The Marauders: Year Six #Wattys2017

Oh Gods Evans

Oh Gods Evans

James had brought Meg Johnson to the alcove off the Trophy Room Passageway for a private breakfast. Since Sirius had Saturday detention, he'd made plans to spend the day with Meg instead of the Marauders, and he'd gone with Peter to the kitchens to knick an impressive breakfast spread and he'd gone and set up a bit of a picnic before covering her eyes and leading her down to the alcove. Meg had been terribly shocked by the gesture and had kissed him heartily before they'd eaten their bacon, talking about quidditch and making up plays for the next game together, something James had never imagined a girl wanting to do with him, and he couldn't believe how much fun Meg Johnson was and how proud she was to be his girlfriend. He wasn't a dirty secret to Meg Johnson.

Now, they were on the couch together, and James was laying flat on the cushions, Meg sitting upon his abdomen, her hands on his chest, his oxford having come unbuttoned at some point, his tie on the floor, and she was kissing him deeply and urgently and he was sort of awkwardly holding her hips, unsure what to do with himself. James had never in all his life felt like this before. Sort of hot and cold at once and as though there was something squirming about inside of him and he couldn't breathe right. He stared at her as she kissed him, knowing he should close his eyes but not daring to, afraid he'd do something stupid if he did, afraid to miss a cue from her.

Meg's skin was warm and her mouth tasted like that cherry lip balm again.

She kissed his neck and collarbone and James stared up at the ceiling, his heart racing. Surely she could feel it knocking on his ribs, trying to break out of his chest. Surely she could feel the panic rippling through his skin...

She sat up suddenly and looked down into his eyes and James stared up into hers.

"Are you alright, James?" she asked, concerned.

He nodded, though he couldn't really breathe - for nerves, not because she was squashing him or anything. He had his hands on her hips still, running them gently up and down. She smiled and said, "You look bewildered."

"I can't believe I'm doing this," he whispered thickly.

"You've never done this?" she asked.

He shook his head.

"Really?" Meg looked surprised.

"Really."

She said, "Are you enjoying it?"

James nodded. Bloody hell, I'd have to be dead not to enjoy this, he thought.

Meg reached for the hem of her jumper and she bit her lip, hesitated, and then lifted her jumper off over her head, her ginger curls falling back around her shoulders as they came loose from the fabric. Beneath her jumper, she wore only her bra and James felt like he might pass out as his eyes moved over her skin, trailing along the plane of her belly and up to the curve of the plain white material the covered her breasts and the way they curved to meet in the middle, the pink of her flesh, the flush that rose up her check to her cheeks as he stared at her in a panicked awe.

"Gods alive," he whispered, overwhelmed.

Meg leaned closer, and he closed his eyes as her chest pressed to his and he realized how bloody little amount of fabric separated them right at the moment and he gulped nervously.

My heart's going to bloody stop. It can't take this, I can't take this, he thought.

But it felt so good, too.