The Path Not Taken (Harry Potter fic)
Title: The Path Not Taken
Characters: Lily Evans, Sirius Black
Ratings & warnings: R for sex
Prompt: For jdbracknell, who requested Sirius/Lily and Charged.
Word count: 1297
Summary: Lily doesn't love him, doesn't want him, and may not even like him that much. But what might make her need Sirius Black?
Author's note: I'd never even thought about this pairing before this. Written in 2008.
The Path Not Taken
One night.
Once only.
By unspoken agreement. It’s not as if they’ve ever talked much in the first place.
So the silence between them now certainly doesn’t embarrass him, but then what does embarrass Sirius Black? Certainly not Lily Evans, with her prim and proper ways, and her cool and clever remarks as he’s tried everything he knows - and it’s scary how much he knows - to get under her skin. It’s as though these last few weeks have been a matter of affronted pride to him; that the one girl who doesn’t follow his long shadow under lowered lashes as he walks by, who doesn’t clutch her pillow hard against her at night and pretend it’s his open mouth, should not be allowed to remain untouched. He watches her like he watches other girls, with all the composure and assurance only the beautiful can possess. And with only the occasional flicker of puzzlement to go along with it.
No danger there.
She hadn’t thought there ever would be. Far more attraction to such as Remus Lupin, with his humour, his kindness and whatever it is that he keeps buttoned up so tightly inside. But Remus stirs her pity more than her blood, and Severus stirs only anger these days, while James Potter drives her mad every bloody day of the week. Sometimes she could scream and rage at them all because none of them are what she needs.
An inexplicable and inconvenient itch, is that what this is? But no, it’s not that simple. It’s like standing at a crossroads and seeing your life path ahead of you; wanting it, even accepting that it’s yours, but hesitating to take it because once you do… Then that’s it. You can’t change your mind.
So she hesitates, and while she’s doing so, for two days running Remus doesn’t make lessons, nor prefect duty, so she’s covers for him without question (it's what you do for someone like Remus), and bumps straight into Sirius Black where he has absolutely no right to be. Opens her mouth to give him what for and sees him struggling to hide the blood-stained clothing a moment too late behind him. Nor can he hide the spots of white anguish staining those shapely cheekbones, or the instant flare of panic in the grey eyes.
“Lily. Don't ask. Please.”
“You know I won’t.” She says it fiercely, hurt beyond measure. Arrogant, uncaring bastards don’t say things like that. Don’t look at her like that.
Then, “I know.” He smiles. Puts out what looks like, but simply can’t be, the most uncertain of hands, and touches her lightly on the wrist. “Sorry.”
Something twists inside her then; he’s nearing seventeen and human and frail. Like her, after all. All the books she’s read say that it’s sex and scent which charges the air between you. They’re wrong. It is vulnerability and seeing someone for a split second as he really is that lights the spark. That leads inexorably to them here in a cramped room only he knows - of course - with blankets on the floor, and endless minutes of spells being set on the door and walls. She hates his immaturity and his callousness; she knows she irritates him like hell in return with her prissy ways. But she needs to take a risk for once with the only thing worth risking that she's got, and he’s the one to do that with. Not Remus, who’d blame himself; not Severus, who’s lost himself; nor James, who’d come to hate her in time, and she’s not sure why she even cares about that but she does.
Sirius won’t tell a soul because he needs something too. She’s not interested in whether it’s to take his mind off his parents, or his brother, or the fact that everything comes so easily to him except peace of mind. All that matters is that he’ll survive this, and go on afterwards, because he’ll know this path and her are not for him.
And so her silence doesn’t embarrass him because he’s glad of it. The last thing either of them needs is to start liking the other. He eats his fill, drinks it too, and she watches the strong, white teeth, and stares at the strong, brown fingers, and knows that he’s savouring the waiting every bit as much as he’s savouring her.
“Wishing you hadn’t come?” He grins, wiping his hand against his mouth, and she thinks, perversely, about James Potter, who watches her with pleading eyes, and for a moment almost glimpses a truth that she’s never wanted to see before it’s lost against the pounding of her heart.
“Not really.” She sees the shutters come down in his grey eyes, and knows he’s also thought of James, and for this once only, has hardened his heart against him.
“Well - really or not really - you’re here.” That grin again and she could hit him because he is so incredibly, utterly dense. Unworthy.
Beautiful.
“And I’m not letting you go,” he adds, in the best cliché-ridden fashion.
“Don’t then.” Get on with it, she means.
And he does, because he knows girls and what they want, even if he doesn’t know her. He leans across, shoves the plates roughly to one side, cups her face and kisses her as thoroughly as if he’s been kissing her for years. He’s taking, not teaching, and it’s all much too fast, even though she wants it over with. She can’t catch her breath, and she’s always a pace behind his hands, and his tongue, and whatever it is he’s doing next. There’s a moment when, ridiculously, she wants her mother to come and take her away from all this because he is so obviously enjoying himself and she is so obviously not.
But then she rallies. It’s when he pauses, looking down at her, giving her time, and says, “I don’t want to hurt you.” He’s the vulnerable one, pleading now, calling to the female part of her that knows about rocking and holding and comforting - all those things she’s sure he’s never had. Which reminds her she’s Lily Evans, and she’s made of steel, and for tonight only, she wants to know what it’s like to be the sort of girl who does this sort of thing with a boy like him. The one thing she can’t afford is to feel love. So she puts her nails into his back, and her teeth into his tongue, and then the soft part of his shoulder where the smell and the taste of him threatens to overwhelm her. And though it is uncomfortable, and it does hurt to start with, he does wait for her, and cool and clever Lily Evans slides away for those few seconds as their bodies crush together. He gasps her name against her ear as the fiery stream of joy flows through her, bringing her fully to life and aware of everything she’s capable of.
For a moment she’s his and only his. If she had the breath, she’d beg him to never leave her. So it's as well she hasn't, isn't it?
“You’ll want me gone,” he says, when he can speak again.
“You’ll want me gone,” she says, when she can. Her voice sounds different to her because now she knows, and she sees the sorrow flicker in his eyes as they both acknowledge what might have been and never can.
“No,” he says, and kisses her face. Pulling her onto her side, so that he curls up around her.
“Just for a little while,” she says, and feels him nod silently against her.
When she wakes in the morning she's alone, as she knew she would be.
She lies there for a few minutes and thinks of Sirius Black. The real one. Then she gets up, puts on her clothes, and because there is nothing else for it, she gets on with her life.
One night.
Once only.
To live.
Characters: Lily Evans, Sirius Black
Ratings & warnings: R for sex
Prompt: For jdbracknell, who requested Sirius/Lily and Charged.
Word count: 1297
Summary: Lily doesn't love him, doesn't want him, and may not even like him that much. But what might make her need Sirius Black?
Author's note: I'd never even thought about this pairing before this. Written in 2008.
The Path Not Taken
One night.
Once only.
By unspoken agreement. It’s not as if they’ve ever talked much in the first place.
So the silence between them now certainly doesn’t embarrass him, but then what does embarrass Sirius Black? Certainly not Lily Evans, with her prim and proper ways, and her cool and clever remarks as he’s tried everything he knows - and it’s scary how much he knows - to get under her skin. It’s as though these last few weeks have been a matter of affronted pride to him; that the one girl who doesn’t follow his long shadow under lowered lashes as he walks by, who doesn’t clutch her pillow hard against her at night and pretend it’s his open mouth, should not be allowed to remain untouched. He watches her like he watches other girls, with all the composure and assurance only the beautiful can possess. And with only the occasional flicker of puzzlement to go along with it.
No danger there.
She hadn’t thought there ever would be. Far more attraction to such as Remus Lupin, with his humour, his kindness and whatever it is that he keeps buttoned up so tightly inside. But Remus stirs her pity more than her blood, and Severus stirs only anger these days, while James Potter drives her mad every bloody day of the week. Sometimes she could scream and rage at them all because none of them are what she needs.
An inexplicable and inconvenient itch, is that what this is? But no, it’s not that simple. It’s like standing at a crossroads and seeing your life path ahead of you; wanting it, even accepting that it’s yours, but hesitating to take it because once you do… Then that’s it. You can’t change your mind.
So she hesitates, and while she’s doing so, for two days running Remus doesn’t make lessons, nor prefect duty, so she’s covers for him without question (it's what you do for someone like Remus), and bumps straight into Sirius Black where he has absolutely no right to be. Opens her mouth to give him what for and sees him struggling to hide the blood-stained clothing a moment too late behind him. Nor can he hide the spots of white anguish staining those shapely cheekbones, or the instant flare of panic in the grey eyes.
“Lily. Don't ask. Please.”
“You know I won’t.” She says it fiercely, hurt beyond measure. Arrogant, uncaring bastards don’t say things like that. Don’t look at her like that.
Then, “I know.” He smiles. Puts out what looks like, but simply can’t be, the most uncertain of hands, and touches her lightly on the wrist. “Sorry.”
Something twists inside her then; he’s nearing seventeen and human and frail. Like her, after all. All the books she’s read say that it’s sex and scent which charges the air between you. They’re wrong. It is vulnerability and seeing someone for a split second as he really is that lights the spark. That leads inexorably to them here in a cramped room only he knows - of course - with blankets on the floor, and endless minutes of spells being set on the door and walls. She hates his immaturity and his callousness; she knows she irritates him like hell in return with her prissy ways. But she needs to take a risk for once with the only thing worth risking that she's got, and he’s the one to do that with. Not Remus, who’d blame himself; not Severus, who’s lost himself; nor James, who’d come to hate her in time, and she’s not sure why she even cares about that but she does.
Sirius won’t tell a soul because he needs something too. She’s not interested in whether it’s to take his mind off his parents, or his brother, or the fact that everything comes so easily to him except peace of mind. All that matters is that he’ll survive this, and go on afterwards, because he’ll know this path and her are not for him.
And so her silence doesn’t embarrass him because he’s glad of it. The last thing either of them needs is to start liking the other. He eats his fill, drinks it too, and she watches the strong, white teeth, and stares at the strong, brown fingers, and knows that he’s savouring the waiting every bit as much as he’s savouring her.
“Wishing you hadn’t come?” He grins, wiping his hand against his mouth, and she thinks, perversely, about James Potter, who watches her with pleading eyes, and for a moment almost glimpses a truth that she’s never wanted to see before it’s lost against the pounding of her heart.
“Not really.” She sees the shutters come down in his grey eyes, and knows he’s also thought of James, and for this once only, has hardened his heart against him.
“Well - really or not really - you’re here.” That grin again and she could hit him because he is so incredibly, utterly dense. Unworthy.
Beautiful.
“And I’m not letting you go,” he adds, in the best cliché-ridden fashion.
“Don’t then.” Get on with it, she means.
And he does, because he knows girls and what they want, even if he doesn’t know her. He leans across, shoves the plates roughly to one side, cups her face and kisses her as thoroughly as if he’s been kissing her for years. He’s taking, not teaching, and it’s all much too fast, even though she wants it over with. She can’t catch her breath, and she’s always a pace behind his hands, and his tongue, and whatever it is he’s doing next. There’s a moment when, ridiculously, she wants her mother to come and take her away from all this because he is so obviously enjoying himself and she is so obviously not.
But then she rallies. It’s when he pauses, looking down at her, giving her time, and says, “I don’t want to hurt you.” He’s the vulnerable one, pleading now, calling to the female part of her that knows about rocking and holding and comforting - all those things she’s sure he’s never had. Which reminds her she’s Lily Evans, and she’s made of steel, and for tonight only, she wants to know what it’s like to be the sort of girl who does this sort of thing with a boy like him. The one thing she can’t afford is to feel love. So she puts her nails into his back, and her teeth into his tongue, and then the soft part of his shoulder where the smell and the taste of him threatens to overwhelm her. And though it is uncomfortable, and it does hurt to start with, he does wait for her, and cool and clever Lily Evans slides away for those few seconds as their bodies crush together. He gasps her name against her ear as the fiery stream of joy flows through her, bringing her fully to life and aware of everything she’s capable of.
For a moment she’s his and only his. If she had the breath, she’d beg him to never leave her. So it's as well she hasn't, isn't it?
“You’ll want me gone,” he says, when he can speak again.
“You’ll want me gone,” she says, when she can. Her voice sounds different to her because now she knows, and she sees the sorrow flicker in his eyes as they both acknowledge what might have been and never can.
“No,” he says, and kisses her face. Pulling her onto her side, so that he curls up around her.
“Just for a little while,” she says, and feels him nod silently against her.
When she wakes in the morning she's alone, as she knew she would be.
She lies there for a few minutes and thinks of Sirius Black. The real one. Then she gets up, puts on her clothes, and because there is nothing else for it, she gets on with her life.
One night.
Once only.
To live.