DEC 20: If Santa Allows (f: harry potter)
Dec. 20th, 2025 02:46 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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adventdrabblesTitle: If Santa Allows
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: James Sirius Potter / Teddy Lupin
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: DAY 20 FORadventdrabbles
Snow came down in soft, apologetic sheets, the kind that made even the wrong things feel briefly forgiven.
James had not meant to stay. He told himself that twice, standing under the shop awning with the bell still ringing behind him, hands tucked into his coat pockets like a boy waiting to be caught. Twenty felt older than this, older than wanting, older than pretending he did not know exactly where Teddy would be.
The market was thinning. Lights stayed on out of habit. Someone had wired a crooked Santa to a lamppost, its smile permanently hopeful. Santa, is it too late to be good, James thought, and almost laughed.
Teddy was by the river, where the ice did not quite take. He always was. Coat open, scarf loose, hair damp with snow. He looked up like he had been waiting, which was the worst and best part.
"You came," Teddy said.
"I know," James replied. Honesty felt necessary. It felt dangerous.
They stood too close. Breath clouded, mingled, drifted away. The city kept its distance, polite and incurious. James told himself again that it was wrong. He told himself the age mattered, that the secrecy mattered, that the way Teddy looked at him like a question with no safe answer mattered most of all.
"Just for a minute," James said. "We can be good in a minute."
Teddy smiled, not gentle, not cruel. "We can try."
The kiss was quiet. No urgency, no spectacle. Snow caught in Teddy’s lashes. James felt the press of Teddy’s hand at his back, steady, asking and answering at once. The world narrowed to wool and cold air and the thrum in James’s chest that felt like permission.
They broke apart because they had to. Because the night was thin and breakable. Because good and wrong shared a border here.
"Nobody knows," James said, as if that made it cleaner.
Teddy nodded. "Nobody has to."
They did not say parents. They did not say tomorrow. They did not say anything that would make it real enough to take away.
James stepped back first. He always did. Teddy let him.
"Same time," Teddy said, not asking.
James hesitated, then smiled. "If Santa’s feeling generous."
He walked away before the snow could settle on the answer.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: James Sirius Potter / Teddy Lupin
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: DAY 20 FOR
adventdrabblesSnow came down in soft, apologetic sheets, the kind that made even the wrong things feel briefly forgiven.
James had not meant to stay. He told himself that twice, standing under the shop awning with the bell still ringing behind him, hands tucked into his coat pockets like a boy waiting to be caught. Twenty felt older than this, older than wanting, older than pretending he did not know exactly where Teddy would be.
The market was thinning. Lights stayed on out of habit. Someone had wired a crooked Santa to a lamppost, its smile permanently hopeful. Santa, is it too late to be good, James thought, and almost laughed.
Teddy was by the river, where the ice did not quite take. He always was. Coat open, scarf loose, hair damp with snow. He looked up like he had been waiting, which was the worst and best part.
"You came," Teddy said.
"I know," James replied. Honesty felt necessary. It felt dangerous.
They stood too close. Breath clouded, mingled, drifted away. The city kept its distance, polite and incurious. James told himself again that it was wrong. He told himself the age mattered, that the secrecy mattered, that the way Teddy looked at him like a question with no safe answer mattered most of all.
"Just for a minute," James said. "We can be good in a minute."
Teddy smiled, not gentle, not cruel. "We can try."
The kiss was quiet. No urgency, no spectacle. Snow caught in Teddy’s lashes. James felt the press of Teddy’s hand at his back, steady, asking and answering at once. The world narrowed to wool and cold air and the thrum in James’s chest that felt like permission.
They broke apart because they had to. Because the night was thin and breakable. Because good and wrong shared a border here.
"Nobody knows," James said, as if that made it cleaner.
Teddy nodded. "Nobody has to."
They did not say parents. They did not say tomorrow. They did not say anything that would make it real enough to take away.
James stepped back first. He always did. Teddy let him.
"Same time," Teddy said, not asking.
James hesitated, then smiled. "If Santa’s feeling generous."
He walked away before the snow could settle on the answer.
