His drug of choice? Lily Evans.
Her drug of choice? Sirius Black.
It was enough to tease him, almost to make the need worse, but he needed more. He wasn’t thinking anymore; not about James, or about himself, or even about what he was about to do. Only that he wanted – needed – to do it. And when he looked up, finally turned his head, he could see in her eyes that fire. She needed it too.
And that was it. Suicide.
This was not a crush. This was not lust. And this most certainly was not love.
This was an agonizing, bone-crushing, physical addiction.
And what a sweet, slippery slope it was.
Grinning wickedly, he stopped before their lips could meet, breathing heavily onto the tip of her nose. “You’re like putty in my hands, Evans. I make the rules. I own you. You’re mine.” He could feel it, it was tangible, the hold he had over her and her addiction.
“Go to Hell, Black.”
She hissed it. In that moment, the movement was subtle, a slight twitch of the eyebrow, a small twist of her lip. Green eyes blazing, challenging him. Daring him. Do it.
Right then, the power shifted between them, from him to her and back, and Sirius came to a realization: As long as they were both addicted, they could play this game all night. They both had the power, yet neither of them owned it, not for very long. Sirius had to take his back.
Just as she began to speak again, he seized his moment, the openness of her mouth allowing for little politeness; zero to sixty in point two seconds. Pressing her body hard to the wall, his right hand went to her neck like a magnet, snaking through her red locks. The other hand found hers just as fast and their fingers entwined, gripping hard as he brought their hands over their heads.
“With pleasure, Evans.”
Because he was, without a doubt, going to Hell. Betrayal surely secured a person a one way ticket to that Lake of Fire.
But if Lily was his ticket – if this was his ticket – he would willingly pay the price. Anything was worth feeling this.