HATRED: A PRELUDE OF LUST
Author: Queen Nightingale
Pairing: JPLE, PPLE (Start)
Comment(s): It's a strange story, might be difficult for some of you to handle. No flames, please.
"If you live in rock and roll, as I do, you see the reality
of sex, of male lust and women being aroused by male lust.
It attracts women. It doesn't repel them."
~ Camille Paglia
She wants to lust.
She wants to lust and lust and lust and crave and desire, just like she used to.
But goddamit, she doesn't want to lust after him.
It's brilliance, really. Their entire relationship, the hot, heated embraces, the passionate words storming out of their mouths like soldiers into war. They're chaotic, boiling with fire and brimstone.
It starts first when they're alone and screaming at each other, in an empty common room in sixth year. There's nobody else around – it's maybe close to three in the morning, and both are at their wits end.
He's staring her down, shouting back profanities about her family (yes, despite common belief, James Potter was not above that), screaming about how she is the stupidest most idiotic girl in the entire world to still be friends with Severus Snape.
And she can't help but scream back, something deep within her coiling and tightening with want, her hair frizzed out and flaming around her face, highlighting her stunning imperfections – a broad nose, slight acne, all bones and broken pieces.
And then he's a little bit thunderstruck, a bit bedazzled when she suddenly lunges at him, pushing him back and shoving him into the wall.
They both are silent, exchanging breaths like it's the currency of lust, staring down each other.
She pretends that she's still furious with him, but oh no, he can read her eyes.
And she's waiting, and waiting, and waiting.
Then he smirks, and moves his head back a bit, challenging her.
She growls, and ravages him with her lips.
It starts with a hit, a tortured, angry shove, and that's what the relationship would build on.
(Not that she ever admitted that it was a relationship.)
She had a boyfriend, did she mention that?
Beautiful, perfect, simpleton Peter Pettigrew. The storybooks forgot that integral piece of information.
She wrapped him around her finger like she was an expert seamstress, and Peter never suspected a thing.
The next time it happened it was outside the Transfiguration classroom, and Lily wasn't the one who broke.
She was walking out of class, the last student, nobody else around (as the professor informed her that she was in charge of turning off the lights, being a prefect.)
He was waiting for her outside, and nausea burned ulcers in her stomach.
"What do you want, Potter," she said, hissing, her back suddenly up straight and glaring at him.
(She was desperately worried that he would want to talk. She felt like she was about to throw up. She wasn't exactly fond of commitment, and also being in a relationship, she feared it from him.)
He was leaning against the wall, his black hair tousled and in his face, his glasses framing his hidden eyes. He smirked.
Then he slowly stands up, and approaches her, Lily's eyes darting everywhere but at him.
"What? What do you want?"
He's standing so close to her that her nose is practically touching his chest, since he's almost 6"3 and she's measly compared to him. She glowers into his shirt.
"You're a fucking slut, you know that?" he sneers, making Lily's heart thud harder and her head to tilt up violently to meet his gaze, "I hate you for this. I really fucking hate you. Pettigrew is one of my best friends."
She sneers back at him, her eyes shooting daggers.
"So why the fuck, instead of apologizing to him, are you standing in front of - "
He yanks her waist to his in a quick second and then unconsciously, she drops her bookbag with a loud thud, her arms curling around his neck.
"You always want things you can't have, James."
His breath ghosts across her collarbone, and she struggles to not moan. Suddenly, he picks her up, and her legs are wrapped around his waist, and she's slammed into the wall, and his lips are on hers, and his lips are on hers, and his lips are on hers ...
She breaks up with Peter after that. He's a sweet boy (she thinks in her head that he's more suited to Hufflepuff than Gryffindor, in all honesty), but she's bored.
Plus, despite common belief, she isn't a completely heartless bitch.
She always wonders if Pettigrew ever found out the true reason why she ended up standing in front of him outside the library, convincing him that she had too much schoolwork.
"I'm sorry Peter, it's really not you, I just can't have a relationship and focus on my marks too."
"I understand, Lily. I think our r-r-relationship had ended a while back, anyways. I was feeling a bit emotionally distant," he replies, with his normal almost not noticeable stutter.
She feels a bit distraught, staring at his eyes, this simple boy who just fell for a girl who kissed him at the Halloween Ball. He was good-looking too: not striking like Sirius, or handsome like James, or even rugged like Remus; he was just an attractive blond, a decent height, with a good strong body. He would be perfectly bland if it wasn't for the stutter.
"So you're not upset?"
"No, not at all," he smiles gently, his eyes that infamous watery blue, "I understand completely. I'm sure we'll stay friends too, r-r-right?"
"Yeah, for sure Peter."
At that instant, James walks around the corner, and Lily's heart skips a beat. The taller boy freezes, staring at the two of them, and then closer at Lily, who feels her cheeks start to burn.
"Just having a nice 'lets-only-be-friends' chat, Prongs," Peter laughs, trying to reduce the tension, "Nice time for you to walk by."
"She's dumping you?"
Lily groans exaggeratedly, and puts her face in her hands.
"I'm not dumping him, James, not that it's any of your fucking business."
Everyone is silent for a couple of seconds before Peter pipes up again.
"I'm actually heading back into the library to finish up some Ancient Runes. Anyone coming?"
"No, I'm good Peter."
"Yeah, thanks though Wormtail."
Peter sets off with a smile and a wave and disappears back into the library, as James' gaze locks with Lily's.
"Why the fuck did you do that?" he exclaims suddenly, not capable of keeping it in, one hand madly tousling his hair.
"Like you give a shit," Lily spits back at him, "My romantic life is none of your fucking business!"
"Oh yeah? Really?"
"Really, dipshit! Merlin's balls, what's your problem?"
"My problem is that you just dumped my mate!"
"For the last time, James, I didn't fucking dump him," Lily's voice starts to raise, "We're going to move forward as friends."
"For the last time, Lily, I'm pretty sure that's called dumping him. Why are you such a bitch?"
"Why are you even concerned?"
And then they're standing too close again in the cranny by the library. And Lily can see little specks of gold in James' eyes, and she's suddenly extremely self-conscious of the fact that she didn't put on cover-up that morning.
"You're such a loser," she snarls at him, turning her head away from him and trying to not meet his eyes, hiding her imperfections, "I didn't like him that much anyways, it wouldn't have worked out. We were dating for two fucking weeks, Potter, it's not like we were long-term or anything."
She realizes that she doesn't hear a response, and turns her gaze back to him.
His arm is beside her head, and he's leaning towards her, beautiful and elegant as always.
"Kiss me," he says, his eyes heavy-lidded and dangerous.
And it's too easy. Her heart is pumping too hard and it doesn't feel right and she feels like a proper whore, like the ones from the story-books.
And so she shoves him and he won't budge, his body barely moving from her pounding fists. Her eyes grow a bit wider with fear, and a sizeable portion of excitement.
"I'm not going to, you BASTARD!"
"Kiss me, and I'll let you go."
She pauses, and looks in his eyes, and sees a bit of something that she can't name, can't shape words around it, a growing sense of something, and it thrills her a bit, because she knows that he's lying.
"If you can only get me to kiss you when I'm trapped, then that's not a real kiss, Potter."
"I don't give a fuck. Kiss me."
Her heart is pumping so hard that she thinks she might die from too much blood flow. So she shakily wraps her arms around his neck, and slowly presses her body against his.
She glances at his face, but it's blank.
She slowly, daintily, carefully moves her face up to his, and gently presses her lips against his.
The world stops spinning. (Or that's what it feels like.)
His lips are soft, and warm, and they don't move for a second. But then they tango with hers perfectly, his tongue gently nudging to foxtrot with hers.
She moans, incapable of holding it back, and she can feel him smile against her lips, but she doesn't really give a shit that he's laughing at her, because his lips feel like they were made to kiss hers.
And then she's pressed against the wall, and he's more insistent, and his hands are trailing down her shirt, and her hands are in his hair, clutching at it, and then he's touching her stomach and then and then and then
She refuses to fly.
She breaks off from him, and grabs her bookbag, wrapping it around her like a cloak, then walks away from him.
She watches him in class.
She doesn't do it on purpose, duh, but for some reason when a girl's hooked up with a guy, every single cell in her body has a tendency of standing on attention when he's near. And she can always tell when he's near, which is frustrating.
She hates, however, that he catches her.
She hates that stare, long and languid, exchanged between them, the air suddenly tense and filled with possibilities, as his eyes engulf her and swallow her whole.
She hates how she always looks down first.
"Are you okay, Lily, you seem kind of skittish," Dorcas whispers to her at their back corner in Charms, "Is everything alright?"
"Fine, Dorcas, just fine. Thanks."
It's getting more frequent, their 'incidents'.
It's the broom closets that are the problem, there are really just too many of them, damn things. Every time they're alone, which seems to be getting more and more frequent, one of them grabs the other and things go downhill from there.
She hates her appetite for his kisses.
She despises the way her arms run up and down with electricity when he so much as glances at her, let alone sneakily brushes past her in the hallway.
She abhors the feeling after she makes out with him, that ultimate revulsion of her spirit when she realizes that she has just macked with James Potter, prick of all pricks.
But more than that, she loathes how she still wants him. She detests how her eyes drink him in on the Quidditch match, secretly dreaming over the day that he flies over to her and drapes his scarf around her neck before taking off. She is disgusted by the way she can't help but be jealous when he flirts with all the other girls, clearly making eye contact with her as he coos over a pretty Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw.
She's revolted by how much she needs his skin on hers, how much she wants his fingers tracing spiderwebs across her body, how much she adores his eyes and lips and attractive figure.
She hates how much she wants him.
All of him, not just his lust.
So she brutalizes him.
She rapes him and rapes him, albeit willingly on his part, tearing her nails into his skin and biting his neck in their hidden, secret spots.
"Fuck, Lily, dammit, you've got to stop leaving marks!"
She smirks at him.
"No, for Merlin's sake," James says, irritated at her and attempting to eye up the massive hickey bruised onto his neck, "But how am I supposed to explain this?"
"No, not whatever," James replies, furious, "I told you to never leave marks on my skin."
"Like I give a shit."
"BullSHIT," James suddenly swears, pulling her towards him and looking her straight in the eye, "I know why you're doing this."
"Why I'm doing what?" Lily retorts, suddenly on the defensive, squirming in his arms, "What the fuck are you talking about? Let go!"
"You want more than this, don't you," James says, his voice deep and husky, his arms still holding Lily against the back of the broom closet, "You want a relationship."
"That's apeshit, James, me?"
"Why else would you leave marks so that all the other girls can see that I'm snogging someone?"
"I don't know, maybe I just got too into it," Lily replies, defensively, "What the fuck is your problem, Potter?"
"Ohhh, don't fucking call me Potter now Lily, we're in too deep for last names," James' eyes darken, "Don't pretend that you don't know what I'm talking about."
"I'm don't want anything from you except your dick, alright?" Lily says suddenly, her anger flashing, "Now let the fuck go of me!"
"Well, at least you're admitting you want that."
She wishes that she had the courage to admit to him that she wants a relationship, but she's always been less of a Gryffindor than she's let on. Maybe she should have been in Ravenclaw.
She wants him to admit to her that he wants her, not the other way around. The girl shouldn't be the one to make the first move, that's why this is all wrong, right? He should be the one telling her that he wants more, he should be the one taking the lead, he should man up in the relationship.
Which is why, she reflects, she really shouldn't have ever kissed him in the first place. It puts her up for heartbreak, that's the problem.
They're lying on his bed. It's a Hogsmeade weekend, and she's pretended to be sick so that she could stay with him, since he's had so many detentions that his Hogsmeade privileges had been revoked. And he could have easily taken up Sirius' offer to sneak out through the secret passage under Agnesta the Modest, but something kept him back. Then he was lying on his bed idly tossing a snitch up and down, and a little thing with a ton of red frizzy hair slammed the door of his room open and walked in.
It's the first time they've stayed together after making out, and James finds himself enjoying it far too much for comfort. His arm is wrapped around her shoulders, and she's snuggled against his side, and they're not talking at all.
And it's not awkward.
She's gently tracing patterns onto his shirt and oh Merlin it feels good, even though he really shouldn't be turned on this easily. And she's never not insulted him for this long before, and he doesn't want to shatter the moment by opening his loud mouth.
After about ten minutes he shifts a bit and she startles, as if realizing where she is, and sits up in the bed, getting ready to leave his room.
"You don't need to leave, you know," he says, his voice a bit hoarse and raspy.
"What?" she turns to him, incredulous, "You want me to stay?"
He carves under the pressure.
"Well no, okay, I just meant that if you were, fuck, never mind then."
She rolls her eyes at him, "Someone's getting attached."
He glowers at her back.
If it was not a clichéd way that they became make-out partners, the start of their relationship certainly is. It was a delicious, straight out of a fairytale romance, and the thought of it brings nausea to both of their stomachs. The over-emotionality, the tears, and heartache – oh! It's just too much for both of them to handle, but they suck up their bile and grin like the bastards they are.
It's at a Quidditch match. (Obviously)
He gets hit by a bludger. (Obviously)
She screams, startling her friends around her, and hurtles down towards him. (Obviously)
She accompanies him to Madame Pomfrey. (Obviously)
She lets a few tears slip when she sees how damaged his arm is. (Obviously)
He wakes up, and sees her face. (Obviously)
But they never tell you that the reason why James Potter wasn't signed by Puddlemere United wasn't because of his detentions, but as an end result of a sustained bludger injury in sixth year.
"I can't play again?" he says, quietly, his face numb with shock, Lily sitting there with tears streaming down her face.
"No, Mr. Potter, you can play, but your left hand will never be able to function quite as properly as it did before. You'll still be a good chaser, but you won't be able to complete more difficult manuevers on your broom."
Footsteps recede to their right.
Lily lets out a little exhale, turning to face James, whose face has gone white, "At least you can play, right?"
She notices that he's shaking, and she moves closer to him, grabbing his right hand with both of her own, "James, it'll be okay. It's just Quidditch."
"JUST QUIDDITCH?" he roars suddenly and sits up, Lily flinching and murmuring a Muffliato around them for the fight that is about to come, "JUST MOTHERFUCKING QUIDDITCH?"
"You're safe, that's all that matters James, you've got to be thankful for that - "
"Thankful?" he says quieter, turning to Lily, who is horrified to see that his cheeks are suddenly wet with tears, "Thankful? I'd rather die than not fly."
She has never, ever seen him cry before. Not when there was that whole Marauders fight with Snape about Remus, not when he broke his arm in Transfiguration, not when Sirius hexed him by accident in third year Charms.
"Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry," she murmurs, putting her arms around his shaking body, "Oh Merlin, please don't cry, please don't cry ..."
"It's everything to me, Lily. Quidditch is my life. You don't understand. It's my passion, my fucking dream, my fucking destiny. I have nothing without Quidditch, nothing at all. I am nothing."
"Yes you are, James, you're something to me."
"Really, Lily?" he yells again, and Lily staggers back a bit this time out of shock, "You're telling me that I'm worth something to you? You hate me!"
"No, I don't hate you, I just ..."
"Just what. Go on. Tell the cripple."
"Oh for fuck's sake James, you're not a cripple."
"I am so! I'm a fucking useless cripple. What if your hand broke, and you couldn't wave it up so high to keen anymore in class? This is the same damn thing. Someone just took my life away! MERLIN."
"You're being fucking overdramatic. You can do plenty of things other than Quidditch, you've got the highest grades in our school for Transfiguration."
James quiets down a bit, looking slightly like a petulant boy.
"But I don't like Transfiguration."
"I don't like most of our subjects either, James, but that's what the rest of the world does. They go to work and they make shitloads of money doing something that they don't love."
"I DON'T WANT TO DO THAT FUCKING SHIT FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE."
"SHUT THE FUCK UP! NEITHER DO I! BUT QUIDDITCH WILL TURN INTO THAT IF YOU DO IT AS A JOB!"
"YOU'RE A FUCKED UP USELESS BITCH WHO'S MAKING OUT WITH ME. ME! YOU WON'T LIKE ME ANYMORE NOW THAT I CAN'T FLY!"
"I NEVER LIKED YOU TO BEGIN WITH, YOU FUCKING WEIRDO! THAT'LL NEVER CHANGE!"
"YOU ARE SUCH A FUCKING WHORE!"
"YOU ARE SUCH A FUCKING BASTARD AND A BABY. POMFREY DIDN'T SAY YOU CAN'T PLAY ANYMORE, Just that you can't make some difficult manuevers. You're still fucking Captain. You just can't do the damn Wronski Feint. NOT THAT YOU WOULD WANT TO ANYWAYS, BEING A MERLIN-DAMNED CHASER!"
James pauses and glares at her, realization pulsing through his veins.
"Why the fuck are you here anyways?"
"I was actually worried about you," Lily sighs, taking a deep breath and sitting back down in her chair, "Whether you believe it or not is up to you."
"Well, I don't want you here."
"Good. I'll stay, then."
She learns the next day from Marlene that Puddlemere United scouts were at the game and still want to sign James, and she goes stomping up to his dormitory, where he's resting, to scream at him.
She bangs open the door with her foot, and Remus squeals from where he's clad in his boxers, James eyeing her up from where he's decorating his arm cast with his name on his bed.
"Uhh, Lily? Maybe a knock next time?" Remus says, blushing, quickly covering himself with robes, then exiting the room, casting a strange look at the two of them.
She ignores him and makes her way over to James, who looks up at her with a lazy grin.
"You fucking idiot. They still want to sign you, you little piece of shit."
"You fucking know who."
"Yeah, I know," James replies, ignoring her and continuing to doodle on his cast with his quill, which Lily suddenly rips from his fingers and flings across the room.
"That was my good quill!"
"This is my good time!" Lily yells back, irritated beyond belief.
"Oh fine, for Merlin's sake," James rolls his eyes, a smirk bordering on his mouth, "I turned them down. I listened to you. I don't want to ruin my love of Quidditch by being forced to play it for money."
Lily stares at him, agape.
"You heard me," James replied, undoing his arm cast and stretching out his left hand, "Plus, my hand is perfectly healed." He grins at her cockily, "Dear old Pomfrey just had to find the right potion."
She's frozen in her spot, a small grin growing on her face, "Well that's good news then, Potter."
James' eyes black suddenly, and he's up on his feet in a second.
"Don't ever call me Potter again. How many fucking times do I have to tell you that?"
And she finds her back slammed against the wall, except this time she's enjoying the feel of his hands clenched around her waist and her supported on by him, and the feeling of his hair in her hands.
"I want you to wear my scarf at the next Quidditch match," he whispers in her ear, and she grins widely.
And they pause, their lips two breaths away from each other, the tension crackling in the room.
"Kiss me," she says suddenly, breathlessly, frightened.
So he does.