Like the Finest Gold

So he took you. Had sex with you. Fucked you. In the shower after Quidditch games with your temple against the slippery tile and the hot water coursing down your back. Against heavy oak desks in empty classrooms in the dead of night. In the Restricted Section of the library. Always silent but for the syncopated breathing. Always abandoning you when he was done.

You were not, repeat not, supposed to enjoy it. But you did. And you became used to it.

Became used to it. Right. Nice try.

You looked forward to it. The surge of adrenaline, the taste of Lucius's skin, the way your thoughts of him were like coffee, hot and dark, bitter and stimulating. His aggression. The way he tied your hands together, pulled your head back by your hair so he could bruise your neck with his mouth, shoved you into the floor or forced you over a chair. The lingering pain from your forbidden encounters was better than Quidditch injuries, broken bones sustained, even encouraged, in competition. It made your awakening real.

They noticed. You couldn't hide it anymore. Lily was frustrated with your reluctance to talk and a lot less eager to kiss you and hold your hand in the hallways. She had taken to studying with her friends or by herself. Sirius, Remus, and Peter stopped talking when you joined them in the library or at the Gryffindor table. Potions, which you had with the Slytherins, was a nightmare. Twice, Sirius had to stop you from melting his cauldron. The mornings after you stayed up to meet Lucius, Remus practically had to carry you up the ladder to the Divination classroom. They acted like everything was business as usual, but there was a tension between the four of you as you talked.

"Peter, can I see your Divination notes?"

"Weren't you taking any?"

"Course I was. It's just that yours are better."

"Yeah, because I took mine when I was awake." Peter didn't look up from his book, but his words were biting.

"Well, you know, I'm not exactly a morning person."

"You're not exactly an afternoon person, either."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

"Liar."

"James, I know you stay out nights."

"I--no I don't!"

"Oh, please! Just because Sirius and Remus could sleep through a game of Quidditch being played in our dormitory doesn't mean I can, too! You usually wake me up when you come in, and I know that's usually around four."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

He sighed. "James, what you and Lily do is your business. I just worry about you, you know."

Your determination was wearing down. Hiding your whereabouts from your friends was killing you. Just one more day, you kept telling yourself, you just had to make it through one more day. And then what? If it were just a game, Lucius wouldn't have strung you out this far. This was more to him than blackmail. You had known that from the beginning. He was the one that told you that you were the only one with the answer to that question. But what was the answer? What made this more than another one of his mind games?

And how much time did you have left before you cracked and spilled everything to your friends and Lily?

Sirius was the one that pressed you for information, sitting at the edge of your bed after the others had gone to sleep, whispering question after question. Were you working on adding to the map? Were you doing research? Had you met another girl?

"I haven't met another girl. I love Lily. You know that."

"Well, that doesn't leave a whole lot to be secretive about, then. Are you doing something special for Dumbledore?"

"No."

"James..." All Sirius could do was shake his head. He was visibly exhausted and upset, but he also had a stubborn streak. Giving up didn't come easily, if ever, to him. "I'm beginning to think there's no reason we should even be friends anymore."

"What? Sirius! You--you know that's not the case. Why wouldn't you want to be friends anymore? Did I do something wrong? Think of Remus! He'd...he'd be crushed. Sirius, talk to me. Please. You're my best friend."

"I mean, here you are. Your grades are falling, you look awful, and your girlfriend's about ready to dump you. And you don't really seem to care about any of it. Something is on your mind. Something big. I haven't forgotten what you asked me, either, about wanting something you weren't supposed to have in the first place. I'm sick of putting up with your crap. I don't know what it is you're hiding, or why you want it so badly, but it had damn well better be something good, 'cause you're ruining your life to have it."

"I am not ruining my life!" It was difficult to get the words out. You spoke softly, but it felt like you were shouting.

"If not ruining your life means losing your friends and your girlfriend and flunking out of school, then I guess you're right."

"You don't know the first thing about anything." And how could you ever begin to tell him, tell him that you had developed a fondness for the sound of Lucius's voice as he teased you until you pleaded for mercy?

"So straighten me out. Fill in the blanks. I know you're a wreck over something more than just classes or Lily. You're like my brother, James. I can't let you do this to yourself. I'm not going to think badly of you for anything you tell me, and I want to know when this torture you're putting yourself through is going to stop."

"Sirius, I can't tell you. I--I wish I could, but you'd never understand."

"Try me." His voice was concerned, and he looked into your eyes.

"Just...promise me that we're still friends."

"James, I don't know if I can promise anything right now, especially when I don't have any answers. I can promise to be here for now, but I don't know how much longer that promise is going to be good for if you won't tell me what it is that you're such a mess about."

You looked at the clock beside your bed. You were late.

"I have to go."

"Where?"

"Away."

"Away where?"

"What is this, a knock-knock joke? Away from you and all your annoying questions!" Your head ached, the way it did when you were sleep-deprived. You stood, and Sirius did too.

"I'm not going to forget."

"Fine." If he didn't forget, that would be all right. The real question was: Would he forgive? Sirius was right, of course. The two of you had been through a lot together, and you trusted each other with your lives. This, though, was more than your life. This was…you weren't too sure what it was. It was more about what it wasn't: It wasn't something you hated. It wasn't something you suffered through just to protect your friends. Well, not that you had ever really suffered, anyway.

Should you stay in Gryffindor that night? Whose wrath would be worse, Sirius's when he found out that you were telling the truth about not sneaking out to meet another girl, or Lucius's when you didn't show up? Sirius watched as you left. You moved quickly through the halls and took the most indirect route you could think of to get to the Transfiguration classroom. You couldn't shake the idea that Sirius might follow you and learn everything. Then again, there was the possibility that he might understand. You were doing this for him, for his safety. But how could he ever comprehend how it tore you to pieces, with pleasure, obligation, and hatred all pulling in different directions?

Curiosity. Frustration. Desire. So many thoughts that just didn't add up, though they were all a part of whatever it was that drew you to Lucius.

Distrust. Secrecy. Pursuit. Meeting him made you forget you were James Potter: perfect grades, perfect record, perfect bloodline. Like transforming in the forest with Remus, Lucius made you forget about what the rest of the world expected from you.

It disgusted you to think that you could equate your encounters with Lucius with transforming with your friends every month, but you couldn't help it. Both held a thrill, something that appealed to your rebelliousness. Though you hated to admit it, the uncertainty that pervaded both situations was exhilarating. You lived for the unpredictable, the treacherous, and knowing something no one else did. You liked having secrets, because no matter what anyone thought of you, they could never know exactly who you were. You were never the same thing to any two people. Sirius, Remus, and Peter saw you as their confidante and brother, Lily, her partner, and Lucius, his...his...you didn't want to say the word, or even think it. The dividing line between your lives was wearing thin. You couldn't move from one to the other so quickly anymore, and you were running out of believable lies. Sirius was moving toward the truth, and what if he did discover it? Would he never speak to you again? Would he tell Remus and Peter and Lily? And...would Lucius go after him, too?

Lucius looked from his watch to your disheveled robes as you ran through the classroom door, out of breath.

"You're late."

You wanted to rip that watch off his wrist and stomp on it, but instead you just rolled your eyes.

"Sorry if Big Ben is a little hard to see out my window."

"Touché," he said sarcastically, raising an eyebrow.

"Fuck you! I need about sixteen hours of sleep, I have a ton of homework, and Sirius decided that tonight would be a good time to ask me why I'm so tired and distracted all the time."

"You're bringing that on yourself."

"I am--" The word "not" died in your throat. You knew he was right. If these encounters with Lucius were meaningless, you wouldn't think twice about them. You would meet him, carry out his commands, and resume your life. You didn't, couldn't, love him. You couldn't change your feelings toward him. However, you could enjoy what he did to you, replaying scenes over and over in your head to the point where everything else in your life became secondary. And he could play to that.

He had known. Always known. He knew from the start that this would occupy your mind to the point of your destruction. He was going to win this bizarre game. His prize...what was it? Your resigning to a year, or ten, or possibly a lifetime, of slavery?

"Malfoy, just get it over with and let me go back to bed. I'm not in the mood to fight you."

"When have you ever fought me before?"

"What?"

"Dumb is not a good look on you, Potter. You know what I asked. Why haven't you ever fought me? Think about it."

"The only thing I want to think about right now is my pillow. Just...please. Whatever you want me to do, I'm here, let's do it, I want to get to bed."

"Your enthusiasm thrills me."

"The idea of getting some sleep thrills me."

"Then I guess you want to start now, so you can get to bed at a reasonable hour." He smiled, untying his hair, shaking it over his shoulders. As was your ritual, you undressed and held your wrists together in front of you. Lucius had hit you across the face, just hard enough to sting, the first time you taunted him about his need to bind your hands. And the second. And the third. There hadn't been a fourth. You weren't passive, but you weren't stupid, either.

It might have been your imagination, but he seemed a little less...violent than usual that night. His thrusts were more measured, less feral. You liked the way his breath warmed the back of your neck, as the rest of you grew cold without a fire in the room. The voice of reason in your head shrieked, "No!" as you trembled against Lucius's arms, one wrapped around your waist and the other around your chest.

As he finished, he stepped back, your knees gave way, and you found yourself in a graceless heap on the floor, one ankle twisted beneath you. Disgusted with your weakness, you sat up, intending to stand, but he held your legs down, sitting with a knee on either side of your thighs.

"Stay there."

"Why?"

He leaned over you. Protecting your space, you pulled back from him, but he kept advancing until the back of your head touched the floor. He looked from your face to your hands, smiling as he raised them over your head.

A kiss. "Because I'm going..." a kiss, "...to suck you..." a kiss, "...and you're going to do that thing where you damn near bite through your lip..." a kiss, "to keep from screaming..."

"Malfoy..." a kiss, "...I can't. I have to..." a kiss, "Stop it!"

"You're beautiful when you bite down like that, you know. It's funny. Here you are, so in control all the time, can't let anyone else know how much you love this, and there's blood on your lips. Your mind and your body aren't very good friends these days, are they?"

"Beautiful?" The responses of your opposing voices blended like a choir, and you were terrified, disgusted, elated, and hating yourself all in the same chord.

"And fascinating."

"Oh, you are sick. Untie me." Beautiful and fascinating. You were near giggles at how preposterous it sounded, and you probably would have burst out laughing if you weren't trying so hard to keep from letting him know how much his words turned you on.

"In a minute." A kiss. "What, you don't want to know what it is I find fascinating about you?"

"Untie me now!"

"Well! Don't we think we're in charge here?"

"We want to go to bed!"

"Not yet."

"What is your problem? Why do you hate me so much?"

"There's that word again. Hate. You use it too often and in all the wrong places, Potter. If I really hated you, you wouldn't even be here. I'd have broken you in less than a week."

"Why is that? And can I put my arms down? They hurt."

"No."

"Why did you come after me?"

"If I hated you, I wouldn't bother talking to you. You wouldn't even exist to me."

"Then why...why are you doing this to me?"

"I told you that we're alike. Did you think about that? We are, really. We're both ambitious, smart, powerful, loyal--"

"Modest."

"--secretive, and neither one of us believes in just taking what life gives us. You always want more, don't you? More than what you've got? Answer me."

"Yes. But I still hate you." Almost as much as you hated yourself for craving him.

"If you want to insist on using that word, then fine. But Potter...you know the truth. You don't have to acknowledge it now, or ever if you want to, but there's more to who we are than...oh, I am getting nowhere with this. I might as well be talking to my Potions homework."

"You know, I'm not really in a position to be a good listener, seeing as how I've got no clothes on and I want to go to bed. Can we have this conversation some other time?"

You knew what he was saying. You were in no mood to talk about it, but you knew you'd have to think about it, even obsess over it. Things would just be so much easier if he hated you. You could write off your encounters as simple obligation. But now...was it really about obligation anymore? Of course, he would always hold that knowledge over your head, but if it was just sex for silence, why did you always feel that twisted euphoria at the sight of his handwriting? And if he really didn't care, why did there seem to be cracks in his demeanor, like the way he asked for your consent the first time? Were you really beautiful to him? Fascinating?

"You're more interested in other things."

He was taking this further than you had anticipated, though you should have known from the minute he told you that all he wanted from you was your pride. You knew it couldn't go on forever. You couldn't live life feeling so raw, or hiding from Sirius, or comparing Lily to Lucius. Sooner or later, it was going to have to end.

But for now...

"Yes."

"Like this..." His kiss was slow and deep, fierce and overpowering. His skin sliding over yours, whispering. He moved backward, pushing your legs apart, circling you with his tongue.

Like that.