An Unhappy Predicament

He shifted in his sleep and mumbled something indiscernible into the down pillow, his long fingers curling tightly into the white pillowcase, clutching at it as though he were clinging to a crumbling cliff to keep from falling into an abyssal chasm below. I could not say precisely what he was dreaming, only that it could not have possibly been pleasant. His dreams rarely were.

His hair was a flaxen spill of silk, falling like a halo around his pointed features and gleaming like silver in the powder blue moonlight that slatted through a crack in the curtains. He seemed so vulnerable in his sleep, so uncharacteristically needy and young and unconsciously welcoming my embrace as if it was the only thing that kept him alive anymore. With those long, sensual lashes brushing his silken cheek, those delicate, almost-translucent lids shielding his silver-blue eyes, you couldn't see his perpetually sharp, almost vicious gaze. He seemed so much more innocent, and it was a change that I welcomed after what had happened this afternoon.

Especially after what had happened this afternoon.

I sneered slightly to myself but then quelled it from my face, in case he should be thrust out of sleep by a nightmare and find me still awake, and sneering at the air.

I had to wonder, sometimes, how we had even ended up like this, so that he might even be there to see me sneering at the air. How did we end up with these trysts under the Invisibility Cloak -a toy that he had got his parents to buy him with another of his expert excuses -or, ever so occasionally, encased in the shielding drapes of a suitably comfortable bed?

I am sure that it was he who started this deliciously illicit tangle of tremulous, adolescent lust, even if it was hard to tell when exactly we had first acted on it. What was concrete was that he had been intrigued by my solitude and marked me as a wanted target. And when Lucius Malfoy wants something, he gets it, whether or not the wanted item resists him.

Both of us had since discovered the delights of exploring with the other without any hindrance of emotion. For him, at any rate. I wasn't sure how I myself felt.

At times it seemed that there was something in the muzzy afterglow of sex that made my heart beat a little bit faster, although I always resisted the strong urge to run my fingers through that corn-silk hair or study him too closely or affectionately. And however much I found myself liking the almost girlish pout of his lower lip, I tried not to make it obvious that I would have been satisfied with simply kissing him without having to have any following fornication.

I shook my head, propped lethargically on my elbow as I gazed at him in his sleep. Maybe I was just losing my mind. It had been long enough that that should have started to happen, anyway.

I dropped my head wearily to the pillow and let it sink heavily into a hollow of down, gazing past rather than at the emerald, velvet curtains of my bed. I allowed him to twist against me in his usual nightmares, and absently wrapped my arm around him, in an attempt to stem his unruly movements no doubt. He curled into me, childlike and unusually needy, but I was oblivious to it while my thoughts began to wander, coming unstoppably but certainly not unexpectedly to this afternoon's… encounter.

The same thing had happened a thousand times, because both of us being connoisseurs in subtlety, we were accustomed to hinting at things and never telling the entire truth. Particularly now, when the sense of normalcy putting peace in our… relationship, so-called -for did multiple instances of copulation or necking in an abandoned classroom really make up a relationship? -was threatened to be marred by a declaration, though it wasn't sure how soon one of us was going to break, or who it was going to be.

One must understand, you see, that both of us adored watching the other squirm, but neither truly wanted to clarify exactly what it was we were talking about when we expertly insinuated things and cast overly heavy glances at one another across the tops of our books in the library. Because although Slytherins had no trouble with shagging one another when it was convenient, a long-lasting relationship accompanied by actual feelings about the exchange was the sort of thing you read about in tabloids, to the point of being farcical.

Yet even we, no doubt the most Slytherin of the entire House at the time, had had more than one rub of our unlikely mix of love and hate. This one, specifically, had started in the library and had, to me, seemed more intense than any we had had before…

The Restricted Section was more easily accessible to prefects, among other privileges that they got, and it was actually a privilege that I appreciated, with the love of books that I had. There was a window there, tucked easily between two of the wide, floor-to-ceiling bookcases, and this was something of a secret place, a refuge. It was obscured from frontal view by another row of bookcases and was hidden also by the two bookcases between which it was placed. There was enough space that it allowed for two people to sit across from one another, knees resting together, backs flat against the gleaming mahogany bookcases, and speak with accordingly conspiratorial whispers.

Lucius preferred this spot for snogging -he would -but I found it an ideal study carrel, away from the prying eyes of the world, where I could actually get work done when it needed to get done. It was for that purpose that I was currently using it, poring over an obscenely thick tome, silent and engrossed as light filtered unobtrusively through the Gothic, iron-filigreed window in beams of swirling, golden dust motes. For all I knew, the library was empty, for which I was actually glad, not at all wanting to deal with the social inanities of my fellow classmates today.

Yet it turned out I was wrong. There was another person in the library, and he was heading for my niche at this very moment. Ironically, with a girl hanging adoringly from his arm, the latest blond in a long line of trophies for Slytherin's favourite womaniser.

Of course, I didn't notice until I looked up and Lucius was standing there with a look of pure mortification on his attractive face, Narcissa Black's arms draped sensually around his shoulders, her face buried happily in his neck. Her muffled giggling showed that she had not even noticed my presence. Something that I was thankful for -imagine the exceeding awkwardness of the situation if she hadn't been so interested in what she was doing to notice me.

For some reason, though even now I cannot say what, I didn't say a single word. I merely stood and quietly closed the book I had in my hands, waving my hand acquiescently towards the niche, freeing it up for him to do as he pleased with the temporary distraction in his arms. I gazed fiercely into his eyes for just a moment, and he returned the gaze, jaw tightening. He seemed to hesitate, trembling just for a moment on the edge of something uncertain, and then tightened his grip on the girl, who shrieked with delight as he returned to what undoubtedly would only cause more shrieking later.

I felt my lip curl instinctively before I swept silently away, Narcissa's high-pitched, sugary giggling following me like the laughter of some evil Dark Wizard.

I don't know why I felt so numb, rather than having felt the bitter, boiling blood of anger that should have been coursing through my veins. I didn't even say anything when Lucius returned to the common room with the little tart still clutching his arm. I simply sat, the same book in my lap, though this time I barely noticed its cumbersome weight cutting into my knees. Nor did I truly notice many of the frequent, furtive glances in my direction from across the room, or when I did, I assumed that there was something far more interesting beyond me to fetch the blond's eye.

I don't think I blinked for the entirety of the evening, and managed commendably to keep my eyes on the word 'the' for the whole time, even if my mind wandered indefinitely. Then, at around nine, it was to an early shower and following that the frigidity of clean sheets, the discomfort of a large, lonely bed in a lonely room, where moonlight filtered through enchanted windows and had no purpose whatsoever but to add to the already penetrating cold. I wished I could be anywhere else, knowing only too well what would come later that night.

I knew the lean form that wriggled in beside me before the Invisibility Cloak even came off of his head. I refused to look at him, even when he touched my cheek or entwined his tapered fingers in my hair, attempting vainly to pull my unwilling gaze to his. I kept my eyes downcast, and for a moment, he seemed baffled by my defensive behaviour.

"Severus, look at me," he ordered, though his touch was not rough, nor really was his tone. He did not appear to be angry, but when even a finger trailed along the nape of my neck, undoubtedly in some attempt to rouse me to look at him, could do nothing, he withdrew his hand and grew impatient.

"What?" he snapped.

"You and Narcissa… you aren't -?"

I trailed off, uncertain. Merlin, I couldn't even finish a proper sentence, and I still couldn't look at him. What was wrong with me? I wasn't that indecisive, even when under the shivery influence of his presence. Not usually, anyway. What should be so different about now?

Lucius' nostrils flared as he blew an irritated breath out through his nose, and a stray lock of silver flew gracelessly away from his face. "Severus, grow up. Just because you're a good fuck doesn't mean you're the only one."

I felt my jaw clench, my muscles tighten as my eyes went to his. That was a low blow, a very low blow, and was quite beyond uncalled for. I wouldn't let him see my anger, though; that might very well give me away, and then where would we be? I nodded into the pillow, trying to keep my voice from cracking. "Understood."

Lucius evidently remained exasperated, rolling his eyes and muttering something cross that sounded distinctly like, "Don't give me that look."

"Which?" I asked innocently.

"That look that says what you're too much of a baby to say aloud," he said, snappish once more. "No, a good fuck is not all that you are to me."

Even I, as reserved as I managed to be, couldn't stop the spark of hope that flickered in my heart for an instant. The most I could hope for was friendship, but even that would be something to this… this thing in the pit of my stomach, festering like a swamp in mid-July and heavy as a ball of iron. Maybe I wouldn't even feel so stupid about this whole thing anymore.

"No, indeed?" I asked, keeping the effervescent hope from my voice.

Lucius grinned, not in a way that was exactly pleasant. His grin wasn't often pleasant, though, more feral and mischievous than anything else. His eyes flashed and he even managed a sardonic chuckle.

"Hardly. You're useful in other ways, too." His words were not promising, and that aforementioned spark in my heart was fading fast. "I'm not so proud as to refuse to admit that your knowledge of Potions is extremely helpful at times, especially since it makes trouble-making so much more fun to see mudbloods sprout with incurable purple boils." He laughed, and lightly punched my shoulder, as though inviting me to laugh with him.

I blinked, felt I was falling very fast from high up, and landing with a sickening splat on the hard Earth below. Instead of laughter, a hollow little exhalation was the most I could manage, "Oh."

"Yeah," said Lucius, his laughter fading. That couldn't possibly have been a slight hint of softness that I heard in his voice, because he was in no way an affectionate person, and if I had heard anything, I was just imagining it, because I was going soft, turning into a sentimental fool.

But then there was a short moment when our eyes met in a blue-black fusion, and I felt a familiar shiver traverse its way along my spine. As we sat gazing at each other, we fermented in that same gut-churning combination of love and hate that had been nagging at me for days. I clenched my jaw to keep from saying anything, and was glad that my lip didn't tremble, however much I felt it could have. I didn't know… he might not have felt this way, and because I didn't know, I didn't want to look like a fool, or open myself to ridicule that no doubt he would cheerfully offer if he knew the truth.

Yet his next words erased any present doubt completely, for they were just as icy and indifferent as the rest of him, "Anyway, you can't be so stupid aside from that as to think I'm going to limit myself to one partner, when there are so many interesting prospects." He smirked derisively, his eyes glittering. "Honestly, this is Lucius Malfoy you're talking to."

I forced myself to return his smile, though I truly felt there was nothing I would rather do less. "A one-man sexual revolution, I know," I conceded sheepishly.

"Amusing," he drawled, leaning in so that his devilish, ice-blue eyes were inches from mine. His voice was quieter, contemplative. "Actually, I sort of like the sound of that. And speaking of which -"

Without bothering to finish the sentence, he hooked his long hand behind my head and brought my lips up to his, hot and hard and fast, his slick mouth demanding against mine. I was powerless under that probing, curious kiss of his, so characteristically greedy and fierce. I forgot my anger as his tongue met mine and his hand slid sinuously under my shirt, lost my control and writhed moaning against his wicked ministrations, even despite the fact that my more intelligent instincts were screaming at me not to let him do this again.

Somehow, without really moving, we met in the centre of the bed, clinging to one another in steadily growing arousal. More due to his experience than to mine, our hands were soon in the familiar tasks of unbuttoning and sliding aside and then exploring warmly, tracing muscles that were hard beneath the contrast of creamy skin.

I felt as if I could burst, covered by that long, lean, seductively smooth body as if by a blanket, heat rushing to my extremities, lights exploding beneath my eyelids. And that mouth, bittersweet like good red wine and pushing and tasting and sending fire through my skin, his tongue raping my mouth as though he was inside me already. Perhaps I was almost grateful for his amount of practise in this devious art, for when it was used on me it felt like I was kissed by God full on the lips.

And, yes, I was being used, and I realised it then, too. But at times like these, when there was a choice between another lonely night or a night of drinking wine with the stars, what other decision was I to make? So, quite willingly to tell the truth, I gave into my baser instincts. Who cared if I got hurt later? It wasn't the first time, anyway, and considering the way his hands were making delightful little circles along my skin and thrilling into my abdomen, it definitely wasn't going to be the last.