Hi, so I wrote a short nsfw jily piece I’d meant to post for James’s birthday as a one-shot…

…but now it’s just a drabble ‍♀️

Anyway, 18+ below the cut!

sour like sweet

She sighed something heavy, eyelids weighed down by the assault of the overhead sun and the feeling of his hair, slipping like water between her fingers; his mouth, slow and lethal between her thighs. The sour tang of the orange she’d been eating earlier grew sharp on her tongue with her next hot inhale.

The fruit peel still sat somewhere to her right, discarded innocently on the grass and forgotten entirely, much like the copy of Intricate Transfigurations for the Advanced MindthatJames had brought out to their backyard for a bit of light reading. She’d teased him mercilessly for being a swot even now, outside of Hogwarts’s imposing walls, and—perhaps more importantly—years after already having mastered what was probably the mostadvanced piece of transfiguration-related magic there was.

He’d peeled his eyes away from the text, head tilting back on her lap to look at her orange-coated fingers upside-down. A familiar smirk over his lips, and her insides unfailingly became a mess.

“Did you have some other activity in mind for this fine Sunday morning, then?”

“I mean…” She’d curled a hand around his jaw, sticky fingers and all, and bent forward to lazily slide her mouth over his. “It is your birthday, isn’t it?”

He’d groaned lightly into the kiss, the golden band on his finger catching the burst of sunlight splayed over them, reflecting back the brightness for a flash, before the hand had reached behind to bury into her hair, pull her closer against him.

And that’s how they’d ended up here: Lily on her back with the blue, bluesky stretching above while the ground below tilted and swayed with the slight, involuntary movements of her hips. James’s thumbs swiped gentle arcs along the crease of her thighs, her pink summer dress falling like ripples along his wrists as he swirled his tongue over her clit. Again. And again.

“James,” she moaned, unbearably warm, grass prickling at over-sensitive skin against the back of her neck.

He lifted his head for a beat, eyes honey-sweet and open, glasses tossed aside several slow, time-lost moments ago. “Everything okay up there?”

She huffed, played with the strands along his hairline, watched the sweat beading over his lip and brows with gasping impatience. “Don’t fucking stop, my god—”

A finger brushed brazenly up her center, cutting off words and breath and sense in one fell swoop.

“Hm, okay it is,” replied her smug bastard of a husband, placing a teasing nip against her thigh before returning his mouth to her once more.