InsaneJournal

The First Lesson (ALTL 5) (Neville/James, NC-17)
Title: The First Lesson
Pairing: Neville/James
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2958
Warnings: Chan.
Disclaimer: Not mine. JKR's.
Summary: Neville gives in.

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four



After his proclamation, James clammed up and refused to leave Neville's office for the rest of the afternoon. He curled up in the confines of the guest chair, wrapped his robes tightly around himself, and wouldn't budge.

"You're as stubborn as your father ever was," Neville remarked, clasping James's shoulder, "Your mother, too." It occurred to him too late that James might not appreciate the comparison, given the current climate surrounding thoughts of Harry.

"But, James," Neville continued, "I've got to go and teach a class now. But I'll be back in an hour, and then maybe we can discuss—er, what you came in here to discuss."

James shook his head, staring at his trainers. "Never mind that. I'm sorry about that. I was talking bollocks. Seriously. I was upset. That's all."

Neville didn't believe James for a moment, but he smiled at the boy and reluctantly went off to teach his last class of the day. First-year Hufflepuffs—a steady lot, if a bit puppyish and overeager at times. Two students stayed late to ask questions about the homework, and Neville grew anxious to return to his young charge.

When finally Neville returned, James was not in the office. Neville knew he couldn't have passed through the greenhouses without being seen, so it stood to reason that James had slipped back into Neville's living quarters.

Neville stepped through the door that separated his office from his rooms, his breath suddenly hitching. All right, this was weird. James definitely should not be in there—it wouldn't do if word got out, and—

Neville shook his head. That's not what you need to be worrying about. You need to be worrying about stopping this before it gets to that point.

James wasn't in the sitting room or the nook where Neville kept a small table and two chairs. He wasn't in the bathroom, and Neville paused at the bedroom door, his mind racing through dozens of scenarios, each less appropriate than the last.

When he opened the door, Neville was more relieved than he could fathom to see that James was merely sleeping, his tousled black head on Neville's pillow, his fist clutching at the patchwork quilt covering him, his body curled into the foetal position. His glasses were folded on the bedside table, and Neville regarded them for a moment, the wire frames looking not entirely out of place beside Neville's alarm clock and tissues and water glass.

Neville sat on the edge of his bed and put his palm over James's forehead as if to check for fever. James blinked open his eyes, taking a moment to register his surroundings, then smiled sheepishly up at his professor.

"Sorry, Neville. I didn't get very much sleep last night," James murmured.

"It's all right," Neville reassured him. "It's near dinner time—are you hungry?" Neville's own stomach was rumbling a bit—he'd only had a quick bite at lunch—but James shook his head and smiled a sleepy smile and reached his arms up towards Neville like a child wishing to be picked up by its parent.

Neville took both of the boy's hands in his and lowered them to the quilt. James made a face at this.

"Why won't you lie down with me?"

Because I want nothing more than to do just that.

"Because you obviously need your sleep, and I need some dinner," Neville replied. It was difficult, though, to keep from sinking down beside the boy, especially as James stretched, then curled onto his other side, moving over in the bed to make room for Neville.

Neville shook his head. "You shouldn't even be in here, James."

"Well, I'm not bloody going back out there," James replied.

"Then we're at an impasse. I guess I'll just have to tell the Headmistress where you are when she starts to wonder why you haven't been in your classes."

"I—but. Neville." James sat up, the better to plead his cause. He reached for his glasses and shoved them onto his face. "It's Friday, and I haven't any more classes until Monday morning. And you said you'd—" James reached forward and clutched at Neville's robes. "You said you'd teach me."

James's eyes were huge, and his voice was soft and sleepy and pleading all at once, and Neville anchored himself in the flood of memory by taking the boy's hand from his robes, finger by finger, and squeezing it in his own.

He couldn't go back on what he'd promised the boy—Harry's boy, Ginny's boy—the boy who was sitting in front of him brimming with hurt and confusion and need.

And he couldn't keep from remembering his own professor—his own teacher, and that had meant so much more than any title—and Neville stood up and unbuttoned his robes.

"I told you I'd help you," Neville said, draping his robes over the footboard, near where James had lain his own before settling in, and he sat down on the mattress once again. "And I will. But, James, before we do anything—before I even come near you, you've got to make a promise to me."

James nodded. "Right. You want me to keep quiet."

Neville laughed a little. "Yes. I do want that. But I trust you enough to know that if you wanted to tell someone, you'd have done it by now. No, what I want you to promise me, James, is that you'll take these lessons as just that—lessons. Not any sort of relationship. I care for you, James, more than you know, but—"

"All right," said James, immediately cringing and rolling his eyes at himself. "Sorry. I just—I understand. Okay?"

Neville believed that they boy understood him, certainly, but given James's earlier outburst, he doubted very much that James would take his admonishment to heart.

James was so like his parents—both of them—that Neville knew once the boy had his mind (or his heart—oh, shut up, you sentimental old pervert) set on something, he was stubborn enough to cling to it until he got what he wanted.

But tempting young lips, wetted and parted and very near, distracted Neville from his moral dithering, and he lifted James's chin and swiped a thumb across those lips, then pressed his mouth where his thumb had been.

The kiss was chaste, leagues from the frantic, gasping kisses they had shared in the greenhouse. After a moment, Neville put a hand on the back of James's neck and held the boy closer, parting his lips and nearly smiling when the boy did the same. James jerked forward when their tongues met, twining languidly around each other, and Neville pulled back, sucking on James's lower lip, and ended the kiss with another soft press of lips on searching lips.

"Oh—" gasped James.

"You're ready for your first lesson, then?" murmured Neville, casting locking and silencing charms on the door.

"Definitely," James replied, and he surged forward as if he would steal another kiss, but Neville drew back.

"Then we're going to do this properly," replied Neville, trying desperately to remember the details of his first time, but they were faded and fuzzy like an old jumper, one that Neville had wrapped himself in on many a lonely night.

"Someday, James," Neville said, drawing the boy to him and unbuttoning James's shirt, "You're going to have a proper lover, someone your own age." He pushed the shirt from James's shoulders and tugged his vest over his head, then drew a fingertip down the centre of James's chest, causing the boy to shiver.

"I want you—" James began, but Neville brought his finger up to James's lips, silencing him.

"You'll fall in love someday—" and Neville brought his hands to the front of James's trousers and unbuttoned them.

"But I—"

"But nothing. For now, you'll learn, and when someday comes, you'll be ready for it." Neville pressed James to the bed and slid his trousers down his legs. "And you'll be wonderful." He pressed a kiss to James's stomach, just above his navel, breathing in the scent of warm boy skin, wondering how much he could possibly be helping.

And then James shivered and put his hands on the back of Neville's head, and the movement was so instinctual, the pressure and direction so like that a real lover, not a boy, would give, and Neville kissed James's belly again, lower this time.

"I—" said James, and his words caught in his throat.

Neville looked up to see James's huge green eyes boring into him from behind his glasses.

"What is it, James?"

"Are you going to—suck me?"

Neville shivered and smiled and let himself delight for just a moment in the thrill of such a dirty question coming from such young (hardly innocent) lips.

"I could," he responded, "If you liked. Or I could let you suck me." He paused and contemplated that act as his cock twitched in his pants.

"I—yeah. I think I'd like to do that."

Oh.

Neville hadn't anticipated such an eager reception to his idea, but he certainly didn't mind. "It's something you're going to need to know how to do," he said pragmatically. "Sit up, James."

The boy did, and Neville stood, toeing off his shoes and socks, slipping off his own shirt and trousers, his erection evident, straining against the white cotton of his pants, marking the fabric with the liquid evidence of his arousal. Neville locked eyes with James, and the boy mouthed Please? and Neville nodded stepped out of his pants, his cock springing free, slapping up against his belly.

James smiled a bit and looked away.

"What is it?"

"Just—" James replies, tracing his finger along a seam of the quilt, "I've never really seen anyone naked before."

"How is that possible?" Neville asked. "Surely you've seen the other boys in the showers, at least?"

"Well, yeah. But—" and James looked up at Neville, his gaze tracing a line from Neville's face to his chest, and lower. "They're boys. They look like me. You're different. A bit hairier, and you're, um, bigger, and just—you're a man."

Neville laughed gently at James's honest appraisal. "So I am," he replied.

Don't remind me.

He stepped to the edge of the bed and James moved forward as if by instinct, crawling, bending low until he was nearly touching Neville's erection. Neville put a hand on James's shoulder, trying hard to summon a professional spirit about the endeavour.

"You'll want to touch it a bit first," Neville said, and before he'd even got the words out of his mouth, James's fingers were on his cock, stroking a tentative pattern up and down the shaft.

"Like this, Neville?"

Neville closed his eyes. God, yes, and don't you ever stop.

"Yes, James. Just like that." He opened his eyes and reached out a hand to stroke the boy's tangled hair. "Start slowly. Lick it a bit, just on the head. Don't do anything more than you feel comfortable doing."

James's tongue darted out and the very tip of it danced across the head of Neville's cock, and Neville wound one finger in a tendril of the boy's hair.

"Good?" James asked.

"Very," Neville replied, "You can do more when you're ready." Or now. Now would be very, very good.

James was ready almost immediately, to Neville's great relief, and after a few more tentative swipes of his tongue, he took just the head of Neville's cock in his mouth, his hand splayed across Neville's thigh.

"Oh—god—yes, very nice, James. Put your hand on it—here—" And Neville took James's hand from his thigh and wrapped the boy's fingers around the shaft of his cock as James's lips suckled at the tip.

"Move your hand a bit—yes, that's it," Neville coaxed, and just as Neville was wondering if he should tell—ask—teach James to touch his balls as well, James's hand moved lower, and Neville sighed and smiled, his eyes closing again, as James's fingertips swiped over his balls, then back up onto his cock again.

James was no expert, but he was certainly eager. He had more of Neville's cock in his mouth now, and he was working his tongue over the tip and sucking (if a bit too hard) and the hand that wasn't steadying the boy against the mattress was alternating between stroking Neville's cock and caressing his balls.

Neville tried not to thrust forward too hard into that eager young mouth, but as excitement rose inside him, it became harder and harder to control himself. Finally he pulled away, putting a hand on James's shoulder, stabilising himself. He couldn't do it—couldn't defile the boy's mouth like that.

Haven't you already had your cock in there? What's the difference?

"What—" James managed, and the picture he presented when he looked up nearly made Neville's spine melt. Half-lidded green eyes behind smudged glasses, wet and swollen pink lips, flushed cheeks—Neville couldn't take it. He lowered himself onto the bed, lying beside the boy, stroking the white skin of James's shoulder with its dusting of brown freckles.

"Was it okay?"

"Oh, god, James. So much more than okay. You're brilliant at this. But I couldn't last much longer, and I didn't—don't—want to come in that mouth of yours," Neville replied, pressing his fingers to James's lips.

"I don't care," James panted, "I liked that—liked you—please, Neville—" And he grabbed for Neville's cock, pumping it frantically.

"James. Don't." Neville reached down and covered the boy's hand with his own, stilling it. "You can't be too rough."

"But I want to make you come," James pleaded, and Neville's eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the pure need in the boy's voice.

"Do you want to suck me until I come?" Neville asked, and James nodded.

"That's what I said," he replied, and Neville laid back, spreading his legs.

"I won't come in your mouth, though, James," Neville said as James descended upon his cock, "You need to pull away when I tell you I'm going to come."

James made a muffled noise of agreement and kept sucking Neville's cock, one hand on his shaft, the other on his balls, and Neville relaxed, spreading his legs wider, trying to control his breathing. All too soon, Neville felt something clenching at the base of his spine, and he knew he must be oozing precome into the boy's mouth, and it wouldn't be long before—

—and oh god the boy was pressing a fingertip just behind his balls, and Neville let out a little Oh and put his hands in James's hair, and James nodded and hollowed his cheeks, and Neville gritted his teeth.

"James—don't—I'm going to—"

But James, as stubborn as ever, shook his head and worked his tongue into the slit at the head of Neville's cock, and pressed his finger harder behind Neville's balls, stroking, and sped his hand on Neville's shaft, and something in the back of Neville's brain intoned The boy did want a lesson, after all—

—and Neville bucked his hips forward and came. The first shot erupted into the moist heat of James's mouth, and there was a spluttering sound and the mouth was gone, fingers scrabbling down his legs as James retreated. Neville grabbed his cock, lost in sensation, milking the rest of his orgasm from himself, coming in ropy white strands onto his own belly.

"Sorry—I'm sorry—" panted James, and he flopped down beside Neville, pressing against his side.

"No," Neville managed through the fog of post-orgasmic bliss, "No, you did fine—you did so well. It's a bit scary the first time that happens to you." He rolled over, wiping the come from his belly with the edge of the quilt, and regarded James.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah. I think so." James's gaze dropped, and Neville took the boy's chin in his hand, forcing James to look at him.

"You think so?"

"I'm all right. I just didn't expect there would be so much of it—I guess it feels like more in your mouth, or something. And it was just so—um, thick, and hot—warm—"

Neville smiled and stroked James's hair.

"So you've had your first lesson," he said, keeping his voice even and gentle, reaching down with his other hand. James's cock was straining and wet in the cotton confines of his pants. "And what do you think?"

"Oh—" gasped James as Neville's hand closed around his erection, "I think—I want you to keep doing that."

And Neville did, and when the boy had come, gasping, crying out, pressing himself to Neville and coating his pants with sticky fluid, they both sank into the mattress, and Neville took James into his arms.

"I'm still tired," James murmured after a few moments' silence, and Neville held him tighter and took his glasses from his face, setting them on the bedside table again.

"Then sleep," Neville replied, and he closed his eyes, too. And Neville found bliss in the moment, holding a drowsing lover in his arms, drawing the old quilt over both of them, pressing a kiss to the back of James's neck when his breathing had evened out and Neville was certain the boy was asleep.