Title: Cusp
Author: lq_traintracks
Pairings: Albus Severus/James Sirius (very background Harry/Draco)
Rating: NC-17
Kinks/Themes Chosen: 1) clothed sex, 2) facials, 3) self taste: tasting oneself on one's partner, e.g. while kissing after oral sex
Other Warnings/Content: consensual sibling incest
Word Count: ~3,000
Summary/Description: James doesn’t like to be kissed. Not on the mouth. Not by his brother. But he’ll do everything else.
Author's Notes: Thanks so very much for the brilliant beta, sdk! <3 Any remaining mistakes are my own. It’s been too long since I’ve written for Daily Deviant (or written this pairing), and I couldn’t resist these themes. Hope you enjoy!




It happens just like last summer. Happens when it builds up too much and they simply have to.

When James’s looks all through the family dinner have tormented him, got him hard, so hard he’s precoming, can’t sit still, needs it.

Albus knows not to excuse himself from the table prematurely. Knows to wait for James, that subtle nod that works on him like a tonic, rushing his blood. Albus’s eyelashes flutter, his exhale a thing of both surrender and anticipation.

They can get one in, between dinner and Quidditch in the garden. Nobody will pay much attention if they disappear for five minutes, maybe even ten. The Weasleys are visiting, so it creates the subterfuge of a crowd, a noise barrier, a distraction.

In the room they used to share but is now Albus’s alone, James tugs him inside. But it’s Albus who presses James’s back to the door, his whine of pleasure at the collision of their bodies muffled into James’s neck.

James doesn’t like to be kissed. Not on the mouth. Not by his brother.

But he’ll do everything else.

Albus gets to thrusting against him right away, both of them hard through their jeans but Al definitely harder at first.

“Nnngh,” Albus whines high in his throat, working his hips. For the moment, it’s all him, James reposed against the door, breath almost even.

Albus’s hands grip James’s t-shirt in two fists. “Pleeease,” comes out of him shamefully, yet he feels nothing but the yearning. It’s been months. And nothing else compares to this.

“Albus,” that deep, dark voice saying his name in the almost-dusk of the room, the shadows thrown by curtains rippling in the breeze of the open window. “You have to be quiet.”

Albus nods.

“Quick and quiet.”

He nods again.

And then James comes alive.

Suddenly, it’s Albus’s back against the door, James’s hands dropping to his arse and squeezing so hard Albus gasps.

Al doesn’t think. He spreads his legs, letting James fit himself between. Their clothed cocks brush one another, press and ache, and now it’s James who can’t breathe, though he presses his lips together, like he does when he’s angry. His jaw clenches. And then he’s fucking Al against the door, but with their clothes on.

It’s not fucking, because there’s no penetration. But Albus feels delved into. He’s ripe for his brother, ready to bruise, to soften like the sweetest fruit for his rough touch.

James bucks against him, and Albus rolls his hips as much as he can, hair mussed against the door.

“Fuck,” James grits out. He almost always says this. So simple. It’s nothing. But it means Albus has taken a piece of him.

James is so close, smothering all the air between them to nothing. Albus hooks his leg behind James’s calf, then hikes it up behind his thigh. His hand sifts into James’s hair, the other one at his waist, feeling his stomach muscles flex repeatedly.

“I’m gonna come,” Albus sighs. “I’m gonna come, James.”

A growl against his jaw, James grips him even tighter. It hurts, how hard they’re going at each other. It’s perfect.

Albus cries out, and James clamps his hand over his mouth.

“Mmmm!” He lets it all go against the salt of his brother’s palm, his dick pulsing again and again, warm and wet inside his jeans.

And then James is shaking, biting back a moan. He holds Albus close, dragging his hips in hard, and he comes in hard little gasps, pulling on Albus’s hips with each throb.

They’re cleaned up and downstairs again minutes later. The whole thing hardly lasted any time at all. You wouldn’t know anything had happened by looking at James. Or most people wouldn’t. Albus can see it: the lasting flush on his cheeks, the way he doesn’t quite meet anyone’s eyes for about an hour afterwards, even though he laughs and converses. There’s nothing, technically, amiss. But Albus sees it in the way James finally lifts his gaze to find him watching. It’s all there, before it gets shuttered, closed off, packed up.

It’s the look they shared before James moved off him in the aftermath. It’s Albus sighing, “Jamie,” so quietly it wasn’t even a whisper.

It’s exactly that. The moment James pulled away.

~

Sometimes James makes him get on his knees.

Makes him. What a laugh. It’s where Albus is dying to go.

It happens like this when they have a little more time, when Dad’s at Tesco with Mr Malfoy and they’ll be there twice as long, bickering over every little choice.

Mum’s off training for the new Quidditch season. Lily’s at the cinema, but who knows when the film started. She could be home any time.

Albus is getting out of the shower when James walks in on him, still dirty from de-gnoming.

It’s obvious what James is here for though, and it’s not to get clean. His gaze meets Al’s before drifting down his naked body, the drops of clean water tickling his legs, falling from his hair.

Albus drops his towel and walks up to him, touches James’s hips and leans in, tilting his face up in case James ever retracts his no-kissing stance.

But then James says, “Suck me.”

Albus blinks wistfully at James’s lips, tight with tension, but then he sinks to his knees. It’s easy. It’s effortless. He doesn’t ever not want this.

He gets his brother’s cock out, and James watches him do it, chin dipped, eyes hooded. James leans against the countertop and lets Albus wrestle his jeans and pants down a little. Albus takes a moment to nuzzle the cock in his face, musky with sweat and precome. James is already rock hard. Albus wonders how long he’s been aroused. How long he’s been thinking of Albus, imagining this.

Albus glances up as he takes James’s cock in his loose fist and pumps it a couple of times before aiming it into his mouth.

James groans when Albus’s lips envelope him, sinking halfway down. He meets his mouth with his fist and works up a rhythm.

James’s hand goes into in his hair, tangling there, gentle fingers pulling only a bit, only enough. Like an endearment from his lips, some ugly word made pretty by the tone of his voice, all fondness.

Albus slurps on the dick in his mouth, savouring the taste, the thrust of it over his tongue. He moves faster. But then James makes the sort of sound that Albus knows. His hand cups the back of Albus’s head for a moment. Warm. Sweet. Then he makes a fist there and tugs a little, just so Albus’s mouth comes off his cock.

James takes himself in hand. The head of his cock is still so near Albus’s face, his lips. He could lick the tip if he dared.

James works himself, thick root to crown, holding Albus’s head in place. “Want to mark you.”

Albus’s lips part still more on a decadent sigh. His own cock is like a ramrod, rearing up toward his slick belly, yet he doesn’t touch it.

“Want to dirty you up,” James husks. “Make you foul. Like me.”

Albus whimpers. What he wouldn’t give to rub his cheek against the aggressive strain of James’s cock. The foreskin is pulling back a little. He’s ready, balls high and tight. It spurts out over his lips, and Albus is the first to groan his pleasure at it.

James’s fist goes so fast, working it out. He grits his teeth. His come strikes Albus’s cheek, then is aimed down so that it stripes his chest. Albus ducks his head, a coy feint, and it goes in his mouth next.

When James is finished, he hauls Albus up, and for a moment, it’s a glimmering thing of promise between them, their mouths panting close. But then James moves behind him, holds Albus back against his body, and his hand curls around Albus’s cock.

“Look at yourself,” James says.

He’s nude and shiny-clean, pale and blushing, and yet James’s spunk glistens on his face, his skin.

James jacks him off while they both watch. But it’s not his own body that holds Albus in thrall, that finally tips him over the edge. It’s how James’s eyes rove over him, devouring every bit of Albus’s reflection. Like he’s a feast on the other side of a window, rather than the body leaned into his arms.

Like he’s all that matters.

Albus cries out and bucks into James’s expert hand, his head lain on James’s shoulder. His brother is so strong, so sturdy. Albus goes limp, and James holds him up.

James breathes against his ear. “I love the way you come for me.”

That word, like a diamond in the muck, an incantation spilled over his neck in shivers, dissipating in the brightness of the room. And then James’s body gone, his footsteps leaving, and Albus braces on the sink, fresh with lavender, salty-bitter when he licks his lips, marred by a single sentence.

~

The end of summer brings honeyed evenings of long sunsets, insects singing from the swaying trees. His last year of Hogwarts. James’s recruitment by the Aurors.

And then one of those nights, they’re alone.

Albus hears their dad Floo off to Draco’s (he became Draco over the course of the summer) late in the evening—and then the taut quiet.

He lies there in his bed, too early for sleep; he lies there hoping. Waiting.

The creak of his door, and then James is a looming shadow slanting into the room, a dark silhouette blocking the light from the hall.

The door closes behind him, and Albus undresses under the sheet, stripping down all the way as James stalks closer to the bed.

He can’t see James’s face. But James pulls the sheet off, and he can see all of Albus. Albus barely breathes, his cock pulsing to life, rising quickly.

One second. Two. They pile up. Five and six.

“Nnn,” comes out of Albus’s throat, his legs shifting, heels dragging along the sheet, cock untouched.

And then James is undressing beside the bed. Not everything. Just his t-shirt drawn over his head and off, his jeans unbuttoned and unzipped. Then he gets on the bed, parts Albus’s thighs, and sits there stroking them.

It’s still too dark to see most of his face. But Albus can see his neck, his chin, his lips. James licks them. Then before Albus knows what he’s about to do, James slips down the bed, holding Albus’s thighs apart, and he takes Al’s cock into his mouth.

Albus’s neck arches. His whole being arches. His magic arcs all over the room, splashing the ceiling with electric current. And a sound comes out of him like torture, like he’s already coming, but he’s not.

James’s mouth is soft, the inside of it hot, his tongue suckling.

“Oh my god.” Albus reaches over his head for the headboard, holding to it hard while he writhes. James takes him all the way down, Albus’s cock being diminutive enough to fit easily without choking anyone.

James slips his hands beneath him and cups Albus’s arse. Cups it, holds him, massaging gently. He sucks Albus’s cock without haste, rising up and sinking down, and when Albus feels a little bit of precome run out, James moans, a low rumbling thing that tingles. He comes up to lick and suck and kiss around the head before he goes back down so far he nearly takes Albus’s balls in his mouth as well.

“Juh-Jjj…” Albus stutters on each breath, his whole body undulating on the bed, into his brother’s gentle mouth.

He wants to warn him. Surely he knows. It happens so fast. But when Albus comes, James doesn’t lift his head. He swallows it, a little running out at the corner of his mouth, smearing down the length of Albus’s cock before James bobs slowly over it once more.

They’re both panting when James finally lets Albus’s softening cock slip from his lips. Albus blinks down at him in the dark. Then James crawls up over him, pushing at Albus’s knee.

Eyes widening, Albus submits, lifting both legs to cradle James’s hips. James feels around Albus’s arsehole, his hand guiding his cock, a question appearing in his eyes. Albus nods. James whispers a lubrication spell. Albus grasps for his shoulders, the back of his neck, the muscles there jumping in his hands.

The tip of James’s cock nudges at him. Albus gasps. At James’s frown, Albus nods again. And at the second nudge, James’s cock penetrates him, rocking into him, a careful inch and back, then two, then three, a soft grunt breathed in Albus’s face. Albus wraps his arms around his brother’s neck, legs opening still more.

“God, Albie.”

James pushes into him all the way, wincing like it hurts, even while Albus shudders at the immensity of the pleasure.

James starts to move. Albus meets the thrust of his hips, holding onto him, peering up at him in disbelief. Their bodies slap together softly, like water lapping rock. The delicate sounds, wet and quiet, are pleasantly embarrassing, a reminder of what they’re doing even as they’re doing it.

James hovers over him like a soldier, solid and menacing with purpose. An Auror. His brother’s an Auror. His hair falls over his forehead, painted auburn in the dark. He’s alabaster with splashes of moon, freckles darker along his collar bone. His body works, strives, and Albus feels his chest full. He makes James look like this, like Albus beneath him is some faraway land, some treasure of existence experienced only briefly before it recedes beyond the horizon.

His cock opens Albus’s arse as surely as every other part of Albus is open to James. It hurts in a way that overjoys him. Maybe he’ll feel this for days, feel empty and therefore used and loved and in a weird way even more full because of the lack, the memory becoming larger with time rather than smaller.

Albus stares up at him, rocked back and forth by the rhythm of the sex. “Kiss me,” he finds himself saying. “Fucking kiss me.”

Frowning, hips stilling, James lowers his head, lashes blinking but not closing—Albus doesn’t close his eyes either—and like a second year experiencing it for the first time, presses his lips to Albus’s. James’s lips part on a small, inhaled breath, and Albus laps his tongue just barely inside his mouth. James lets him. Albus tastes himself, still there. Salty and subtle. He licks tentatively over James’s tongue, their lips still held slightly open. And then James groans, sealing the kiss, open mouth to open mouth, crushing him down, taking him.

Albus tilts his head to allow him deeper, and James groans again. Broken and hungry. He braces on his forearms by Albus’s head and whips his hips, kissing him hard while he fucks.

Albus holds his legs open, trembling with it. He closes his eyes to fully feel every moment, every inch, as James’s cock rubs over that place inside now. He gasps out of the kiss when he comes a second time, and the roar torn out of James’s chest as he joins him is the most ecstatic, the most painful sound he’s ever heard.

James collapses on him, face in the crook of Albus’s neck, and for a few moments, Albus has everything: his arms wrapped tight around James’s bigger body, his brother’s cock all the way in, his come inside him, the feel of James’s mouth still tingling on his own lips.

James leverages up, his dick slipping out. But Albus pulls him back down, ankles crossing behind his arse, arms locked like a wrestler. James submits to it, held. And Albus slowly rocks, side to side, just a little. He strokes James’s hair. Their roles, pretty much set from birth, reverse in that moment, like the light of the star drawn inward in preparation for supernova. The dry beach moments before tsunami.

Then James is pulling from his arms, sitting on the side of the bed and fastening his jeans. They whip back in the silence, even though it’s always James who hurts more once it’s over. It’s always him. Maybe because of the guilt or some warped idea that he’s Albus’s protector and by succumbing to this need in himself has, in that, failed. When it should be patently obvious how deeply Albus wants it. How he needs it. How he’d give anything to wipe that frown from James’s brow for good.

“You can stay,” Albus says, lain back replete on his pillow, “if you want.”

“They might come back,” says James.

“You know they won’t.”

James stands, grabbing up his t-shirt from the floor. “They might.”

They don’t talk about love in these moments. Even though it’s the biggest thing in the room. James doesn’t like it when Albus mixes the two. But Albus says, “Hey,” and sits up only enough to grab for James’s hand. It takes a moment, but then James closes his fingers around Albus’s. “Just until I fall asleep then?” Albus says.

A sigh. And then James crawls back into the bed. Albus turns on his side, and James scoots in behind, his clothed crotch pressing up against Albus’s naked bum, his arm around Albus’s middle.

Albus sinks into the bed, weighted down by James’s presence, by lassitude. He lays his hand over James’s forearm, rubs his thumb over the hair there, feels the jump of his pulse. James’s lips meet the back of his neck, leaving a chaste kiss, and then staying.

They stay. And though he’ll wake in the morning alone, for now he’s not. And it’s like James will be there forever. Holding him down and maybe only daring to kiss him again in his sleep.