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He could not tear his eyes away from him, and it was most definitely a problem.
It has been two weeks since he'd quite literally fallen into Albus' bedroom, and even as drunk as he had been, it had not affected his memories. The vision of Albus stroking himself on his lap and coming all over him was permanently seared into his brain, haunting his every step.
It didn't help that he was back home on summer break, instead of his flatshare in Sussex. In fact, if he hadn't been in London in the first place, this whole thing would never have happened. He wouldn't have climbed into Albus' bedroom, drunk out of his mind. He wouldn't have been out partying until three in the morning. He would have slept early to rise in time for early morning practice, and would have been taking care of his body as any respectable athlete should.
Instead, he'd wanked with his brother in his lap and ran away as soon as his orgasm had cleared his mind enough for the horror and the shame of the situation to sink in. But apparently, that wasn't enough to cool his libido. He cursed the heat and the social convention that allowed men to walk around half naked without repercussion. He cursed his parents' wealth for allowing them the privilege of a pool in their backyard. He cursed his wayward cock, and his wayward thoughts, and his wayward brother. What gave Albus the confidence to strut around every afternoon in his tiny trunks? Was nobody going to stop him?
But after all, what was there to stop, when it was only family that bore witness to the indecency? Why should his parents care, when one of his fathers used the pool almost as much as Al, and the other was also enthusiastically appreciating the swimmer’s form? Honestly, the two of them had no shame. It was no wonder that neither of them had noticed James' wandering eyes when they could barely look away from each other anyway. He'd thought that he had gotten used to it ages ago, but now, when they disappeared for hours in the middle of the afternoon — seriously, hours, and Pa was in his sixties — he could almost beg not to be left alone with his temptation of a brother.
He didn't know why he subjected himself to it. Their house was large, larger than four people needed. He could have been anywhere else but at their dining table, in full view of the pool. Could have been doing something more in-character than sitting there with some book propped open, lying that he had a ton of reading to do before uni started up again in a month. Both his fathers had looked askance at him, and Aunt Hermione was coming to dinner tomorrow. Great. But that was a problem for future-James.
Current James could only watch helplessly as Al hoisted himself out of the pool, and he found himself stupidly sympathising with the body of water that clung to him, leaving behind droplets that slid down his narrow chest, and his legs, and his arms… James' fingers twitched, and his tongue grew heavy at the sight.
Albus' eyes shot up to meet his as he dragged a towel over himself. This wasn't the first time that James had been caught watching, but after the first, when Albus had frozen in place for a few long seconds, giving James time to escape, he'd apparently come to some sort of decision to torture him, taking his own sweet time to dry himself off, and then stalking towards him while James was still stuck to his chair.
Today, Albus had missed a spot on his sternum. James was transfixed upon the drop of water slowly trailing down the centre of his chest as Albus came closer. It finally dissipated on his navel just as Albus stopped next to him. James dragged his eyes away from the wet thatch below it and stared unseeingly at the page in front of him instead., He felt Albus lean over his shoulder.
"What are you reading, brother?" Water dripped onto his shirt. The amusement in Albus' voice was unmistakable. "Is this still the same page as yesterday?"
"I—" James' voice cracked. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I'm reading it again," he lied.
"Sure," Al murmured. "How long has it been since Dad left the pool?"
"Half an hour."
"Hmm. Plenty of time, then. I think I'll go for a long shower." He trailed a hand down James' arm, goosebumps following in the wake of his touch. "Don't stare at the tiny words for too long or you'll need glasses like Dad."
The tiny words were categorically not what James was staring at as Albus left the room. Not when wet fabric clung to Al's arse, leaving absolutely nothing to his imagination. Not that he needed or wanted to imagine it— but how could he not? How, how, how was he supposed to not look when Al walked like that, how was he supposed to not wonder at how his arse would fit in his hands? And above all, gods, how could a sixteen-year-old be so goddamn seductive, and where were Al's goddamn morals to use it on his own brother?
With no one around to witness his suffering, James finally put the book down, and pressed his thumbs to his eyes. The stars blooming behind his eyelids were no distraction for the images conjured by his mind's eye. God, he wanted. He wanted to lay his brother out on a bed, or the floor, or a desk, or any horizontal surface and get his hands all over that arse, to spread them, to put his face right there and feel him clench against his tongue. James shivered. In fact, he didn't even need a horizontal surface. Against the tiled wall of the shower, for instance, would be sufficient. The very shower that Al was now in, water touching him where James was not allowed to.
There was no universe in which he could act on his fantasies, he knew, but he still could not stop thinking about it. His cock didn't know what was wrong or right. It didn't care that Al was too young, nor that it was hard for his brother. It didn't care about such things like consequences, like prison and disownment and pain. It only knew what it wanted, and what it wanted now. It didn't care that he needed his brain to take control and instruct his feet to move past the doorway of the bathroom. Instead, he found himself just standing there, with the door invitingly ajar. Who the hell left the bathroom door ajar unless it was on purpose? Nobody, that's who. Absolutely nobody.
Somewhere above him, he knew that his parents were getting their rocks off. He never thought he'd regard their sex life as something to envy, but right now? Right now, the utter silence from upstairs was deafening. Without magic, who knew what sounds would escape from their bedroom. Sounds that would cool his body right down, no doubt. Instead the silence only inflamed his imagination, wondering how Al would sound with a tongue up his arse. Wondering if Al even knew what he sounded like, if anyone had done it to him. Wondering if maybe it was his best friend Scorpius. They were close. Very close. And since Mum had married Scorpius’ dad, being stepbrothers was clearly no deterrence. That would explain a lot, actually.
Before he could take that thought any further, a small sound rose above the noise of the shower. James gravitated towards it, not realising what he was doing until he had to put a hand on the door to stop himself from losing his balance.
Of course, as the door was ajar, that was of no help to him, and he stumbled into the bathroom instead, his trampling footsteps ringing loudly on the tiles. Albus' head whipped towards him, and the same sound escaped from him again. Louder, now, and this time, very obviously a moan.
"Close the door," Albus said, and there was nothing else James could do but walk backwards, using the weight of his body to swing the door shut. There was no force in heaven or hell that could have stopped him right then from watching Albus with his body twisted, a hand reaching behind himself, the other braced on the wall in front of him, and his cock jutting out between his legs.
With the door closed, the shower glass was rapidly fogging up. James cursed in his head, curling his fingers into the wood of the door. He would not go any closer. Not even if the fogged glass only hinted at the movement of Al's hand, or if it obscured the look on his face, or—
"Are you coming in?"
Or that. James shook his head, his hair crunching against the door as he pressed his head back at the same time. It was a moment before he realised Albus could not see him. "I can't," he croaked.
"Why are you here then?" Albus said, a small gasp punctuating his words. What was he doing? God. Was he opening himself? What for? Or maybe he'd found that good spot inside of him. No mean feat, in that position. James could barely manage it himself. Wait, what did Albus say? Right. How was he supposed to answer that?
"It was an accident," he tried. Well, it was true. It was. If one ignored the bit where he stayed.
"Sure," Albus replied, and James could hear his stepfather's sarcasm in the tone. His eyes shot upward. All was still quiet. Good. But perking his ears also meant that his focus went right to the sounds coming out of the shower. The heavy breaths, the slick sound of flesh against flesh. A soft whimper, now and again.
Fuck, this was so wrong. So wrong that he was terrified of getting caught. He should go. Right now.
But he'd said that to himself before, hadn't he? He should have gone at the first chance he had. Shouldn't have put himself in this position to begin with, shouldn't have given in to the temptation to watch. Such a harmless thing, watching. But it led him to listening, and now made him want to touch, and taste, and smell. He hated how weak he was. He hated how he knew what he should and should not do, and yet could not ever seem to make the right choice.
"James," he heard. "James, I can't—" a groan. "Hold it much longer."
Fuck. He scrunched his eyes shut. Fuckity fuck, was he going to do this again? He pressed his hands back against the bathroom door. No. No. He would not touch himself. "Jamie— ah!" A stifled little cry. James could almost envision how his cum would hit the tiles, dribble down his cock, to be quickly washed away by the water. There would still be some to lick off of his hand now, and now, and— now probably washed off, too. His heart was pounding so loud that he was almost shocked he could register the shower turning off.
"Do you want a taste?" Albus said, and James' eyes flew open at hearing how close he was. He'd missed the sound of Albus padding closer in the fight between storming into the shower and turning to run to his bedroom. Before him, his little brother stood, right hand extended in offering. Like he had any right to offer such a thing. Like there was any answer he could give but yes, with him standing right there, steam and musk surrounding his naked body.
It was too much. It was far, far, too much, and James feared the roaring beast of his want so much that he finally managed to summon the will to turn the doorknob and flee.
He didn't even know if he'd closed the bathroom door behind him. He didn't care. The toes of his trainers were freshly wet, and his cock hurt with how much he just didn't care about it in his frantic flight down the hall. He ignored the voice in his head that yelled to climb into Albus' bed and bypassed that damned door to his own, slamming it shut.
And now, in the privacy of his own bedroom, he stalked to his own bed and yanked down his joggers, gripping his cock which was already flushed an angry red. His body crumpled in half as he started to stroke himself, and he braced a forearm against the bed.
"James?" in floated the voice of his personal incubus, sounding concerned. What a fucking lie.
"Go away," he sobbed, the desperation in his voice clear even to himself. Some detached part of his mind was aghast that he didn't stop what he was doing, but the larger part of him had ceased to care. He needed this. He needed it before he burst out of his skin, and he was sure that if he didn't come within the next ten seconds that it would happen. Stranger things had already fucking happened.
All it took was three pumps of his hips for him to come with a strangled cry, biting hard on his lip to muffle his sounds. Whimpers escaped from him anyway as he stroked himself through it, and he could have wept. With relief, yes, for he'd been hard for so long already, but also with frustration— for as hard as he'd just come, he already knew that it hadn't been enough. He still wanted, had wanted to be pumping his hips into something besides his own fist. Something that only the person standing at his bedroom door could give.
"Can I come in?"
What was he, fucking deaf?
"I said go away," he growled, his head still hung low over the evidence of his corrupt lust. He hated that the thought of it being on his bed and not his brother offered no comfort. It shouldn't be that way. It was an insane thought for anyone to have. His cock gave a last valiant twitch at the image of Albus' face covered in the sticky white substance.
Horrendous. He was a horrendous brother.
Well, at least he'd managed to send Albus away, for now at least. He dropped his forehead to the bed for a moment before he straightened, pulled up his pants, and found his wand to scourgify his body and his bed. Flopping into the latter, he vaguely wished that it would work on his brain, too. Well, an Obliviation would do the trick. But it wasn't like he could call up a Ministry Obliviator for the task, and the only non-professional he would trust to do the job properly was Pa, who was obviously not an option.
Exhausted from his mental meanderings and the ordeal he'd put his body through, James unwittingly drifted off into a nap. The next thing he knew, he was being called to dinner, where he spent an awkward hour picking at his food, not looking at anybody — especially not at Albus — and escaping back to his room as soon as Dad finished the last bite of his treacle tart. Not even Pa's penetrating gaze could stop his flight, and as anyone who had gone to Hogwarts in the last forty years would know, that was really saying something.
Pacing his room was absolutely not helping anything, however, and it was far too early to go back to bed. Besides, he could only just admit that he was scared of what fresh torture his subconscious would conjure up for him tonight. He looked at the clock, and calculated. If he got dressed now, and took the long, Muggle way to SoHo, he'd just be hitting the peak of the post-dinner and pre-club crowd. Perfect. Plenty of noise and beautiful strangers to drive these thoughts from his head.
James quite intentionally climbed through Al's window this time, and he didn't even have the excuse of alcohol. With the way he was feeling, he didn't need it. Even with the light of a full moon assisting him, he still stumbled over Al's dresser and knocked something to the floor, but kept his feet this time.
The noise must have roused his brother. "Bloody hell, Jamie," Albus rasped sleepily from his bed. "Are you drunk again?"
"No." He stalked towards Albus, hauling his upper body out of the sheets with a squeak of protest. Albus fisted his hands weakly in his shirt. Good. "You have some nerve to sleep so peacefully while I'm losing my mind, Al."
Albus relaxed, turning into so much dead weight in James' arms. He fell back into bed with a sigh, closing his eyes, and pulled James along with him, who had no choice but to perch on the edge of the bed. "You keep running away from me."
James stared, transfixed by the innocence beneath him, even if he knew that it was a lie. Al was not that innocent. "It's what I should do," he finally replied, his voice tight with emotion. "But you won't let me go. Why have you done this to me?"
"Because I want you."
"Gods." James gave up on holding himself away from Al, and sank down to press his forehead to his brother's. This close to him, he couldn't help the way his heart pounded against his ribs. "We can't always have what we want."
"Really?" Al breathed, and the puff of air tickled Jamie's lips a mere moment before Al tilted his head up to kiss him. Gods, it shouldn't be this easy. It shouldn't feel this good. He shouldn't have ever learned how soft his lips were, or how willingly they parted for his tongue.
Shouldn't, shouldn't, shouldn't, washed away by the waves of his desire. James cupped the nape of his neck, angling their mouths into a better position to delve, and tangle, and tease. He barely restrained a gasp at Al's tentative explorations. It felt like… like he didn't quite know what he was doing and was trying not to show it. Fuck, that wasn't possible, not with the way he'd been acting.
James wrenched his mouth away. "Surely you don't think I'll believe you haven’t kissed anyone before."
"Not like this. Not… well."
James bit his lip, trying to control the warring urges within him. He wanted to find whomever had treated his brother carelessly and give them a good what-for. He also wanted to ruin him for anyone else. Insane, terrible urges. He forced himself to give him a soft kiss instead, pulling away before Al could deepen it, sliding his lips towards a cheek. "And what do you want from me?"
"I want… I want you to do whatever it is you think about when you look at me."
"Fuck, Al." James nipped lightly at his jaw. "You can't just give a man that sort of permission. I could hurt you."
"It already hurts, Jamie." Albus took his hand, dragging it under the sheets, over his body, and pressed it to his cock. James' fingers curled instinctively around it, and Albus whimpered as he jerked his hips once. He was so hard that the small movement was enough to make his cock weep, his precum wetting the fabric against James' hand. "It hurts so bad."
James' breath hitched as his cock pulsed in sympathy. He knew exactly what Al meant. He hurt too, and had been hurting for days and days. He'd hurt even when he'd been out on the pull tonight, and when he realised that some passing stranger just would not do. He'd hurt while climbing through the window, and with every passing word out of Albus' lips.
"We can't ever come back from this, Al. Are you sure?" Even with his hand on Albus' cock, he had to ask, because he could no longer be the one to say no. He could force himself to leave, and take care of himself with the sense memory of Albus hot and wet against him. He could still do it, if only Albus would coax them from the edge of ruin.
Instead, Albus pulled aside his covers, trembling in the cold for a moment before he drew James close again. "Touch me, James," he whispered.
He didn't know if he could have ever resisted such a blatant invitation, but certainly not now as he crushed his lips to Al's. They both gasped when James' cold hands touched Al's searing hot skin. Soft, hot skin, and Al whimpered as they travelled up his sides to tease his nipples.
"James," he moaned. "James, James, please—" he arched his back, demanding more, pulling at James' shirt to get him closer.
James tore himself away for just a moment to take out his wand and cast silencing wards on the room. Setting it beside them on the bed, he climbed on top of Al, settling fully over him this time with his hips between Albus' spread legs. It was a dizzy rush of pleasure to finally press their cocks together, even through layers and layers of clothing.
James ground his hips slowly against Al, relishing in the answering movements beneath him as he kissed, and licked, and stroked, and unbuttoned Al's shirt enough to get his mouth around a perky brown nipple. Gods, he'd never had anyone as responsive as Al, who bucked and clutched at him with every new thing that James did to him. His body seemed to be one big erogenous zone, and his cries reached new volumes when James worried one hard bud between his teeth while he twirled the other with his thumb.
Albus thrust up against him and stiffened, a long moan breaking out of him. James paused for a few breathless moments before Al sank bonelessly back into the bed.
"Did you just…"
"Yeah. Fuck," he moaned, his hands working at James' fly. "Fuck, sorry, I didn't mean to." Nor, James suspected, did he mean to tease James with his clumsy movements, fingers brushing maddeningly at his erection.
"Don't apologise," James said, brushing them aside to work on it himself. His cock slapped against his belly with a wet sound, and he looked down to see that it was glistening in the moonlight. "Fuck, what you do to me," he muttered, shimmying out of his jeans. On impulse, he pulled Albus' pants off too. He dragged his erection along Al's half-hard cock, in the messy smear of his cum around his groin. "God, this is so hot," he said, his cock agreeing with a twitch and adding more slick to the mess.
He would never forget how it looked, the obscenity of his cock against Albus', how soft it felt, how big he looked in comparison. He wondered if Al had stopped growing yet, if he would get bigger when he was fully hard. He wondered how it would feel with his cock buried inside him. He would still thrust his hips just like this, and Al would be as sensitive there as he was everywhere else…
Al's questing hands intruded into his filthy thoughts, glancing quickly over his chest, down his abs, then stroking up his cock before he took it in a firm grasp. James' heart stopped beating for a second as the slim, pale fingers wrapped warmly around him.
"You really want me," Albus breathed as James gave a hesitant, jerky thrust into his fist. God, that felt better than it had any right to. He thrust, and thrust again, the filthiness overwhelming. He'd wanted to wait until Albus got hard again, wanted to come with him, but he could already feel the pleasure pooling at his spine. "Do you want to fuck me like this?"
"Fuck!" James cursed loudly, his eyes flying to Al's. Albus started to stroke him insistently, in counterpoint to the movement of his hips. He bit on a moan when Al twisted his wrist, tried to find his words through the lust soaking his blood, tried to understand if the wicked gleam in Albus' eyes meant that he wanted James to fuck him, or merely that he wanted to tease James. "Al…" he said pleadingly, not knowing what he was begging for. Maybe it was to come. Maybe it was for clarity. Maybe both. His thoughts grew more and more tangled with each twist of Al's wrist, his focus narrowing so that all he knew was the friction on his cock, and the brightness of Albus' eyes.
"I think I want you to be my first, Jamie."
"Fucking— Al!" First, first, first, his mind chanted, the words catalysing his pleasure. He shot long, forceful streaks against Al's torso, covering Al's hand with his own to milk his orgasm for all it was worth. James tore his eyes open as soon as he could, and a moan escaped him at the sight of Albus' ruined top.
"God, Al," James panted as he sank to his forearms, crouched above his brother. He dropped his forehead to Al's sternum. "How the hell do you know how to push all of my buttons?"
"Little brothers always do." James didn't need to raise his head to see the smug look on Albus' face, but he did so anyway, if only to glare at him. Albus' only response was to lift his hips and poke James with his renewed erection. With a cheeky grin, he said, "My turn again?"
James narrowed his eyes at him for a moment before he began to pluck at the buttons on Al's shirt. His little brother was going to learn what being a demanding brat would get him.