Back to School Fest FIC: The Benefits of Lingering; PG-13 Title: The Benefits of Lingering Author/Artist:mindabbles Characters/Pairing: Kingsley, implied James/Sirius Rating: PG-13 Disclaimer:I am sorry to say that I don't own James, Sirius, or Kingsley. Or Remus for that matter. Warnings/kinks: None yet. Notes: This is for the 2008 Back to School Fest. The plan is for this to be first in an arc of three or four fics, all for prompt #17, "Yeah, I see what you mean Remus," said a bald black wizard standing farthest back; he had a deep, slow voice and wore a single gold hoop in his ear. "He looks exactly like James." -Kingsley Shacklebolt. This one also uses the prompt: Dress Code Violation. AND many smooches to elizassecret for her help with this. Summary:He dared a glance over his shoulder and let himself look just as the only other team mate in the showers turned to go. Potter and he were alone in there and Kingsley's lungs stopped working. Category(s): Romance/Fluff, UST
The warm water pounded on Kingsley's back, soothing tired muscles and chasing away the rain's chill. He couldn't help but grin like a little boy and he turned his head to the wall so that no one would see.
His first Quidditch practice and he'd done a bang-up job. He'd stopped all but two Quaffles sent his way. Most importantly, to him anyway, he'd proven that James had been right to give him a shot.
The day of the team trials was burned in his memory. It was the day that James Potter had noticed him, really noticed him, invited him to join his team, the day that James Potter had smiled right at him and touched him on the shoulder, his fingers nearly burning right through his robes to his skin.
Kingsley had noticed James the first day he'd arrived at Hogwarts. You couldn't not notice him. Even then, when James had only been a third year, he had drawn your eyes, pulled your attention. He strutted into the Great Hall at mealtimes, walking the entire length of the Gryffindor table, he and his friends always taking seats at the top. At every other house table, those seats were taken by seventh years. His laughter filled the common room in the evenings, his smooth voice ringing out over everyone else's. Or maybe it was just that Kingsley was listening so hard.
He had to admit he worshipped him a bit. It had started that that first day in first year when James had stopped him from sinking into the trick step, made him laugh without taking the piss when he'd been afraid of the Bloody Baron, and chased off Peeves when the poltergeist had started tormenting the first years, all before he'd even seen Gryffindor Tower.
Last year, during Christmas holiday, he realized that he missed him. Which was absurd really. They weren't even friends—a third year and a fifth year had no classes together, and they had no friends in common. Kingsley only saw him at meals and in the common room, and even then it was from across the room and James was always completely wrapped up in his friends. But he missed him anyway. He missed the feeling of plummeting from up high when James actually did look at him. He missed hoping that maybe he'd sit near him at lunch. He missed listening to James talking and laughing with his friends and imagining that he was sitting in the place of Sirius Black, always at James' side. Or that he was Remus Lupin and using his place as a prefect to get James out of scrapes. He didn't have to miss pretending he was Peter Pettigrew, as he suspected that they were already a bit alike in certain respects.
The last year during Christmas hols, his mother gave him a peculiar look and said, "You certainly do talk a lot about this James Potter."
She was right. And, he realized, that was just fine with him. Since then, his imaginings about James Potter had become more detailed. He combed the halls for him every day between lessons, jumped at the chance to pass him the pumpkin juice at dinner, brushing his fingers as he handed him the flagon. He even tried talking loudly about pranks to his mates in the common room, hoping to catch Potter's attention. The best he got out of that was a lecture on subtlety in the name of house points from Lupin. Kingsley stored up every look, every sound of James' voice, and knew he was beginning to read meaning into a few little kindnesses that were not there. Everyone knew that Potter fancied girls, one in particular.
But everything, every thought, every day dream, every impossible hope, would pale from now until forever in the face of this moment; this moment in early fall of Kingsley's fourth year. His first Quidditch practice. They all headed back to the Gryffindor boy's showers after a final very wet lap around the pitch. At first, he had been seized with terror by the thought of showering in front of James. His dorm mates he was used to. He couldn’t care less about the others. But James? He tried to calm himself and force himself to strip down and go into the shower by telling himself that James couldn't possibly be bothered to look at him. Instead of comforting him, that left an odd, empty feeling in the pit of his stomach.
He'd lingered so long that almost everyone was already out and towelling off or dressing before going back to the common room or the library. He dared a glance over his shoulder and let himself look just as the only other team mate in the showers turned to go. Potter and he were alone in there and Kingsley's lungs stopped working.
James' dark hair was pushed flat against his head by the force of the water. His usually bright hazel eyes were shut against the stream of water running down his face. James twisted in the jets coming from the powerful shower head, silky lather rinsing down the slight swell of his chest, dip of his waist and curve of his hip, before coursing down his muscular thighs. His skin was glistening and Kingsley realised that, with all his fantasies, he had never actually pictured James naked. It had been all hazy images and muted sensations that were nothing compared to the raw reality before him.
He turned quickly and frantically twisted the tap, dousing himself for a second with cold water and taking several long steadying breaths. He didn't feel particularly good about the odds of his getting to his towel and out of the shower without actually turning around and with the vision before him in tact in his memory and available for future use.
He began to sidle along the wall toward the peg where his towel hung, hoping James wouldn't notice him behaving like a crab, then he froze.
In walked Sirius Black.
Black carelessly tossed his towel at a peg and, as if Kingsley were not even there, strutted over to the other end of the showers.
And if Kingsley hadn't been paying attention with all of his senses, he wouldn't have seen it. He wouldn't have seen the subtle way that Sirius trailed his fingers along the firm curve of James' arse, disturbing the rivulets of water, as he walked past him to the next shower head. He wouldn't have seen James bite his bottom lip and toss a warning look at Sirius, rolling his eyes towards Kingsley. He would have heard Sirius' laughter, echoing off the tiles, but he might have missed him leaning in close when James' finger beckoned him.
Sirius inclined his head so that his ear was close to James' mouth and Kingsley could hear James' voice, low and rumbling, and almost feel the breath tickling his ear.
Sirius laughed again and said, "You're on, mate. But in a tick, yeah?" Sirius glanced around the showers, trying not to be obvious, but Kingsley felt his eyes burning into his back.
Kingsley sucked in a deep breath and continued his sideways slide to his towel. He stretched as far as he could, nearly toppled over, but managed to grasp the towel and wrap it hastily around his waist.
As he left, he glanced back just in time to see Sirius step close to James and say in a deep, even voice, "Looks like you need some help washing your back." Sirius snaked his hand around James' body and Kingsley knew it must be rubbing low on James' belly as he murmured, "Rethinking, seems you could do with a hand at your front."
Kingsley felt a wave of dizziness as all his blood rushed south. He dashed out of the shower room and into the hallway in a frantic hurry to get back to his dorm and his bed with its thick red curtain. He dashed out of the door and bashed straight into Remus Lupin. The force of the collision caused his towel to slither to the ground and he was standing embarrassingly exposed, and still mostly hard, in front of a prefect. In his rather distracted state, he'd left his bloody Quidditch robes and his dressing gown hanging in the shower.
Lupin looked down at him and raised one eyebrow. "As pleased as I am that we finally have a keeper who seems to be so, erm, enthusiastic, I must insist that you observe the dress code, Mr. Shacklebolt. I'll let you off with a warning this time. Go on, go and cover yourself before someone less generous than me finds you," Lupin said and Kingsley had the impression through the entire speech that he was biting back laughter.
Kingsley stood holding his breath and squeezing his eyes shut until he heard Lupin's footsteps retreat into the bathroom. He shook his head, willing the mortified feeling that was hanging over his head to dissolve.
It wasn't until he was back in his dorm that he stopped to wonder why Lupin, who didn't seem to have his dressing gown or his toilette kit, had been going to the showers after Quidditch practice.
Kingsley quickly pulled on his robes and made his way back toward the shower. He had left his new Quidditch robes and his dressing gown in there, after all.