’t go on until James answers.

James closes his eyes. His insides have gone molten.

“Yes,” he manages to whisper.

“Oh, Jamie.” There it is again, the hot pulse of Teddy’s magic, Teddy’s desire for him. “You want my cock so much you’re on your knees to beg me for it, aren’t you? You want my hand in your hair forcing your head back. So I can feed you my cock nice and slow.” Teddy pushes himself up to standing then, and strokes the silky head of his prick against James’s cheek.

James tries to turn his head toward it, but Teddy’s hand is fast in his hair and he can’t move.

“You’ll wait,” Teddy purrs. “Because when you wait, Jamie, you leak and leak. Until inside your sheath you’re soaking. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” James whispers again.

“Then when I say you’re allowed to, you’ll slide it back and show me your prickhead.” Teddy’s breath is high in his chest now, his voice turning rough. “Do that for me now, Jamie. Show me how wet I make you.”

James glances down at himself. He’s so hard that the tip of his cock is already halfway out. James wraps his hand around himself, sliding the foreskin all the way back. Another pulse of precome leaks from his slit.

“So wet for me,” Teddy rumbles, his voice deepening to something like a growl. He bends over, reaching down to the head of James’s prick so he can dab the slickness there. At the touch of his finger, James cries out.

Teddy smiles, dark and slow and encouraging. “That’s it, Jamie. You’re going to cry for me. I want to hear all your sounds. The way you moan when I let you take my cock in your mouth. When I feed it to you, holding you still. You want me to hold you so you can’t move, don’t you? So no one can tell how much you want it. You want me to fuck your mouth, don’t you, James?”

Fucking hell. James shuts his eyes and tries to breathe deeply enough to smell Teddy’s cologne or soap or whatever the fuck it is that smells like the forest and ocean and Teddy’s strong arms holding him up. Fuck fuck fuck, he knows what’s coming. This is his edge. He wants Teddy to take him there and at the same time he can’t bear it.

“I need you to answer me, Jamie.”

Teddy says it so gently. But there is no possibility of not obeying. And yet James’s lips are pressed hard between his teeth and he can’t get his mouth open. Teddy will do it for him if he has to, but he doesn’t want that as much as he wants this. He needs to, he has to, just a little, for Merlin’s sake, is it so fucking much to ask of himself—

And then Teddy whispers something under his breath James doesn’t catch. It turns out to be a new wandless spell: suddenly, without Teddy removing his hand from his cock or his other hand from James’s hair, a blindfold is snaking loosely around James’s eyes.

James sags a little in relief as the childish illusion takes over, that if he can’t see anyone, neither can anyone see him. He feels the head of Teddy’s cock stroke his cheek again.

“Mouth open, love,” Teddy says. Stroking, stroking. “I’m so ready for you. I want you so much. I love how much you want my cock. But I need your words first. Just a few of them. You can do it for me.”

Oh, god. Oh god oh god oh god.

“Your—your cock. Ted.”

“That’s right, Jamie. Go on.”

He needs this. He has to do this. He can.

“My cock what?” Teddy prompts.

Fuck. “In—I want—please, Teddy, please.”

Teddy’s magic rolling over him, Teddy’s arousal swelling around him like music.

“Come on, love.” Teddy swipes the head of his cock across James’s lower lip, but he won’t let James move his head. James can’t do anything but be here, blindfolded on his knees with Teddy’s love and desire all around him like some enormous tree whose roots reach down into the center of the earth.

“Do it for me, Jamie,” Teddy presses. “Tell me how you need my cock in your mouth. How you need me to fuck you so hard. I want to give it to you so bad, Jamie. Touch yourself now, and say the words.”

James’s hand on his cock like a language, translating. Like transfiguration. And then he’s doing it:

“I want to suck you, Teddy. I want—”

Even inside the blindfold, he has to shut his eyes. He’s so turned on, he needs to come, and he might explode if he doesn’t, but he has to get the words out now because it’s only the words that will give him true relief. His hand speeds up on his cock, rushing the words forward as he stammers the syllables free:

“I want your cock, Teddy, I want to take it for you, I—please let me—let me suck you, Teddy, I—Teddy, please, please feed me—please—” He’s losing his voice now, and the last words come out barely a whisper, but he says them. “Fuck my face.”

And then he’s swept away in it, the energy of so much desire crashing down over him, the pressure building so intensely inside him that it hurts as the hot skin of Teddy’s prickhead pushes against his lips, and he’s opening for it. For the aching fill of the hard precious heat that is Teddy’s cock in his mouth, thank god, in and in and in, filling him up while Teddy’s voice unspools the words James needs again and again.

“So good for me, baby. Taking my cock like that. Gonna hold your head while I fuck you.”

James sucks around the smooth head, tasting the clean salt stream of Teddy’s precome on his tongue, feeling the round ridge of the glans, the hard shaft behind the tender head. He leans forward, going deeper as Teddy’s hand comes out of his hair and slides the blindfold off without magic. Then Teddy’s hand is back in his hair, tighter now. Teddy looks down at him and then, slowly, thrusts his hips forward. The head of his cock thrusting in, over James’s tongue, it feels too far—and for a moment he can’t, but he needs to, he needs—

“Gonna keep you still while I fuck your face. You’re so good, James, telling me just what you wa—ah—”

Teddy stutters as James feels his throat open. He pushes his head forward, Teddy’s cock sliding all the way in until he’s buried inside James. James’s nose up against Teddy’s heated skin and coarse curls.

“You—fuck, James. Keep moaning—you—fuck, ah, fuck—”

Teddy works his hips, cradling James’s head against him, and it brings James so close, his own hand flying on his cock, his body a mess of contradictory sensations—the overwhelming push of the cock in his throat, the relief of having found his way to speaking, to the yes of it, and the tension of his rising orgasm, that wordless bomb of feeling that surges closer with each thrust of Teddy’s cock inside him.

“Taking my cock so deep, Jamie. Letting me—use—ahh. So tight in there—so hot—so wet—fucking love you, Jamie—crying for me—”

And he is, he can feel tears leaking from his eyes as he trembles in place, his nose pressed into Teddy’s groin, his cock a blur of need in his fist, his mouth and throat so full—saliva flowing, tears flowing. James feels Teddy pull back a little, making sure James can breathe, but James doesn’t need to breathe anymore, he needs to come, his whole body coiling into a single fiery spell, he’s going to come now—

His hand stills on his cock as his orgasm begins, as with his other hand he reaches up and wraps his hand around Teddy’s arse, hauling him harder against his face as it hits, the orgasm a blinding burst of lightpowervoice in his body—

“Come, baby. Come, Jamie,” Teddy pants somewhere above him. “Come, you—fuck. Taking me—I’m—oh love oh love oh love—”

Teddy’s body jerks above him, knocking James’s head back as James spurts again and again over his hand. Teddy’s holding his head so tightly, keeping him upright, pressed tight to the tree that is Teddy, while the room rocks around them and Teddy’s come spurts down his throat.


It’s a while before they make it across the room to the bed. Teddy half-carries James, whose legs don’t seem to work anymore. Teddy Vanishes their clothes as the two of them roll in naked among the tangle of blankets. Teddy tugs the softest one up over both of them, then falls on his side, wrapping James up in his arms.

James shivers with the warmth of it. The expanse of so much naked skin touching him after the clothed sex feels drug-like. Endless, divine. He nuzzles into the heat of Teddy’s chest, resting his lips against the pulse just above Teddy’s collar bone. Teddy’s heart beating. Teddy sighs against him in contentment, and the vibration flows into James’s mouth like a kiss.

“Jamie,” Teddy murmurs, almost to himself, it seems. He runs his hands through James’s hair, strokes down the length of his back. “Oh, Jamie.”

The caresses send slow eddies of pleasure through James’s whole body. James closes his eyes and lets himself bask in it. He’s on the verge of falling asleep when Teddy says his name again, but this time with an urgency that makes him open his eyes.

“James. Was all that...was that okay?”

Teddy is propped up on one elbow, gazing down at him, his eyes still the deep hazel, almost-green color they turn when he and James have connected like this. But Teddy’s expression is uncertain, faint ridges of worry creasing the usually smooth space between his eyebrows.

Okay? James studies Teddy’s face and realizes that Was that okay means, Was I too rough with you?

Teddy bites his lip.

And perhaps also, Is it okay that I liked it?

That Teddy could have such doubts—it makes James’s chest ache. Not with a clenching, but with an opening up, an expansion that hurts in the best way, a way that only Teddy has ever made him feel. Teddy’s uncertainty, his need to know he’s approved of, is a side of him that not many people see. But then again, Teddy sees a side of James that nobody else does. Ever.

James rouses himself, pushes Teddy down onto the mattress and then rolls on top of him, letting his weight fall into Teddy’s hips and thighs. He raises himself up on his elbows and looks down at his boyfriend’s troubled face.

“It was so much more than okay, Ted.” His voice comes out hoarse. But Teddy will heal it for him later.

Teddy raises his fingers and tentatively touches James’s swollen mouth.

“So so so much more than okay,” James repeats. He kisses the tips of Teddy’s fingers. “It was perfect.”

Teddy slides his hand around James’s head, pulling him down for a kiss on the lips, a light but lingering kiss that would make James’s cock stir again if he weren’t so wrecked. When James draws back, the well of tenderness in Teddy’s eyes makes James feel like the expanding ache in his chest might just break him apart.

He’s Teddy’s. Teddy is his. And then the breaking feeling flows into speech:

“Love you so much,” James whispers. He lets himself fall against Teddy, burying his head in Teddy’s suddenly indigo-flushed hair. His mouth finds the soft fold of Teddy’s ear and he says it again: “Love you so so much, Ted.”

Those words, at least, always come easily to him.