i can be lost if i have your trustAuthor: trysloraInspired By: Trust
and Do You Trust Me Too?
Albus Severus/James SiriusRating:
established relationship, anal fingering, blindfolds, incest, angst, blow jobs, declarationsWord Count:
More than anything, Albus trusts his brother.Author's Notes:
I love Thilia’s art, and I have absolutely adored these Pottercest pieces for such a long time. I was thrilled to get permission to remix them for this story. Thank you to Thilia for creating beautiful art, and to Daily Deviant for always giving us wonderful prompts and a fantastic outlet for our work.
“Oi, Jamie. Mum wants to know if we’ll be round for supper tonight.” Albus doesn’t look up from the table, the letter from Mum lying on the oak top next to the parchment he’s filling with meticulous notes, his print small to save space. He can only bring seven inches into his exam, and he intends to fill every bit of it with any information he might need. There’s no response, and he sighs, because he’s not going home alone, so he needs his brother to answer. “Jamie! Mum says Lils is going to be there, and she’s bringing someone with her. Might be that she’s going to finally tell them about Scorpius.”
Which will be an absolutely fucking horrible evening for all involved, Albus is sure. His parents have no idea just what their children have for love lives, and to be honest, Lils and Scorp are the healthiest ones, at least in the eyes of an outside world. His Dad won’t believe that.
At least they don’t know about Albus or James. And they never will.
“Sounds like a fun evening,” James says dryly. “Let’s stay home.”
He’s right there, in the doorway, and when Albus glances up, he sees James leaning against the wood of the frame, one hand raised, a strip of red in his hand. Albus wants to ask what’s that
but he doesn’t, just tries to breathe through his suddenly dry mouth, sets his quill down where it won’t spatter.
James wiggles the bit of fabric, and Albus can see how soft it looks, can imagine the texture against his skin, the way it might wrap around his wrists and pull tight. Albus licks his lips, and James smiles. “Write back and tell Mum we’ve got other plans,” James orders, and Albus reaches for a fresh piece of parchment.
He says more than that, of course. Albus is the good son, the one who always makes sure to chat a bit with his Mum, tell her what’s going on in his life. He mentions the exam he has for Healing Practices for Obscure Potions
tomorrow, and the fact that James has an early practice before Puddlemere leaves for a showcase even in Italy. He doesn’t explicitly say that this is why they’re not coming, but he implies it heavily, ignoring the way James stands behind him, teasing the back of Albus’s neck with the soft cloth.
Albus ends the note wishing his family well and hoping that it’s an entertaining and pleasant evening with Lily and her boyfriend. Entertaining will be true; he highly doubts it will be pleasant, but at least this implies that he has no idea who the boyfriend is.
Lily has only been dating Scorpius since they were in Hogwarts. Three years there, two years since Lils finished up and started studying for law. Albus is impressed that they’ve managed to keep it secret for this long, and he wonders what’s convinced them to admit to the relationship.
“Either Lils is pregnant, or Scorpius asked her to marry him,” he muses, because it has to be one or the other.
“Do you really want to be thinking about our sister right now?” James drapes the cloth across the nape of Albus’s neck, lets it hang down over his shoulders. “Because I don’t. What I want to know is if you trust me.”
They’ve… Albus and James have a relationship. They do. It’s complicated to explain, complicated to even quantify inside of Albus’s own head, but it’s something
. His chest feels tight just from the fabric against his neck, and the way James puts his hands on Albus’s shoulders, leans against him. Albus closes his eyes, knows that no matter how wrong this is, he can’t resist. He doesn’t want
to resist. “What do you have in mind?” he asks softly.
There are things they’ve done and things they haven’t done. Things that Albus wants to do but has no idea how to put them into words when he knows they shouldn’t be doing anything
. This is all still too new, too wrong, too confusing.
“Take off your shirt,” James says, and it’s that bossy older brother voice that Albus has heard all his life. He turns to look at him, and there’s a smirk tilting James’s lips, a light in his hazel eyes.
“Here?” Albus asks, because it’s the middle of their tiny kitchen, with his studies spread across the old oak table that Mum got from her Aunt Agatha. There are dirty dishes on the sink (Mum would have kittens if she saw that) and the room still smells like eggs from breakfast.
Still. James gave an order, so Albus reaches for the hem of his shirt and tugs it off over his head, handing it to his brother.
“Good.” James kisses the top of his head, then the nape of his neck, nuzzles in close and nips before he pulls the fabric away. “Close your eyes.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Always the analytical one.” James loops the fabric around Albus’s neck, tugs back gently, then lets it fall loose against his chest. “Stop thinking. Just do it, and trust me.”
There is no one that Albus could even consider trusting more than James, and his eyes flutter closed, breath already tight in his chest. “I trust you, Jamie.”
James brings the cloth up, presses it across Albus’s eyes, then pulls it tight around his head, knotting it at the back. Albus wants to blink, but he can’t; his eyes are trapped, closed, and when James touches the side of his head, even that hint of light that he could see goes away.
He’s absolutely blind.
“Sh…” James takes his hands, helps Albus stand carefully away from the table. “Come with me.”
It’s confusing walking without sight. Albus thinks they are heading for one of the bedrooms, but for all he knows he could end up in the living room, right in front of an open window.
That thought really shouldn’t make him as hard as it does.
His jeans are too tight by the time James turns him around, nudges him backwards and he feels a bed behind his knees. James releases the top button, pushes Albus’s jeans open and down to his hips, and Albus sighs in relief. James catches the sound with his mouth, tongue flicking across the piercing through Albus’s lip, and Albus shudders. “Fuck,” he whispers, and James laughs.
“Maybe,” James says, as his hand slips inside of Albus’s pants. It’s almost uncomfortable, with Albus already hard and leaking, and his jeans too tight and trapping James’s hand. James cups Albus’s balls, presses a finger behind them, and Albus jerks his hips forward, fucking into the air. “Greedy little twat, aren’t you?”
“And you’re a fucking tease,” Albus says, as James steps back. The air is abruptly cold, and Albus crosses his arms over his chest, feeling exposed. He can’t hear what’s happening, just the soft movement of feet on carpet, and his heart ratchets up a notch as he wonders what’s going on. “What are you doing?”
“Do you trust me?”
Albus worries at his lower lip with his teeth, toying with the piercing. He nods once. “Of course I do.”
“Take off your jeans and your pants, then lie down on the bed.” There’s a soft thunk, like something falls onto the bed near Albus, and he wonders what it is. Too small to be James sitting down, but large enough to have weight to make a noise.
It’s driving him mad not knowing what’s going on.
Albus hooks his fingers the waistband of his pants, shoves them down along with his jeans and kicks them off. He sits carefully back on the bed, feels his way backwards until he’s lying down, head on the pillow, knees bent and one knee falling out to the side. He reaches for his prick, idly strokes it, rubbing the dot of fluid over the head.
“You look so gorgeous like this.” The bed dips and there’s a hand on his belly as James touches him, toys with the piercing in Albus’s belly button. “You can’t see me, and I could be anyone.”
“I know you’re Jamie,” Albus points out.
“You could pretend I’m not.”
Albus swears there’s something hurt in his voice, something that upsets James with that thought. And he can’t deny that there’s an appeal, the idea that Albus could imagine that this is someone else, someone other than his brother. Someone safe and proper.
But it wouldn’t be Jamie
then, and it wouldn’t be good.
“I want you,” Albus whispers, and James exhales in a rough rush of breath.
“Put your hands behind you. Lean on them.” James helps him into position, and it aches, but then James has his mouth on Albus’s throat and everything else is forgotten. James has keen teeth and a wicked tongue, and he uses both to tease at Albus until he whines, thrusts his hips into the air against nothing.
“Impatient.” James laughs, and his mouth dips lower, laving across one hard nipple before traveling to the other, tugging on the little loop embedded there. Albus cries out and his cock twitches, desperate.
“Please,” he whines, and James pulls away.
There’s nothing for a long moment, just a rustling that could be anything, but it isn’t James touching him. It isn’t James kissing him, licking him, and Albus could reach for him but he’s got his hands behind him, right where James left him.
And he trusts James. He trusts his brother with his life.
And his heart.
He feels strangled as he whispers, “Please, James. I want you.”
A hand slides up the outside of his thigh. Just that one touch, sleek and slow, until it brushes his curls and wraps around his prick. James’s skin is cool against the heat of Albus’s erection, and he bucks once when James strokes him from root to tip.
“Fuck,” Albus exhales, and he would. If James wanted to fuck him, he would
. They haven’t yet, and he doesn’t know if they ever will, but Albus wants it with a sudden desperation that makes him whine piteously and wish he could prepare himself and sink down on James’s dick.
“Not quite.” James pulls back again, and when he returns his fingers are covered in slick, pressing between Albus’s cheeks and circling his hole for just a moment before one finger presses in. And oh Merlin
, it’s good, it’s so good, and it’s James
which is so wrong but it makes it better, it makes it perfect that it’s James
sliding a finger inside of Albus for his first time.
He shudders, bears down on the finger because it’s so tight
, then slowly forces himself to relax. “More,” he begs, and James pushes in harder, deeper, fucks him slowly on that single digit until he finally, finally
adds a second.
Albus is fucking the air, hips moving in time with James’s fingers. His body is hot, cooled only where James kisses him, sucking so hard Albus is positive he’ll leave a mark on Albus’s pale skin. “More,” Albus whispers again. “More, Jamie. Please.”
Three fingers now, and James is lying half on top of Albus, rutting against Albus’s hip. Albus can feel the slide of James’s dick, knows he’s slicked himself as well and it’s a sticky mess. And when James lowers his head against Albus’s shoulder and shudders, Albus knows he’s close to coming, and oh Merlin
Albus lifts his hips, fucks himself on James’s fingers, presses his thigh into the cradle of James’s crotch. When James bears down, Albus pushes up, begs James to ride him until it becomes a haze of slip and slide and a sudden groan and warmth over his hip when James comes.
James drives his fingers into Albus harder, lets his hip press against Albus’s rigid cock, and that’s all it takes before Albus is coming between them, adding to the sticky mess in the bed. He cries out, shudders through orgasm and collapses back onto the bed, James sprawled across his chest.
It’s so wrong, but in this moment, it’s so perfect the way they breathe in time with each other. Albus knows he would never trust anyone else as much as he trusts his brother, and he’s glad that it’s happened this way. He’s glad he has James in his life.
He moves his hand slowly, brings it to James’s shoulder, strokes down his back and feels the sigh ripple through him.
“You are so fucking good, Al,” James whispers, and Albus shivers pleasantly.
“Love you too, Jamie,” Albus murmurs back, and it’s true. There’s no one he can imagine loving more.
“I can’t believe Scorpius had you wear Slytherin colours.” James rolls his eyes as he picks at the knot in Albus’s tie, and Albus swats his hands away. There’s no way James will get it undone, the knot more complicated than anything he would have the patience for. James lets go of the tie, fingers drifting along Albus’s cheekbone, thumb gently brushing his eyelid. “And I can’t believe you wore black eyeshadow and mascara to the wedding and Scorp’s parents didn’t have kittens.”
“Don’t forget the green highlights in my hair. Scorpius wanted Slytherin colours, so I went all out.” Albus smiles briefly before he rolls his eyes. “I can’t believe he dragged us all to France for the wedding.” He unentwines the soft silk of the tie, far better quality than anything he ever wore when at Hogwarts. He can’t complain about the money that Scorpius has spent on the event. It’s not that the Potters don’t have the money—but Albus figures that if Scorpius wants to spoil Lily unmercifully, he’s not going to argue.
Lils is happy, and Scorp’s happy, and Albus is happy to see his baby sister and best friend being so good together.
It’s times like this that make him wish he could be happy in public, but at least he’s sharing a room with his brother.
He slides the tie along his hands, licks his lips, and wonders if they have enough time for what he’s thinking. James is half-undressed along the way to changing for the late supper they have with their parents and the Malfoys. Lily and Scorpius left early from the afternoon reception, and Albus figures they’re doing plenty of things he doesn’t even want to think about. Most of the guests have drifted away to do whatever it is they’re going to do while in France, but Albus and James are expected to spend just a little more time with family.
Sod that, doesn’t matter if they have time. Albus will make time.
“Get on the bed,” he says, and James looks over at him.
Albus smirks, tugs the tie between his hands. “Bed, Jamie. If you just trust me, we’ll be done soon enough to shower and make it to supper without anyone the wiser. Unless you want them asking questions.”
“Fuck.” James shucks his trousers, pants sliding off at the same time, and scrambles up on the bed. “Planning on tying me down, Albus? Having your wicked way with me?”
Albus climbs on the bed, not caring that he’s creasing the expensive trousers, not caring that his prick’s already hard and leaking and probably starting to stain with a wet spot. He straddles James, lifts the tie stretched between his hands. “Do you trust me, Jamie?”
James’s gaze is fixed on the tie, wide and bright as he nods. James licks his lips. “Yeah. Whatever you want, Al, I trust you.”
It twists in his heart to see his big brother like this, willing to lay control in Albus’s hands. He doesn’t ask for it often—usually it’s James who’s on top, in control, calling the shots. But right now, as Albus carefully wraps the tie across James’s eyes, he feels the way his brother gives way. James ducks his head, holds still while Albus carefully knots the soft silk and settle it over his eyes. Albus adds a barrier spell, makes it so that he knows it’s pitch black for James.
Then he slides off the bed and steps away.
“You just going to leave me here?” James asks.
“No.” Albus doesn’t elaborate, just shucks his clothes. They’re more expensive than anything else he owns, but he doesn’t care as he tosses them into a pile on top of James’s clothes. The formal robes, at least, managed to get hung neatly in the closet before they started this. One less casualty of desire.
It’s still wrong, this thing with James. It’s still forbidden, something they can never tell a soul. But after living together for so long now, Albus can’t see it ending. He can’t see a way around the fact that he loves his brother, body and soul. He can’t imagine ever loving someone else like this.
When he glances back at the bed, James is idly stroking his prick, a small smile curving his lips. His legs are spread, one knee bent, the other splayed on the bed. He’s perfectly on display, a flush underlining the spatter of freckles across his body, and Albus has no doubt that James knows the exact picture he presents.
It makes Albus’s mouth go dry, makes it hard to breathe when he wants him so damned much.
“I love you, Jamie.” Albus says, and he sees James’s hand go still on his prick.
James lets go slowly, hand falling to the side. “I know,” he whispers, and Albus wonders sometimes if James really knows. If this is as important to him as it is to Albus.
It’s a thought for another time. He can’t worry about it now, not when his brother is blindfolded and pliant, his prick leaking fluid while it waits for Albus’s touch.
Albus stretches out on the end of the bed, his hips rutting idly against the bed as he settles between James’s legs. He curls his fingers around the base of James’s cock, his skin pale against the russet of the curls covering James’s groin, the black of Albus’s fingernails starkly dark. He just laps at the head at first, teasing him, touching his tongue to the slit before he swirls around the head, takes him in just that much. James whines softly, thrusts up and Albus lets him.
James can’t see, but Albus doesn’t give him a rule about touching. This isn’t about control in the same way that James likes to do to him. This is about sharing that sensation of giving over trust, of not knowing what’s coming next. It’s making sure that James can’t see the way Albus shifts, manages to gently draw one fingernail over the perineum with a light scrape that makes James jerk his hips, thrusting into air when Albus pulls his mouth away.
“Patience.” Albus licks a stripe along the underside of his prick, his hips echoing the motion of his tongue, fucking against the comforter. He takes it slow, moving away just enough to drive James nuts, leaving him thrusting against air until James tangles his fingers in Albus’s hair, drags him back. And oh fuck, it’s so good to know that he’s driving James mad with hunger, that James is holding him in place, trying to keep him on his cock.
And Albus takes him in, opens his throat and lets James fuck up into him, almost gagging him as Albus swallows around him. James is close, and Albus sucks him off with fervor, swallowing the first burst of salty bitter fluid before he pulls back, semen dripping out of Albus’s mouth and down the side of James’s cock as he strokes him through the orgasm.
Albus’s hips twitch, the comforter soft and wet under his prick. It only takes a few strokes, his cheek resting against James’s wet dick, James’s fingers in his hair, and Albus comes with a low groan, spilling onto the bedding.
James tugs him up to hold him, letting Albus sprawl across him as Albus releases the spell and tugs the blindfold off. He buries his face in James’s chest, feels dampness spilling from his eyes, knowing he’s somehow crying against James’s skin and he can’t seem to stop.
“Everyone cries at weddings,” James murmurs, and Albus laughs because that’s not it, but he can’t explain it, either. “Sh… sh…” James strokes his hand down Albus’s back, ruffles his hair, palms the nape of his neck and holds on gently. “You’re so perfect, Al,” James whispers. “You’re so bloody perfect.”
Albus holds onto the words, cradles them close to his heart while his tears leave black tracks on James’s chest. He doesn’t know how something so wrong can be so perfect, but it is. It is
. He just doesn’t know how long he gets to keep it, because he knows someday it has to change.
“I can’t believe you’re a Healer.” Mum fusses with the collar of his dark robes edged in the lime green of St. Mungo’s. “A Solicitor, a Quidditch star, and a Healer. I’ve got the perfect family.”
Albus feels heat infuse his cheeks. “We’re not perfect, Mum.” After all, Lils managed to get knocked up a year into her marriage, pregnant long before her ten year plan had scheduled. And then there are James and Albus, which Mum doesn’t know about and never will.
It’s been so long, so many years, and Albus doesn’t know how to let it go. After almost three years since he first fell into bed with his own brother, Albus knows there isn’t anyone else out there for him. Maybe James can find someone and make a go of it, but Albus couldn’t. James is it for him, the only one in his heart.
And James won’t even be here to see Albus get his Healer’s robes.
“I don’t want to know about your imperfections.” Mum pats his cheek, then kisses him on the same spot. “You’re my child, Albus Severus Potter, and in my eyes you are as perfect as the day you were born.”
He sighs, knows he’s not perfect and never will be, but he can’t think about that now. “Thanks, Mum.”
They’re all here, all the extended Weasley and Potter clans. Scorp’s sitting with them, one arm around Lils’s shoulders, while she has a hand placidly on her belly, as if she’d planned on being pregnant before she turned twenty-two. Albus spots his Uncle Ron chatting with Dad, and Aunt Hermione with Rose and Hugo. Uncle Ron and Mum’s siblings are there, and of course, all of Albus’s cousins and his grandparents.
Everyone but James, since Puddlemere’s playing an exhibition game in Japan this weekend, the last stop on a ten game tour that’s had him away for a month.
And of course, James is the one person Albus wants to be there.
He is so fucked. His heart can’t take this.
He closes his eyes, inhales to center himself, then waves to his family as he heads off to join the other twenty-three members of his class. These are the people he has spent the last five years studying with, working long hours in the hospital, figuring out what specializations and pathways their careers would take. He’s spent more time with these people than with family in the last year in particular, but all he really wants right now is family.
Albus waits with the others, third from the end as their names are called. He walks up and shrugs out of his dress robes, handing them to the person waiting while the head of St. Mungo’s helps him don his new lime green robes for the first time. As Albus buttons them up, he bows to the audience—he can hear his family cheering—then accepts his dress robes, drapes them over one arm, and moves off.
It’s done. He has two weeks to himself, and on the Monday after that he reports for the overnight shift in the emergency ward.
The ceremony is over and he barely has time to turn towards the audience, ready to go find his overly large family, when arms go around him and he’s tugged in against a hard chest, hands thumping against his back. He recognizes the scent, the feel, and his body goes hot, eyes welling up as he grabs on to James, holding on for dear life.
“You’re a Healer!” James grabs his face, gives him a smacking kiss on each cheek that leaves Albus gobsmacked because James is here
“How did you get here?” Albus wants to burrow close, wants to kiss him, wants to hold on and never let go.
“Sometimes it’s handy having a Dad who’s high up in the Ministry, and a Mum working in public relations for Quidditch.” James’s hand cups Albus’s face, a movement so quick and brief that Albus is sure no one spotted it. His thumb slides across Albus’s lower lip, teasing at the piercing there, before he grabs him and pulls him into a back-slapping hug again. “I couldn’t let you celebrate without me,” he murmurs, and Albus hears the promise in his words.
He’s thankful for the robes that hide his erection, and thankful that no one else is yanking him close, content instead to shake his hand or clap his shoulder. James keeps one easy arm around Albus’s shoulders, showing him off like he’s somehow responsible for his brother’s accomplishment.
This is one time Albus doesn’t mind James taking credit for what he’s done, not if it means he gets to stay close in public.
As the crowd disperses, Grandmum organizes getting the entire family to the Apparition point, while some of the family members head to magical automobiles instead, for ease of travel with infants. Hugo shows off a new flying motorbike with great pride, and Rosie has brought a broom. Scorp’s new automobile is sleek and fast, and he promises that it slides between traffic with the greatest of ease, but hasn’t upset Lily’s stomach once. It’s impressive.
Albus doesn’t care about any of it, as he counts the moments until he can get the celebration over with, and head home for the celebration he really wants.
The Burrow is crowded with family, and they spill out onto the lawn out back, some of them heading down to the Quidditch pitch, carrying old brooms and a set of old balls. The snitch has feeble enchantments, floating just above Scorpius’s shoulder as he walks down, and Lily waves her hand, promising not to fly at all; Albus wonders if she’s lying.
James knocks into his shoulder. “We could go fly with them,” he says.
Albus has a glass of something spicy and warm, that’s left heat in his gut and made his thoughts loose. “We could. Or we could just head down there to watch.”
James points to the glass, and Albus knocks it back, swallowing it down in one go, feeling the heat spread through him. It leaves him lazy and loose, at ease in his body when James helps him to his feet. They wave to their parents, promise to tell them if Lils is flying when she shouldn’t, then head off into the almost darkness of the early evening.
“We aren’t going to the pitch,” Albus says, and James nudges him off in a different direction.
“We’ll get there eventually,” James says. “It’s just not our first stop. It’s been a bloody month since I’ve seen you.”
“Did you miss me?” He sounds needy, he knows, and he blames the alcohol and the exhaustion of the day for making him say something so honest
. But Albus really wants to know, wants to hear that this is as hard for James as it is for him.
James fits into the space next to him like he’s made for it, his hand on the small of Albus’s back, fingers splayed and hot and just starting to dip under the hem of his trousers. "There was this girl in Italy,” James says, and when Albus starts to pull away, James tugs him closer.
James grabs him, pulls him into a dark space where the trees offer seclusion, nudges Albus back against one. “She was everything Mum would’ve liked. Sweet as honey, wanted five children at least, or maybe a dozen. Grandmum would’ve been thrilled to meet her. And a brilliant fucking witch, too.”
“Did you fuck her?” Albus can’t tell James not to, can’t be jealous.
James just looks at him, cradles his face gently, touches the piercing in his lip with his thumb. “No,” he says softly. “Albus, there hasn’t been anyone else in years. All I can see is you. You had to know that. Didn’t you?” James shakes his head. “It’s fucked up, I know. We’re
fucked up, and we shouldn’t be doing this, but we’re going to be roommates for the rest of our life. Quidditch is too demanding, doesn’t leave time for relationships and families. And you, you’ll be spending long hours at St. Mungo’s. How are you supposed to meet a lovely lady who isn’t upset by how little you’re at home? It’s easier if we just work together. Stay roommates. Tell Mum that we’re fine the way we are, a pair of old bachelors, and let her live her vicarious life through Lils for grandchildren.”
“We’re fucked up,” Albus says, because despite everything, it’s still wrong.
“We’re fucked up,” James agrees, and Albus can hear just how serious he is. “But we’re fucked up together. And no one ever needs to know.” He puts one hand over Albus’s mouth, and one side of his mouth quirks up. “Let’s celebrate.”
James undoes the fly of Albus’s trousers with one hand while he covers his mouth with the other. It doesn’t take much for Albus to get hard, then James has him free in the cool air of the evening, stroking him hard. “No one feels like you do, Al,” James whispers. “No one.”
“Jamie…” Albus’s breath catches in his throat, his hips twisting as he pushes into James’s touch. “Fuck. Please.”
“Close your eyes. Hold onto the tree. And don’t make a sound,” James orders, then he releases Albus’s mouth and sinks to his knees.
Albus hears the sound of a zipper opening, but he has his eyes closed, his hands down the side of the tree as he holds on. He clenches his teeth, tries to keep in a whine when he feels James engulf him with his mouth, hot and wet and swallowing him down quickly. No teasing tonight as James sets a rapid pace, letting Albus thrust as hard as he can without holding on to James. He tilts his hips, trying to drive deeper, biting back a whine when James pulls back. He can hear the slap of flesh on flesh, knows that James is wanking himself in time with sucking on Albus’s prick, and that alone is enough to bring him to the edge, spilling into James’s mouth and spurting on his chin when James pulls back.
He hears a groan, opens his eyes slowly to look down and see James just finishing, stroking himself through the last few spurts as he spills on the ground.
James wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I trust you, Al,” he says softly. “No matter what the future brings, I trust you.”
Trust might just be more important than love, especially when your entire life is so precarious, loving a brother more than anyone else. Albus holds out one hand, his palm pricked by the bark, scratched and burning. James clasps it, comes to his feet, and when he kisses Albus, he can taste himself on James’s tongue.
“I trust you, too, Jamie,” Albus says, and he knows it’s the most important thing he’s ever said. I love you
and I want you
and I need you
all rolled together with I will protect you
. “Let’s go be social, so we can get out of here soon and go home.”
They clean up, and as they walk down to the pitch, James bumps Albus’s shoulder, and Albus bumps him back. It’s a silent way to say I’m not going anywhere
and Albus knows that he’s not the only one lost here. And he’s okay being lost if Jamie’s lost with him. He trusts that they’ll find their way together.