"Flight", Sirius/Harry, NC-17
Mar. 10th, 2012 03:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
traintracksTitle: Flight
Author:traintracks
Pairing: Sirius/Harry
Rating: NC-17
Challenge Prompt(s): From![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
harry100, Flying by the seat of one's pants. From elrhiarhodan, Very Tight Leather.
Words: 100x10
Content: Illicit, angst-ridden flying motorcycle sex.
Warnings: Chan. Godfather/Godson.
It had become a ritual – their night rides.
In Harry’s fifth year, when Sirius was supposed to be sulking at the safehouse, when he was supposed to sit tight, being patient and good, he would sneak away once the sun went down. By the cover of dusk, he’d take off on his bike, into the skies, the clouds, toward Harry.
Harry knew to meet him at the Shrieking Shack. Sirius saw him now, in the shadows. Harry stepped out, smiling, and Sirius grabbed him up in a fast hug, growling against his hair. He smelled like fresh snow.
“Let’s ride.”
Harry climbed up behind him. Sirius waited, one boot secure on the ground. Harry scooted in close, and Sirius took his arms and wrapped them around himself. He felt Harry rest his cheek against his back. He put a hand on Harry’s knee, turning to ask, “Ready?”
He felt Harry’s nod, the soft squeak against the leather of his jacket.
Sirius kicked the bike to life.
It was loud and hot between their legs, and the air was cold on Sirius’s face. Harry snuggled into him – not a hair could fit between their bodies.
Sirius let the bike climb higher.
Sometimes they screamed into the wind. Sometimes they laughed at nothing. Tonight, though, Harry was subdued. He kept his face pressed against Sirius, out of the wind. His hands, clasped around Sirius’s middle, settled even lower. They rested, vibrating, just over the bulge in Sirius’s leather pants. He inhaled, schooling his breathing and his thoughts.
He revved the bike and jumped a grey cloud. He let the stars guide him over London’s bleary lights.
He felt Harry’s hands resting where they should not, and Sirius wondered how long he’d been kidding himself. He wondered how he could not have known.
They hit turbulence. Harry clutched him tighter, moved his pelvis against Sirius’s ass until Sirius couldn’t not feel it – the bolt slide of it.
It was a rush. Undeniably. Harry was hard for him. His young body was begging for something it had never tasted.
Harry’s face nuzzled Sirius’s collar, and his hips wiggled closer again. Sirius knew the divide Harry was about to cross – knew the need like absinthe, pulling at his soul – the desire to come overriding all good sense.
Harry rocked his pelvis one more time, and Sirius choked back the guilt.
He didn’t stop him.
Harry’s thrusts were abbreviated, the movement negligible. Sirius’s cock was straining, a fact that shamed him horribly. He pretended it wasn’t happening. He let Harry believe he didn’t know or that it was all right as long as neither of them acknowledged it. Sirius let his godson hump the leathered crack of his ass at three thousand feet. He let himself throb – let himself hurt for it. He wondered if he’d know when Harry came, if there would be a flutter of breath at his ear.
Instead, there was Harry’s hand shifting lower, rubbing over his crotch, taking hold of him.
Sirius gripped the handlebars. Harry squeezed his cock through the leather, and Sirius felt himself start leaking. Tears sprang to his eyes, immediately wicked away. When Sirius made no move to stop him (Just grab his bloody wrist! Sirius thought miserably), Harry fumbled with the crotch of Sirius’s pants, snaked his hand inside, and Sirius felt his warm, moist fingers curling around it.
“Fucking Christ,” Sirius gasped.
Harry’s hand started to jack him, hips rocking in time, and Sirius – ashamed, aroused to the point of pain – left his hands on the bars, tight and guilty, utterly culpable, and just flew.
Every moment that Sirius didn’t put a stop to it, his heart broke more. He flew them through the clouds, concealed, while Harry worked. His hand was soft and demure. Sirius felt like his cock defiled it with every little tender tug.
Sirius started to come into Harry’s hand. He shouted into the wind, his roar of pleasure joining the noise of the bike. He felt vile, and he’d never felt better, his come caught in that innocent hand, its fingers plucking at the head for more.
He gave it. He moaned, soul wrecked, and spilled into Harry’s warm fist.
He was still panting, his cock tingling in Harry’s loose grasp, when he heard the desperate little cries at his back – felt the jerk of his hips, the ecstatic grind. Harry was coming against him.
Sirius let go with one hand and withdrew Harry’s from his pants. He gripped it to his chest hard while Harry trembled. He brought it to his lips and kissed the wet knuckles. He pressed it to his heart once again, the tears starting fresh.
He had to let go to steer, but Harry left his hand there – snuggled up sweetly against Sirius’s back, sighing.
They landed beside the shack in the dead of night. Sirius fastened his pants while Harry clung to him still. He cut the engine and put down the kick stand. His ears rang with the quiet.
Harry’s hand moved Sirius’s hair off his neck, and Sirius felt the bike groan as he shifted to press his mouth there. Sirius inhaled, but Harry whispered, “Don’t tell me no, Sirius.” Swipe of sweet tongue along the tendon. “Don’t tell me we can’t.”
Crickets sang in the dark. Harry’s breath was hot, his voice so near it felt like it was inside him.
Harry dismounted the bike. He touched Sirius’s face, the rough growth of beard. Sirius kissed him. He kissed him long, his tongue just touching the tip of Harry’s through their parted lips – just that little bit, that holding back, too much.
Harry moaned, and Sirius changed the angle, keeping it gentle, reverent.
He pulled back, his throat tight; he touched Harry’s cheek. “I can never say no to you.”
Harry took his hand, backed away, squeezed it. He said, maybe sadly, “I know.” He smiled, squeezed again, and then he walked away, his silhouette like a ghost, already haunting him.
Author:
traintracksPairing: Sirius/Harry
Rating: NC-17
Challenge Prompt(s): From
harry100, Flying by the seat of one's pants. From elrhiarhodan, Very Tight Leather.Words: 100x10
Content: Illicit, angst-ridden flying motorcycle sex.
Warnings: Chan. Godfather/Godson.
It had become a ritual – their night rides.
In Harry’s fifth year, when Sirius was supposed to be sulking at the safehouse, when he was supposed to sit tight, being patient and good, he would sneak away once the sun went down. By the cover of dusk, he’d take off on his bike, into the skies, the clouds, toward Harry.
Harry knew to meet him at the Shrieking Shack. Sirius saw him now, in the shadows. Harry stepped out, smiling, and Sirius grabbed him up in a fast hug, growling against his hair. He smelled like fresh snow.
“Let’s ride.”
Harry climbed up behind him. Sirius waited, one boot secure on the ground. Harry scooted in close, and Sirius took his arms and wrapped them around himself. He felt Harry rest his cheek against his back. He put a hand on Harry’s knee, turning to ask, “Ready?”
He felt Harry’s nod, the soft squeak against the leather of his jacket.
Sirius kicked the bike to life.
It was loud and hot between their legs, and the air was cold on Sirius’s face. Harry snuggled into him – not a hair could fit between their bodies.
Sirius let the bike climb higher.
Sometimes they screamed into the wind. Sometimes they laughed at nothing. Tonight, though, Harry was subdued. He kept his face pressed against Sirius, out of the wind. His hands, clasped around Sirius’s middle, settled even lower. They rested, vibrating, just over the bulge in Sirius’s leather pants. He inhaled, schooling his breathing and his thoughts.
He revved the bike and jumped a grey cloud. He let the stars guide him over London’s bleary lights.
He felt Harry’s hands resting where they should not, and Sirius wondered how long he’d been kidding himself. He wondered how he could not have known.
They hit turbulence. Harry clutched him tighter, moved his pelvis against Sirius’s ass until Sirius couldn’t not feel it – the bolt slide of it.
It was a rush. Undeniably. Harry was hard for him. His young body was begging for something it had never tasted.
Harry’s face nuzzled Sirius’s collar, and his hips wiggled closer again. Sirius knew the divide Harry was about to cross – knew the need like absinthe, pulling at his soul – the desire to come overriding all good sense.
Harry rocked his pelvis one more time, and Sirius choked back the guilt.
He didn’t stop him.
Harry’s thrusts were abbreviated, the movement negligible. Sirius’s cock was straining, a fact that shamed him horribly. He pretended it wasn’t happening. He let Harry believe he didn’t know or that it was all right as long as neither of them acknowledged it. Sirius let his godson hump the leathered crack of his ass at three thousand feet. He let himself throb – let himself hurt for it. He wondered if he’d know when Harry came, if there would be a flutter of breath at his ear.
Instead, there was Harry’s hand shifting lower, rubbing over his crotch, taking hold of him.
Sirius gripped the handlebars. Harry squeezed his cock through the leather, and Sirius felt himself start leaking. Tears sprang to his eyes, immediately wicked away. When Sirius made no move to stop him (Just grab his bloody wrist! Sirius thought miserably), Harry fumbled with the crotch of Sirius’s pants, snaked his hand inside, and Sirius felt his warm, moist fingers curling around it.
“Fucking Christ,” Sirius gasped.
Harry’s hand started to jack him, hips rocking in time, and Sirius – ashamed, aroused to the point of pain – left his hands on the bars, tight and guilty, utterly culpable, and just flew.
Every moment that Sirius didn’t put a stop to it, his heart broke more. He flew them through the clouds, concealed, while Harry worked. His hand was soft and demure. Sirius felt like his cock defiled it with every little tender tug.
Sirius started to come into Harry’s hand. He shouted into the wind, his roar of pleasure joining the noise of the bike. He felt vile, and he’d never felt better, his come caught in that innocent hand, its fingers plucking at the head for more.
He gave it. He moaned, soul wrecked, and spilled into Harry’s warm fist.
He was still panting, his cock tingling in Harry’s loose grasp, when he heard the desperate little cries at his back – felt the jerk of his hips, the ecstatic grind. Harry was coming against him.
Sirius let go with one hand and withdrew Harry’s from his pants. He gripped it to his chest hard while Harry trembled. He brought it to his lips and kissed the wet knuckles. He pressed it to his heart once again, the tears starting fresh.
He had to let go to steer, but Harry left his hand there – snuggled up sweetly against Sirius’s back, sighing.
They landed beside the shack in the dead of night. Sirius fastened his pants while Harry clung to him still. He cut the engine and put down the kick stand. His ears rang with the quiet.
Harry’s hand moved Sirius’s hair off his neck, and Sirius felt the bike groan as he shifted to press his mouth there. Sirius inhaled, but Harry whispered, “Don’t tell me no, Sirius.” Swipe of sweet tongue along the tendon. “Don’t tell me we can’t.”
Crickets sang in the dark. Harry’s breath was hot, his voice so near it felt like it was inside him.
Harry dismounted the bike. He touched Sirius’s face, the rough growth of beard. Sirius kissed him. He kissed him long, his tongue just touching the tip of Harry’s through their parted lips – just that little bit, that holding back, too much.
Harry moaned, and Sirius changed the angle, keeping it gentle, reverent.
He pulled back, his throat tight; he touched Harry’s cheek. “I can never say no to you.”
Harry took his hand, backed away, squeezed it. He said, maybe sadly, “I know.” He smiled, squeezed again, and then he walked away, his silhouette like a ghost, already haunting him.
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no subject
Date: 2012-03-10 11:39 pm (UTC)This is probably the hottest thing you've written for that 'verse. There is something about this encounter that really pushes all of my kinks - it's like you blew a circuit in my head (and I am glad I finished my own smut before I got to Flight).
First - the image of Sirius in tight leather just blows my mind. And then Harry's innocent hand creeping down, touching him so seemingly innocuously. The progression of Sirius' realization that this wasn't an innocent touch and he is so helpless to do anything about it.
It just keeps pushing and pushing at me. I needed a few moments alone to recover.
BRAVA!!!!!!!
no subject
Date: 2012-03-11 12:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-09-25 09:36 am (UTC)Oh Sirius, the guilt of not being able to say no, when you know you should. This bit: Sirius – ashamed, aroused to the point of pain – left his hands on the bars, tight and guilty, utterly culpable, and just flew. It covers all the angstiness inherent in this pairing perfectly.
And then Harry being so needy, so desperate for Sirius not to refuse him. Gorgeous.
no subject
Date: 2013-09-25 05:46 pm (UTC)