Sweatshirt
Sirius wants to die.
Or lick James' abs. Either one works.
James stands across the common room, a slight grin on his face and a tumbler of Firewhiskey in his hands, talking to Marlene, the other Beater on the team. Gryffindor just won the match against Slytherin; the party is in full swing, and James, as the captain of the team, came dressed to impress. Low rise black jeans that belong to Sirius hug his thick thighs like a second skin, and the diamond studs in his ears were a gift from Sirius for his seventeenth birthday. The hair is surprisingly kind of tamed today, and the kajal lines his eyes as it always does. The pièce de résistance, however, is the sweatshirt.
It is a Quidditch sweatshirt, bright crimson with glittering gold lettering on both the front and the back.
04 BLACK.
The red thing hangs a little loose on James' tall, lean frame because it belongs to Sirius and despite their similar height, Sirius is a lot bulkier than James is, courtesy of whacking at heavy iron bludgers with a metal bat for hours on end. It slides down James' shoulder to show off a protruding collarbone, and Sirius suddenly wants to bite down there, to stake his claim, to let the world know that James is his. Has been his since the day they met on the King's Cross platform, and will be his till and beyond death.
That, however, is not the most important aspect of the sweatshirt.
No, the most important aspect, is that James cropped the sweatshirt.
The red cloth ends right above James' lowest rib, hugging his waist snugly and showing off his slim hips and the abs that he usually hides under pressed shirts and comfortable knit sweaters. It also shows off James' belly button piercing.
Sirius needs to get his brain back to rights.
It was bad enough when James stumbled in through the dorm door three nights ago, giggly and flushed with excitement about his new piercing, but now he is showing it off. He is swinging his trim hips left and right, making the green jewel sparkle in the warm golden light of the common room against his tanned skin, attracting the attention of literally everyone in the Gryffindor tower. No one can take their eyes off of James despite the raging party, and Sirius is no better than the rest of them.
It does not escape his notice that almost everything James is wearing is his. His jeans, the earrings gifted by him, his sweatshirt with his name and number.
Sirius is pushing off the wall and halfway across the common room towards James before he realises what he is doing, but it is too late to change his trajectory, and he slides into the little space next to his boyfriend. When he presses a hand to James' lower back, the skin there is hot to the touch, and the tip of his thumb brushes against the soft fabric of James' sweatshirt.
His sweatshirt.
"Jamie," he says slowly, like he's trying not to spook a cowering animal, except if anyone is about to lose their mind it is Sirius himself. "Mon beau, what are you wearing?"
James ducks his head and looks up at him through long eyelashes, the wide, kajal lined hazel eyes and impossibly cute shy smile completely at odds with the rest of him.
Fuck. Sirius wants to die.
No, he thinks suddenly. What Sirius wants, is to mark James up. He wants James to wear his clothes, show off his gifts, wear piercings he gifted him. He wants to sink his teeth into James' neck, collarbones, abs, hips, thighs and he wants James to show those off too.
He wants to tell the world that James is his.
"Your sweatshirt," James says blithely, and Sirius has to grapple with his own mind for a second to remember what question he had asked. "Don't you like it?"
Is that even a question?
Sirius stares at James, eyes slowly sliding up from his red converse to the stretch of black denim over his thighs to the low waistline hugging his hips and accentuating his V to the emerald piercing in the centre of defined abs to the gold 04 BLACK to the peeking collarbone. When he locks eyes with James, both of them have flushes high on their cheeks.
"Oui," Sirius whispers hoarsely after he finds his voice. He clears his throat, and tries to remember his English. "Oui, je– yes, I like it."
.
.
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