The Stag and The Harpy | James Potter

Consumate

{{MATURE}}

James bites back a groan as he watches his wife.

This was the cruelest form of torture, watching her bend over and give Filius Flitwick a hug. It made the gap in her dress spread wide, the smooth fabric grow taught over her bum.

He'd been good, better than he planned. He and Phoebe had greeted and thanked every guest, danced appropriately, took a few pictures. The distance between them was proper, respectful. But his hand would graze her back or she'd send him a furtive glance across the room. She knew exactly what she was doing. And fuck that made it even better.

The crowd was dwindling, most remaining guests properly drunk or busy reminiscing about the days before the war, days at Hogwarts or at Quidditch matches. The perfect time to get away.

Phoebe jumps when she feels a familiar hand gently rest on the small of her back. She bites back a smile, cheeks flushing when James says, "Excuse me, Filius. I've not had a moment alone with my wife since the bloody ceremony."

Their old Professor nods, waving them off and diving back into conversation with Frank Longbottom. James guides Phoebe away, smirking when she asks lowly, "And where is it you're taking me, Mr. Potter?"

"Somewhere where I can see what's hiding underneath that dress, Mrs. Potter."

Phoebe clenches her legs together, heart fluttering in her chest at the promise in his voice. She'll never tire of the grin he sends her way, leading her out of the tent and into the night air. Phoebe hesitates and he notices, stopping short. She blinks, suddenly feeling embarrassed by the emotions she feels welling up.

"I-I..." She whispers, blinking away tears. "I don't want this night to end."

James' heart swells and he lets go of her hand to pull her into a warm hug. He'd forgotten how good it was to hug her, usually too caught up in doing things far more intimate. But this was a different kind of intimacy, one where he could feel her heart beat steady against his own.

He pulls back and cups her cheeks, swiping away her tears with his thumbs as he whispers, "That's the thing, Phoebe. This isn't the end. It's just the beginning."

He watches as her lips slowly turn into a beautiful smile, her eyes shining with tears and realization. He was right. This was just the beginning.

James chuckles and grabs her hand, kissing her softly before they apparate away, leaving their wedding behind.

James stumbles slightly when he lands in the hallway of Grimmauld Place. Not from the force of apparating, from the lithe body that instantly presses against his.

James groans when Phoebe presses her lips to his, his teeth gliding against her lower lip before slowly tugging and letting go. His voice is huskier than he intends when he whispers, "What was that for?"

"For being so sweet," Phoebe murmurs before slanting her mouth on his, moaning quietly when his tongue teases hers, teasing and playful and warm. He tastes like champagne and she decides this is better than drinking any.

James pulls away to grin down at her, muttering, "Come on, Bee. Let's go hang up your pretty dress before someone ruins it."

She shrieks when he lifts her into his arms and begins carrying her up the stairs to her room, a laugh escaping her as he groans, "When we get a home let's have less stairs, yeah?"

"Sounds like a good idea to me," Phoebe replies with mirth, grinning as he walks over the threshold of her room and sets her down on her feet. He shuts the door, leaning back against it and watching her with his warm hazel eyes.