Like the Finest Gold

It is late December, that time of year when the sharp air seems to weigh less on your lungs and the wet cold of the snow clings to your skin. You left Hogwarts last June, almost a year and a half ago now, but the notes still come, now in parchment envelopes delivered by owl to your desk at work. This one seems heavier in your hands, thicker, like you know something more than what's written on the paper and it weighs you down with the implications. Every rise and fall on the uneven surface is a memory, the thread of ink spelling your name a command. It's been at least a month since Lucius last called you. You hold the letter steady as you break the wax seal, snorting softly to yourself. He would send you a summons sealed with the Malfoy crest.

J.P.-

It has been too long, hasn't it? Did you think I've forgotten? You're still mine, you know, and I'll do as I please with you. Tomorrow night. One a.m. Be on time, and don't Apparate. I did not appreciate that stunt you pulled last time, setting off the alarms around my front gate. You should know better.

-L.M.

He drugs you with promises, the highs as suicidal as the lows, and you feed your addiction on his lips, his voice, the way his hands slide smoothly down over your waist. Thoughts of him keep you awake, make you toss and turn in your bed next to Lily.

Lily.

You had patched things with her. It took a lot of fast-talking and enough flowers to choke a hippogriff but you did it. She accepted your apologies, and later, your proposal. You've gotten too good at hiding, on surviving on no sleep. It's nothing short of a miracle, you know, that no one's found out the exact truth. Deceiving everyone outside of Sirius, Remus, and Peter was never anything you thought about too much, but this is a new stage of life. That Saturday night, you brush Lily's hair back from her cheek as she sleeps. She doesn't stir as you hold her for a moment, kissing her before leaving to toss the Floo powder into your kitchen fire. As you pull your elbows into your sides, your thoughts spin with the passing fireplaces. You have to make it stop. This is no way to live, with the agonizing need for Lucius's touch drawing your reserves of determination empty. You know what it would take for him to release you from your obligation, and you're supposed to want to give it to him, but you don't.

You have to believe that he will spare you. All you can do now is wait, standing in front of him in the center of his library. He will make that decision now. As easily as he can bring you to his lips, he can leave you for dead among dusty, brittle volumes of parchment. Can you finally confess? Can you stop wearing the mask, stop pretending to be so ignorant of what you've known since that night in the Divination classroom? All he wants is for you to say it out loud. There is something that feels final about this encounter, like something important will happen and your blood knows it before your mind does.

"Evening, Potter."

Lucius's small library is warm and brightly lit, with white candles burning in wall sconces. He sits at the desk taking notes on a thick book, and though his shoulders draw back when you appear, he doesn't look up.

"Malfoy."

"Are you just going to stand there and stare, or are you going to undress?" You focus on the way his thumb and forefinger form a circle around the tip of the quill as he makes notes in the margins and resist your desire to reach over and yank the quill from his hand. You hate this. You hate the way he acts like he couldn't care less if you were there or not, as though you're not just as much a part of him as he is a part of you.

"How about you answer my questions this time?"

"Well, I suppose I could use a laugh."

You have to ask. You need an end...or a beginning.

"What if..."

He pauses and looks up, but doesn't lower his quill. "What if..."

"What if I..." You run your fingertips over the polished desk, following the swirling grain of the wood. "What if I did go along with what you wanted? What if I...took...what you want to give me?"

That gets his attention. He puts the quill down and removes his reading glasses. "Are you telling me that you might finally have the balls to say what you've been thinking all this time? You know what would interest me, but I'm not going to say it for you."

You remain silent. The words are in your head. All you have to do is put them in the right order and speak them. What will happen if you do? Of course he's not going to say it for you. Your pride. He wants to hear you say the words, to admit your place.

"I like this. I want it."

"This? I'm afraid I don't get what you're saying."

"This...what you do to me. How you..."

"How I what?" He rises from his chair, moving to stand just inches too close. Your first instinct is to back away from him, but your confession has bolstered your strength, and you stay in place.

"How you touch me, and...and what you do to me. But Malfoy, just because I like it, that doesn't mean I can go along with it. That would mean I'd--"

Lucius grabs your wrist so hard you think he will break it, forcing you backwards, trapping you between the wall and the cherry grandfather clock. Your heartbeat subdivides the heavy pulse of the pendulum. Time vibrates along your spine. Holding your hands over your head, he breathes into your face. You close your eyes, turn your head, avoid his gaze.

His intonation is low and certain, fueled by his anger at your pathetic protest. You almost wish he would yell at you. "I'm sick of hearing about what you can't do, Potter. Is there anything you can do except annoy the shit out of me? Open those pretty blue eyes and look at me."

You obey, though it takes a lot more courage than you would have thought. He doesn't speak for a moment.

"Nothing is going to change. Not on the outside, anyway."

"What do you mean?"

"Did you think that if you finally admitted that this is something you want, that I wouldn't call you here anymore? That I'd forget, or let you go just like that? Wrong. We're just getting started."

"And where are we starting from?"

"Oh, please. Do I have to feed you all the answers? Think! What have you always wanted? Why are you really here, and why do you climb out of my fireplace with a look in your eyes that's totally different from the one on your face?"

"I don't know."

Lucius's grasp on your wrist tightens.

"Don't be such an idiot."

"Let go of me!" You try to pull your wrist away, but for every ounce of your resistance he has two of his own tenacity.

"No! I am tired of your whining and your protests and your--"

"So let me go!"

"What would be the fun in that? Besides," he lowers his voice, "you'd be the one who'd be sorry I let you go."

Damn him. "You're right. I do know." Look into his face. "Malfoy, I want...to see you. Without all the games and the lies and my mouthing off." Say the words. Come on. You can't be afraid of little things like words. This is the person who's bruised you, bled you, blindfolded you. He knows you can't hate him because in all regards except for one, you are very much alike. That's the final piece. He wants you to put it in place.

"And you'd be here because?" A new light shines in his eyes. He knows you know. He's going to make you say it. He wants to hear you confess and use the one word you hate above all others. You can't. It would resolve so much, but it's the only thing you hold over him. He sees the way you bite your lip, and the way you've grown quieter in these last few months.

"Because I couldn't say no to you. No, because I don't want to say no to you. Because I want to be here."

The stranglehold of guilt disappears. You let the last remnants of your pride slip away, bit by bit.. It's been your harsh sunlight, illuminating what you need to see only after it blinds you. Lucius is definitely intrigued, but he still holds you against the clock, not relieving the pressure on your arms. Is any answer you give ever going to be what he wants to hear? You want, no, need to hold on to the last bit of ego you possess, that one word, but you know he's not going to let you.

"There's more." He presses his hips into yours, his words melting on your cheek.

"You want more?"

"Always, James."

"Did...did you just call me James?" Astonishment makes your voice sound hollow.

He leans in, kissing you lightly and drawing a line to your earlobe with his tongue, pausing to bite gently. "Yes, James, I did, and you've finally admitted that you like what I do to you. It's about damn time. There's more, though, you know, so I'm asking: What else there is that you have to tell me?"

"I don't need to tell you. You already know."

He releases your arms and you instinctively rub your wrists, curling and extending your fingers. "Maybe I do." He pulls you toward him and he kisses with his entire body, making full contact with yours. You reach around him, and he slides a hand up your chest and around the back of your neck as he breaks the kiss. "Think about it. Wouldn't you give anything for just one moment to be who you really are, without feeling like you're here under the pretense of protecting your furry friends? Wouldn't you like to drop this game we play, where you come here because you want to believe I'm blackmailing you?"

Force the word, the volume, the denial. Fail. "Yes. But how do I know you're not going to reveal my secret anyway?"

"Potter!" Lucius curls his fingers, digging his nails into your skin. "Will you ever see?"

"See what?"

"I guess you won't."

"Wait! I won't what?"

"You really don't see it."

You do, but how could you give up? Why do you insist on being so stubborn? Where's it gotten you? He shouldn't have to tell you everything you already know so well. "No. Malfoy, I..."

"You what? Stop that helpless act and your goddamn whining and spit it out." His words are so light, but betrayed by the pain in the back of your neck. "I thought you listened to what I said to you. But you...you need to be shown. Words don't cut it with you."

"Shown?"

The look on his face fades from anger to thought, his eyes focusing first on you, then on something to his left, then back to you.

"Strip."

He watches you appreciatively as you slide buttons through their holes, discarding your robes. A draft comes through the window, and you shiver for a second.

"Kneel."

"What?"

"On your knees, and shut your mouth."

In a blistering rush of exhilaration and shame you kneel at his feet, as though to pray, or atone for your sins. You keep your eyes straight ahead.

When he turns his wrist and the candle wax drips on your collarbone, down over your chest like hot poison rain, you draw on a will you never knew you had to keep from screaming. He holds the candle too close purposely to keep the temperature of the wax high, and you think once or twice that the flame touches your skin, but you don't open your mouth. Your scream is just what he wants, and you can't give him so much satisfaction. Not all at once.

"So tell me..."

Splatter. Left shoulder. Silence.

"Doesn't this excite you?"

Splatter. Right shoulder. Silence. The sensation is sharp at first, stinging, but it gives you a pain-to-pleasure rush of energy. Instantly, the wax begins to cool, and a mild numbness sets in at the site of the burn.

"Do you think I would like to be in your position? That I would get the same pleasure you do from being where you are?"

Splatter. Down your back. Silence.

"Do I look like I'm interested in answering these questions myself?"

"Yes! I mean, no."

"Isn't this where you love to be? On your knees, burned, telling yourself you're not supposed to be here, or care? You're thinking about the way it's going to sting when I kiss those burns, aren't you?" It's not a question, but a statement. "Or maybe about the way I'm going to spread you over my desk when I'm through with this and use you like the slut that you are."

Any retort you may have had dies in your head with that image. You feel your stomach contract, and Lucius glares down at you, lifting your chin so you can see his eyes. He's not going to let you go, because he knows what you're holding back.

"We are alike, except for one thing. As much as you like receiving pain, I like to give it to you."

"I'm not surprised." It's not even worth it to protest.

"Shut up," he snaps. "Or do you like it when I order you around like that?"

"I'm sorry."

"No you're not. You go against me hoping I'll punish you, because that's exactly what you want." He laughs a little, shaking his head. "I'm the only one who's ever caught you in one of your deceptions, and you're a little masochist, milking the punishment for all it's worth. Of course, since you like to call me a sadist, I suppose that works out fairly well."

Sadist and masochist. Dominant and submissive. The roles separate you at the same time they bring you together. One is not defined without the other, as...as Lucius defines who you are by being everything you hate to admit about yourself.

"I don't--"

"It's proof, James. You think you can hide what you think from me by not saying it, but with the way you act, it doesn't matter what you say. We'll never be alike in that regard, that I," he smiles triumphantly, "am the one who owns you. Your…"

"Master." You hate that word, hate it, and you don't think you'll ever be able to say it without it tasting bitter in your mouth, no matter how much Lucius is a part of you, no matter the pleasure.

"And you are?"

"Your slave." Your face grows hot when you speak the word, humiliated. Another word comes into your mind, a single thought from all those months ago, from your first night in the Divination classroom. "Your ambitious slave."

He watches you, still as stone. "Ambitious?"

"Smart. Powerful. Loyal. Always wanting more from life." The words that haunted you for years are now a haze in the air between the two of you.

"So?"

Your knees are aching, and the muscles in your thighs are growing tired, but you're determined not to move from your spot. "Those are…that's what you first said to me, about why we're alike. You knew."

"Of course I did. But if you know it, and are willing to admit it...that makes a difference. Do you really know it, though? Believe it?"

"Yes." You raise your head, your words steady, your gaze unwavering. "I do."

"Stand up."

Silently you obey, half erect in need and knowing Lucius loves the sight of you like that. He doesn't say anything for a minute, but reaches to scrape away some of the cooled wax.

"Don't you feel better, finally starting to get past all that denial?" He tries to sound gentle, but there's still a note of his power over you.

"Denial? Right. This from the one who can't bear to face me during sex. Always takes me from behind." Damn it, Potter. You will never learn.

"Can't bear it?" A kiss, and a laugh that's more air than voice. "As though you could bear to look at me."

"I could bear it just fine." There's too much bravado in your statement, the dying echo of your ego.

"Could you? You really think you could stand that, looking up and knowing it was me instead of the Mudblood who was," a kiss, "making you shriek in that pain you love so much? Making you cover yourself," his breath in your ear, "in your own come? Not being able to pretend that it was anyone except me who had you gagged and on your hands and knees?" When you don't respond, he turns you around and twists your arm behind your back, sparing no gentleness.

"You're going to have to do better," you grunt through the pain, "than twisting my arm."

"Oh, I've already done better than that," he says. "I mean, isn't it me you think about all the time? Isn't it me you think about when you lie awake next to her? What would you do if I called for you on your wedding night?"

"Even you're not that heartless."

"Enough with the name-calling." Lucius loosens his grip on your arm but doesn't release you. "The point is that you would meet me, wouldn't you?"

"No!" Let him taste your blood, blackmail you, anything he wanted as long as he didn't touch the people you loved. He was not going to ruin what you had with Lily. You break away from his grasp and turn to face him.

He shakes his head slowly. "This is going to take more time than I have. You'll never understand."

"Yes I will."

"Really? I don't believe you."

"I'm standing here naked in front of you covered in candle wax and you don't believe me?" You shout, and your frustration feeds his calm.

"Such a temper you have."

"Malfoy, listen." You close your eyes for a second, focusing your thoughts. If you lose control, you'll be right back where you started. "I... You're...you're right. I couldn't have faced you, knowing that I..."

"That you..."

"Wanted it."

"I know." Of course he knows.

"Now what?"

"Say it again."

"I wanted it." It's easier to say the second time. "What--what do you want now?"

Temptation twists his face for a moment, but his request is unexpected. "I want you to kiss me."

"What?"

"Kiss me. Willingly."

When you do, it's fast and unsure, as though you were twelve years old again and hiding behind the broom shed with that girl from your Transfiguration class. Lucius grabs your arms.

"Not even close, James. Don't try to pull that vulnerable act. We both know you're not."

A challenge, and isn't this the hardest one yet? Anything you've done in the past doesn't matter now. There's never been intimacy, nothing resembling consent. Your hands settle in the bends of his elbows, on the pulse points, and for a minute you can only bring your mouth to within an inch of his. Where will this take you? The tendons in his forearms tighten under your fingers; your heads tilt at opposing angles. Time seems to slow as, hesitating, you wet your lips and kiss him softly moments after you close your eyes. Consecration. The guilt, the ecstasy, the pain and memories and lust and need, they come as a flood as Lucius allows you to taste his mouth, allows your mind to fill in the blanks in the way you sense him.

A split second before the tension forces you away, he moves to hold you by the small of your back.

"Perfect."

"I..."

He places a finger on your lips, and you breathe his aroma of rosewood. "No words. Don't you understand now?"

As much as he's always known, you've always understood. How he knew to go after you and not one of the others. How long he's waited for you to cross this line, overcoming your stubbornness and denial and pride.

"Yes, but now...now what?"

"Now the game is yours."

"What?"

"You can take what you've always wanted."

"A pony?"

For the first time in months, he strikes you across the face, and you know you'll bruise from where his signet ring hits under your cheekbone. "Are you just unhappy unless you're in pain? Do you like the way it distracts you from thinking about me?"

You draw a breath for a sarcastic retort, but stop before forming the air into words. No. Not when you've waited this long, when it's taken you all this time just to gather the courage to tell him how much you like the way he controls you. For such a long time you hated him because he was the one aspect of your life you couldn't control, but you see now that hatred was never really the right word.

"No. I'm sorry."

"I don't want or need your apologies."

"Malfoy, just because I...I told you that I like what you do to me, that doesn't mean I trust you."

"I never wanted your trust, either. You are a hopeless Gryffindor, aren't you?"

"We're not in school anymore."

"Does that mean you're still not supposedly brave? Though with the amount of time it took you to tell me something so simple…"

"It wasn't that simple."

"No, because the truth hurts, doesn't it?" He leans over, tracing around your ear with the tip of his tongue. "You couldn't admit who it was you really were," a trail of light kisses down your jawline.

"I couldn't."

"But now you can." Another kiss, on your throat.

It is the first night you extend your hands without reservation, without the false armor of obligation. You know now that he would never betray you, because he needs your presence in his life as much as you need his in yours. It is the first night your breathing synchronizes with Lucius's, matching cadence, expression, and peak. The candles on his bedside table cast shadows on his face as you lie on your back underneath him, your knees drawn into your chest. Though he chooses not to bind you, you still raise your arms over your head. He breaks his silence for the first time as he comes, your name uniting with his gasp.

That was the last time he called for you. Lucius never gave a reason, but he didn't have to. In your own way, you understood. It wasn't that you didn't need each other, but his need to make you see who you were and why he had chosen you was fulfilled. You could never work up the nerve to send him a letter, but sometimes you would seek out a place where you could smell roses, or lie on your stomach in bed with your wrists crossed one over the other. Both of you would protect your secrets, each one precious like gold, and these secrets would sustain you to the end.