the Horcrux Thief, james potter

xix. a whole lot of tongue

The others would be coming around soon, they'd planned for an afternoon of fun and refreshment before the meeting—it was James' idea, he thought it would help her relax before the Order meeting, and allow her to see how well she fit in their group.

For a moment, Amaya didn't want them to get here, she rather liked having James all to herself—and then she realized what she was saying and mentally shook herself out of those thoughts.

"I'm really sorry," she whispered as she frowned at the small cut that went across his left brow where blood was gathering in small beads.

"I'm fine, I swear," he told her with a charming smile and Amaya avoided looking at his eyes, which hadn't left her face, by looking over his wound.

"Still," she murmured, as she dipped her hand in the water before lifting her fingers to the cut, gently cleaning the blood away, "I know it's a small cut, and I must sound ridiculous but I hate seeing people I care about getting hurt, especially when I'm the one who did it," she admitted as she swiped her thumb over his would seeing the skin stitch back together until only a fine line that would soon fade remained.

James reached up to her wrist tugging it down and forcing her to look at him. They were inches apart, their eyes leveled and he looked so green under the sun it made her heart flutter—they looked the color of the leaves on the cork trees by her house that smelled sweet and like the best parts of her childhood, when she'd hide out in the field, surrounded by the trees, and look for shapes in the clouds in the sky.

"It doesn't sound ridiculous," he said, and then he ruined the moment the second his lip twitched into a stupid smirk. "You care about me?"

She bit her cheek and rolled her eyes, shoving his shoulder and about to pull away but James grabbed onto her wrist and tugged her right back, only to know their faces were but an inch apart.

Her eyes flickered to his lips and when she looked up at his eyes again it was as if a dark cloud swept over them, darkening its edges. "I don't care about you," she whispered, "You can't even properly win a race."

His lips twitched and his eyes glanced at her lips for a moment too long. "You can barely win a match," he shot back.

"You're infuriating—"

"You're a menace," he said, and his hand that wasn't holding her wrist brushed against her hip, his fingers tracing the curve of her waist. "And you still need to show me your tattoo."

"Do I?"

James nodded, smirking. "Oh yes. It was quite clear. Whoever lost would have to show their respective tattoo. I would show you mine, but as you can see, I'm a wonderful, unbeatable, Quidditch player, and therefore won—"

"Alright, shut up, you idiot," Amaya said with a grin, that made her dimples show.

She took her wrist from his grasp, and flipped it around, hovering her other hand over the skin on the inside of her wrist, revealing her small tattoo—a simplistic design on a compass, a stupid tattoo she'd gotten for herself, that moved when she wanted it to, to show her where north was; but mostly to remind herself she had a moral compass.

"It's silly."

"I like it," said James, his fingers skimming over her skin, tracing the ink. "It's way better than mine."

She smiled. "What? Do you have Sirius' name stamped on your arse?"

He let out a laugh, his fingers curling around her wrist, his thumb brushing over her tattoo. "If I had, you wouldn't see it. You know, because you lost?"

"You cheated."

"No rules, Maya," he whispered, tugging her closer. "You'll win the next time."

She rolled her eyes at him, her breath hitching when his eyes flickered to her lips. A moment passed between them, and when their eyes met it was as if the air around them crackled—though she was sure it was just the head.