Jily oneshots

Lost In Symphony

The boy in question lets out a shrill hoot for no discernible reason, and they spend the next several minutes dissolving into fits of nonsensical laughter. She's soon flailing her limbs to the beat, eyes closed and sweat beading above her lip and nose when Benjy takes her hand again and clumsily whirls her around...

Right into a solid wall of chest.

The smile on her face hasn't even slipped completely by the time she blinks her eyes open and looks up, but it certainly does when she notices exactly who she's spun into. And then she feels stupid, because of course, it's him; of course, it's his heart she feels pounding under her fingertips. Who else could possibly send such warmth bubbling through every inch of her being?

The smirk that had been playing on James's lips all evening seems to have been wiped clean, replaced by a look so intense in his darkened eyes that it seems entirely out of place amidst the ecstasy of grinding bodies and screamed lyrics.

The lines of his jaw and the flush of his cheeks make him look almost... angry.

She opens her mouth—to say what, she doesn't know—but he's firmly sliding both hands around her waist before she manages, his skin hot on the sliver of stomach revealed by her crop top. The brush of contact makes her feel like she's never been touched before this moment.

A gasp tears out of her throat at the sensation, the sound lost to the night.

He spins her waist, but doesn't let her get far, pulling her back to him by the hips immediately so that her back slams snugly against his front. She doesn't know where Benjy has gone, doesn't know if anyone is paying attention to them, if anyone even possesses the capacity, still, for sober enough observations that cannot be laughed off as intoxicated imaginings come morning light. But none of that matters now, not when her eyes flutter closed when she feels him duck his head into the space between her shoulder and neck, feet never relenting against the pulsing beat of the music as they dance without rhythm.

Her hands fall down to cover his arms when he takes to tracing a torturous path along her skin with the tip of his nose. The brush of his lips against her collarbone, under her ear, sparks something alive in her, and she's twisting back around, fingers clutching onto the light cotton of his t-shirt. A deliberate push of her hips against his; mouth sliding slowly over the stubble lining his jaw.

"Hi, Potter," she whispers on his cheek, the musk of him turning her already misty mind even woozier, more brazen. "Jealousy isn't a good look on you."

She wonders if she's ever uttered words more untrue before this moment.

Something rumbles through his chest—or perhaps it's the shaking of the ground as a new, upbeat song blares through the speakers—before James turns his head, ghosts his own mouth over the shell of her ear. "Are you sure about that?"

She's just about to get her senses under control, fight against the shiver that wants to run down her spine at the skittering of his breath against her cheek, and tell the smug bastard that yes, of course, she's sure! But then he plays unfair.

His tongue darts out, licks gently at her lobe, right below it, and the game is his, completely.

"James." She arches her neck, voice positively needy and taking on a tone that she'd undoubtedly be embarrassed by had she not been as hammered as she is. Her grip twists tighter into his front, body pushing closer, and she chases more nearness, halting only when her lips are practically skimming his. "Will you fucking kiss me already?"

His mouth tilts up now, that earlier arrogance returning full force, and she hates him, but hates herself even more for finding this as hot as she does, stomach bubbling tellingly.