Foolishness Date: Thursday, June 19 Time: Late at night Location: Gimmauld Place Characters: Sirius Black and James Potter
Whoever she was, she was deliverance. Oblivion. Diversion. She was a warm tangle of limbs and urgent, needy kisses. It was precisely what James wanted - to let go of his pain by letting go of himself, and that was most easily done by crashing himself into someone else. All he could remember was seeing her across the room of the muggle bar, her hand on his leg, and then snatches of stumbling to her nearby apartment with their snogging causing frequent delays. And now here she was, kneeling before him on the edge of her bed. His arms reached out to crush her body against his, raking his teeth along her shoulder, which she seemed to appreciate. For some reason her squeal of delight was unsettling. Nearly frowning, his lips covered hers. Closing his eyes he trained his thoughts on her hands, her small, persistent hands that gripped fists of his shirt. Pulling back, he lifted his shirt over his head while the eager girl fumbled his belt open.
He looked down at her again. Blond hair, so straight it couldn't have been natural. Her skirt looked like the scant, shredded remnants of some other skirt, and a tank top so tight he knew she wasn't wearing a bra. She acutely reminded him of a girl who'd turned up at one of the summer parties he'd had with Sirius. His somewhat predatory grin returned. He ached to believe that lie, that he was younger, that he'd never gotten and lost everything he could have wanted. It was that nostalgia he pursued as his fingers peeled off her shirt. She flushed a bit and her hands crept closer to the fly of his jeans.
"Kiss me," he said hungrily.
It seemed to surprise her, but her lips were against his in a blink of his eye. His fingertips trailed up her thighs, easily slipping under her skirt and onto her hips. As his hands fanned out, he discovered she wasn't wearing any underwear, either. Crushing her body against his, he ground his aching hardness against her. Her arms were wrapped about his neck. She was giggly and bouncy and bubbly and all those silly, frivolous things that smacked of bubble gum and those muggle shopping malls.
"Come on, Jimmy," she cooed, snapping him out of his thoughts.
She was laying back on the bed, one hand out to the side to hold her up as she unzipped her skirt. Jimmy? Fuck but he hated that. His eyes swept over her, looking for all the world like she was posing. But that was what he wanted, wasn't it? Something so artificial that it wouldn't even touch the place inside him reserved for what's real, to help him ignore the feelings that lay there. He kicked a knee up on the bed, letting his hand grasp her leg. It felt like plastic. And suddenly, how fake it all was came crashing down around him. It was like a synthetic syrup coating his mouth, making his stomach turn. It was anyone but Lily and he couldn't stand it.
"Fuck," he sighed, hanging his head. Pushing himself back to his feet and snatching up his shirt he hollowly said, "I'm sorry, I can't."
And with that, he was gone, closing the door to the confused and angry looking girl behind him. Feet moving quickly toward the stairs, he pulled his shirt back on before turning to let a frumpy looking woman by in the narrow hallway. It wasn't until he reached the landing of the first flight of stairs that he realized he'd left his shoes and socks behind. Well, no going back for them now. His whole body tensed at how ridiculous it was - him, the girl, the fact that Lily was dead and hadn't come back to him. He let his body fall back against the wall, holding his head in his hands. He hated this, the way it always hurt, the way that stab of loneliness would sneak up on him when he wasn't paying attention, the way he felt empty as the bed he woke up in, and the way he was too scared to hope that she might actually come back.
"Fuck," he groaned, pushing himself off the wall.
His eyes burned and his chest ached. Running a hand through his hair, he wondered if he was too drunk to apparate home. No, he reckoned not- if he were, he'd probably still be back in that room. When he got home, he'd drink a bit more. At least until he passed out or something. With a shake of his head he pulled his wand from his back pocket and felt the familiar compression of apparation.
The ground beneath his feet felt cold as he walked up the steps and James wondered if it had rained. He'd avoided apparating directly into Grimmauld Place on the off chance that Regulus might have popped by. If he was there, he'd be able to just slip upstairs and out of sight. In the wake of the day, he barely even cared that the consideration had even entered his head. Blinking, he gave a hard shake of his head, hoping to cast off how lousy he reckoned he looked. After a heavy sigh he pushed the door open. Sirius sat in the living room, thankfully alone. James crossed the room, fixing himself a Scotch from the small sidebar before flopping into an armchair, content to say nothing for a bit.