fleshdress (fleshdress) wrote in fleshlythings, @ 2007-08-12 13:30:00 |
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Entry tags: | fandom:hp, fic, het, james/lily, lucius/regulus, porn, sirius/snape, slash |
FIC: Putting Out Fires (with Gasoline) - Part I
Title: Putting Out Fires (with Gasoline)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Sirius/Snape, James/Lily, Lucius/Regulus (secondary and implied pairings Regulus/Remus, Sirius/James, Bellatrix/Rodolphus, hints of James/Regulus)
Rating: Porn
Summary: Three stories from the same night in the same city. Just your average sci-fi cyberpunk porn with psychics.
Warnings: prostitution, coercion, outdoors sex, voyeurism, mindfucks, facial, het and slash – I think those are the main ones. Oh yes, and AU
Notes: Many thanks to greenspine for the read-through and everyone on my f'list who has been so encouraging and supportive every time I've mentioned the 'cyberpunk porn' fic to the. Inspiration for this was pulled liberally from many sources but most of all from the movie, Bladerunner.
Flare
“I do hope my cousin is worth the money you spend on him. Honestly, Severus, this is the fourth time in two weeks. You could buy an apartment above the dust for the amount you’ve paid him so far this year.”
Snape looks back over his shoulder at her. Bellatrix is a tall woman and the high heels she wears make her even taller but the cyclopean build of The Chamber dwarfs her. She’s a tiny dark figure in the massive archway and Regulus, lingering a step or two behind her, is even smaller. The smell of the smoke from her cigarette is acrid in Snape’s nose.
Orange light slants across the floor, burning the motes of dust that fill the air; it’s dusk already. Snape straightens his tie and turns away. His footsteps ring out across the stone and after a moment he hears the sharp, receding click of Bella’s heels. The elevator doors slide open and he’s about to step in when Regulus catches his sleeve.
“Tell him there’s a solar flare due tonight. It’ll hit just after 1. Make sure he knows.”
Snape looks at the small white fingers clutching the sleeve of his jacket, the perfectly manicured nails. Regulus lets go of him and takes a step back. His own suit makes him look more like a schoolboy than a professional. It's two weeks since Walburga's cerebral chip burnt out. It had taken less than three days for her to be driven mad by the endless, unsleeping voices in her head. Rumour has it Bella's chip is faulty and that's why she's more than a little mad most of the time. She'll burn out soon.
So Snape doesn't ask why Regulus is breaking procedure like this. He simply gives him a single nod and steps into the elevator. Regulus is still watching him when the doors shut him out of sight.
*
Black’s waiting on the corner of Knockturn, haunting the shadows of the derelict towerblocks. The garish lights of the holo-ads above his head flicker over his skin, illuminating the shine of sweat at his collarbone and bare shoulders, and the grease of the paint on his lips and his eyes. His black hair is tied up in a ponytail, worked through with ink-green feathers and tiny silver beads. There’s yet another jewel studded through his ear, a ruby like a drop of blood; Snape’s kept track of the piercings over the years. He remembers when Sirius was as pure and plain as his brother.
He’s leant up against the wall with the perfect poise of a hooker who knows how much in demand he is, how beautiful he is. A breeze - as warm as the dirt-filled, stagnant air - rustles through the still night, flutters a tattered poster for the House of Clouds club. The sky is the colour of burnt sugar and cracked through like old leather. Even after sunset, the heat’s the same, burning up the sky and boiling under the concrete.
Snape can feel the gathering beads of sweat at the back of his neck, moist against the sagging collar of his shirt. He scrapes his lank hair off his face and pulls in alongside Sirius.
“Want to take me home?” says Sirius, straightening up and sauntering over. There’s grace in his every move and when he tilts his head at Snape, a mockery of coy desire, the beads in his hair rattle like bells.
He slides into the car next to Snape and flicks the radio on while Snape drives. Voices break through the static as Sirius rolls through the channels. He flashes Snape a wide, curving smile as he settles on the public broadcast.
“And it is with this in mind,” says Lucius Malfoy, “that we are pleased to announce a new psy-implant that will enable all registered psychics to automatically locate themselves within the bloodlines. This revolutionary discovery will do away with the queues and bureaucracy as psychics will now be added to their bloodline from the moment of birth. All irregularities can be subject to immediate scrutiny and rectification. And let me say again, that none of this would be possible without Voldemort Technologies-“
Snape jabs his finger at the control panel and the radio switches immediately to an infomercial.
“-sultry and sexy, and oh-so-talented, the House of Clouds is thrilled to introduce you to their new singer: the Red Lily! She'll leave you gasp-“
Sirius turns the radio off and looks out the window. A crackle of electricity rips through the sky overhead. Snape sees the flash of it just as he hears Sirius’s hissed intake of breath. He glances in the mirror and sees him pressing his fingertips to his forehead. It’s not gone 11pm. There’s no need to give him Regulus’s message just yet. Snape always likes to hold something in reserve.
*
A psychic from a bloodline like Sirius’s could have a seat on the Board of Directors at Voldemort Technologies. Not for Sirius though. He prefers to sell his body and use his mind for destruction rather than control. It’s not as though he misses the money. His apartment is in one of the less polluted parts of town, the dust not so thick underfoot. The security systems are as sound as the ones on Snape’s apartment. When you look like Sirius Black and are prepared to go as far as he does, prostitution pays very nicely indeed.
Snape hangs at Sirius’s elbow, glancing about the littered streets and trying not to inhale too much of the dust stirred up by the sparking air. Sirius leans in and breathes on the security panel. The door hums then slides open. Twining his fingers about Snape’s tie, Sirius drags him into the building.
In the cramped metal elevator, Sirius wraps himself about Snape - one arm curled about his neck and one long leg hooked about Snape’s hips – and kisses him. The combination of soaring temperatures and a line of work in which clothes are nothing but packaging to be torn off means Sirius is not wearing much at all. Snape can feel the shape of his cock through the thin, petrol-slick trousers he’s wearing.
He clutches Sirius’s shoulders to hold him still as he pushes his tongue into his mouth. His hands skim over the stretches of bare skin, already damp and bruised. He reaches under Sirius’s silky vest-top so he can find a nipple, small and hard, that he can tug at and pinch until Sirius makes more of those helpless noises.
They tumble into the corridor, Snape half-carrying Sirius, and bang into the opposite wall. Sirius stretches out a hand and runs a fingertip down the door to his apartment. The door clicks unlocked and opens for them.
Inside the room, they separate, falling into well-rehearsed routine. Snape undresses and leaves his suit hanging neatly over the back of a chair. Sirius pulls his vest off and stretches languidly, silhouetted by the neon city lights against the charcoal night-sky.
He flings himself down on the bed and kicks his trousers off, the material shimmying down his hips like a ripple of liquid. Then he spreads his legs and poses for Snape. He always knows when Snape’s watching him. What’s a psychic skill in Snape is a natural gift for Sirius. He lays himself out on his back, one knee half-bent to hide his cock, then he flips himself over onto all fours, glancing over his shoulder with a come-hither flutter of eyelashes.
“How do you want me, baby? Are you going to be gentle with me? It’s been a hard night and I’d be so grateful for a little love.”
Snape can’t help but notice the bruises on Sirius’s thighs, can’t help but imagine the hands that must have held his legs wide. Sirius laughs at the softening of his expression and props himself up on his forearms, jerking his sweetly-rounded haunches up into the air in clear invitation. But for all his jeering and sarcasm, a shiver still goes through him when Snape lays hands on him.
Snape uses his thumbs to peel the high, white cheeks of Sirius’s arse apart. There’s no need for fingering because Sirius has already been fucked open. His hole is red and swollen, glistening with lube and other men’s come. Snape’s cock, already stiff and aching, gets harder still at the thought of Sirius being fucked sixty times sideways already tonight but still being forced to give himself up to Snape at the end of it all.
“That’s not nice, Severus,” says Sirius. “You’ve had your cock in me so often I thought we were friends.”
Getting drawn into conversation is a mistake Snape doesn’t make anymore. Sirius is as bad as the rest of his family, even if he is apparently on the other side. He has no qualms about rifling through Snape’s memories, downloading them to his own chip for blackmail or barter at a later date. Sirius, like the rest of his family, like the rest of the other bloodline psychics, excels at getting under people’s skin. Thinking that Sirius is any better because he’s part of the Underground is pure stupidity.
And despite what Snape may think of himself, especially now he finds himself double-agent turned double-agent, he's not stupid.
"Any time you're ready," says Sirius.
The teasing note of a professional whore has slid into something more like truth: Sirius is tired and he doesn't want to be doing this and certainly not with Snape.
Snape slides the damp head of his cock down the cleft of Sirius's arse and then thrusts inside him. There's a practised ease in the way Sirius pushes back against the penetration. He lets out a breath then braces himself against his forearms as Snape sinks balls-deep into him. Snape watches the tremble go down Sirius's spine while he languishes in simply being pushed up inside the tight, clenching heat, wets his lips at the sight of his cock disappearing into Sirius's body.
He lays a hand on the small of Sirius's back and he feels Sirius go still. It's not enough contact for Sirius to be downloading from him. Snape won't let that happen until he's ready, but he can feel Sirius reading him. So he draws his hips back, letting the entire length of his cock drag out of Sirius, then slams back into him with such force that Sirius is almost knocked face-first onto the bed.
It's one of Snape's favourite ways to break Sirius's concentration.
"Not yet," he says.
"Not had enough of me yet?" Sirius snarls as Snape begins fucking him with hard, shallow thrusts.
"I need enough memory to pass off if I'm scanned. They need to think I'm here solely for the pleasure of your company."
Sirius laughs and jerks his hips so that the steady, punishing rhythm Snape was building up to is thrown. His hands are like claws on the rumpled bedsheet. He moans with each thrust, sounds so desperate and provocative that Snape knows they're deliberate. It infuriates Snape, makes him shove his cock harder into Sirius, determined to break through the act.
His thighs slap against the curve of Sirius's arse and he tries to hold him steady, gripping his hips, but there's so much glistening skin to put his hands on. He ends up smoothing over Sirius's ribs and shoulders, feeling the shift of muscle as Sirius struggles to stay on all fours and not simply be pounded into the bed.
It's a small satisfaction when he sees Sirius is pressing his face into the pillow, biting down on his hand to stay quiet. It's not all that Snape would want – he'd want Black to beg, to stop playing the whore and be the one Snape knows he is, deep down – but it's more than he can expect. It will have to do.
He strokes away the tail of black hair, pushing it forward over Sirius's shoulder. The back of Sirius's neck is an ever-tempting curve of unmarked skin. It's smooth and pale and Snape would like nothing more than to bite on it, gnaw the flesh between his teeth until Sirius is reduced to tears and blood. But it'd be the last thing Snape would ever do.
A small series of bumps at the top of the spinal column mars the sheer perfection of it. Snape presses a fingertip to them, ignores Sirius's soft whine, and imagines the electric pulse beneath the skin. Using one hand to brace himself against Sirius's shoulder, ensuring his cock will stay rammed deep inside him, Snape lowers his head and lays his mouth over the marks.
It's quick, a flash of scenes and data. Numbers scroll over his sight, interspersed with images that could almost appear snatched from the TV, except Snape and Sirius both know the people in the starring roles. Snape struggles to maintain control of what Sirius takes from him. Sirius's breath disappears and he goes silent and still. Snape can't see his face but he knows from experience how he will look: lips soft and open, eyes staring blankly at the information Snape's pouring into him.
Snape feels Sirius jerk and clench about him as they watch Bellatrix murder Marlene McKinnon. It's wrong to come with a woman's death playing out before them but Snape can't help it. Sirius is so broken at that point, the distress at what he's watching making his body ripple about Snape's cock.
At last, he slips out of Sirius and Sirius collapses beneath him, shuddering. Snape doesn't bother trying to comfort him. Sirius only gets it second-hand, after all, and nobody was there to comfort Snape. He rolls away from him and drops onto his back on the bed. Sirius goes on staring at nothing, hands brought close to his mouth as if to snatch away any sound.
"You'll make sure it all reaches Dumbledore?" Snape says.
Sirius doesn't move for a moment and then he nods. Snape thinks about maybe getting dressed and leaving. Data transfer is complete.
*
When Sirius recovers, he climbs off the bed and goes for a shower. Snape listens to the thunder of the water against the plastic tiles and looks at the clock. It's a quarter-past twelve. The city's going dark, sinking into a sprawling shadow beneath the wide black-caramel sky.
One of the feathers has come loose from Sirius's hair and is left on the pillow. Snape rolls the shaft between his fingertips, then discards it and follows Sirius into the bathroom. The room is full of steam, laying another skin of sweat over the filth that already coats Snape's body. It's cloying, stifling the breath in Snape's lungs.
Sirius has his face tilted into the water, his hair slick and free, like an oil-spill down his neck and shoulders. He doesn't look over when Snape steps into the shower with him but he doesn't resist either, when Snape turns him to the wall and pushes a knee between his legs. Sirius simply braces himself against the hot, wet tile while Snape fucks him once more. His gasps are lost in the thud of the shower's spray and when at last Snape comes again, the fluid dribbles down his thigh, mingles with the water.
After the shower, Snape doesn't feel any cleaner than he did before. Sirius looks fresh but the heat is still in his cheeks. Sweat's already beading on his forehead again.
They move onto the balcony and listen to the wails and sirens of the city. The air shimmers with heat as it rises. The spire of The Chamber soars up from the centre, looking like an enormous square cathedral. The lights have gone out within it. Snape glances back in at the clock.
"There's a flare coming."
Sirius's gaze snaps to him, brow furrowed.
"How soon?"
"They've just killed my chip so I'd say: very."
He bows his head, concentrating on focusing his thoughts on himself. He wonders how it is for a psychic like Sirius, from an old bloodline. Walburga went mad in three days without her implant to control her brain. Psychics like Sirius are always reaching out, their minds don't know their limits. They're like black holes that drag in thought and sensation, secrets and memories, until they collapse under their own weight.
"Leaving it a little late, aren't you?" says Sirius, while he dials a number on his cellphone. "Trying to get my brain fried, are you?"
Snape doesn't get chance to argue before Sirius's call is answered. He listens with only the barest interest, irritated that by saving Sirius, others have been saved.
"Are you with James? You've got to shut down. There's a flare coming at any minute. Shut down!"
He hangs up and throws the cell down onto the bed. Then he grips the railing of the balcony, knuckles going white, and his head falls forward, hair sweeping about his face. He reaches up behind himself, fumbling blindly at the back of his neck. It's somewhere between a caress and playing a musical instrument: his fingertips slide over the bumps under his skin, tapping and stroking. Then he staggers on his feet and Snape makes no attempt to catch him.
It's just in time. The solar flare's hit. Sheets of green and purple light pulsate across the sky. It's beautiful. Even now, after Snape's seen it so many times, it's beautiful. Sirius straightens up beside him and they watch the show in silence.
The waves of light ripple above the skyline and Sirius leans forward and stares down into the dark heart of the city.
"How many brains just went boom, do you think?"
"Only the ones with unregistered chips or engaged in illegal activity."
Sirius shoots him a smile that is far from pleasant. In that moment, he looks so like his brother or worse, his cousin. Eyes that have seen too much, a smile just on the edge of sanity. All those voices, whispering away at the back of his mind. Voices Snape will never hear, no matter how much he trains, how much he practices. Some people are just born with it.
"That's right, register with Voldemort Technologies and they'll shut your chip down for you when a flare hits. Of course, they'll also want to know what you find every time you read someone, they'll want to track where you are at all times, they'll want access to your every thought, every desire, every fear. And if you don't fit in a bloodline, then something will mysteriously go wrong with your implant and your head will explode. All very reasonable."
"You have no proof for any of that," says Snape, blank and well-practised at the company line.
There's something about it that clearly intrigues Sirius. When he looks at Snape, Snape can't help but look back.
"Why do you do it? Why are you betraying them?"
Sirius's make-up is gone. The smeared kohl about his eyes and the dark-cherry from his lips have been sweated and soaped away. He's the same age as Snape but he looks young, too young to be letting men pay to be putting their hands on him.
He cups Sirius's cheek against his palm, catches his mouth with his and kisses him, slowly, tenderly. Sirius doesn't close his eyes, not once. He presses into the kiss, one hand resting on Snape's chest. His mouth tastes sweet and soft. But he doesn't close his eyes.
When Snape lets him go, he touches his lips with a fingertip. Then he meets Snape's gaze and, as always, Snape can't comprehend whether it's Sirius's pale eyes that turn into flickering screens, or whether the movie is played directly inside his skull.
James Potter flings a devil-may-care smile over his shoulder as he catches hold of Lily's wrist and they jump onto the tube. The train rattles away, into the dark of the tunnel, but Sirius stares after it, watching the fragment of James that he can see through the disappearing window.
An explosion rumbles through the city and it takes Snape a second to realise that it's happening here and now, and not in some old memory of Sirius's. He jerks his gaze away from Sirius – Sirius's sudden wicked smile – and watches a burst of fire rise up about a crumbling building. A siren starts up but it's muted by the shudder as the building falls.
It's a tech-lab. It's one of Voldemort Technologies' tech-labs.
"That's why I do it," says Sirius.
***
Torchsong
Halfway through her last song, she senses James enter the club. It takes her a second longer to locate him in the audience but then she finds him and she doesn't look away. The look of open appreciation on his face is no doubt a result of the dress into which she's been poured rather than her vocal talent. Her boy can be resoundingly shallow at times. He maintains this is because Lily's so beautiful he doesn't need to look any further than her face to fall in love.
His smirk when he says this makes her suspect that he knows how insulting he's being.
They haven't told people they're married. The House of Clouds is all but whoring her out; they're selling the dream of her. After the show, she has lovelorn middle-aged men queuing up outside her dressing room, offering her apartments out of the dust and cyber-retreats to other planets. She plays the elusive seductress and turns them all away. And then James slips in and even though she's intent on sliding the zip down on her dress, she feels his presence like a tightening in her belly.
"Do you have to get changed?" he says, reading the card that came with the latest bouquet of flowers, synthetic silk roses that must have cost more than Lily will earn in a month. He throws the card down and looks at her with a grin. "I rather like that dress. It seems to know exactly where to grab you."
She glances down at the sweeping fall of carmine satin that clings to the swell of her breasts and shivers over the curve of her hips. It's a good colour, her favourite. One thing about living in dust is that the world becomes a brighter place when everyone wears luminous colour to hide the grime. Only the rich and elite, living high above the smog, can make the statement of wearing white.
"Not exactly practical for what we've got planned for this evening, now is it?"
She watches James's approach in the mirror. He wraps an arm around her waist and rests his chin on her shoulder. The hard warmth of his body makes her breath catch in her throat. His eyes are bright as he looks over her reflection and while he's busy studying her, she takes her chance to study him.
It's only two days since she last saw him but she needs to recommit him to memory. Like he's been fading and she needs to burn him back into her brain, like she'll never get enough of the real thing from what she thinks she remembers of him.
The red streak of hair that runs through the black is new and she makes a note to have a word with Sirius about that. At least James hasn't any new piercings, at least none that she can see. There's a bruise beneath James's right eye and another on his jaw. They're tiny injuries but she grips his arm about her middle, holding so tight she'll leave her own bruises on him.
His breath is warm on her throat as he nuzzles away the strands of red hair and kisses the soft skin just below her ear. She wriggles until the dress shimmies down her hips and James's groan reverberates through her body.
"Don't have time," he says. "We don't."
Lily laughs and grabs the clothes she left hanging on the back of the door. She steals one kiss that threatens to turn into something more, something with wandering hands and sliding tongues, before she gently pushes James back a step.
"Which is why I'm getting dressed."
She snatches glimpses of him in the mirror as she drags on a long, slippery dress and knee-high boots. It's like a strip-tease in reverse and even though they're married, she feels guilty for wondering whether he's getting hard watching her or not.
She twists her long red hair into a rope and coils it into a bun. Then at last she turns to look at him, lips twitching when she sees him toying with a sequinned boa she's discarded from the show before.
"Ready to go cause havoc?" she asks brightly.
He grins at her and pulls her into a lingering kiss.
"Always."
*
They leave the club by the back door and hurry down the street. Lily's glad of the scarf she's brought – not because she's cold, far from it, but because the dust is thicker than usual in the air tonight. She wraps it over the lower half of her face while James ties a handkerchief over his mouth in the same way. The black and red spikes of his hair and the glitter of his eyes are all that are left visible.
"You look like an outlaw," she tells him.
She can see the smile in his eyes.
"You look like one of those old Hollywood actresses."
The air's clearer when they get down underground to the tube station but it's even hotter. The ground shudders constantly underfoot with the rumble of the trains. It's several hours after rush hour. There are a few tech-workers heading home and a gaggle of teenagers dressed in day-glo PVC going to the bars in the inner-city.
It's cruel really. If the platform were empty they could do whatever they wanted to each other and if it were crowded she could rub up against James and pretend that it was all an accident. Like this, they're simply exposed and helpless.
Lily can feel the same kind of frustration seething in James. She used to think it was the bloodline he came from that they could pick up on each other so easily, that he'd chosen to reach out to her. But sometimes she finds things in him that she knows he doesn't mean to show her, like the time in a rainstorm when Sirius kissed him and James had let him.
It's that she and he love each other. It's absurd and soppy but Lily can't find any other explanation for it. She wonders what she's shown him by accident. And though it makes her feel ashamed and awkward, deep down, she finds she likes that they have such forced intimacy. They connect on a level most couples never reach.
She's not much of a psychic, can't read people without really trying. That's not the direction her talents go in. She's an abnormality and she knows what would happen to her if Voldemort Technologies ever registered her chip. But she's in love with a bloodline psychic and that love spreads his mind wide open for her.
Lily takes his hand in hers and their fingers intertwine. They might die tonight, in the heat and the rubble. She doesn't mind, can even smile as the train shuffles into sight, ready to take them away.
There are plenty of seats free and James drops into one close to the door and pulls her into his lap. They're followed into the carriage by the cluster of kids. Music hums from several of the kids' implants, different songs that buzz together like a radio that can't make up its mind. Lily thinks she recognises one the tracks but can’t catch enough of it to be sure.
James parts his legs and Lily settles into the v between his thighs. She can feel the hard line of his cock pressed against her arse and she wiggles a little, just to feel him get harder yet. There's an endless stream of chatter and music from the kids so Lily feels brave enough to start rolling her hips, letting James's cock rub down the dip between her buttocks over and over while she braces herself against his chest.
"What are you trying to do to me, woman?" James mutters, as he pretends to study the tube map on the curved wall of the shuttle. "We'll get arrested for indecency before we get anywhere."
"Want me to stop?" she asks.
She twists a little, letting her hip glide along the length of James's thigh and whatever James's answer was going to be, it's swallowed up by his swift, hushed burst of swearing. The friction of his body grinding back up against hers makes her skin burn.
Right now, she wants to be naked. Or at least naked enough that he could be fucking her. She wants to be loud and dirty, saying every thing she's thinking about his cock and her cunt and her hands on him and his mouth on her.
Her eyes had just been falling shut but she catches one of the kids staring and has to wonder how loudly she's been broadcasting that train of thought or whether her writhing has just been that damn obvious. The kid's flushed and wide-eyed, oblivious to the ridiculous way his rubber shirt is squeaking against the metal pole.
Then the boy drops his gaze and looks away, trying to shift back into the crowd of his friends. It takes Lily a moment to work out that this is probably something to do with the sudden tautness of James's frame beneath her.
She slumps back against him and lets him play with a lock of her hair.
"It was only a kid. You didn't have to go all Alpha Male on him," she says.
"I didn't like the way he was looking at you."
"You looked at me like that the first time we met."
She remembers Dumbledore's message playing out on the vidscreen and the warning signals she'd received from his calm entreaties that she at least give James a place to hide, even if she couldn't get along with him personally. James had been on the run then, a hack-job gone wrong and a virus downloaded to his chip. She'd nursed him back to health and the first time he was conscious and lucid, he'd stared at her breasts for a long moment and then asked her out.
"Haven't I always looked at you like that?"
She pretends to consider, biting her lip to stifle a smile.
"Only when you can see me."
*
Security at the tech-lab is easily bypassed. Lily flutters her lashes at the guard and giggles like a schoolgirl, while James mangles the signal from the scanner reading their chips. They're meant to be there, psychics from The Chamber – James creates the records to say so.
His shoulder brushes hers as he regains his equilibrium, hazel eyes flickering back into focus. It's done in a second but Lily can see how much it takes out of him. Not for the first time she wonders how many cyber-systems James will be able to seep into before he finds he can't get back out. He'll be lost in the machine.
He's fine once they get moving again but Lily can't help shooting him a look when they're alone in the elevator. He doesn't meet her eyes but he grins.
"M'tired, darling. That's all. Nothing that's going to affect tonight. It's just going to be in and out, no mess and no fuss."
"I hope you're talking about the job and not what I intend to be doing with you later this evening."
James laughs and drapes an arm about her shoulders.
"That's going to be very messy, and probably cause a bit of fuss for the people on the floor below us. Promise."
The elevator gives a muted beep and opens its doors. It's the lowest level of the lab, far below the city and Lily can believe they're halfway to Hell down here. The heat is unbelievable and hits them like a physical blow. The harsh amber glare of the electric lights only adds to the sense of the air being on fire. And within the fire is the hum of some huge machine, like a heartbeat moving too rapidly to be anything but a blur of sound.
James steps into the corridor and looks both ways, maybe trying to recall the schematics they've both downloaded or maybe checking for guards. Lily's not sure which it is. All she knows is that she's never going to get used to breaking the law like this. She hates Voldemort Technologies and would happily die rather than let them go unchallenged but it's this moment now, when she's right at the centre of some colossal act of rebellion. It makes her dizzy and breathless.
She's not going to let it get in her way though. She'll die for the cause, but she refuses to be the reason James does.
So she catches his arm and pulls him in the right direction. They don't need to speak. They both know how it goes: quiet and quick. She can read his heightened state of concentration; beyond that he's a blank. Their footsteps ring out on the metal panelling of the floor as they hurry to the computer at the hub of the system.
James stops in front of the control panel on the door and stabs his fingertips against it. He frowns as his mind attempts to override programming, persuasion soon becoming conflict. Lily waits and watches. If it comes to it, if he looks to be losing, she'll pull him out – the cause be damned.
"Gotcha," he mutters finally and the door unseals itself.
A glow of pale green light slants through the open door. Within, the room is large and its ceiling is so high Lily has to tilt her head right back to see it. There's nothing but a computer console, seemingly tiny against the massive shaft of power systems that's easily twenty-foot high and is filtering the computer's commands out to the city and beyond. James takes a step towards it but Lily feels a prickle down her spine. She barely has time to register it before the guard's upon them.
It happens so fast. It's seeing the gun pressed to the back of her husband's head that does it. Lily's not really a psychic, that's not what she can do. What she can do is not something she likes to do often, but there's a bullet inches away from her husband's brain and she can't see any reason to hold back.
It takes the merest brush of her fingertips over the nape of the guard's neck. She feels the pulse of energy jump from her bones and earth itself in the electric circuitry within his body. He jerks like a slaughtered animal as she sends a jolt of electricity through him. Then he drops to the ground with a dull thud.
The ever-present heartbeat of the computer system fills the silence as James looks between her and the guard.
"Dead?" he says.
He sounds so young. Just a kid. They're all just kids. She nods and refuses to feel guilty. She feels less guilty still when he sweeps her into a kiss, covering his mouth with hers like he needs her breath to fill his lungs again. They cling to one another, mouths moving slick and hungry against each other.
It's too soon when they have to pull apart. The heat's making her head spin and James has to catch hold of her hand to help her step over the corpse before she trips. She rests against the wall while James takes up his place at the computer position. Her mouth still tastes of him. The smooth panel of the wall is painfully hot against her cheek but she's too tired to move.
James rolls his shoulders like a cage-fighter getting ready for a bout then lays his palms against the interface. A shudder goes through him and Lily tries to straighten up but James shakes his head, as if to clear it, then closes his eyes.
Sometimes she thinks she can hear the hum of electricity change its rhythm, adopt a more human drumming. It scares her a little to think that James is letting his mind climb around inside the circuitry. A necessary evil: that's what Moody would call it. Dumbledore would tell her that James's mind is too much his own to become part of the Voldemort Technologies system. Sirius would expect her to take pride in the fact James is capable of such advanced psyber-programming.
They're not the ones who feel it like James does. They're not the ones who are so wrapped up inside his head they can feel him struggle every time the computer tries to assimilate him into the network.
"Let me just fry it," she mumbles. "Shut it down that way."
She doesn't expect him to answer and his voice is monotone but it is a response.
"The pulse would burn out every chip in a twenty mile radius. Not to mention the fact we'd have no time to escape before the building came down."
"Who cares?"
She knows she sounds sulky and James's faint laugh doesn't improve her mood. The strain of generating a strong enough charge to electrocute the guard starts to lift and Lily moves, like a sleepwalker, to stand at James's side. She stares up at the pillar of electronics that glows luminous green. In her dazed state it's almost hypnotic.
It makes her think of the time when she was a little girl and her parents took her on holiday, and her father lifted her up on his shoulders so she could peer over the concrete barrier and see the sea. So huge and bright, the waves sparking with energy. Ever shifting. The sound of it so loud it melded into the air.
The shrill tone of James's cellphone startles her awake and she blinks. James doesn't seem aware of it so Lily lifts the small unit from his hip and stares at it. Sirius. Lily's no sooner answered it than Sirius's panic has chased away all remnants of drowsiness. She doesn't say anything to Sirius's wanring, just nods blankly and hangs up.
"Time's up, baby," she says to James. "There's a flare coming any second. You need to shut down."
"Just a mo'."
Lily blinks again and shakes her head, trying to sound patient.
"No. Now. There's a flare-"
"You shut down," says James. "I'm not done yet."
He hasn't even looked up from the console. Taking him by the shoulders and giving him a good hard shake is tempting but will kill him before the flare has chance to. So she tries to explain the situation patiently and rationally, and in a way that will make him co-operate.
"It will burn your brain out, James, if your chip is active when the flare hits. You need to shut down-"
"I'm not-" he starts to protest but she raises her voice and drowns him out.
"Because I'm not shutting my chip down until you do yours."
He doesn't answer that but a frown tightens his brow. It doesn't mean he stops working though. Lily nods to herself and gets ready to die. She's seen someone get their brain fried by a flare once. There'd been no blood or sparks. Just a lot of screaming.
A sudden blast of energy shivers through the room and the computer gives a series of apparently random beeps. She's certain of the change in the rhythm of the electric hum now. It's changed. James wrenches his hands free from the console and grabs her. She feels his touch at the back of her neck like a whisper of fresh air and she makes sure to twine her arm round his so she can get at his chip.
He kisses her again the second after her chip goes dead. Even that's not enough to distract her from deactivating his implant. She only gives her full attention to forcefully kissing him back once she's sure he's not going to die when the solar flare hits.
But when she does give it her full attention, it makes James's knees go weak.
Part II