Work Text:
PEACHES
You’ve ruined peaches for me.
I can’t eat one without thinking of your hands
dipping into my soft flesh, mouth dripping,
teeth skimming across skin, tongue lapping
at the excess:
greedy, greedy, greedy
I am all rush and blush at a summer picnic lunch,
hands shaking at the farmers’ market.
| Trista Mateer |
Lily got out of her car, her phone balanced on her one shoulder, her work laptop shoved under the other. “– sure,” she told her mum on the other end of the line. “I’ll drive over tomorrow afternoon and will stay over in the evening.”
“Good,” her mother said, “I’ll prepare a Sunday roast then.”
“On a Saturday evening?” she joked. “Blasphemy! Don’t let Petunia hear it.”
“Your sister will be too preoccupied with the wedding,” her mum spoke. “Besides, she won’t eat any carbs for fear of not fitting into her wedding dress anymore anyway.”
“What about Vernon? Is he taking her lead?” she asked innocently. She was not normally one to be cruel, but Vernon Dursley - her future brother-in-law – truly brought out the worst in her and, in all honesty, he could lose a few pounds before the most important day of his and Petunia’s life. He would look better for it, she was certain. Wasn't this, therefore, a helpful suggestion to make?
“Lily!” her mother chortled, sounding only vaguely scandalised.
At that moment, before she had responded to her mother’s giggles, Lily heard the door of another car slam closed. She looked up to find one of her neighbours there. He was tall, messy-haired, wore glasses on his face and was incredibly handsome. She had seen him before, had admired him from afar, had practically swooned that one time when he had nodded in acknowledgement as he passed her and was also fairly certain his gaze had lingered on her every once in a while.
This time, their eyes caught, her heart picked up speed. Her face flushed. Please, do not be married, she found herself thinking. Please, do not be romantically involved with anyone.
“- okay?” her mother said on the other end of the line. Before she even knew what she was agreeing to, she had muttered an impatient yes and told her mum she would speak to her later.
The man that had just gotten out of his car got closer to her, walking up to the door of the building they both lived in, a polite smile playing at his lips as he muttered “hello”.
She repeated the sentiment, feeling her cheeks flush slightly at the proximity of him. He truly was very attractive.
He held open the door for her and they stepped into the building, both stopping to check their mailbox, before walking over to the elevator. The man pressed the button and she patiently stopped to wait beside him for it to arrive, hoping that he could not feel how jumpy she was, how twitchy she had gotten with him standing beside her.
“Busy day?” he asked. She very nearly jumped in surprise. His voice was deep, exactly how she liked it and she could just imagine how it would sound if he uttered her name against her skin with it. She felt weak in the knees at the thought alone. Gosh, Lily, she scolded herself, how desperate are you?
“Uhm,” she pushed a lock of her auburn hair behind her ear, “hectic, yeah.” She looked at him out of the corner of her eye to gauge his interest. She didn’t want to start babbling all over the place if he wasn’t at all responsive and was merely engaging in an act of neighbourly courtesy. “I’m an English teacher,” she added when she had not detected any false politeness. “Most days I find myself mesmerized as well as completely unsurprised by the most unexpected.”
He smiled, dimples appearing in his cheeks. “I sincerely hope your students are better than my friends and I ever were,” he said, hands in the pockets of his slacks. “I drove my teachers spare.”
“You did?” she asked, finding herself eyeing him up - not in a sexual manner, although she did note to herself that he was unreasonably fit - cataloguing the suit he wore. This man was a posh one, he did not at all scream trouble as some of her students definitely did, as some of the men she had previously dated had.
“I was the worst,” he nodded, but the smile that played on his lips betrayed his fond remembrance of his teenage self. “I like to think it was all to make others laugh, but I doubt my teachers were all that amused.”
“Well, at least you show some remorse now,” she told him, adding: “and you seem pretty successful. Good to know that some of my cheeky Year 9s might still make it in the outside world.” She smiled at him to let him know she was not entirely serious and appreciated their small talk. “What do you do?”
“Game design,” he answered. One of her eyebrows raised as she looked at his outfit, which went to show that she had been harbouring dreadful stereotypes aimed at people who worked in the gaming industry.
He seemed to notice her confusion and chuckled. “I know, I get it a lot.” He shrugged. “My mates say I’m overcompensating, making myself appear more important than I actually am.”
She wanted to say that she was entirely grateful for this tendency of his to show off – he looked pretty lickable in his business suit, after all – but she figured that would cross a line and settled on: “It only shows you take yourself and your work seriously, really.”
His smile widened. “Exactly!” he exclaimed. “Mind repeating that, so I can record that for my friends to listen to whenever they make fun of me?”
She laughed at that, knowing that she blushed at his apparent enthusiasm, which she found incredibly attractive for some reason or another. “What kind of game design are you into, by the way? Would I know any of your work?”
He looked a little sheepish. “I mean,” he said, running a hand through his hair, “maybe. The students you teach are pretty much our main demographic.” He then reached for the elevator’s button again, pressing it once more and muttering a “what’s wrong with this thing?” under his breath. She herself hadn’t even noticed the elevator hadn’t arrived yet, had practically forgotten that’s what they had been waiting for. “My friends and I came up with a game called The Marauders.”
Her eyes widened in recognition. “Truly?” she asked, impressed. He nodded. “My students love that game. It makes it nearly impossible for us to ask them to put their phone away. That’s how addictive it is.”
He chuckled, a pleased smile sliding onto his face. “Sorry?” he asked.
At that moment the elevator arrived and they both got in. She pressed the button for the 6th floor and he pressed the one for the 7th, which - as she was well aware of - housed most of the penthouses in the building. Clearly, game design was a profitable venture, much unlike teaching, although she truly couldn’t and wouldn’t complain.
They both got in and spent a few seconds in silence before the man next to her cleared his throat. “Hey, so,” he said, seeming a little uncomfortable all of a sudden, “I hadn’t wanted to say this for fear of sounding like an actual stalker -“
For some reason, her heart started to pound inside her chest, her lively imagination completing his sentence in various, completely, utterly ridiculous ways:
- I hadn’t wanted to say this for fear of sounding like an actual stalker, but I have seen you before and think you are the most beautiful woman in the world. Do you think I’m pretty too?
- I hadn’t wanted to say this for fear of sounding like an actual stalker, but my heart has not been the same since I first laid eyes on you, will you please do me the honour of going out on a date with me?
- I hadn’t wanted to say this for fear of sounding like an actual stalker, but – god – you’re sexy and I would like to take you up to my penthouse to shag you senseless on every gleaming surface of my fancy flat.
- I hadn’t wanted to say this for fear of sounding like an actual stalker, but I am pretty sure you are my soulmate and why wait if I could just ask you to marry me this instant?
Her answer to all of these would be a resounding, heartfelt, relieved: Yes, a thousand times yes! – to copy stunning Rosamund Pike’s Jane Bennet, accepting Mr Bingley’s proposal.
In reality, the man stopped after uttering the phrase he had started, grimacing a little. It made her smile dim just a tad.
“I probably won’t think you’re a stalker at all,” she then said, hoping to sound casual and not absolutely desperate for him to finish what he had started. The fact that her fantasies were most likely too good to be true, too much to expect, a mere afterthought.
He sounded awkward as he laughed this time, shaking his head. “I don’t know about that.”
She was contemplating to tell him that she certainly wouldn’t mind listening to whatever he had to say for she wanted to bask in his presence for as long as possible when the doors to the elevator opened to reveal her floor.
“Oh,” she said, unable to help that she sounded a little disappointed, “this is me.”
“Right,” he said the discomfort on his face growing ever more apparent, his voice a little hoarse.
She made her way out of the elevator, telling him it was lovely to speak to him when he felt his hand grab her wrist.
She turned around, her eyes immediately falling to their connected body parts, heat spreading from his hand up her wrist. He stood in between the elevator doors, stopping the doors from closing. Anyone who is trying to get up this instant, she thought, will hate us when they find out that we – two random neighbours who don’t even know each other’s names – are holding up the elevator.
“Wait,” he said, “this is not exactly an easy thing to say, but –” he swallowed hard. “I live on the seventh floor, other side of the courtyard that you live in and I have a perfect view of your kitchen –” She was certain that he would be able to feel her rapid pulse, seeing as his fingers had closed gently over her pulse point. She was truly at a loss for words, her brain screaming at her: These things don’t happen to you, Lily Evans! Surely, your thoughts shouldn’t be heading in that direction for it is absolute wishful thinking! This is no declaration of love – or lust, for that matter.
He let go off her wrist then, running a hand through his hair. “– I hadn’t wanted to say anything, really, because it felt wrong, but then my mate who stayed over last weekend made a good point to tell me that you probably didn’t know –” She felt her forehead crinkle. What was he talking about? “But I also don’t want it to sound as though it’s a bad thing, because it’s fine and it’s your house and I shouldn’t have been looking in the first place –” He took a deep breath here, watching her imploringly. As if he was begging her to understand what he was talking about in the first place. The only thing she understood, however, was that this was most definitely not what she had been hoping for and dreaming of.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “I truly have no idea what you are talking about…”
He closed his eyes behind his glasses for a moment only. “Right,” he nodded, “of course,” he looked away from her, “well...” a breathy, disbelieving laugh escaped him, as though he couldn’t believe how he had ended up in this situation. “On Saturday mornings,” he began, slowly, lowering his voice slightly, “you like to dance around in your kitchen in your –” he stopped here, turning bright red.
He didn’t need to say more, however. She knew exactly what he was referring to and was absolutely mortified. “Oh god,” she let out, certain that she flushed scarlet, “you can see that?”
She could envision herself now, preparing her lazy Saturday morning breakfast, her hips swaying to her 80s playlist, which included actual gems such as “I Wanna Dance With Somebody”, “Uptown Girl”, “Material Girl”, “Walking on Sunshine” and “Holding Out For A Hero”. Jumping around in whatever shirt had her fancy that particular morning, her feet bare, wearing only her knickers to cover her modesty down below.
“It’s completely fine, of course,” the words rushed out of him. “No judgement from me whatsoever, I am only bringing it up, because – as my mate said – if I can see, others can probably see too and you never know what people might do –”
“I get it,” her voice sounded strangled. “Thank you, I really appreciate you telling me.” His mouth snapped shut, he seemed very uncomfortable still, so she sent him a tense smile, her cheeks hurting from the force of it. “You can rest assured it won’t happen again.”
Before he could say anything else, she marched off, practically sprinting away towards her apartment, got out her key and shoved it into the keyhole as she heard the elevator doors close a few steps away from her. She turned the key, almost fell into her hallway with the haste of it and – as soon as she closed the door behind her – let out a frustrated, embarrassed scream.
“Great friend you are,” she told her best friend Mary, who was cackling loudly, on the phone, sounding only slightly affronted. “I am absolutely beside myself.”
“I’m sorry,” her friend said, “let me just wipe away these tears from my eyes, shall I?” She giggled some more, followed by a clearing of her throat. “All right,” Mary then continued far more seriously. “Just to help me visualize this properly… which songs do you dance to?”
“Oh, stop it,” she moaned as her friend laughed again, “I’ll hang up now if you can’t be more sympathetic.”
“Oh, come on, Lil,” Mary said. “Lighten up a little.”
“You clearly,” she began, “don’t understand the humiliation.” She leaned against her kitchen counter, her kettle boiling beside her. “He is so fit, Mary.”
“And clearly a good guy too if he decided to warn you that he could see you dance half-naked in your kitchen from his apartment.”
He so clearly was. It pained her to know that the one man she had even been remotely interested in, in recent years – from a distance only, of course – was not just very handsome, but also good enough of a person to tell her that she was exposing herself to all her neighbours on the other end of the courtyard, him included. He hadn’t been obliged to tell her, but he still had and, while she appreciated that immensely, she couldn’t help but think that she really wished someone else had seen fit to tell her instead. Maybe if that had been the case, she would have one day gathered the courage herself to chat him up. Now, she would never ever dare to do such a thing ever again.
“Honestly, Lily,” Mary interrupted her thoughts, “I think you shouldn’t despair as much as you’re currently doing. You forget that you are an absolute catch. There is no way he didn’t enjoy the view.”
She flushed at that. “Mary,” she admonished her friend, using her best teacher voice, “you can’t say things like that to me when I’m in such a fragile state.” She sighed. “Besides, he gave no indication whatsoever that he is in any way, shape or form attracted to me.”
Her friend snorted. “Believe me, babe,” she replied, “he is. Didn’t he start talking to you completely out of the blue?”
She rolled her eyes, not that her friend would see that. “Yes,” she admitted, “he did and it could have meant something if he hadn’t so clearly been trying to ease into the much more difficult and awkward conversation we had only minutes later.”
“You’re a darling,” Mary said, “so naïve too.”
She guffawed. “I’m not naïve at all. I caught two of my Year 12s getting each other off in the girls’ bathroom the other day. I have seen things, okay?”
“Eww,” Mary responded, momentarily distracted, “were we that disgusting when we were that age?”
“Definitely not,” she reassured her friend. “We would not have done anything like that at school.”
“You’re right,” Mary answered breezily, “we saved all of that for when we were up in our own rooms. Remember Callum McGinty?” She sighed dreamily. “That boy had a mouth.”
She did remember Callum McGinty and the way her best friend had been completely devoted to him in secondary. She herself had also done things with boys and men, of course, but she had never been one to quickly fall for someone or to open herself up to feelings of lust and love. Which is another reason why she was so disappointed that the one time she did desperately desire a man, it all blew up in her face before she could have even attempted to gather the courage she needed to make a move. (Not that she was sure she ever would have, but the opportunity to daydream about the possibility that one day she would actually do so, would have been greatly appreciated.)
“I can hear you panic, Lily,” her friend then said in her ear, “and you have yet to convince me why any of that would be necessary in the first place.”
To be honest, she didn’t know exactly why this was such a big deal to her either. Okay, the fit game designer had seen her dance around her kitchen in her underwear. Who cared? She would wear less on a day at the beach.
At the same time, lingerie was something that was strangely intimate. Wearing knickers was not the same as wearing your bikini bottoms out on a summer's day.
“I’m just mortified,” she told her friend, picking at her top, and then – with a huff – revealed: “Besides, this whole thing is showing me that I’m more of a prude than I thought I was and, thus, more like my sister than I could have ever imagined.”
“Oh, Lil,” sympathy filled her friend’s voice now, “you are nothing like your sister at all.”
They were quiet for a moment, Lily’s kettle stopped boiling and she could hear the door open and close on Mary’s end, indicating that her boyfriend had come home. “Is that Reggie?” she asked.
“Yeah,” her friend replied, sounding fond, clearly watching her boyfriend with a goofy smile.
“I’ll let you go then,” she told her. Mary protested. “Really, Mare,” she said with a smile, “I’ll be fine. I probably just need to sleep on it for a night and then I’ll be perfectly fine. All will be better in the morning, all will be forgotten.”
“You sure?” Mary asked. When Lily hummed, her friend sighed in resignation. “All right then. Find something to distract yourself with, okay? Watch 13 Going On 30 or something. You love that film.”
“I will,” she appeased her friend and as soon as she hung up, her finger tapped the app store, doing something she had no reason to do, since she couldn’t remember ever playing any games on her phone. She typed in The Marauders and downloaded the mobile game.
It was late Sunday afternoon when she returned to London after spending the day with her parents, her sister and her brother-in-law. Part of the day was spent trying on Lily’s bridesmaid dress for Petunia and Vernon's wedding, which was not as horrific as Lily had imagined it to be. It was a pale blue that quite suited her skin tone, which was an immense relief.
She had just entered her building, already fishing her house keys out of her bag, when the elevator opened to reveal a group of four loud men – one of them being the handsome game designer – who laughed boisterously as they practically tumbled out of the elevator all at once. She stopped in her tracks, frozen to the spot, her cheeks turning crimson in an instant.
Upon noticing her, he also froze, while the three others – one short and blonde, one medium-height and sandy-haired, one nearly as tall and raven-haired as the game designer, only far more aristocratic in his looks – kept moving in her direction, only to stop when they noticed the fourth member of their party was no longer laughing and walking along with them.
“Prongs?” asked the aristocratic one, his eyes flitting between her and the game designer. Having played The Marauders for the past two days – she was truly, utterly, completely pathetic and also terribly awful at playing it in the first place – she knew this nickname referred to the stag in the game.
Prongs looked back at his friends, pushing a hand through his black curls. “Sorry,” he said before looking back at her and nodding in her direction. “Good afternoon.”
“Good afternoon,” she replied. She walked around them, smoothly avoiding all four of them and slipping in between the elevator doors just in time. She breathed out in relief when she pressed the button for the sixth floor.
Before the doors closed, she could hear the aristocrat shout: “Wait! Was that knicker girl?” she very nearly flinched at the nickname. “You didn’t mention that she is –”
She didn’t hear the end of that sentence, didn’t find out what she was – the elevator’s doors closing just in time – according to one of them and was immensely grateful for it as she was zipped up to her own floor.
It was nearly a week later – she had just come back from the centre of town on her free Saturday afternoon – when she ran into Prongs a.k.a. the game designer again and he looked ridiculously fit as he stepped into the elevator with her, having clearly come back from a run. He was sweaty, barefaced without his glasses and somewhat shy as he smiled at her.
“Sorry,” he said, pointing down at himself.
“No worries,” she answered a little stiffly, holding on to her shopping bags tightly as she moved slightly away from him in an attempt to shrink into the elevator’s wall.
Prongs grimaced, sniffed at himself, ran a self-conscious hand through his hair. “That bad?” he asked.
Her eyes widened in shock. “Oh,” she said, feeling her face heat up, “no, not at all. I was just –” moving away from you, since it is very difficult – do not ask me why, because I have never before experienced this myself – not to jump your bones. Especially when you look like you do now.
He looked about as awkward as she felt. “I should have taken the stairs maybe,” he muttered.
She closed her eyes, biting her lips in quiet frustration. Great, she thought to herself, now you’ve made him think that he smells. Way to go, Lil.
The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. She opened her eyes and nearly propelled herself forward, only stopping once she was halfway out and she heard him speak up.
“You wore pyjama pants this morning.”
She turned around, met his eyes. He looked startled, as if he couldn’t believe he had just spoken up.
“I did,” she answered, taking one more step out of the elevator.
He nodded, looked down at his feet. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything last week,” he replied, not looking at her, the doors to the elevator sliding ever so slowly closed. “I really did quite like the view.”
She dropped her bags to the floor as the elevator’s doors closed, reaching for the button to call the elevator back down, pushing it frantically. “Fuck me,” she said in frustration as she pushed the button again and again, “fuck me.”
The elevator dinged and the doors opened once more to reveal Prongs, already halfway out, his eyes wide as he caught her words. Again, she flushed.
He made his way out of the elevator, reached down for the bags she had dropped on the floor – one of them, ironically, containing new lingerie – and then held them out to her.
“You dropped these,” he said huskily, his eyes heavy as they looked at her, drank in the sight of her almost, as if he had walked through the desert for ages and she was his only source of relief – which, come to think of it, might be a slight misreading of him, he had just gone for a run, after all. Maybe he was actually thirsty and not thirsting after her.
“I did,” she said, reaching for the bags, her fingers curling around the handles again, their fingers brushing against one another. It set her on fire.
If someone were to ask her later – Mary, of course, she would be the only one Lily would ever call to kiss and tell – she would say that she had no idea who had moved first. Realistically, it could have been her, so eager to feel up the body that was in front of her, but seeing as his hands were on her almost at the same time, she wondered if he had reached for her as soon as she had, if this was a matter of them colliding simultaneously.
Lips touched, legs moved – hers walking backwards – hands grabbed – his on her waist, going down to her bum, fingers digging into the soft skin there – and their breaths became laboured.
Miraculously, they ended up at her door, her back against it, his mouth latching on to her neck as she dug into her bag to find the key to her door, his fingers taking the object from her as soon as her hand emerged and opening the door only for them to fall inside, his hands that grabbed her around the waist the only thing to keep her upright.
Bags were dumped, coat was discarded on the floor, the buttons of her blouse were opened and his shirt was off before she even registered pulling it up over his head, her hands suddenly on his bare skin as her tongue tasted the salt of his sweat, making him groan loudly.
“Bloody hell,” he sounded hoarse, grip on her tightening, panting heavily. His nose brushed against her forehead, lips coming to rest on her cheekbone, placing a soft kiss there. “Fuck, you’re hot.”
She giggled. “I am?” she asked, her hands fingering the waistband of his sports shorts.
“Ridiculously so,” he said, his hands reaching for her arse again. “I can’t wait to see this,” he squeezed for emphasis, she moaned, “up close.”
They stumbled towards the bedroom, hitting walls where they stopped to snog on the way. Once there, they broke apart – he to take of his shorts, she to get rid off her blouse and pants. They eyed each other – both practically naked, save their underwear – shyly for a moment, as if they both suddenly realised what they were doing.
“I don’t know your name,” she blurted out, feeling hot all over.
“Oh,” he said, running a hand through his hair, “right.” Oddly, he stepped forward, holding out his hand that had just been caught in his black locks: “I’m James, James Potter.”
She accepted his hand, shook it firmly. “Lily,” she said, returning the favour of revealing her name to him, “Lily Evans.”
“Lily,” he breathed out, pulling her towards him again, lips against hers as he repeated her name a second time: “Lily.”
“James,” she replied, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders as he lifted her up, her legs wrapping around him as he walked them over towards her bed, which he gently placed her on, hovering over her, his eyes ablaze as he watched her, touched her hair.
“Everything about you,” he told her, sounding so earnest, “is magnificent.”
She reached up, grabbing his neck, their lips locking, tongues tangling, her fingers on his pulse point, feeling the comforting, heavy weight of his rapid pulse against them as she allowed him to snog her senseless and she worked – desperately so – to return the favour.
They kissed for a while, her legs tightening against him to pull him closer, his arousal pressing against her upper leg, his hands skimming over her breasts, her nipples, her stomach, coming to rest on her knickers, which he toyed with.
“Do you want to take them off?” she asked him, breathless, in between kisses.
He pressed one more kiss against her lips before leaning back slightly, his lips going up into a grin – joy appeared to be the expression his face was truly made for – “I’ve wanted to kiss you down there ever since I first saw you dance in your kitchen.”
She smiled back at him, exhilarated, high on him, emboldened to speak up, voice her desire: “Why don’t you, then?”
His grin grew wider and he moved down her body, trailing kisses down her neck, her chest, her stomach. His fingers dragged down her knickers ever so slowly, removing them and placing them on the bed beside him. Then, he sat up on his knees, pushed her legs up, so he had more space and smirked at her before he lowered his head, his breath warm against the throbbing heat between her legs. The anticipation very nearly killed her.
“Ready?” he asked, his mouth so close to where she wanted him that she shivered.
“Yes,” was the only thing that she could say, before letting out a suppressed: “Uh,” as his mouth pressed right where he had promised he would, his tongue flicking out, “oh.”
It was Sunday morning when he twirled her in his arms, Whitney Houston’s “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” blasting through the kitchen. He was wearing his boxershorts only, she was wearing a t-shirt and the black lace knickers she had quickly grabbed from her closet when he had announced that he wanted to dance with her.
“Dance?” she had asked, laughing.
“Yeah,” he had told her, pulling her up from the bed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head when she had stood – still naked – in front of him, “in your kitchen. Like you did those Saturday mornings.”
“James,” her eyes had tracked his face, he was so beautiful, so attentive, so enchantingly energetic, “people might see, remember?” She had flushed a little. “That’s how this,” she had gestured between them, “started. With you seeing.”
“Best thing,” he had said, lowering his head to catch her lips, “to happen to me, ever.”
He had kissed all her earlier protests away and, as they laughed together now, hands intertwined as they swayed to the music, his hair messy as it flopped in front of his eyes, her hair wild from all the times he had run his hands through it, she could only thank whatever deity was up there for making him the person to observe her knicker-dancing through her window.