"We shouldn't be doing this." James's voice is breathy with excitement, belying the emptiness of his words. He needs this. We both do.
"Shut up, Prongs. I can think of better things for your mouth to be doing right now." He's right up in my space, close enough to kiss, but we don't do that. Kissing is for girlfriends and boyfriends, and Prongs and I aren't that. We've never been that. And yet, he's here, we both are, on a day that's reserved for significant others. I'm sure Moony's disappointed, but when James called about his latest domestic with Lily over starting a family...well, I had to see him. It's not like I had anything grand planned—I'm no romantic. Remus will forgive me. He always does.
This close, I can smell James: the cheap beer we've been drinking all night at the pub down the street, stale cigarette smoke, and underneath, the faint woodsy scent of his cologne—the same shit he's been wearing since fourth year. It's intoxicating.
I unbuckle my belt and undo my flies, watching as James's pupils dilate even further at the sound. He knows what's coming. This isn't the first time we've done this. Still, there's the dialogue to get through before we can get down to business: the feeble protests, the half-hearted denial, the final assertions that this will be the last time before James finally, finally sinks to his knees.
I groan at the sight of him there, his eyes spitting hunger and fire as he peers up at me through his dark, tousled fringe. So beautiful, my James.
"So eager for it," he taunts, his lips pulled into a smirk that falls somewhere between teasing and cruel. "Moony stop going down on you?"
I slide a hand through his hair, jerking him toward my cock, hard and straining against my pants. He nuzzles at it, eyes still flashing challenge. "Moony sucks cock just fine. You really want to talk about him?" James bites at the waistband of my pants, tugging it down until my cock springs free. Merlin, nothing, nobody, gets me as keyed up as James.
He licks at my prick, soft, kitten licks designed to drive me mad. But I have more patience than he does, and James loves sucking cock too much to keep this up. Sure enough, James barely lasts ten seconds before he gives up on the teasing and wraps those pretty lips around my dick. I groan again, low and throaty, and James's self-satisfied hum reverberates around my cock. He's good at this—too good—and not for the first time, I wonder if he's been practicing with somebody other than me. The thought makes me see red, and my hips buck into James's mouth. He moans, his lashes fluttering in pleasure. I grab two fistfuls of hair and start fucking his throat.
"You want to—to pretend, do you?" I pant as I continue to pump my hips. "Tell yourself you're—uh—only here because you love cock, and your precious fiancée doesn't have one. That this—is just scratching an itch. That you can stop anytime." James gags a little on a particularly sharp thrust, and I pull out for a moment, giving him a chance to catch his breath before easing back inside the slick, sucking warmth of his mouth. "But that's a lie," I growl, my pulse pounding as my orgasm begins to pool in my groin. I'm close, ready to tumble over the edge and into the abyss. "You need me, James. You need this."
I bury myself in James throat, emptying myself with a shudder and a shout. James swallows it all, licking my cock clean like he's never had anything so delicious in his life. He looks up at me with lust-black eyes, his expression open and wanting. I love James, love him cocky and taunting, love him joking and smiling, love him passionate and fierce. I love him best like this, though. When all the artifice and pretense has been stripped away, and all that's left is his need and desire.
"I want you to say it, James."
"Say what, Padfoot?"
"Tell me the truth. Tell me that you need me." James's face creases with conflict, and I sink to my knees. "Go on, James. Say it, and I'll give you what you want. What you need."
"Say it, James." My tone brooks no argument.
James's expression is half anguish, half relief as he buries his face in my neck, whispering into my ear, "Of course I need you, Padfoot. I love you. I keep trying to fight it, but I can't. I'm not sure I want to."
My chest grows hot with fierce satisfaction and glowing contentment. It's hard, sometimes, feeling like I'm alone with this unquenchable thirst. He's not the only one who's tried to be satisfied with what he has. I love Remus, I really do, but there's something inside me that calls for James, that aches for him. Deep down, I know it always will.
I stroke a hand down James's spine before pushing him back against the floor. He looks beautiful, sexy, and I want nothing more to take him right here on the carpet in my entryway.
"It goes both ways, you know," he murmurs, his voice a low, gravelly timbre that shivers up my spine.
"You want me, too."
I run my fingers down the side of his face, across the lips that I'm not allowed to taste. Of course I want him. I can't remember a time when I haven't.
"Yeah, James. I want you, too. Always will."