Thinking of it, I only really have one prongsfoot first kiss that is entirely mine and not cowritten. And I had to wait for it to be revealed to be mine. But now that's done, this is it (and maybe a little teaser for you guys to give my fic a chance)
“It’s really not your responsibility to try to make me feel better about this, alright? I'm just glad you are okay. Besides, you’re not gay, are you? Saw you with that fit, ginger bird the other day. A right stunner, she is.” Sirius is doing his best to reason with James; and yet they are still holding hands, and Sirius can't make himself let go.
James frowns.
“I think I can decide what I am for myself, thank you very much.”
The sharp, decisive tone shuts Sirius up.
That’s not what he… how he… His voice drops to almost a whisper when he speaks, “I'm sorry. I just… you’re too young. I don't want to force you into… things.”
“Does it look like I'm being forced?” James takes Sirius’ other hand, expression softening, though he looks awfully determined. The two of them are standing there like a couple of kindergarteners, ready for a little dance. What dance? “If anything, I'm the one forcing myself onto you. I like you.”
Sirius is in dire need of a drink. His blood rushes colour into his face and is loud in his ears. “James, I'm over twenty years your senior, I'm a rather controversial figure in British politics, I'm fat and I might have a bit of an alcohol problem,” Sirius says sincerely, squeezing James’ hands, those lovely hands.
He won't be responsible for the downfall of this young man.
He can deal with his own infatuation.
And James will learn to do so, too.
But James shows no signs of accepting the presented truth. He just stands there and stares at Sirius. And repeats, adamant, “I like you.” He doesn't wait for more excuses from Sirius.
James leans in and presses his mouth to Sirius’ mouth.
Sirius feels like he’s a bloody teenager now. His heart is beating so fast, he’s sure James can hear it or sense it otherwise. Sirius forgets himself, his reasonable objections. James’ lips are warm and plush, and why do they fit so perfectly with his? Neither of them really moves, but that soft connection still feels brilliant.
But only until Sirius jerks away, seconds later.
“You should be doing this with someone your age, James.”
He’ll do the right thing. No matter how fond he is of this rugby boy, Sirius will not fuck him up by his inability to restrain himself.
He’s about to gently pry his hands out of James’.
However, James just shakes his head in refusal and grips them harder. He tugs, pulls Sirius closer—as strong as he is, he’s got no trouble with that. He’s dug his heels in. “Sirius, please, just shut up, will you?”
And Sirius does.
James lets go, relocates his hands onto Sirius’ cheeks and pulls him into another kiss. A proper one this time, the kind that nineteen-year-olds give. James tilts his head and licks his mouth open sloppily and slides his tongue along Sirius’. He takes his breath away and makes him abandon every single one of his resolutions not to touch.
Sirius’ hands shoot to grip at James’ wrists. Briefly wondering about his teeth once more, Sirius whines into James’ mouth. Still, he’d never dare pull away. He doesn't fucking want to anyway.
James tastes like mints and freedom and joy. Ridiculous.
When they part, both of them are panting hard. Sirius’ hands are gripping the front of James’ t-shirt.
“S-so this is what it’s like, huh?” James asks, all flushed and beautiful.
“What do you mean?” Sirius asks, pecking the corner of his lips, then moving the kisses towards James’ jaw.
“Kissing a bloke. Properly.”
