DISCLAIMER: Only in my wildest and most fanciful dreams do I own Harry Potter; such as it is, all rights go to J.K. Rowling. Cover art by viria13.

In honor of James Potter's birthday, I present you with some pure, unadulterated, more-or-less uninterrupted Jily smut. Enjoy (James sure will). Warning for my younger readers: This is probably the most explicit thing I've written, so… Do what you will with that information, but don't say I didn't tell you first.

Happy Birthday, Mr. Potter

Despite his skill on the Quidditch pitch, James Potter had never been renowned for his observation skills; in fact, one could very well make the argument that James Potter was as blind as the proverbial bat (and it had nothing to do with his specs, either).

James hadn't, for instance, noticed that Peter accidentally turned his hair blue in a misguided Transfiguration lesson back in third year. He hadn't noticed the doxies Sirius had hid in his wardrobe the summer after fifth year, nor had he paid any mind to the All-Day Itching Powder that had been sprinkled so generously in his sock drawer just last month. He hadn't even noticed when Remus – admittedly the kindest of the seventh-year Gryffindor boys – slipped a Filibuster into yesterday afternoon's potion, which had resulted in James's ruined assignment and singed eyebrows.

It wasn't only the pranks of his malicious and accident-prone friends that James tended to overlook, though. No, his obliviousness was such that he'd wasted two months of term blissfully unaware that his fellow Head fancied him within an inch of her own life. The lingering touches, the hair tossing, the flirtatious remarks – they'd all gone more or less unnoticed, as James had trained himself not to get his hopes up when it came to the unattainable Lily Evans. There was no way she fancied him, he told himself over and over, replaying those bloody, blasted words in his head like a mantra, all for the sake of keeping his sanity whenever she smiled at him.

It was late October when Remus had had enough of his mutual friends incessantly pining over one another, and decided to take matters into his own hands. He smacked James upside the head with the heaviest book he could find – An Anciente Historie of Wizarding Genealogy in Britain – and told him to get his act together, or else Remus himself would be forced to ask Lily for a date if it meant getting her confidence back where it usually was.

"What the hell are you on about?" James had asked indignantly as he rubbed the lump that was sure to disfigure his skull. "Actually, wait, I don't care what it is just yet, because if you ask Lily out, I'll curse your favorite appendage right off."

Remus had rolled his eyes. "You think that's everyone's favorite appendage," he'd mumbled, correctly guessing what, precisely, James had been talking about. "Anyway, I'll do whatever I like, if it means you'll quit being an idiot."

"I –" James had begun to protest, but Remus had had enough of that, too.

"Lily fancies you, you sod!" he practically exploded in an uncharacteristic fit of exasperation. But after all the back-and-forth communication he'd been forced to mediate over the past two months, Remus felt that he was perfectly justified in his temper tantrum.

James's mouth had opened, closed, and opened again, as if he were some kind of mentally addled fish. Remus was personally of the opinion, though, that even a mentally addled fish would have picked up on Lily's not-so-subtle, borderline desperate hints.

"I – she – but – what?"

"You heard me." Remus shook his head so vigorously that it was in danger of becoming detached, and he'd be no better off than Nearly Headless Nick. "Honestly, James, she's gotten as bad as you, so how much more obvious did you want her to be?"

James hadn't been sure how to answer that. If it had been Sirius or Peter who relayed this information to him, James was sure he'd be skeptical; those two weren't above toying with their friend's Evans-induced fragility, but this… This was Remus he was dealing with. You couldn't ask for a more reliable third party.

He hadn't wasted any more time after that. He'd abandoned the common room and tore his way through the corridors towards the library where he knew Lily was because she'd told him earlier (at this thought, he could have kicked himself, because since when had she seen fit to inform him of her whereabouts? Since two months ago, that's when; he couldn't believe he'd been so dense).

When he found her – about halfway down a staircase between the fifth and sixth floors, as she was on her way back to Gryffindor Tower – James had thrown all his doubts to the wind, grabbed her face, and snogged her thoroughly against the banister, much to the dismay of several austere-looking portraits.

Conservative-minded paintings aside, they'd been dating ever since.

Now it was March – more specifically, it was the evening of James's eighteenth birthday, and he was just making his way back up to the boys' dormitory after a particularly grueling Quidditch practice. As captain, he hadn't thought it appropriate to skip out just because it was his birthday (something he hadn't considered when he'd been making up that term's practice schedule), so he'd spent the last three hours down at the pitch, perfecting his team's performance for their upcoming match.

Sore, bruised, and a little bit bloody, James was looking forward to at least an hour of uninterrupted respite before dinner. Sirius had borrowed the Cloak to sneak into Hogsmeade for some firewhiskey for the night's entertainment, and Remus was helping Peter with their latest N.E.W.T.s preparatory assignment. All things considered, James thought it was safe to say he could catch a nap before he was forced to do anything else.

Naturally, though, James missed a few key points on his way up to his four-poster: One, Lily wasn't in the common room where she said she'd be; two, Marlene McKinnon had smirked a little too knowingly at him when she'd caught his eye downstairs; and three, his bed hangings – which he always left open – were shut when he entered the dormitory.

Not paying any mind to these otherwise telltale signs, James kicked off his mud-caked boots and shed his practice jersey. He loosened the ties of his Quidditch trousers and his mind wandered to Lily, as it was so wont to do; perhaps it was this, combined with the adrenaline rush of so much athletic activity, but James was just thinking that he had enough alone time for a wank and a nap when he nudged the bed hangings apart, and –

"Finally," the object of his unsatisfied sexual fantasies said. "You know, I'm beginning to question the alleged appeal the surprise has, if it means I've got to wait around for an extra half an hour. I thought you said practice was done by five?"

"We – uh – I mean –" James was having a hard time collecting his explanation as his eyes told his brain what, exactly, they were seeing. "I wanted to get in a couple extra drills. Match next weekend and all."

"Still…" Lily shifted a little on the bed to make herself more comfortable; she offered herself a self-congratulatory grin when she saw the way James's Adam's apple bobbed nervously at the movement. "I wish you would've told me."

"Sorry," he apologized automatically, still staring. "Gotta say, though, if I'd known this was what I had waiting for me, I would've canceled practice altogether."

Lily smiled but shook her head (not that James noticed either gesture, as he was a bit preoccupied with the rest of his girlfriend's very, should-be-illegal nakedness). "Right, so then Ravenclaw could trounce us on Saturday? I think not."

James tore his gaze away from the milky smoothness that was every last inch of Lily's body so he could meet her eye. "I love it when you talk naked Quidditch."

"Don't I know it." Lily's grin widened as she patted the empty space next to her. "However, I'm naked for a reason, and I'm afraid House stats haven't got a thing to do with it this time, so if you could just…"

"Right," James said, snapping out of his pseudo-trance. He flopped down on the bed, wrapped his dirt-smudged arms around her and pulled her into him, making sure to catch her mouth with his to stifle any further complaints regarding his tardiness. Besides, he surely wasn't going to alleviate the acquired discomfort in his trousers by continuing to stare at her like some immobilized buffoon.

As their mouths opened and tongues tangled and the room filled with the sounds of heavy, steadily harsh breathing, Lily moved her hands over his bare chest, her fingernails tracing lightly over the exposed skin and pinching here and there where she knew James's skin craved roughness.

He moaned into her mouth when her fingertips stroked over his lower abdomen. He rolled over so that she was pinned beneath him and his hands roamed freely, tracing the delicate curve of her shoulder, claiming her breast, memorizing the dips of her waist and the contours of her hipbones. Her foot slid up the length of his still-clothed leg and hitched around his hip, bringing him closer so that she could feel his want pressing insistently against her.

"Mmmm…" She sighed in deep appreciation when his lips left hers for the slope of her neck. His mouth opened against her skin, pulling it between his teeth and sucking. "This is supposed to be your birthday present, you know, in which case I think I'm the one who's supposed to do all the manhandling."

"Nuh-uh." James shook his head whilst marking her neck. "My birthday. I like manhandling you."

"Barbarian," Lily snorted.

James quit his ministrations long enough to grin wickedly down at her. "Oh, barbarian, is that it?" he teased. "I took Muggle Studies, you know, so I know all about those – what d'you call them? Nannerthalls?"

"Neanderthals?" Lily corrected him on a peal of laughter that she simply couldn't help. "Christ, James…"

"Oy, shut it." James pouted a little as Lily continued to giggle at his expense. Really, what sort of naked girlfriend was she, laughing at him while he was trying so desperately hard to seduce her? "I just meant that Watkins went into torrid detail about barbaric shagging – so detailed, in fact, that I'm confident I could perform it myself; it's all about throwing you down and dominating you. But if you don't want rough caveman sex, fine, I won't give it to you."

That only made Lily laugh harder, although she poorly attempted to mask it with a stoic expression and overly-serious tone – "Oh, no, love; I want your rough caveman sex, make no mistake."

"You're taking the mickey."

"And you're taking this far too seriously for someone who claims to be such an effortless sex god."

"That's not what I said –"

Lily rolled her eyes and tugged at his trousers. "Oh, shut up and take off your pants, would you?"

"Someone's feisty," James said appreciatively as he rolled off her, all the better to rid himself of the rest of his clothing.

"Well, I hate to break it to you, birthday boy –" Lily swung one leg over James's newly naked hip so that she was straddling him – "but you're not the only one who's well-versed in the art of dirty shagging. Fancy being tied up, hm?"

"Not a chance," James said. Although he got something of a thrill at the idea, he couldn't reconcile himself to the fact that bound hands meant he wouldn't get to touch her; as if to prove this point, he ran those hands possessively over every inch of her he could reach, paying special attention to the area between her legs. "Don't s'pose I could manhandle you that way, now, could I?"

"Don't s'pose so," Lily agreed as she leaned over him to recapture his mouth with hers.

The kiss was rougher this time, faster, more heated in the way their lips parted on contact, the way their tongues devoured the other's taste so feverishly. One of James's hands found one of Lily's and their fingers tangled together, clinging and clutching, while their free ones busied themselves with their bodies: James slipped a finger inside of her, and five of Lily's wrapped around him, tugging lightly and massaging in circles; her rhythm matched his so that their groans escaped near-simultaneously and were swallowed by the other's mouth.

"Fuck… me…" James gasped shortly as Lily's hand worked at him and her mouth sucked along his collarbone.

"Working on it," she mumbled, smirking against his skin.

James used her distraction as leverage to flip their positions so that he was once more on top and just shy of entering her.

"Not what I meant," he told her. He nipped at her ear, then traced the shell of it with the tip of his tongue, ruthlessly teasing her for her cheek; he knew it drove her mad when he did things to such delicate parts of her skin. "But now I think I'd fancy hearing you say it like that, before I get to work on you."

"James," Lily moaned when she felt the hot bursts of his breath crash and explode in her ear. She could feel him brushing against her, so, so close, torturously near and so teasingly far away.

"It is my birthday," James reminded her as he continued to do delicious things to her ear, "as you so astutely pointed out just a moment ago. I think you should say it."

He brushed against her again, very deliberately – so much so that he nearly exploded himself but managed to refrain – and he reveled in the way Lily's neck muscles contracted in ecstasy beneath his roving lips.

"You complete tosser –"

"Well, that doesn't sound like wanton pleas for mind-blowing lovemaking to me," James remarked airily. His mouth trailed down her throat and he paused to lick her pulse point. "Get on with it, Evans, because I want to fuck you, too."

Lily whimpered and her legs wound their way around his hips, pulling him closer. She hated giving into him – he was always so damn smug about it later, smarmy git that he was – but want was certainly overriding her good sensibilities at the moment.

"Come on, love." James's mouth was back at her ear and he was murmuring into it, deeply, roughly, his voice saturated with lust and consequent but repressed action. "Just two little words, and I'll do precisely what you tell me to."

His tongue flicked out again, this time to outline every dip and contour, his breath thick and hot and sharp, breaking off on a groan when her legs tightened and her heels dug into his back. His hand clutched at her hip, his thumb grazing the line of her upper thigh as his fingerprints implanted into her skin. He bit her, hard, and Lily thought sod the rest of it, she'd deal with his smugness later –

"Fuck me," she said, bending to his will (well, fine, it was his bloody birthday). She tugged at his hair to bring his mouth back to hers and she felt that self-indulgent grin on his lips, but she also felt him push his way inside of her, and her short-lived irritation vanished about as quickly as it had come.

Her hands roamed his back, her fingernails digging deeper with every thrust. She lifted her hips to his and his grip on her tightened while his strokes became faster but more deliberate, hitting her every corner and sending jolts of pleasure zinging into his own nerves. He had the fleeting thought that this was so much better than a lonely wank and nap, because who really needed to resort to that when they had a fantastically naked, gorgeous, funny girlfriend waiting for them, longer than she had to because she was brilliant and selfless and just because it was his lousy birthday and he hadn't even showered and she still wanted him, grass-stained and blood-smeared and all –

"Harder." Lily's breathless entreaty broke through his senseless reverie. Her fingers twisted into his hair, almost painfully but it felt so fucking good that even the idea of pain was rendered obsolete. "Fuck me, I wasn't kidding about making it rough – God."

Her instructions broke off on something like a rapturous, sob-like sound when James took her words to heart. After one or two measured, deeper thrusts to test her boundaries, he slammed into her so that the mattress jostled beneath them and the headboard rattled against the stone wall. Over and over and over again…

"Told you I could do it," James said roughly through the best grin he could manage while Lily's hips rocked and rubbed against his. His mouth latched onto hers loosely, once, twice, three times, their breath hitched and shallow as it mingled between their mouths. He buried his face in her neck and murmured into her skin: "I'm going to shag you until you've melted right into my bed, and then I'm going to do it all over again."

And while it was true that James Potter could be the most oblivious, blissfully ignorant sod on the planet – which his friends could attest too all too well – the least you could say of him was that he certainly never went back on his word, and it was Lily who would very gladly attest to that one.

"I blame you," Sirius griped from his seat in the common room.

"Hmm?" Remus barely spared him a glance before he focused his concentration back on the chess game he was playing with Peter. "For what, exactly?"

Sirius jerked a thumb towards the boys' staircase. "That," he elaborated. As if to strengthen his point, Sirius's words were followed by a muffled but nevertheless echoing sound that could be nothing but the sounds of extended shagging. "They've been up there for 'round about two hours now. We're supposed to be drinking."

"You have been drinking," Peter pointed out as he lost a knight. "Damn…"

Unable to rightfully argue that, Sirius took another swig of firewhiskey and said, "Yeah, well, 's not as much fun without Evans trying to outdrink me."

"Not as much fun for you, maybe," Remus agreed, "but I don't think James was too happy with either of you the last time you decided you needed to prove your alcohol tolerance to each other. It was his shoes that got ruined as a result, after all, not to mentioned his bedspread."

"Pffft." Sirius waved those menial points away and gulped down more of the amber liquid.

"Besides," Remus said as he sacrificed a pawn and took Peter's bishop, "I don't see how any of this leads back to my fault."

Sirius coughed on his drink so that some of it escaped his mouth and stained his shirt. "If you hadn't whacked Prongs over the head with that book, chances are they wouldn't be fucking hard enough for us to hear them. They'd be down here, suitably drunk off their arses like me."

"True," Remus conceded with a slight nod of his head, "but if that were the case, it's much less likely that you would have bested Lily in a drinking game, thereby single-handedly dismantling the stereotype that those of an even semi-Irish heritage are better drinkers than everyone else. At least, we've got James's old coverlet to prove that theory true."

Having been subjected to yet another point with which he couldn't reasonably argue, Sirius merely nodded in acquiescence and decided he could wait a little bit longer for James to finish up his birthday shagging.

What are best mates for, eh? he thought, pleased with his selflessness, and finished off his bottle.