Kristmas Wish Fulfilled for: entrenous88From: sdkTitle:
Spinning the WorldCharacters/Pairings:
James Sirius Potter/Albus Severus PotterRating:
sleepy sex, dub-con, incestOther Warnings/Content:
underage (James is 16, Al is 14-15 depending on your interpretation of the epilogue)Word Count:
James tells himself this is perfectly normal. He's sixteen. He gets hard when someone just looks at him funny. It doesn't mean he's sick and fancies his brother. Author's Notes:
Thank you to my wonderful betas for their feedback and encouragement! The title is taken from a Clazziquai Project song of the same name, but otherwise has nothing to do with the fic itself. Dear mystery prompter, this might be a tad angstier than you were going for, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless! Happy Kinky Kristmas!
James lies very still. He stares at the Cannons banner hanging from his ceiling, the orange still bright and loud in the darkness of the room. His breath is coming too fast and it's harsh to his ears. He tries to hold it as he watches the tiny players zip around the C and dart through the O on their brooms, but it doesn't work.
Because Al's hand is on his crotch.
It's not bang on James' crotch. It's sort of just above, thumb resting at the elastic of his pants, but Al's fingers are spread and if he moves his pinky just a hair to the right, it will bump into the head of James' cock. His fully erect cock. His fully erect cock that doesn't seem to understand that it's his brother's hand that is so close to touching it.
James lies very still. He closes his eyes. He tries to go back to sleep. Al's breath is warm against his shoulder. He's on his side, close enough that James can feel his body heat, but not close enough that they're touching. Save the hand on James' groin.
He's so hard, it hurts. James tells himself this is perfectly normal. He's sixteen. He gets hard when someone just looks at him funny. It doesn't mean he's sick and fancies his brother.
But his breath is coming faster and it's getting harder and harder not to move
--to slide just a bit to his left—to spread his legs a fraction of an inch.
Al saves him the trouble.
He sighs sleepily, the bed shifts, and James freezes, heart thumping in a panicked rhythm. Has Al awoken? Will he be horrified? Will he blame James? But no, Al's just moved in his sleep, his forehead now pressed against James' shoulder and his hand now pressed against James' cock.
A moan bubbles up in James' throat, but he stifles it before it can escape. Al's fingers are curled around James' shaft, and his thumb twitches, rubbing cotton over the sensitive head. Pre-come liberally coats the inside of James' pants and his thighs fall open. He can't help himself; his hips move of their own accord in a tight jerky rhythm. He has to stop, but his cock is throbbing and there's a great whooshing in his ears, and suddenly he's shooting off in his pants, lips clamped together to hold his pleasure in his throat.
When James comes down, the pressure against his cock is gone. Al's turned over, his back to James' side.
"Al?" James whispers, heart in his throat. Al's only answer is his slow and deep breaths.
James has been bunking with Al for the better part of the week, ever since Al received an Advanced Potions Kit for Christmas and blew up his room. Dad's promised to fix it up, but the never-ending reno list he's planned for the small cottage has remained never-ending for as far back as James can remember, and he doubts Dad will get to it before they return to Hogwarts.
It's all right. James doesn't mind sharing his room. Al's mostly quiet anyway, like his brain is constantly trying to sort things out and talking would get in the way. He actually spends most of his days studying
for the new term.
It's the nights that are the problem, when Al turns his doe eyes on James and asks if he can share the bed, claiming his transfigured one doesn't feel right. And James lifts his blanket and says, "Hurry up then, I'm cold," because James has never been able to deny Al anything.
The house's heating charms always start to fade in the wee hours of the morning. James doesn't mind—he prefers it that way. Then he can snuggle up tightly with his blankets. It feels cozy, like a warm hug.
That morning, it's even warmer, almost hot, and James is sweating beneath the blankets. He's awake enough to feel a frisson of pleasure skitter over him, and recognize it's coming from between his thighs where he's hard as a rock and pressed up against something not-quite-as-hard and pliant. His fingers taste silk, and he half-dreams about the boxer shorts Al put on for bed that night. All silky and green and just tight enough that James could make out the outline of Al's half-hard cock before he forced his gaze elsewhere.
Al wore those boxer shorts to bed and nothing else. "It's too warm for a full set of pyjamas when we're sharing," Al said. "We really should sleep starkers."
At James' horrified look, Al's lips twisted to a grin. "I'm joking, honestly," he said. "You should see your face."
"You don't joke, Al," James said as he lifted the covers.
Al shrugged and slid beneath them, his thigh brushing James' carelessly. "Things change."
There was a look in his eye just for a moment, a flash of intensity, before he rolled to his side and bunched up his pillow. That look haunts James' dreams now, along with the curve of Al's back. He's bare and his skin is so soft and his shoulder tastes like salt and soap. Silk is bunched in James' fingers and he's bucking his hips, Al's silk-clad arse providing the perfect friction against his cock.
James' eyes fly open. He can suddenly feel with stunning clarity Al's thin hips between his hands. Black hair tickles his cheek because his mouth is pressed to the juncture of Al's shoulder and neck. He pulls away, horrified, but his hips don't stop moving until his orgasm rushes over him and he wets the front of his pants with thick, hot come.
His breathing is too loud. It's harsh and ragged in his ears, like it belongs to someone else. He flips to his back and waitswaitswaits
for Al to confront him, to call him sick, to go wake up their parents and tell them just how twisted their eldest son is.
But Al never does. As far as James can tell, he's still asleep, breathing slow and deep, blissfully unaware of what James has done.
James squeezes his eyes shut, grateful when sleep finally comes.
James stumbles sleepily into the kitchen. His mum is at the sink, spelling the dishes clean; his dad is nowhere to be found, probably already off to work. Al sits alone at the table, paging through a book as he finishes the last of his eggs.
"There you are, thought you were going to sleep all day, lazy bum," his mum says. She kisses his forehead and sets a plate next to Al's. "I saved you a plate. Your dad left you some sandwiches for lunch and he should
be home for dinner, but you can always Floo over to the Burrow if he's running late. Lily's there for the day. You know, you two could--"
"Mum," James says as he slides into his seat. "I don't need a babysitter."
He glances at Al out of the corner of his eye, but Al just stares at his book, making no acknowledgment of his presence.
His mum smiles. "No, 'suppose not. Look after your brother." She attempts to ruffle the top of Al's hair, but Al ducks his head away. "Make sure he doesn't spend the whole
She looks at them both, glancing back and forth. James tries to act normal and shoves a forkful of beans into his mouth. "You two getting on all right? I know you boys probably miss having your own space. I'll get on to your father about Al's room, but it will probably be the weekend before he can start."
"It's fine, Mum," Al says, finally looking up from his book. He gives their mum a bright smile and glances at James. "James doesn't mind sharing. Right, James?"
There's a look in Al's eyes that James doesn't recognise. His mouth goes dry and he forces down his last bite of breakfast, then shoves his mostly full plate away. His stomach is jumping up and down too much to eat.
"I—yeah. Al's right. It's fine." James pushes his chair back and stands, then heads for the back door. "I'm going to go fly a bit in the garden."
"Wear your safety gear!" His mum calls to his back. James can feel the burning of Al's gaze until he shuts the door behind him.
Al stands at the side of James' bed. His boxers are a dark red this time, still silky and still showing off his rather generous package. James wonders if Al's even bigger than him, but then forces his eyes to the ceiling. Quidditch. His mum. His mum and dad having sex. James wrinkles his nose at the thought, but it's done the trick.
"Shove over," Al says, shifting his weight.
"You should sleep in your own bed, tonight."
"I don't have a bed, remember?"
"It's right there," James says, cocking his head to the other corner of the room. He doesn't look at Al; he can't.
"James." Al's voice is quiet, but holds the soft hint of pleading. Look at me,
Al's voice says with only the single syllable of James' name.
James' eyes betray him and slide over to Al's large green ones, shining bright in the shadows.
"Jamie," Al says, and James breaks a little inside. He lifts the covers and Al slips into their bed.
They lay side by side on their backs for what feels like hours, but in reality can't be more than minutes. James' heart is thumping like he's being chased by a dragon, while Al's breathing is slow and even. James debates the merits of sneaking off and kipping on the sofa as soon as he's sure Al's asleep, but he knows if his parents find him out there it will raise too many questions.
And part of him wants to stay. Part of him knows that his heart is beating wildly not just in fear, but anticipation, wondering if he'll wake up hard and pressed to Al's backside again. Or maybe Al will be facing him this time, his skinny legs wrapped around James' hips, his cock hard and leaking, slipping out the front of his boxers to rub against James' erection--
James groans, but it isn't until Al shifts to face him that James realises he's made the noise.
"James," he says. "Go to sleep."
The heat of Al's eyes bore into his cheek. James bites his lip and squeezes his eyes shut. He counts to three and breathes in, counts to three and breathes out again. He tries to empty his mind. He tries to pretend he's already asleep. Maybe if he pretends hard enough, he can trick his body into relaxing into blissful nothingness.
A shifting next to him breaks his counting. It isn't until he feels silk glancing against his thigh that he realises what's happening.
Al's taking off his pants.
James tries to keep breathing but his heart is beating fast and furious and he's lightheaded and hard as a rock in two seconds flat. Just the slight shifting of the blanket makes him tingle everywhere. A draft of cold air hits his stomach; the blanket is off, pushed down around his knees. Fingers dig into his pajama bottoms and his cock springs forth as they're shoved down after.
James opens his eyes just in time to see Al climb on top of him, his knees coming down on either side of James' thighs. Moonlight angles across his body, making his skin look so pale and smooth, James nearly groans again before he catches himself and clamps his lips shut.
He should stop this, he should tell Al to get off—that this is wrong, but his throat doesn't seem to work. Al lines up their cocks and holds them flush together in the tight seal of his hands. When he begins to stroke, James' eyes roll into the back of his head and he's lost, helpless to do anything but buck up into Al's grasp.
"Oh..." Al sighs, his voice more breath than sound and the desire laced throughout sends spikes of pleasure through James. He looks at Al through a narrow slit beneath his eyelids. Al gazes at their cocks, watching his own hand stroke down and back up, licking his lips as pre-come spurts from the tip of James' cockhead. James has to struggle to keep his hands to his sides, but he bunches two handfuls of sheet between his fingers and his breath is coming faster no matter how he tries to stop it. Al doesn't seem to notice, too lost in his own pleasure. James watches in awe as tiny shudders wrack Al's body and he comes, spilling himself all over James' prick.
Al releases them both and James nearly whines in protest—he's so close himself, another stroke would have done it—but Al shimmies down until his mouth is poised directly over James' cock. The heat of his breath hits James at his very core and he comes the moment Al's lips touch the soft silky head, shooting straight into Al's open mouth.
It's not until Al's gaze meets his own that James realises his eyes are blown wide and his mouth is hanging open with his silent stifled moan. His first instinct is to squeeze his eyes shut and pretend Al hasn't noticed, but it's too late for that. A slow smile pulls at Al's lips and James is captivated by the sight. They're pink and shining and slick with James' come. Before he can think about what he's doing, James grabs the back of Al's head, urges him up from between his thighs, and kisses him.
It's a short kiss, just long enough for James to taste the bitter sweetness of Al's mouth, but when Al pulls away, his face is flushed pink and surprise flickers across his features. A small thrill jolts down James' spine.
Al lets out a slow breath. He slithers back to James side, pulling the blankets back up over them both.
"Good," he whispers. "Next time you don't have to pretend you're asleep."
He throws an arm over James' stomach and James tucks Al into the crook of his arm. He stares at the Cannons banner on the ceiling, watching the miniature players zoom around the C and dart through the O.
And he smiles.