Can you do a jily fic with "just hold me"?
I will stop my drabble spam soon, I promise. Until then...
“Just hold me,” James whispers to her. When Lily bites her lip, hesitant, he smiles pleasantly. “I will guide you.”
She has no other choice and she knows it. If they take any more time to begin dancing, people will notice it and Lily really can’t deal with anyone’s look tonight.
So she heeds his words. She places a hand over his arm while offering him her other hand; he holds it with precision, strong but without letting her feel cloistered, and he puts his other hand on her back. Her breath catches with the move; she wears witch’s dress robes, with far more fabric than she’d consider acceptable for a dance, so she shouldn’t be able to feel James’ hand on her back, really.
But she swears she can feel its warmth, every pressure he puts in each finger as his hand guides through the dance floor.
Of course he can waltz well. She can just picture him as a child, being taught by his pureblooded mother about the wizarding customs, learning dutifully as it was expected from him. Lily remembers being annoyed by organizing this dance only because it represented another way of distinguishing the wizarding world from muggle world—the band that plays unfamiliar wizarding songs, the dress fashion, those outdated dance steps.
She hated it but as the Head Girl she had organized it—she and James, that’s it. It was announced with only a fortnight to fix everything, so in her rush to prepare it, Lily had overseen the fact that the Head Girl was supposed to share the first dance with the Head Boy.
She wonders if James also forgot it. She could ask him, but she thinks he forgot also; he would have said something before. They are friends after all.
But this question seems so inconsequential at the moment, with the way she stands so close to him, letting him guide her. His hands always betray the movement of his feet a split second before he moves; Lily finds that it's easy to react to it, to understand when he will spin her or when they will change direction. She only needs to surrender to him, to not think too much.
And it’s surprisingly easy to concentrate on James’ presence. Perhaps it’s his scent, that musky inebriating scent that she has felt before during their meetings but never this strong, this intoxicating. Perhaps it’s the warmth of his body, waves of heat that expand from his body to hers in this cold December night. Perhaps it’s the glint in his eyes as he stares at her; his lips are pressed into a quiet smile, unpretentious, expecting nothing, but his hazel eyes shine with the brightness of the sun.
Perhaps it’s just James and the way her heart beats faster than the rhythm of the song, than their pace.
Her gaze falls to his lips for a fraction of a second, but it’s enough. When her eyes meet his again, his eyes betray the slightest hint of hope as he takes in the sight of her face, admiring each detail.
She didn’t want anyone looking at her before; now she craves his gaze, feels herself drawn by it.
Her hand climbs his arm until she holds his neck; her other hand breaks from his—his hand falls to her waist at once—so she can intertwine her hands behind his neck. This shift brings them closer and a tiny part of Lily’s mind once more hates wizarding fashion; there is still too much fabric between them.
But this doesn’t seem important, not with the way his hand squeezes her waist to bring her even closer and Lily accepts it as she accepted every other movement he made during the dance. His eyes fall to her lips now and she wets them without thinking about it, just reacting to him. Just waiting. Just hoping.
He lowers his head—her heart explodes in a quick race towards a finish line that will never be reached—and then there is an explosion of applause around them.
The song has ended. As they stay still, looking at each other—sharing the knowledge of what almost happened—another song starts playing, more lively, people joining the dance floor excitedly. The Heads are not required to dance the second song.
Lily blinks, the magic of their moment gone. “Thanks for dancing with me,” she whispers, her voice unstable.
He smiles, but it’s more restrained now. “My pleasure, Evans.”
She doubts it was only his.
His hands move away from her and Lily suddenly hates it. “I don’t know this dance either,” she says hurriedly, ignoring how it doesn’t seem to involve any particular step, just people moving to the song. If James realizes it, he doesn’t say anything; he pauses, looking at her, trying to understand. “Would you hold me again?”
There is only hope in his eyes now.
“I’d love to, Evans.”
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