James wished he could blame it on the alcohol, but the dizziness that overtook his entire body when Sirius whispered in his ear, his hips grinding against James’ arse, was from a whole different kind of drug.
He was almost tempted to dance off beat just to feel his friend redirect him again, hand pressing burns into his hip. But it felt even better when he did something right and Sirius whispered praises, breath brushing against the shell of his ear.
Ever the show off, he perused the dance floor for inspiration. Something flashy. His eyes kept drifting back to the couple dancing in front of them, one man wearing a hickey into the other’s neck.
Now, how to entice Sirius to do that to him?
There.
James bent over at the waist, keeping his arse firmly pressed against Sirius. Then he shook it, drinking in the way his mate’s grip clenched against his hips.
More, James thought, his competitive spirit and thrill at pleasing Sirius sending blood rushing to his head.
He popped a squat—his body flesh with Sirius’ the whole time—turning around to face Sirius, and grinned. He hoped his expression looked flirtatious and conniving, but there was a near 100% chance it was just goopy and giggly. James kept eye contact with his mate as he slowly stood up, swaying his hips and running his hands up the backs of Sirius’s legs, fingers learning every crook and bend of his body.
He stop one hand on Sirius’ backend, giving it a cheeky squeeze, and let the other arm rest loosely over his shoulder.
“How’s that, Pads?” James said under his breath. His whole body shook from nerves so violently that he couldn’t muster more than a whisper.
His mind nearly spiralled into the ‘oh my god, what have I just done’ territory when Sirius’s arm looped back around his waist, pulling him closer. With his other hand Sirius gently held James’ jaw.
“So you do have a little gay in you.” Sirius smirked.
James gulped. “A lot more than a little.”
Sirius had gotten good at faking it. He’d gotten good at the smiles and the flirting and the hinting at women sharing his bed. He mentioned the clubs and changed the pronouns and he got good at it.
He got good at lying to James. He’d never wanted to be good at lying to James.
He’d gotten so good at it that when James and Lily broke up and James needed an outlet to “let loose” that he’d turned to Sirius and asked where he normally went.
And, of course, Sirius had given the name of the only bar he could think of.
One he hadn’t been to in a year, which could be in his best interest now as hopefully none of his old hookups would be there. But still.
He’d very much given the name of a gay bar to newly singly James Potter.
He debated calling in help but Remus wouldn’t understand the urgency. Had never understood why Sirius didn’t go out with it and tell James he was gay. James would understand, Remus was certain. It wouldn’t change anything.
But Remus didn’t know about the countless practice kisses. The times they’d share beds to stave off the cold. Didn’t know that the only reason James couldn’t see Sirius’ feelings was that he’d never thought them possible.
Sirius was a womanizer.
He’d carefully made sure James knew that. Believed that.
Because otherwise, his friend might see. Might see the arms thrown over shoulders, the lingering hugs, the blushes, the smile he couldn’t control at hearing Lily had finally left him.
Things that a straight best friend might get away with. Things that a queer friend wouldn’t.
But then he’d gone and given James the name of London’s number one gay night club.
And he was fucked.