FIC: How It Fell Apart (Remus/Lily, NC-17)
Title: How It Fell Apart Author: westernredcedar Established Pairing: Lily/James Infidelity Pairing: Lily/Remus Rated: NC-17 Genre: Angst Summary: Dirty secret sex in public while pretending to dance. Warnings: PWP, cheating Word count: ~1200 A/N: Originally written for erotic_elves “Love is Everywhere” Challenge in March 2008. I asked for random hard pairings, and I got these two! Really! I swear! Thanks to blpaintchart for the beta! *mwah*
They sway and grind together to the slow rhythm of the music.
The lights are dimmed, the party crowded. They are hidden in the darkest corner, out of sight, in plain sight.
If they are noticed, he can slip through the doorway behind him and hide.
He might pull her back with him, into the darkness, or he might not. This is all very unexpected. He has no plan. He won’t know what to do until it happens.
Neither of them knows how they have come to this, her arse pressed into his stiffening prick, his hands on the bare skin of her hipbones, fingers sneaking under her flowing shirt, their bodies moving together in perfect synchrony, pulling each other deeper with each beat of the pounding music.
Neither of them knows how to get out if this, now that they are here.
Neither of them wants to know.
Lily can pick out James, dancing like a fool, his arms waving wildly, amongst the sea of bodies across the room. Watching him dance and laugh and sweat makes her cunt heat and clench. She rolls her arse back, hard, moaning unheard at the feel of the hard cock pressed against the crack of her arse.
Remus looks past Lily, past that flame of hair, into the skin and heat and press of bodies in front of them. His prick is straining against his jeans, trapped, his back slammed against the wall. In the crowded party, he sees the five people he would fuck, the four he has, and the one he wants more than life itself and can’t fucking figure out how to have. His cock throbs. The body, the soft, pliant body in front of him grinds back against him.
This is Lily, his mate’s bird, his friend, his almost sister, and he is mauling her with his greedy hands, he is rubbing against her, getting hotter and harder with every passing drum beat, with every throb of sound. Gods, he presses his greedy lips to the back of her neck. She tastes of salt and smells of cheap perfume. He can’t get enough of it.
We should stop. She says.
We should. He says. They have to shout to hear each other.
Her hands betray her, winding backwards and cupping his arse, pulling him, if possible, closer. He bends his knees and presses the straining bulge of his cock between her legs. She bends at the waist, spreads her legs apart, just a touch.
They had just been talking, sipping their drinks. His usual casual, comfortable conversation making her feel safe. James, so eager to dance his arse into the ground, is lost to the music. Sirius has disappeared with someone (who?) into the back bedroom over an hour ago. She hates to be alone at a party.
She made them both drinks, large gin drinks in plastic cups. They talked and laughed, leaning against each other in the corner.
She'd wrapped her hands into his hair, inviting him to dance with a mock flirt and a teasing squeeze, and he'd taken up the joke and spun her around, wrapping his long arms around her waist and pulling her back against him, laughing and blowing in her ear.
And then he ran his tongue along her ear lobe and nibbled at her neck.
And she had fallen back against him with a sigh.
And then it had suddenly become serious.
His hands, made bold by her hands grasping at his arse and thighs, move lower, nudge at the buttons of her hip-hugging trousers, pull them open. With each buttons pop she thrusts back against him, bucking him back into the wall in time with the music. Her jeans are wet, soaked through. His fingers trespass further over the soft skin of her lower belly, under the thin elastic of her knickers, brushing into her coarse hair.
Her head falls back against his shoulder, reveals her long neck, slick with sweat, to anyone who cares to look. No one does.
Her hands move up to wrap behind Remus’s head, rake through his scruffy hair, her nose nuzzles under his chin, into the heady musk of his sweat. He has an animal smell, heavy and powerful. She has never noticed it before.
His fingers slide through her moist hair and find her wet slit. She sucks in air, runs her tongue along his jaw, bucks her hips. His fingers spread her wide, press in, searching for her clit. When he does, she bites his neck and moans. He hears her this time.
He has to lean in and down to get the right angle. She wiggles her hips to slide her jeans down a few inches, giving him room to move. With one finger he works her clit, slowly, patiently, feeling her body tense and relax and tense as her climax builds. With his other hand he grapples open his own trousers, freeing his prick, relieving the intense pressure, lifting her shirt and pressing his hot length against the bare damp skin of her back.
The music changes, the beat increases, their movements speed forward with the rhythm. She wriggles her jeans down further, turns her eyes back to James, watches him grind himself against someone, oh gods, Sirius, and someone else, shirts off, arms up. Together.
Remus’s finger speeds up, is joined by another, together they slide into her, leaving a coarse thumb pressing against her clit, his thick fingers fucking her, right there, in the crowd. She spreads her legs further, bends her legs, starts a steady rhythm, helping him to fuck her, riding his fingers. Watching James. Her trousers slide further down, her arse exposed, his hot prick finding her crack, nestling in, rubbing hard, the leak of pre-come dripping down her lower back.
He adds a third finger, and she starts to pump against him, thrashing herself against his thumb, losing the beat of the music and finding her own rhythm. He matches it, rubbing himself up and down her crack, driving closer and closer to release.
He feels her cunt clench around his hand, her body still, her head still thrown back against his shoulder. He stills a moment to allow the flow of climax to run through her and into him. Then he starts his insistent thrusting again, the burn of friction between her skin and his cock bringing him to the fiery edge, riding the threshold of pain and pleasure.
As she presses back against him again, he looks out at the sea of faces, all turned away from them.
All but one.
Those black eyes, boring into his from far across the room, framed by the stern white face, cold and hard, glaring. Alone in the darkness, those eyes know what he is up to, what he and Lily are doing. Remus stares back, refusing to look away and those eyes see everything and then he is coming, hard, in a frenzy of movement against Lily’s soft skin. Exploding out across the room, seeing only those eyes, hard, accusing. Knowing they are caught.
Remus closes his eyes and presses his face against Lily’s neck. Breathing hard. Covered in sweat and shame.
He uses the edge of his shirt to clean her up. She slides her jeans back up and buttons them. They are quiet. They do not look at each other. Cannot.
James dances over, the shudder of what-he-might-have-seen runs through them both, but James is all smiles, grabs Lily’s hands, pulls her into a playful dance, her eyes meet Remus’s once as she is dragged away into the swirling crowd.
Remus finishes buttoning up, skirts the crowd, heads to the door.
A deep, harsh voice in his ear, a brush of bitter, boozy breath on his cheek, so close, the scent of arousal like a sharp knife at his throat.
Now I have something more on you, werewolf. Don’t think I won’t use it. Your friends will never trust you again.
With a swirl of fabric, the voice and the breath is gone.
Remus creeps to the door, and slinks out into the dark night.
At the party, Lily presses into James, and smiles, and dances until dawn.