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traintracksTitle: Daylight – Part Three of Six
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traintracks777 / traintracks
Part Two: On DW | On LJ
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They were silent, just breathing fast as Sirius led Harry up, up, up the winding stairs into the tower where his room was. Harry’s hand was sweating in Sirius’ grip, but Sirius didn’t let him go even as they got to the door. He opened it and then pulled Harry inside. Sirius held his hand even as he turned and locked the door. Then he turned to Harry and used the hand he was holding to pull him in.
“Christ, I’m so sorry,” he whispered in Harry’s hair.
Harry wondered which he was sorry for: kissing him, pushing him away, telling him to get out. Or being here now. His embrace was warm and tense with restraint. Harry wound his arms around Sirius, too, and pressed himself as close as he could. He buried his face in Sirius’ chest and shuddered. They stayed just three breaths like that, and then Sirius was gently pushing him back. But it was only to withdraw his wand. He waved it in the air once and uttered a charm Harry had never heard. Suddenly, the room was filled with the same music that had been playing down in the Great Hall. Harry gasped.
Sirius stowed his wand once more, then stood back and held his arms out in invitation. “Would you dance with me, Harry Potter?”
Harry felt himself blushing. He blinked. “Yes, Sirius. I’ll dance with you,” he said, and he stepped into the man’s arms. Sirius took his right hand in his own left and wrapped his arm around Harry’s waist. Harry rested his other hand on Sirius’ shoulder. Then Sirius applied just the most subtle pressure at his back and guided him into the dance. The band sang, “Wake me up when September ends,” and there was one piece of Harry’s heart that sang with the ache – wishing he was two years older – or older than that – that they’d defeated Voldemort and that they were dancing in their own home, no one around to judge them for what they were doing – just a soft fire, a big bed nearby, and them together, raising chickens, in love in the daylight like nothing at all was wrong.
The other piece of Harry never wanted to wake up, never wanted time to press forward, but wished for it to stand still so that he could be here, just like this, nothing separating them, for hours, days, months more of his life.
Sirius was looking down at him, maybe reading him, maybe just feeling the same. “You’re beautiful,” he said, and Harry inhaled the words. He’d never heard those words said about himself before. Sirius pressed his hand harder into Harry’s lower back and brought their bodies close again, close enough to feel– “Do you know what you do to me?”
Harry felt the hard length of Sirius’ cock and swallowed. It made him lightheaded to know that he had done that. He stopped dancing and took his hand out of Sirius’. He knew he should ask what had changed, why Sirius had pulled him in the door when so recently he’d shoved him out. He knew he should stop things – he didn’t know why Sirius wasn’t stopping things. But Harry didn’t think that he could. He wanted this too much, and he didn’t want Sirius to come to his senses if, indeed, he’d lost them.
Harry trembled as he started to unknot Sirius’ tie. He looked up into his godfather’s face for permission, for rejection. Sirius’ eyes darkened, and Harry slipped the silk free, pulling it off. He began to work on the buttons of Sirius’ shirt. Sirius stroked his hair while he did it, then he unbuttoned his own coat and vest and shrugged them off. Their breathing had gotten harder and their hands began to work faster.
Harry pushed the shirt off Sirius’ shoulders, baring his beautiful chest, the canvas of black ink that he was, and, scared out of his mind but so hard it hurt, he leaned forward and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to Sirius’ collar bone, near the dip of his throat. He felt the groan vibrate against his lips. Harry moved his mouth and let his tongue peek out, licking delicately at the curve of one tattoo, and Sirius’ hands were immediately in Harry’s hair again. He pulled on it roughly, and the gasp that flew from Harry’s mouth was enough to part his lips even more. It seemed like just the opening Sirius wanted, because he kissed him – hard and deep, his shirt hanging off his elbows, his arm wrapping low around Harry’s back and pressing their bodies tight together again. Sirius was even bigger and harder than before, and Harry, emboldened by what he could apparently do to this man, slipped his tongue into Sirius’ mouth, pushing his godfather’s tongue back, taking over.
Sirius chuckled into his mouth, and then he kissed Harry harder, taking it back, and he started to undress him, his smooth hands working the robe off and Harry’s shirt, all without ceasing the kiss.
Harry shivered violently and thought he might come in his pants. When Sirius’ hands dropped to the button just above where he ached, Harry gasped hard and held Sirius’ hands with his own. “I might – Oh God, I think I might—”
“It’s okay,” Sirius said low in his ear. And then he grasped Harry’s cock through his pants, squeezed it just the once, and Harry came.
“Oh God, oh God!” Harry cried, and the warm wet seeped through his dress pants and moistened his godfather’s palm. Harry felt shame darken the pink on his cheeks.
But Sirius just smiled against his ear and said, “I’m close, too.”
Harry let all his breath out, and then Sirius was kneeling before him and taking his pants down to his knees, his hands efficient but tender. Harry was embarrassed to be standing there naked with his pants down and his spent cock in Sirius’ face, but Sirius just took Harry’s bum in his hands and then took the cock in his mouth and laved it slowly and gently.
“Crimeny!” Harry said loudly, and Sirius smiled and chuckled around Harry’s rising cock.
Harry stumbled, and Sirius gripped his ass hard, his rough fingers digging into the split and touching along Harry’s soft hole.
“Sirius! Oh my God,” Harry breathed. It was exquisite – those fingers there and his hot tongue! Harry’s cock sprang up and filled Sirius’ mouth. Sirius moaned around it as though he liked it. As though everything Harry did that he was instantly embarrassed for was actually a good thing. The post at the foot of Sirius’ bed was nearby, and Harry grabbed it for balance as Sirius started to suck on him in earnest.
Harry was torn between closing his eyes in bliss and staring down at Sirius in awe. He cycled between the two, swaying into the beautiful mouth, Sirius’ hands urging him to do it again, and then again, until minutes later, again, he came. But this time it was inside Sirius’ mouth, and Sirius swallowed it and stroked his anus all the while, and Harry truly thought he might pass out.
…
Sirius had stripped them naked. He had made Harry come twice. He had lain Harry down on his bed; the boy was trembling and gorgeous and half-hard again. Sirius thought that if he could die from joy he would have already.
And he was a sick, weak, impulsive bastard. He always had been, and tonight was no different. Tonight merely confirmed that some things never bloody change. Sirius had thrown all of his good intentions out the window when he’d brought Harry here, and they’d flown off like an owl on holiday. He couldn’t regret it. Not yet, at least. Not with Harry’s taste still on his lips, with the boy’s wide eyes on his cock.
Sirius couldn’t blame him for being petrified; he didn’t think he’d ever been this hard in his life – he was painfully engorged. He stroked himself slowly, looking down at Harry’s svelte body; Sirius wasn’t sure he would even fit. Harry seemed to be thinking the same thing. Sirius watched him swallow.
“Do you want me to stop?” Sirius asked. Even the question hurt. But if he had to, he’d be content to stroke it off right here just looking at Harry.
Harry saved him. He shook his head vigorously. “No, Sirius, please. I want you to shag me.”
Sirius nearly choked on the laughter then. “Oh no,” he said. “There will be no shagging tonight. Not tonight,” he told Harry. His face ached. He tried to wipe the smile off his with hand. He sobered with effort. He sat on the edge of the bed and trailed his hand up Harry’s leg. “Harry,” Sirius told him. “I’m going to make love to you. Make no mistake about that.”
Sirius moved up onto the bed, over the boy, holding himself just barely off his silken body. “I’m going to make love to you,” he said again. He lifted Harry’s arm over his head, laying it on the pillow, then he ghosted his hand down his underarm, his side, then up again, and he ran his thumb over his nipple. Harry gasped and shivered. “I’m going to make love to you….”
Harry arched into his thumb, grinding himself against it, and Sirius’ cock pulled hard up toward his belly.
“I want to touch you, too,” Harry said, tentatively reaching for him. He touched his fingertips to Sirius’ chest, and he breathed. Which is to say, he did the breathing exercise Sirius had taught him.
Sirius rejoiced to feel those frightened hands on him. Harry ran his hands up and down his chest, over his shoulders, down his back. “I love your body,” Harry breathed. He dropped his hands and squeezed Sirius’ ass hard. “I want you in me.” He reached between Sirius’ legs and grasped his large cock. “I want this inside me.” His thumb swept over the tip, and Sirius’ cock leaked in answer.
He hauled Harry’s leg up, and Harry’s eyes darkened with desire. Sirius reached between Harry’s legs…down…and he touched his anus; he circled the puckered entrance with his finger, and then he started to push. He felt the give finally, and pressed in to his knuckle. Harry inhaled sharply and pulled his leg in, and Sirius delighted when he moved on it, wanting it. Harry’s cock was leaking all over his belly. Sirius fucked just the first half of his finger inside Harry and got a breathy, “Oh my God,” for his trouble.
He couldn’t believe he was doing this. He was doing this. He should never have gone to that stupid dance. He should never have let Harry see him there. He had just wanted to watch him, to drink him in unseen. But then he had been noticed, and he’d seen the pain on Harry’s face, and he’d just wanted, so very badly…
So he’d been weak, and he’d used the dancing spell, and he felt, across that deep space, the ache of joy, the silent secret blossoming of love and lust and sadness between them. And now here they were, and they were naked, and Sirius’ finger was inside of him and Harry was moaning and moving under him and he was encouraging it, building that fire, pushing in deeper, watching the body under him light up and hum.
“You body is my magic,” Sirius found himself saying. “You are magic, Harry.” He whispered the charm that had his lover suddenly so slick his finger slid all the way in effortlessly. Harry groaned and then started whispering his name, “Sirius…Sirius…”
He almost couldn’t wait to be inside. Even as he fucked Harry’s ass now with his finger, he sat back and gripped the base of his own cock hard, staving it off. He gritted his teeth, grunting with the effort not to come. He pushed in a second finger, and Harry’s eyes fluttered shut. “You okay?” Sirius checked.
Harry just nodded, biting his lip. He could not be more perfect. Sirius felt the warm muscles contract around his fingers, and the words were coaxed out of him almost before he realized: “I love you.”
Harry’s eyes opened, and he lifted his head to look at Sirius. Sirius smiled and brought Harry’s calf up and kissed it, the wiry hairs tickling his lips. He closed his own eyes, just feeling him, and he said it again, against his skin, just to feel the words in his mouth: “I love you, Harry.”
Harry’s breath hitched. “If you don’t kiss me now, Sirius, I might put a hex on you. And you know I can.”
Sirius stilled his fingers inside the boy. He leaned over him, opened Harry’s mouth and slid his tongue inside. Harry wrapped his arms around his neck as they kissed, and Sirius wondered if it might not be the best thing he’d ever felt in his life.
He withdrew his fingers. He held his cock at Harry’s entrance. He started to push it inside. Their kiss paused for Harry to breathe, panting into Sirius’ mouth, and Sirius pressed forward, the tight fist of Harry’s arse holding him, squeezing him, trying to deny and submit to him at the same time.
Sirius pushed it in slowly; it seemed to take hours, but then he was lodged inside all the way, and it felt like a miracle that they fit like this, but they did, and Harry whined, “Do it,” and so Sirius pulled back a little and then shoved back in.
“Christ!” Harry cried, and Sirius fought the powerful urge to just go at him hard. He felt his own need to come rising, tightening inside him, threatening to take over. He restrained it and fucked Harry slowly, tenderly, opening his mouth for another deep kiss.
He thrust like that until Harry whined, “It burns, Sirius. It burns.”
Sirius stopped. “I’m hurting you?”
“Nnnooo,” Harry cried. “Need…more… Please, Sirius.”
That was really all he needed. He started whipping his hips, fucking Harry fast and hard. And then they were both moaning, Sirius biting at Harry’s shoulder and Harry submitting utterly under him, holding his legs up and letting Sirius’ fuck rock him on the bed. “Close,” was all he said in the tiniest whisper. “Close…”
And then Harry came, and it clamped down on Sirius’ cock, and he shouted and it was nonsense and Sirius fucked him through it, the come spreading between their bodies, sticky and pungent, and the way Harry then threw his arms around Sirius’ shoulders and clung to him and shook, drove him over and then he was coming, too, inside Harry’s trembling body. Sirius drove into him, seething, growling, transported.
It was only when it started to subside and the whipping of his hips turned to a slow rutting that Sirius heard the sweet whispers into his neck, “Thank you… Thank you… God, thank you…” and Sirius’ heart somehow broke and was repaired in the same instant.
…
It was the middle of the night when Harry snuck out and made his way to Gryffindor tower. He whispered the password to the portrait and crept through the common room and up the stairs.
He got into his pajamas slowly. He was sore from what Sirius had done to him – twice. He savored how raw he felt – how he smelled like Sirius’ body, his room, his bed.
He wasn’t a virgin anymore. And he was having a great deal of trouble regretting anything that they’d done. He couldn’t. Not when he remembered the kiss Sirius left him with at the door – that lingering, tired kiss, Sirius’ robe wrapped loosely around his gorgeous, weathered body – that shallow, tender kiss that whispered the truth to him: that Sirius didn’t want him to go, that Harry was deeply loved.
Harry started to slip beneath the covers when he heard Ron’s whisper, “I’ve been bloody waiting for you, mate.” He sounded both urgent and exhausted. “Where on earth have you been all night?”
Harry turned to him, feeling his pulse jump like a rabbit at the base of his throat.
But Ron didn’t let him answer, didn’t force him to come up with a lie. He sat up in his own bed and looked around to make sure the other boys were truly asleep. Then he confided, “I kissed her. I bloody well kissed her, Harry!”
“Brilliant,” Harry said, feeling a bright moment of happiness for his friends. He turned to Ron, and they sat close together, whispering, their knees nearly touching. “How’d it go then?”
“Well I nearly passed out now didn’t I?” Ron said with a crooked smile. He seemed both embarrassed and proud. “I think she was holding me up.”
Harry resisted the pit of envy trying to rise up out of his stomach. “So is it official then?”
Ron frowned. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”
“You git,” Harry said. “But don’t worry. She’ll give you all the rules for it first thing in the morning, I’m guessing.”
Ron smiled. “Right,” he said. Then, “She’s got the softest lips of any woman in England. In the world!” he amended.
Harry closed his eyes for just a moment, remembering Sirius’ mouth on his own, the urgent opening, the hot penetration of his tongue, the way it had made Harry gasp.
He wanted nothing more than to be able to congratulate Ron and Hermione – his two best friends. To let Ron go on and on – as he now was – about Hermione’s skin and her hair and her silky dress and her body pressed up against him.
But that wasn’t true. It wasn’t all he wanted. He wanted to be able to shout from the rooftops that he was in love with Sirius Black. He wanted to hold his hand, and he wanted to kiss him in doorways, and he wanted everyone to know that he belonged to someone – that someone wanted him, and he was the most amazing man that Harry had ever met.
Ron could shout it from the rooftops if he wanted. He might risk Hermione pushing him over the side, but he could still do it. Ron could hold her hand and kiss her in doorways and show everyone that someone wonderful wanted him – that they belonged together.
“What’s the matter?” Ron whispered. “You didn’t- You don’t…have a…thing for her yourself, do you?”
“No, Ron.”
“Then what’s with the face?”
Harry looked at his friend. He could live without shouting it from the rooftops maybe – if he could just tell his own best friend.
Ron suddenly gasped. “You’ve been with a bird, too!” he said. “That’s where you’ve been. That’s why you’re late!”
Harry shook his head. He took in a deep draught of air, fortifying himself. “Not a bird,” he said. “Ron…”
“Go on then. You can tell me anything.”
“I’ve been…”
“Yeah?”
“I’ve been with Sirius.”
Ron frowned. “Well, what’s the big deal about that?”
Harry had to smile at his confounded friend. Then he looked around at the other boys. He picked up his wand from the bedside table. “Muffliato,” he commanded. Then, “You can still hear me, right?”
“You’re only the best wizard Hogwarts has ever had; of course I can hear you – spill it!”
Harry felt himself blushing. “I was… with Sirius.”
“Yeah.”
“I love him, Ron.”
“Of course you do,” Ron said. Sometimes his brain hid behind a thick stone wall.
“No, Ron,” Harry sighed. Then he firmed his lips and burst out, “We had sex! Together! Me and Sirius. We love each other, and we bloody well just had sex.”
Ron just blinked at him. Then he blinked at him again. Then his eyes went wide and round. All he said was, “Blimey.”
Harry breathed, watching him.
Ron blinked at the floor for a few minutes, then he asked, “Sex isn’t a euphemism for something else now is it?”
Harry had to laugh. “No.”
“You – and Sirius.”
“Yes.”
“Sirius Black.”
“Yes.”
“Sirius is a poofta?”
“Is that a problem?” Harry said, feeling himself clench.
“Only that he’s gonna break the hearts of every girl in this school!” Ron then looked at Harry squarely. “And…you? You’re…gay?”
Harry sighed. “I think there’s a very high probability of that, yeah. Is that…?”
Ron frowned as though insulted. “Merlin’s beard, no!” Ron said. “Charlie’s gay as a box of birds or didn’t you know? I’m just…processing, mate. Processing. You and Sirius! You and bloody Sirius Black!”
“You can’t tell a soul,” Harry warned him.
“Not even Hermione?”
“She already knows.”
“Bugger! You mean you’ve been in the girls’ tower tonight?? Were they naked?”
“No, I haven’t been in the– She’s known how I feel for a while.”
“Well, blimey!”
“But no one else can know, do you understand, Ron?”
Ron nodded vigorously. Then, as he sorted it all out, his eyes went round. “You massive git! You had sex before me! You had sex the night I kissed Hermione, you tosser! Way to steal my thunder, Harry, I didn’t even get boob!”
Harry laughed and blushed some more. “The snogging’s one of the best parts, though.”
“Liar!” Ron accused, affronted. “Bloody liar!” Then quieter, even though they couldn’t be heard, “You’ve… I mean… Did he put it… there?”
Harry just bit his lip.
“He did! He did put it there! Holy fuck, Harry!” He lowered his voice again. “Hurt a lot, did it?”
“So, you kissed Hermione. Let’s talk about that,” Harry said, and they both laughed.
“Bloody hell,” Ron kept saying. “I mean, bloody hell!”
“So…you’re not…too freaked out?”
“Well…” Ron started. “Not in a bad way. I mean, you won’t be after my girlfriend now will you? And…you love someone. Love is good, right? We both…love people.” And Ron blushed like a summer tomato.
“Congratulations, Ron,” Harry said genuinely.
Ron smiled at him, practically beaming. “Yeah,” he said. “You, too, Harry. You and Sirius, too.”
And for the rest of the night, Harry pretended that all the world would feel about them the way Ron did right then.
…
Not surprisingly, Ron and Hermione decided she would come stay with his family for the last three days of their vacation time, seemingly unable to spend any more time apart than that. Harry thought it was almost so sweet as to be revolting, but he really wasn’t in a place to judge.
He got to spend the whole break at Hogwarts with Sirius, practically alone, and he could be found absently beaming at inopportune times throughout the morning about precisely that fact. Hermione had been gracious enough to point it out to him.
When it came time, he escorted his friends to the train. He helped get their bags stowed and hugged them, but he nearly missed waving at them one last time from the platform; his thoughts were on the blazing fire in Sirius’ room, the uninterrupted privacy, the heady knowledge that Sirius was all his and vice versa for the next two weeks.
Hermione knocked on the window to get his attention, and Harry shook himself free of his fantasies and waved. He watched Ron snake his arm around her, and the chilled window with its frame of frost couldn’t hide her blush. Nor Ron’s, and his was much more spectacular.
Harry turned once the train was mostly out of sight and started walking back to the school. He was making his way quickly along the road and was about halfway there when he heard voices just off into the trees. Harry slowed and quieted his steps, coming to a halt and turning to try to place where the whispers were coming from.
“Don’t be such a baby,” a girl hissed. A girl Harry recognized from her venomous tones as Pansy Parkinson. “It’s not like he can have visitors. You’re better off here. And you have a job to do, or had you forgotten?”
“I haven’t forgotten!” Draco returned. “Easy to criticize when it’s not your life that hangs in the balance. Easy to call me a baby and then sit back and—”
“And correct your mistakes, you mean – pick up the threads of your failures, Draco,” Pansy answered.
Harry held his breath, straining to hear past the rising wind.
“I won’t fail,” Draco said, his teeth clearly gritted.
“You’re right,” Pansy said with phony nonchalance. “Because I won’t let you, Draco Malfoy. I won’t let you.”
Harry knew the end of a fight when he heard one and hurried to get further along the road so as not to be caught eavesdropping. He was fifteen or twenty paces ahead when Pansy passed him in a huff, making sure to slam into his shoulder on her way. Draco wasn’t far behind, but he was walking much slower. Harry chanced a look up at him as he passed.
To his shock, Draco’s exhausted gaze – red rimmed eyes filled with tears – found his own. Draco sniffed and firmed his angled jaw. Then he nodded curtly. “Potter.”
Harry frowned. But he answered, “Malfoy.”
And then Draco ran along ahead back towards school, leaving Harry to wonder what it all meant. It was easily the most civilized exchange they’d ever had. And Draco and Pansy had been fighting for weeks now. About some sort of job Draco needed to do? And at Hogwarts, apparently, because they were both staying through the break.
Whatever it was, Harry felt a bone-deep uneasiness – one that no congenial greeting could gloss over. He thrust his hands into his coat pockets and set off at a jog back, much too hungry and cold to give it the thought it deserved.
…
It was too easy to forget about Draco and Pansy when he saw Sirius next, up at the teachers’ table in the Great Hall, having lunch and laughing with Hagrid. When Sirius looked up and saw Harry, though, he patted Hagrid on the back, picked up his plate and goblet, and with a small smile, joined Harry at the Gryffindor table instead, sitting across from him and Neville.
“Afternoon, Harry,” Sirius greeted. Harry was immediately filled with the pleasure of his memories of the night before; they seemed to swim in Sirius’ eyes.
“Afternoon,” Harry answered.
“Neville,” Sirius greeted the other boy, his eyes drifting away from Harry and letting him breathe again.
Then they just ate together, and Sirius told stories about Harry’s mother and father. He told him about the time his father had put a hex on the sweet potatoes so that anybody who ate them became hopelessly enamored of the person sitting to their right.
“Dumbledore gave him a month of detention and docked Gryffindor fifty points. But it was hilarious,” Sirius confided.
Sirius told Neville stories about his parents, too. He seemed to be one of the only people who thought it was okay, even a good thing, to talk about them – to not pretend they didn’t exist or that everything was all right. “Some of the best students in our year,” Sirius told him. “Your mother tended the Whomping Willow, her Herbology was so advanced. She was the only one could touch that thing.”
Neville beamed, and he sat up a little straighter. When he left, Harry and Sirius stayed, and they talked about spells, about Harry becoming an Auror, about little things and big things, nothing and everything.
Harry told him, “Ron and Hermione are a couple now,” not quite meeting his godfather’s eyes.
“Huh,” Sirius replied. “When was this? Recently?”
Harry cleared his throat. “Last night. He kissed her last night.”
“Huh,” Sirius huffed again. Then he asked, “Were there sweet potatoes last night for dinner?”
Harry felt the laughter bubble up in him, and he covered his mouth to keep it back. He looked at Sirius over his hand. Sirius winked at him. Then he cleared his own throat, dabbed at his mustache with his napkin, and said in the most innocent of voices, “Care for a game of chess up in my room?”
“I’d love a game of chess,” Harry told him.
They both got up and walked as calmly as possible out of the Great Hall, keeping a good distance between them, all the way up into the tower.
…
And they really did play chess. Sirius didn’t like to think he was such a lecher as to want Harry in his room solely to shag him. Although they did do that first.
Harry was sore, so Sirius just lay on top of him and frotted their bare cocks together. He made it last as long as he could, but then Harry wrapped his legs around his hips and rocked up into it helplessly, pulling on his godfather’s shoulders, his slick back. Sirius leaned on one elbow and reached between them, pulling on them both until they came, first Harry and then Sirius following, adding their combined spunk to Harry’s flat stomach.
Harry was a mess. And Sirius could have cleaned him with a flick of his wand, but he didn’t. He padded to the vanity, naked, and brought back a warm, wet cloth. He cleaned Harry’s stomach, then his thighs, then his softened penis. Harry pulled a pillow over his face and groaned as it started to get hard again. So Sirius scooted down and took it in his mouth and made it last a half hour more until Harry was practically crying.
When he was through, Harry untangled his fingers from Sirius’ hair and breathed, “I want to learn to do that to you.”
Chess would have to wait.
Sirius lay on his back and guided the boy’s mouth onto his cock. Harry was clumsy and earnest, his mouth in turns too hard, too much teeth, and then not enough, licking around the head when Sirius wished nothing more than to plow down his throat in one thrust.
Sirius took Harry’s head gently between his hands, said, “Hold still,” and then he moved slow and shallow, just three inches of it in and out.
It was when Harry whimpered around it and then let out a deep, happy sigh that Sirius lost control and came. He came chanting his name, “Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry…” still moving between those innocent lips, most of his juice leaking down his shaft, unswallowed.
Harry cleaned him up that time, and Sirius just rested his head on his bent arm and watched, such a feeling of tenderness suffusing him all the while Harry handled his flaccid cock, his balls, his hairy thighs.
Then they got dressed and played chess for the rest of the evening. Sirius won three games to Harry’s one. Sometimes Sirius tried to distract him with lame jokes, and sometimes Harry succeeded in distracting him by licking his bottom lip methodically while he fingered a knight.
Most of the time they played in companionable, easy silence, each lost in thought. If anyone were to call on Sirius and find them there, there would be no evidence of anything untoward. There would be two friends – wonderful friends – enjoying the warm room on a chilly night, playing chess and occasionally laughing at this or that.
When Sirius made a good move, Harry kicked his foot under the table in frustration, and Sirius laughed under his breath. In that moment, there was no Voldemort. There was no reason to mourn. There was only Harry, laughing, “Bugger,” and Sirius checking him.
They played until nearly nine o’clock when Sirius feared Harry’s absence from Gryffindor tower would be noticed. The games over, Sirius stood and stretched.
Harry said, “I wish I could stay.”
“But you can’t.”
“I know.”
“I’ll see you at bloody breakfast,” Sirius teased him, though he was feeling it, too.
“I want to sleep with you.”
Sirius’ heart broke at the simple yearning. “Me, too. But we can’t. Now go on.”
But Harry came to him and wrapped his hand around the back of Sirius’ neck, and he kissed him soundly. Harry’s kiss was decisive and unapologetic, and Sirius let himself be kissed. He let Harry’s tongue move confidently through his mouth. He sighed and gripped Harry close.
“You’re getting really good at that,” he breathed when Harry pulled back slightly.
“I just love you. And you can taste it,” Harry replied.
Sirius breathed him in. “I shouldn’t – I shouldn’t, Harry – but I love you, too.” He backed out of Harry’s arms. “Now off to bed.” He winced at how much he sounded like a parent. Then Sirius watched his lover walk to the door, wave at him, and then close it behind himself.
He fell back onto his bed with a hedonistic groan.
…
The two weeks were not pure fucking. They weren’t. In fact, he and Harry spent them mostly doing other things. Other wonderful things. Sirius couldn’t remember being any happier than he was now with Harry. Yet as happy as he was, there were still times when the guilt struck him like a knife between the ribs. Guilt not only that Harry had replaced James in many ways, that he had become not only his best friend but his lover and that he was now sharing in a richer, more complex knowledge of Sirius than James ever could have. Sirius was a different man now, an injured man, a broken and reborn one, and Harry was a part of that, the good part, the blessing. But Sirius also suffered the guilt that, if James knew what Sirius had done with his son, he’d disown him entirely. Hell, he’d run him through.
Fury waited for Sirius in heaven. He betrayed James’ and Lily’s trust when he’d first kissed Harry, and with every breath he'd taken since, he’d continued to betray them. But if those Christian Muggles were right, he wouldn’t be going to heaven – he'd surely be bound for Hell and all its torments. Or maybe he'd just be smacked in the arse with Karma and be eternally reborn as the lowest of the low, forever paying for this terrible, joyful sin.
But to be perfectly honest, the guilt he felt was fleeting. The joy was permanent. The joy was in his beautiful boy’s face. In his every innocent and not-so-innocent touch. In the shared laughter and sometimes the tears that would come when Sirius told him how Lily slurped her soup and then proceeded to demonstrate or when he told Harry how his father had thumped his mum’s pregnant belly like he was looking to buy a melon.
The joy was in seeing him at breakfast and in kissing him good-night and everything in between. It was in the seconds and in the days.
Harry had taken him out on the field and tried to teach Sirius how to play good Quidditch, for instance.
“You know I’m miserable at this, right? I’ve told you I’m miserable at this, Harry.”
“I know, I know. You prefer a hot motorcycle to a broom.”
“Absolutely.”
Harry had leaned in close and whispered in his ear. “Do you know where it is? We could always leave off this Quidditch rubbish and you could fuck me over the back of it instead.”
Sirius had growled. “Watch it, boy.”
Harry smiled and kept going. “You could fuck me flying on your hot bike, Sirius.”
Sirius had growled again, “Don’t. Tease. The animals.”
Harry had shrugged. “Fine then. Can you ride a broom hard like that? Yes? Then, let’s go.” And he’d kicked off.
So, yes, even the activities presumed innocent sometimes simply weren’t at all, but that certainly didn’t mean that all they did or talked about had to do with sex.
They exhausted themselves and each other in the empty classroom, working on spells and dueling for hours at a time. Sometimes, they were so good and so ruthless with each other, they’d draw a small crowd – students and whatever teachers had stayed on, even Dumbledore. They often drew applause.
They walked the grounds alone, not touching, and they talked about the beautiful clouds on the horizon or how good the smoke from Hagrid’s hut smelled – simple things, interwoven with the sweetest silence…their footfalls on the frozen earth.
They enjoyed mealtimes together, sometimes in public with the others, sometimes alone in Sirius’ room.
They played chess and cards and sometimes they just sat together and Sirius worked on his owls to Remus and Tonks or Kingsley or Mad-Eye while Harry read his textbooks. And sometimes Harry would ask for help and sometimes he wouldn’t. Sometimes Sirius asked, “What you up to?” and Harry would tell him. And sometimes they just shared the space, each absorbed with their isolated tasks.
And sometimes Sirius would interrupt Harry by trailing his fingers along the back of the boy’s neck, and Harry would lift his face for the kiss, and the book would drop.
And sometimes Harry would come over and kneel at Sirius’s feet, nudging his knees apart, and he’d nuzzle into his crotch and Sirius would gasp, and Harry would get him hard before he even took him out to suck him.
And sometimes they’d get home from a trip to Hogsmeade or lunch with Hagrid or a walk, and Sirius would tear Harry’s clothes off and flip him over on the bed and haul his ass up and enter him. And they’d fuck feverishly, Sirius pushing Harry’s face down into the bed and taking his pleasure.
Then other times, Harry would straddle him and lower himself onto Sirius’s cock, and they’d mate slowly, agonizing over every inch, until neither one could take it and Sirius pulled him down hard again and again and again, grinding into that soft hole relentlessly while Harry fisted his own cock.
Sirius loved to hear Harry breathing his name.
He had never been a cuddler, but Sirius loved holding the boy close afterward, feeling his heart pounding against his side, his breath against his neck, Harry’s fingers drifting over his chest, down his stomach, tracing tattoos, his own hand against Harry’s smooth, narrow back.
Sometimes they’d lay together and Sirius would pick up his wand and he’d draw things with sparks up over the bed.
He’d write things. He’d write, “Harry Potter,” and “Sirius + Harry,” and “I love you, my boy.” He’d write, “I’ll always love you.” And Harry would sniff against his chest, and Sirius would know that he was thinking about the veil and how they’d almost never had this and how easily they could lose it again for any number of reasons.
He’d hold Harry tighter and whisper, “I know.”
…
Christmas itself was lovely.
He surprised Harry with a pile of gifts at the foot of his bed when he woke and a note that said, “Levitate them here so I can watch you open them. ~S”
“Oh, brilliant!” Harry exclaimed from Sirius’ floor in front of a healthy fire. He rifled through the enormous box of chocolates until he found a truffle. Sirius grabbed one of the crèmes.
“Keep going,” he said, chewing. “I never got to see you open the Firebolt.” He shrugged.
Harry smiled back. “It’s still the best gift I’ve ever gotten. That and Dad’s cloak.”
“Open that one,” Sirius pointed.
Sirius watched Harry open a box of fireworks – “That one’s illegal in Wales.” – a book on famous Quidditch Seekers, a package of tightie whities – “Those are really for me,” Sirius told him, chuckling rather evilly. Harry shoved him in the shoulder, but he looked right pleased by it – and then Sirius nodded toward the last box. “One left.”
Harry tore at the paper but slowed when he saw what was inside. He withdrew the silver chain with the two rings dangling from the end, both white gold, one smaller than the other.
“I’m not proposing,” Sirius informed him. “You’re much too young. Those were your parents’. I’ve had them for safe keeping.” Harry held them to the light, apparently speechless. “There were instructions, in case…” Sirius cleared his throat; it had gone tight and it ached. “I was supposed to give them to you when you’d graduated, but… Well, I’m a shitty friend.”
Harry let them sit lightly in his hand and then pooled the chain around them. “They’re beautiful,” he said. He looked up. “Sirius, thank you.”
“Bah!” Sirius admonished. “It’s a bad gift. It’s something I was supposed to give you anyway.” He stood up and stretched.
Harry stood as well. He wrapped his arms around Sirius’ neck. “Thank you for everything,” he said. Harry kissed him sweetly, lingering. When he pulled back, he held up the chain. “I want to wear them. I want you to put them on me.”
Sirius took the necklace and put it on Harry, laying the rings down over his sternum.
Harry kissed him again. Then he said, “They’re from all of you.”
Sirius blushed. He didn’t want to take the credit. But he could see it in Harry’s face; he wasn’t going to accept anything else. He could be extremely determined. It was a trait that would serve him enormously, in life and in battle, so Sirius didn’t want to discourage it. “Merry Christmas, Harry.”
“Merry Christmas,” Harry told him, beaming. “Don’t you want to see your present?”
Sirius stepped back, rubbed his hands together, and sat back in his armchair. “Yes, yes! By all means. Let’s have it!”
Harry pulled a small box from the bottom of the pile of wrapping, handling it rather reverently it seemed. He handed it to Sirius, and Sirius watched him swallow hard.
“What is it?” Sirius asked.
“That’s what opening it’s for now isn’t it?” Harry shifted his weight from one foot to the other and back.
Sirius opened the small green box tied with red ribbon. Inside was a copper bracelet. He pulled it out and it shone like flames in the firelight. He turned it over in his hands and saw the engraving inside: “I’ll always love you. HP”
“Harry…” He looked up at his godson, speechless.
Harry said, “Look at it again.”
Sirius looked down at it, and this time it said, “I’ll wait for you.”
“It’ll change every so often. And when anyone but you or me looks at it, it’ll say something innocuous like, ‘Merry Christmas,’ or ‘You’re a swell godfather’…stuff like that.”
“You’ll wait for me?” Sirius asked, needing to know.
“Till I’m out of school. And then I want everyone to know. I guess, in a way,” Harry swallowed again. “I’m proposing to you.”
“Harry,” Sirius began again, his knee-jerk response to talk him down from that slippery ledge.
“No,” Harry stopped him, and all his nervousness was gone, replaced with iron resolve. “I’m not too young. I’m the oldest sixteen year-old here. Sometimes I’m more mature than you, you know. And this isn’t some pie-in-the-sky bullshit. I’m not thinking about a wedding and a guest list and registering at Harrod’s and playing the little wife to you…some fake-perfect life.
“Sirius, there’s a war coming. I know you can feel it. I’ve been feeling it for a long time. I…felt it when Voldemort took me over. I still feel it. You and I will be fighting it together.” He took a step closer, and then he knelt at Sirius’ feet and took his hands, the bracelet between them. “If one of us should fall…” He swallowed, and Sirius pressed his palm to Harry’s cheek. “I need the others to know what we are to each other. Even if we never get to grow old with me making you tea in the morning and fetching your slippers and arguing over Quidditch…even if that’s never…us… I need at least to fight and die beside you as the man that you love.” Harry smiled tremulously then. “Maybe having that will give us both something to stay alive for.”
Sirius still couldn’t find the words for Harry. He had taken Sirius’ every argument, his very voice, and left him unable to do anything but stare at him in wonder. That and put the bracelet on. And so he did. He slid it on, the fit perfect; it glinted in the light like something magical and eternal and he supposed it was both.
“You—” Sirius began, still at a loss. “You rend me, Harry Potter,” he said, taking the boy’s face in his hands. He kissed him soundly, kissed them both breathless. He kissed him down to the floor, on top of him, pulling at clothes, the both of them laughing and then once bare skin was reached, sighing, yet still kissing.
Sirius rolled Harry on top, and the boy started to frot him, a hand on either side of Sirius’ head, straining and humping, his skin swathed in flame then shadow. Sirius held Harry’s bare bottom and watched him. The only sounds were the popping fire, Harry’s rings tinkling together, and their breath.
…
Harry left Sirius’ room near sunset. Sirius had said that since the train would be back in just a few short days, they’d need to make it a habit not to see one another nearly as often. They’d have to make due with less clandestine meetings until Easter when Sirius promised to take him back to Grimmauld Place for the break where they could have uninterrupted privacy to be with one another however they wished.
“So we can shag three times a day, you mean,” Harry teased, grinning, his arms around Sirius’ waist.
“More or less,” Sirius had admitted.
They’d kissed one last time. Sirius’ tongue was slow and delicious, just a hint of pipe-smoke and dark chocolate, and Harry submitted, letting Sirius deepen the kiss, the both of them unwilling to let go too soon knowing that they’d have to wait so long for it again. Harry gripped Sirius’ wrist, stroked the skin under the bracelet, a reminder.
Sirius let him go, and Harry left the room, taking the winding stairs down out of the tower, his lips still tingling.
They most certainly saw him first, Harry realized after the fact. They were both looking his direction as he stepped out into the seventh floor hallway. Draco and Pansy were standing there in front of the Room of Requirement as though he’d interrupted something. Harry hurriedly schooled the lovesick look off his face and cleared his throat.
“What are you two doing here?” he asked, the suspicion rising.
“None of your business, Potter,” Draco spat half-heartedly.
Pansy just looked at him, her eyes narrowed. Harry felt like she was trying to look inside his skin; it made him want to shiver. Harry firmed his jaw. But Pansy just nudged Malfoy and said, “Let’s go, Draco. Potter obviously wants to use the room to cry over his Mummy and Daddy like a little baby.”
Harry held his tongue as they walked away, Draco’s gaze lingering on his for just a moment, unreadable.
Draco had a job to do… They were using the Room of Requirement….
Harry looked back up the stairs, wondering if he should tell Sirius what he’d seen and heard. He wondered if he should find Dumbledore.
Then he had another idea. He walked into the hall, in front of the blank wall. Harry closed his eyes and thought, as hard as he could, “I need to see what Draco and Pansy were doing. I need to see what Draco and Pansy were doing. I need to see what Draco and Pansy were doing.”
He opened his eyes, but no door had appeared. It was almost time for dinner. He’d need to bathe quickly first or risk smelling like sex. He didn’t have time to keep at the room. He resolved to come back and try again later, his gut churning with the uncertainty.
…
The train was back and school was starting back up again before Harry knew it. The entry hall was filling up, and the noise was disconcerting after the peace of the holiday.
Harry stood five stairs up to get the view over the heads of all the kids and made out Ron’s red head and Hermione’s bushy hair coming through the front doors. He was filled with a new excitement seeing them, something to take the place of the uneasiness he’d been feeling trying to get into the Room of Requirement. Something to take his mind off his desire to be with Sirius again.
He waved and called out, and his friends saw him and waved back. They met at the foot of the stairs and exchanged quick hugs. His friends were both aglow, and Harry had to wonder how little it had to do with him or returning to school.
“How were your holidays?” he asked them.
“Brilliant!” they chorused together and then blushed. Harry saw Hermione surreptitiously insert her hand into Ron’s.
“And you, mate?” Ron asked, shoving his shoulder playfully.
Harry dropped his eyes, but he couldn’t help the enormous smile taking over half his face. “Brilliant,” he admitted quietly.
Ron shoved him again. “You dog!”
“No, that’s the other one,” Hermione said cheekily.
Harry looked up at her, and she seemed torn between being happy for and worried about him.
“What are we waiting for; I’m starving!” Ron announced.
“When are you not starving?” Hermione said.
But they held hands all the way into the Great Hall with Harry following.
…
Defense was right after lunch. Everyone piled into the classroom eager to get back. Even Neville had lost that frightened look of overwhelm he usually wore. He looked more confident and ready than Harry had ever seen him.
Sirius strode into the room right on time and greeted everyone. They spent the first several minutes talking about everyone’s Christmas break. Sirius did not ask Harry how his was, of course.
Harry enjoyed watching Sirius with his friends. He felt proud that his lover was so charming – so much so as to be disarming; while Cho talked about her new wand, Sirius slowly turned her robes bright pink. When she was done talking and looked down at herself with shock, everyone laughed, including Cho. Well, not Draco or Pansy. Harry realized they were both watching him with open contempt.
He turned his attention back to Sirius with Cho. “Now show us your prowess in turning it back with that brilliant new wand, Miss Chang, and we’ll get started,” Sirius said with a wink.
He paired them off for some warm-up dueling: Pansy with Neville, Draco and Harry of course, Ron with Cho, and Hermione with Sirius. “Nothing too drastic this round. Nothing worse than a stunning spell, and we’ll move on to mental incantations next.”
Draco followed Harry over to their designated corner of the room, but not before he shot a look at his girlfriend that seemed clearly worried. “Pansy…” he called. But she gave him a sharp quelling look, and he demurred and left off, pulling his wand. Harry noted the sweat that dotted his upper lip, and his eyes were underscored by grey flesh that indicated a severe loss of sleep.
Harry lifted his wand.
“On the count of three,” called Sirius.
Harry was ready. He planned to hit Draco with a silencing hex straight off and then accio his wand, painless but quick and to the point.
Sirius called three, and while Harry shouted the silencing spell, he also heard, almost directly behind him and quite loud, Pansy’s shrieking voice:
“LEGILIMENS!”
Harry had just enough time to realize that poor Neville would be rubbish against that sort of advanced magic when he felt his own mind tumble out of his control and into hers.
The flashes were acute, recent, vivid, and there was no way to stop them:
That first kiss. Sirius kicking him out.
The ball. The swaying. Climbing the stairs – Sirius holding his hand – his palm sweaty.
Sirius undressing him.
Sirius sucking his cock. The gentle feel of his mouth.
Sirius laying him on his bed.
Harry’s legs pushed up, the fingers, the beautiful pain—
MORE.
Sirius inside.
Coming.
That was the first five seconds. The five seconds when she’d caught him completely unaware and split him open like soft fruit to devour his every unspeakable moment.
As soon as he realized she had hit him, he fought it. She wasn’t strong, and Harry had practiced Occlumency more than anyone else in the class, so it only took a couple more seconds to push her out entirely.
But the damage was done. Harry found himself on the floor, the pain in his mind worse than any headache. His vision was blurry, but he did see Pansy running quickly from the room. He saw Hermione lift her wand at the retreating back – “Obliv—” and then Sirius stopped her, a hand on her wand arm so that her spell hit the floor instead, “-iate.”
Harry’s ears were ringing, but he heard her agonized, “Why did you stop me?” Her fear palpable.
And then Ron kneeling over him. “Are you all right, mate? What did she see?”
Sirius then. Sirius standing over him, then coming closer, his hand on Harry’s hair.
Harry answered Ron while looking into Sirius’s sad eyes:
“Everything.”
END PART THREE
Continue to Part Four: On DW | On LJ
Author:
traintracks777 / traintracks Part Two: On DW | On LJ
They were silent, just breathing fast as Sirius led Harry up, up, up the winding stairs into the tower where his room was. Harry’s hand was sweating in Sirius’ grip, but Sirius didn’t let him go even as they got to the door. He opened it and then pulled Harry inside. Sirius held his hand even as he turned and locked the door. Then he turned to Harry and used the hand he was holding to pull him in.
“Christ, I’m so sorry,” he whispered in Harry’s hair.
Harry wondered which he was sorry for: kissing him, pushing him away, telling him to get out. Or being here now. His embrace was warm and tense with restraint. Harry wound his arms around Sirius, too, and pressed himself as close as he could. He buried his face in Sirius’ chest and shuddered. They stayed just three breaths like that, and then Sirius was gently pushing him back. But it was only to withdraw his wand. He waved it in the air once and uttered a charm Harry had never heard. Suddenly, the room was filled with the same music that had been playing down in the Great Hall. Harry gasped.
Sirius stowed his wand once more, then stood back and held his arms out in invitation. “Would you dance with me, Harry Potter?”
Harry felt himself blushing. He blinked. “Yes, Sirius. I’ll dance with you,” he said, and he stepped into the man’s arms. Sirius took his right hand in his own left and wrapped his arm around Harry’s waist. Harry rested his other hand on Sirius’ shoulder. Then Sirius applied just the most subtle pressure at his back and guided him into the dance. The band sang, “Wake me up when September ends,” and there was one piece of Harry’s heart that sang with the ache – wishing he was two years older – or older than that – that they’d defeated Voldemort and that they were dancing in their own home, no one around to judge them for what they were doing – just a soft fire, a big bed nearby, and them together, raising chickens, in love in the daylight like nothing at all was wrong.
The other piece of Harry never wanted to wake up, never wanted time to press forward, but wished for it to stand still so that he could be here, just like this, nothing separating them, for hours, days, months more of his life.
Sirius was looking down at him, maybe reading him, maybe just feeling the same. “You’re beautiful,” he said, and Harry inhaled the words. He’d never heard those words said about himself before. Sirius pressed his hand harder into Harry’s lower back and brought their bodies close again, close enough to feel– “Do you know what you do to me?”
Harry felt the hard length of Sirius’ cock and swallowed. It made him lightheaded to know that he had done that. He stopped dancing and took his hand out of Sirius’. He knew he should ask what had changed, why Sirius had pulled him in the door when so recently he’d shoved him out. He knew he should stop things – he didn’t know why Sirius wasn’t stopping things. But Harry didn’t think that he could. He wanted this too much, and he didn’t want Sirius to come to his senses if, indeed, he’d lost them.
Harry trembled as he started to unknot Sirius’ tie. He looked up into his godfather’s face for permission, for rejection. Sirius’ eyes darkened, and Harry slipped the silk free, pulling it off. He began to work on the buttons of Sirius’ shirt. Sirius stroked his hair while he did it, then he unbuttoned his own coat and vest and shrugged them off. Their breathing had gotten harder and their hands began to work faster.
Harry pushed the shirt off Sirius’ shoulders, baring his beautiful chest, the canvas of black ink that he was, and, scared out of his mind but so hard it hurt, he leaned forward and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to Sirius’ collar bone, near the dip of his throat. He felt the groan vibrate against his lips. Harry moved his mouth and let his tongue peek out, licking delicately at the curve of one tattoo, and Sirius’ hands were immediately in Harry’s hair again. He pulled on it roughly, and the gasp that flew from Harry’s mouth was enough to part his lips even more. It seemed like just the opening Sirius wanted, because he kissed him – hard and deep, his shirt hanging off his elbows, his arm wrapping low around Harry’s back and pressing their bodies tight together again. Sirius was even bigger and harder than before, and Harry, emboldened by what he could apparently do to this man, slipped his tongue into Sirius’ mouth, pushing his godfather’s tongue back, taking over.
Sirius chuckled into his mouth, and then he kissed Harry harder, taking it back, and he started to undress him, his smooth hands working the robe off and Harry’s shirt, all without ceasing the kiss.
Harry shivered violently and thought he might come in his pants. When Sirius’ hands dropped to the button just above where he ached, Harry gasped hard and held Sirius’ hands with his own. “I might – Oh God, I think I might—”
“It’s okay,” Sirius said low in his ear. And then he grasped Harry’s cock through his pants, squeezed it just the once, and Harry came.
“Oh God, oh God!” Harry cried, and the warm wet seeped through his dress pants and moistened his godfather’s palm. Harry felt shame darken the pink on his cheeks.
But Sirius just smiled against his ear and said, “I’m close, too.”
Harry let all his breath out, and then Sirius was kneeling before him and taking his pants down to his knees, his hands efficient but tender. Harry was embarrassed to be standing there naked with his pants down and his spent cock in Sirius’ face, but Sirius just took Harry’s bum in his hands and then took the cock in his mouth and laved it slowly and gently.
“Crimeny!” Harry said loudly, and Sirius smiled and chuckled around Harry’s rising cock.
Harry stumbled, and Sirius gripped his ass hard, his rough fingers digging into the split and touching along Harry’s soft hole.
“Sirius! Oh my God,” Harry breathed. It was exquisite – those fingers there and his hot tongue! Harry’s cock sprang up and filled Sirius’ mouth. Sirius moaned around it as though he liked it. As though everything Harry did that he was instantly embarrassed for was actually a good thing. The post at the foot of Sirius’ bed was nearby, and Harry grabbed it for balance as Sirius started to suck on him in earnest.
Harry was torn between closing his eyes in bliss and staring down at Sirius in awe. He cycled between the two, swaying into the beautiful mouth, Sirius’ hands urging him to do it again, and then again, until minutes later, again, he came. But this time it was inside Sirius’ mouth, and Sirius swallowed it and stroked his anus all the while, and Harry truly thought he might pass out.
…
Sirius had stripped them naked. He had made Harry come twice. He had lain Harry down on his bed; the boy was trembling and gorgeous and half-hard again. Sirius thought that if he could die from joy he would have already.
And he was a sick, weak, impulsive bastard. He always had been, and tonight was no different. Tonight merely confirmed that some things never bloody change. Sirius had thrown all of his good intentions out the window when he’d brought Harry here, and they’d flown off like an owl on holiday. He couldn’t regret it. Not yet, at least. Not with Harry’s taste still on his lips, with the boy’s wide eyes on his cock.
Sirius couldn’t blame him for being petrified; he didn’t think he’d ever been this hard in his life – he was painfully engorged. He stroked himself slowly, looking down at Harry’s svelte body; Sirius wasn’t sure he would even fit. Harry seemed to be thinking the same thing. Sirius watched him swallow.
“Do you want me to stop?” Sirius asked. Even the question hurt. But if he had to, he’d be content to stroke it off right here just looking at Harry.
Harry saved him. He shook his head vigorously. “No, Sirius, please. I want you to shag me.”
Sirius nearly choked on the laughter then. “Oh no,” he said. “There will be no shagging tonight. Not tonight,” he told Harry. His face ached. He tried to wipe the smile off his with hand. He sobered with effort. He sat on the edge of the bed and trailed his hand up Harry’s leg. “Harry,” Sirius told him. “I’m going to make love to you. Make no mistake about that.”
Sirius moved up onto the bed, over the boy, holding himself just barely off his silken body. “I’m going to make love to you,” he said again. He lifted Harry’s arm over his head, laying it on the pillow, then he ghosted his hand down his underarm, his side, then up again, and he ran his thumb over his nipple. Harry gasped and shivered. “I’m going to make love to you….”
Harry arched into his thumb, grinding himself against it, and Sirius’ cock pulled hard up toward his belly.
“I want to touch you, too,” Harry said, tentatively reaching for him. He touched his fingertips to Sirius’ chest, and he breathed. Which is to say, he did the breathing exercise Sirius had taught him.
Sirius rejoiced to feel those frightened hands on him. Harry ran his hands up and down his chest, over his shoulders, down his back. “I love your body,” Harry breathed. He dropped his hands and squeezed Sirius’ ass hard. “I want you in me.” He reached between Sirius’ legs and grasped his large cock. “I want this inside me.” His thumb swept over the tip, and Sirius’ cock leaked in answer.
He hauled Harry’s leg up, and Harry’s eyes darkened with desire. Sirius reached between Harry’s legs…down…and he touched his anus; he circled the puckered entrance with his finger, and then he started to push. He felt the give finally, and pressed in to his knuckle. Harry inhaled sharply and pulled his leg in, and Sirius delighted when he moved on it, wanting it. Harry’s cock was leaking all over his belly. Sirius fucked just the first half of his finger inside Harry and got a breathy, “Oh my God,” for his trouble.
He couldn’t believe he was doing this. He was doing this. He should never have gone to that stupid dance. He should never have let Harry see him there. He had just wanted to watch him, to drink him in unseen. But then he had been noticed, and he’d seen the pain on Harry’s face, and he’d just wanted, so very badly…
So he’d been weak, and he’d used the dancing spell, and he felt, across that deep space, the ache of joy, the silent secret blossoming of love and lust and sadness between them. And now here they were, and they were naked, and Sirius’ finger was inside of him and Harry was moaning and moving under him and he was encouraging it, building that fire, pushing in deeper, watching the body under him light up and hum.
“You body is my magic,” Sirius found himself saying. “You are magic, Harry.” He whispered the charm that had his lover suddenly so slick his finger slid all the way in effortlessly. Harry groaned and then started whispering his name, “Sirius…Sirius…”
He almost couldn’t wait to be inside. Even as he fucked Harry’s ass now with his finger, he sat back and gripped the base of his own cock hard, staving it off. He gritted his teeth, grunting with the effort not to come. He pushed in a second finger, and Harry’s eyes fluttered shut. “You okay?” Sirius checked.
Harry just nodded, biting his lip. He could not be more perfect. Sirius felt the warm muscles contract around his fingers, and the words were coaxed out of him almost before he realized: “I love you.”
Harry’s eyes opened, and he lifted his head to look at Sirius. Sirius smiled and brought Harry’s calf up and kissed it, the wiry hairs tickling his lips. He closed his own eyes, just feeling him, and he said it again, against his skin, just to feel the words in his mouth: “I love you, Harry.”
Harry’s breath hitched. “If you don’t kiss me now, Sirius, I might put a hex on you. And you know I can.”
Sirius stilled his fingers inside the boy. He leaned over him, opened Harry’s mouth and slid his tongue inside. Harry wrapped his arms around his neck as they kissed, and Sirius wondered if it might not be the best thing he’d ever felt in his life.
He withdrew his fingers. He held his cock at Harry’s entrance. He started to push it inside. Their kiss paused for Harry to breathe, panting into Sirius’ mouth, and Sirius pressed forward, the tight fist of Harry’s arse holding him, squeezing him, trying to deny and submit to him at the same time.
Sirius pushed it in slowly; it seemed to take hours, but then he was lodged inside all the way, and it felt like a miracle that they fit like this, but they did, and Harry whined, “Do it,” and so Sirius pulled back a little and then shoved back in.
“Christ!” Harry cried, and Sirius fought the powerful urge to just go at him hard. He felt his own need to come rising, tightening inside him, threatening to take over. He restrained it and fucked Harry slowly, tenderly, opening his mouth for another deep kiss.
He thrust like that until Harry whined, “It burns, Sirius. It burns.”
Sirius stopped. “I’m hurting you?”
“Nnnooo,” Harry cried. “Need…more… Please, Sirius.”
That was really all he needed. He started whipping his hips, fucking Harry fast and hard. And then they were both moaning, Sirius biting at Harry’s shoulder and Harry submitting utterly under him, holding his legs up and letting Sirius’ fuck rock him on the bed. “Close,” was all he said in the tiniest whisper. “Close…”
And then Harry came, and it clamped down on Sirius’ cock, and he shouted and it was nonsense and Sirius fucked him through it, the come spreading between their bodies, sticky and pungent, and the way Harry then threw his arms around Sirius’ shoulders and clung to him and shook, drove him over and then he was coming, too, inside Harry’s trembling body. Sirius drove into him, seething, growling, transported.
It was only when it started to subside and the whipping of his hips turned to a slow rutting that Sirius heard the sweet whispers into his neck, “Thank you… Thank you… God, thank you…” and Sirius’ heart somehow broke and was repaired in the same instant.
…
It was the middle of the night when Harry snuck out and made his way to Gryffindor tower. He whispered the password to the portrait and crept through the common room and up the stairs.
He got into his pajamas slowly. He was sore from what Sirius had done to him – twice. He savored how raw he felt – how he smelled like Sirius’ body, his room, his bed.
He wasn’t a virgin anymore. And he was having a great deal of trouble regretting anything that they’d done. He couldn’t. Not when he remembered the kiss Sirius left him with at the door – that lingering, tired kiss, Sirius’ robe wrapped loosely around his gorgeous, weathered body – that shallow, tender kiss that whispered the truth to him: that Sirius didn’t want him to go, that Harry was deeply loved.
Harry started to slip beneath the covers when he heard Ron’s whisper, “I’ve been bloody waiting for you, mate.” He sounded both urgent and exhausted. “Where on earth have you been all night?”
Harry turned to him, feeling his pulse jump like a rabbit at the base of his throat.
But Ron didn’t let him answer, didn’t force him to come up with a lie. He sat up in his own bed and looked around to make sure the other boys were truly asleep. Then he confided, “I kissed her. I bloody well kissed her, Harry!”
“Brilliant,” Harry said, feeling a bright moment of happiness for his friends. He turned to Ron, and they sat close together, whispering, their knees nearly touching. “How’d it go then?”
“Well I nearly passed out now didn’t I?” Ron said with a crooked smile. He seemed both embarrassed and proud. “I think she was holding me up.”
Harry resisted the pit of envy trying to rise up out of his stomach. “So is it official then?”
Ron frowned. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”
“You git,” Harry said. “But don’t worry. She’ll give you all the rules for it first thing in the morning, I’m guessing.”
Ron smiled. “Right,” he said. Then, “She’s got the softest lips of any woman in England. In the world!” he amended.
Harry closed his eyes for just a moment, remembering Sirius’ mouth on his own, the urgent opening, the hot penetration of his tongue, the way it had made Harry gasp.
He wanted nothing more than to be able to congratulate Ron and Hermione – his two best friends. To let Ron go on and on – as he now was – about Hermione’s skin and her hair and her silky dress and her body pressed up against him.
But that wasn’t true. It wasn’t all he wanted. He wanted to be able to shout from the rooftops that he was in love with Sirius Black. He wanted to hold his hand, and he wanted to kiss him in doorways, and he wanted everyone to know that he belonged to someone – that someone wanted him, and he was the most amazing man that Harry had ever met.
Ron could shout it from the rooftops if he wanted. He might risk Hermione pushing him over the side, but he could still do it. Ron could hold her hand and kiss her in doorways and show everyone that someone wonderful wanted him – that they belonged together.
“What’s the matter?” Ron whispered. “You didn’t- You don’t…have a…thing for her yourself, do you?”
“No, Ron.”
“Then what’s with the face?”
Harry looked at his friend. He could live without shouting it from the rooftops maybe – if he could just tell his own best friend.
Ron suddenly gasped. “You’ve been with a bird, too!” he said. “That’s where you’ve been. That’s why you’re late!”
Harry shook his head. He took in a deep draught of air, fortifying himself. “Not a bird,” he said. “Ron…”
“Go on then. You can tell me anything.”
“I’ve been…”
“Yeah?”
“I’ve been with Sirius.”
Ron frowned. “Well, what’s the big deal about that?”
Harry had to smile at his confounded friend. Then he looked around at the other boys. He picked up his wand from the bedside table. “Muffliato,” he commanded. Then, “You can still hear me, right?”
“You’re only the best wizard Hogwarts has ever had; of course I can hear you – spill it!”
Harry felt himself blushing. “I was… with Sirius.”
“Yeah.”
“I love him, Ron.”
“Of course you do,” Ron said. Sometimes his brain hid behind a thick stone wall.
“No, Ron,” Harry sighed. Then he firmed his lips and burst out, “We had sex! Together! Me and Sirius. We love each other, and we bloody well just had sex.”
Ron just blinked at him. Then he blinked at him again. Then his eyes went wide and round. All he said was, “Blimey.”
Harry breathed, watching him.
Ron blinked at the floor for a few minutes, then he asked, “Sex isn’t a euphemism for something else now is it?”
Harry had to laugh. “No.”
“You – and Sirius.”
“Yes.”
“Sirius Black.”
“Yes.”
“Sirius is a poofta?”
“Is that a problem?” Harry said, feeling himself clench.
“Only that he’s gonna break the hearts of every girl in this school!” Ron then looked at Harry squarely. “And…you? You’re…gay?”
Harry sighed. “I think there’s a very high probability of that, yeah. Is that…?”
Ron frowned as though insulted. “Merlin’s beard, no!” Ron said. “Charlie’s gay as a box of birds or didn’t you know? I’m just…processing, mate. Processing. You and Sirius! You and bloody Sirius Black!”
“You can’t tell a soul,” Harry warned him.
“Not even Hermione?”
“She already knows.”
“Bugger! You mean you’ve been in the girls’ tower tonight?? Were they naked?”
“No, I haven’t been in the– She’s known how I feel for a while.”
“Well, blimey!”
“But no one else can know, do you understand, Ron?”
Ron nodded vigorously. Then, as he sorted it all out, his eyes went round. “You massive git! You had sex before me! You had sex the night I kissed Hermione, you tosser! Way to steal my thunder, Harry, I didn’t even get boob!”
Harry laughed and blushed some more. “The snogging’s one of the best parts, though.”
“Liar!” Ron accused, affronted. “Bloody liar!” Then quieter, even though they couldn’t be heard, “You’ve… I mean… Did he put it… there?”
Harry just bit his lip.
“He did! He did put it there! Holy fuck, Harry!” He lowered his voice again. “Hurt a lot, did it?”
“So, you kissed Hermione. Let’s talk about that,” Harry said, and they both laughed.
“Bloody hell,” Ron kept saying. “I mean, bloody hell!”
“So…you’re not…too freaked out?”
“Well…” Ron started. “Not in a bad way. I mean, you won’t be after my girlfriend now will you? And…you love someone. Love is good, right? We both…love people.” And Ron blushed like a summer tomato.
“Congratulations, Ron,” Harry said genuinely.
Ron smiled at him, practically beaming. “Yeah,” he said. “You, too, Harry. You and Sirius, too.”
And for the rest of the night, Harry pretended that all the world would feel about them the way Ron did right then.
…
Not surprisingly, Ron and Hermione decided she would come stay with his family for the last three days of their vacation time, seemingly unable to spend any more time apart than that. Harry thought it was almost so sweet as to be revolting, but he really wasn’t in a place to judge.
He got to spend the whole break at Hogwarts with Sirius, practically alone, and he could be found absently beaming at inopportune times throughout the morning about precisely that fact. Hermione had been gracious enough to point it out to him.
When it came time, he escorted his friends to the train. He helped get their bags stowed and hugged them, but he nearly missed waving at them one last time from the platform; his thoughts were on the blazing fire in Sirius’ room, the uninterrupted privacy, the heady knowledge that Sirius was all his and vice versa for the next two weeks.
Hermione knocked on the window to get his attention, and Harry shook himself free of his fantasies and waved. He watched Ron snake his arm around her, and the chilled window with its frame of frost couldn’t hide her blush. Nor Ron’s, and his was much more spectacular.
Harry turned once the train was mostly out of sight and started walking back to the school. He was making his way quickly along the road and was about halfway there when he heard voices just off into the trees. Harry slowed and quieted his steps, coming to a halt and turning to try to place where the whispers were coming from.
“Don’t be such a baby,” a girl hissed. A girl Harry recognized from her venomous tones as Pansy Parkinson. “It’s not like he can have visitors. You’re better off here. And you have a job to do, or had you forgotten?”
“I haven’t forgotten!” Draco returned. “Easy to criticize when it’s not your life that hangs in the balance. Easy to call me a baby and then sit back and—”
“And correct your mistakes, you mean – pick up the threads of your failures, Draco,” Pansy answered.
Harry held his breath, straining to hear past the rising wind.
“I won’t fail,” Draco said, his teeth clearly gritted.
“You’re right,” Pansy said with phony nonchalance. “Because I won’t let you, Draco Malfoy. I won’t let you.”
Harry knew the end of a fight when he heard one and hurried to get further along the road so as not to be caught eavesdropping. He was fifteen or twenty paces ahead when Pansy passed him in a huff, making sure to slam into his shoulder on her way. Draco wasn’t far behind, but he was walking much slower. Harry chanced a look up at him as he passed.
To his shock, Draco’s exhausted gaze – red rimmed eyes filled with tears – found his own. Draco sniffed and firmed his angled jaw. Then he nodded curtly. “Potter.”
Harry frowned. But he answered, “Malfoy.”
And then Draco ran along ahead back towards school, leaving Harry to wonder what it all meant. It was easily the most civilized exchange they’d ever had. And Draco and Pansy had been fighting for weeks now. About some sort of job Draco needed to do? And at Hogwarts, apparently, because they were both staying through the break.
Whatever it was, Harry felt a bone-deep uneasiness – one that no congenial greeting could gloss over. He thrust his hands into his coat pockets and set off at a jog back, much too hungry and cold to give it the thought it deserved.
…
It was too easy to forget about Draco and Pansy when he saw Sirius next, up at the teachers’ table in the Great Hall, having lunch and laughing with Hagrid. When Sirius looked up and saw Harry, though, he patted Hagrid on the back, picked up his plate and goblet, and with a small smile, joined Harry at the Gryffindor table instead, sitting across from him and Neville.
“Afternoon, Harry,” Sirius greeted. Harry was immediately filled with the pleasure of his memories of the night before; they seemed to swim in Sirius’ eyes.
“Afternoon,” Harry answered.
“Neville,” Sirius greeted the other boy, his eyes drifting away from Harry and letting him breathe again.
Then they just ate together, and Sirius told stories about Harry’s mother and father. He told him about the time his father had put a hex on the sweet potatoes so that anybody who ate them became hopelessly enamored of the person sitting to their right.
“Dumbledore gave him a month of detention and docked Gryffindor fifty points. But it was hilarious,” Sirius confided.
Sirius told Neville stories about his parents, too. He seemed to be one of the only people who thought it was okay, even a good thing, to talk about them – to not pretend they didn’t exist or that everything was all right. “Some of the best students in our year,” Sirius told him. “Your mother tended the Whomping Willow, her Herbology was so advanced. She was the only one could touch that thing.”
Neville beamed, and he sat up a little straighter. When he left, Harry and Sirius stayed, and they talked about spells, about Harry becoming an Auror, about little things and big things, nothing and everything.
Harry told him, “Ron and Hermione are a couple now,” not quite meeting his godfather’s eyes.
“Huh,” Sirius replied. “When was this? Recently?”
Harry cleared his throat. “Last night. He kissed her last night.”
“Huh,” Sirius huffed again. Then he asked, “Were there sweet potatoes last night for dinner?”
Harry felt the laughter bubble up in him, and he covered his mouth to keep it back. He looked at Sirius over his hand. Sirius winked at him. Then he cleared his own throat, dabbed at his mustache with his napkin, and said in the most innocent of voices, “Care for a game of chess up in my room?”
“I’d love a game of chess,” Harry told him.
They both got up and walked as calmly as possible out of the Great Hall, keeping a good distance between them, all the way up into the tower.
…
And they really did play chess. Sirius didn’t like to think he was such a lecher as to want Harry in his room solely to shag him. Although they did do that first.
Harry was sore, so Sirius just lay on top of him and frotted their bare cocks together. He made it last as long as he could, but then Harry wrapped his legs around his hips and rocked up into it helplessly, pulling on his godfather’s shoulders, his slick back. Sirius leaned on one elbow and reached between them, pulling on them both until they came, first Harry and then Sirius following, adding their combined spunk to Harry’s flat stomach.
Harry was a mess. And Sirius could have cleaned him with a flick of his wand, but he didn’t. He padded to the vanity, naked, and brought back a warm, wet cloth. He cleaned Harry’s stomach, then his thighs, then his softened penis. Harry pulled a pillow over his face and groaned as it started to get hard again. So Sirius scooted down and took it in his mouth and made it last a half hour more until Harry was practically crying.
When he was through, Harry untangled his fingers from Sirius’ hair and breathed, “I want to learn to do that to you.”
Chess would have to wait.
Sirius lay on his back and guided the boy’s mouth onto his cock. Harry was clumsy and earnest, his mouth in turns too hard, too much teeth, and then not enough, licking around the head when Sirius wished nothing more than to plow down his throat in one thrust.
Sirius took Harry’s head gently between his hands, said, “Hold still,” and then he moved slow and shallow, just three inches of it in and out.
It was when Harry whimpered around it and then let out a deep, happy sigh that Sirius lost control and came. He came chanting his name, “Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry…” still moving between those innocent lips, most of his juice leaking down his shaft, unswallowed.
Harry cleaned him up that time, and Sirius just rested his head on his bent arm and watched, such a feeling of tenderness suffusing him all the while Harry handled his flaccid cock, his balls, his hairy thighs.
Then they got dressed and played chess for the rest of the evening. Sirius won three games to Harry’s one. Sometimes Sirius tried to distract him with lame jokes, and sometimes Harry succeeded in distracting him by licking his bottom lip methodically while he fingered a knight.
Most of the time they played in companionable, easy silence, each lost in thought. If anyone were to call on Sirius and find them there, there would be no evidence of anything untoward. There would be two friends – wonderful friends – enjoying the warm room on a chilly night, playing chess and occasionally laughing at this or that.
When Sirius made a good move, Harry kicked his foot under the table in frustration, and Sirius laughed under his breath. In that moment, there was no Voldemort. There was no reason to mourn. There was only Harry, laughing, “Bugger,” and Sirius checking him.
They played until nearly nine o’clock when Sirius feared Harry’s absence from Gryffindor tower would be noticed. The games over, Sirius stood and stretched.
Harry said, “I wish I could stay.”
“But you can’t.”
“I know.”
“I’ll see you at bloody breakfast,” Sirius teased him, though he was feeling it, too.
“I want to sleep with you.”
Sirius’ heart broke at the simple yearning. “Me, too. But we can’t. Now go on.”
But Harry came to him and wrapped his hand around the back of Sirius’ neck, and he kissed him soundly. Harry’s kiss was decisive and unapologetic, and Sirius let himself be kissed. He let Harry’s tongue move confidently through his mouth. He sighed and gripped Harry close.
“You’re getting really good at that,” he breathed when Harry pulled back slightly.
“I just love you. And you can taste it,” Harry replied.
Sirius breathed him in. “I shouldn’t – I shouldn’t, Harry – but I love you, too.” He backed out of Harry’s arms. “Now off to bed.” He winced at how much he sounded like a parent. Then Sirius watched his lover walk to the door, wave at him, and then close it behind himself.
He fell back onto his bed with a hedonistic groan.
…
The two weeks were not pure fucking. They weren’t. In fact, he and Harry spent them mostly doing other things. Other wonderful things. Sirius couldn’t remember being any happier than he was now with Harry. Yet as happy as he was, there were still times when the guilt struck him like a knife between the ribs. Guilt not only that Harry had replaced James in many ways, that he had become not only his best friend but his lover and that he was now sharing in a richer, more complex knowledge of Sirius than James ever could have. Sirius was a different man now, an injured man, a broken and reborn one, and Harry was a part of that, the good part, the blessing. But Sirius also suffered the guilt that, if James knew what Sirius had done with his son, he’d disown him entirely. Hell, he’d run him through.
Fury waited for Sirius in heaven. He betrayed James’ and Lily’s trust when he’d first kissed Harry, and with every breath he'd taken since, he’d continued to betray them. But if those Christian Muggles were right, he wouldn’t be going to heaven – he'd surely be bound for Hell and all its torments. Or maybe he'd just be smacked in the arse with Karma and be eternally reborn as the lowest of the low, forever paying for this terrible, joyful sin.
But to be perfectly honest, the guilt he felt was fleeting. The joy was permanent. The joy was in his beautiful boy’s face. In his every innocent and not-so-innocent touch. In the shared laughter and sometimes the tears that would come when Sirius told him how Lily slurped her soup and then proceeded to demonstrate or when he told Harry how his father had thumped his mum’s pregnant belly like he was looking to buy a melon.
The joy was in seeing him at breakfast and in kissing him good-night and everything in between. It was in the seconds and in the days.
Harry had taken him out on the field and tried to teach Sirius how to play good Quidditch, for instance.
“You know I’m miserable at this, right? I’ve told you I’m miserable at this, Harry.”
“I know, I know. You prefer a hot motorcycle to a broom.”
“Absolutely.”
Harry had leaned in close and whispered in his ear. “Do you know where it is? We could always leave off this Quidditch rubbish and you could fuck me over the back of it instead.”
Sirius had growled. “Watch it, boy.”
Harry smiled and kept going. “You could fuck me flying on your hot bike, Sirius.”
Sirius had growled again, “Don’t. Tease. The animals.”
Harry had shrugged. “Fine then. Can you ride a broom hard like that? Yes? Then, let’s go.” And he’d kicked off.
So, yes, even the activities presumed innocent sometimes simply weren’t at all, but that certainly didn’t mean that all they did or talked about had to do with sex.
They exhausted themselves and each other in the empty classroom, working on spells and dueling for hours at a time. Sometimes, they were so good and so ruthless with each other, they’d draw a small crowd – students and whatever teachers had stayed on, even Dumbledore. They often drew applause.
They walked the grounds alone, not touching, and they talked about the beautiful clouds on the horizon or how good the smoke from Hagrid’s hut smelled – simple things, interwoven with the sweetest silence…their footfalls on the frozen earth.
They enjoyed mealtimes together, sometimes in public with the others, sometimes alone in Sirius’ room.
They played chess and cards and sometimes they just sat together and Sirius worked on his owls to Remus and Tonks or Kingsley or Mad-Eye while Harry read his textbooks. And sometimes Harry would ask for help and sometimes he wouldn’t. Sometimes Sirius asked, “What you up to?” and Harry would tell him. And sometimes they just shared the space, each absorbed with their isolated tasks.
And sometimes Sirius would interrupt Harry by trailing his fingers along the back of the boy’s neck, and Harry would lift his face for the kiss, and the book would drop.
And sometimes Harry would come over and kneel at Sirius’s feet, nudging his knees apart, and he’d nuzzle into his crotch and Sirius would gasp, and Harry would get him hard before he even took him out to suck him.
And sometimes they’d get home from a trip to Hogsmeade or lunch with Hagrid or a walk, and Sirius would tear Harry’s clothes off and flip him over on the bed and haul his ass up and enter him. And they’d fuck feverishly, Sirius pushing Harry’s face down into the bed and taking his pleasure.
Then other times, Harry would straddle him and lower himself onto Sirius’s cock, and they’d mate slowly, agonizing over every inch, until neither one could take it and Sirius pulled him down hard again and again and again, grinding into that soft hole relentlessly while Harry fisted his own cock.
Sirius loved to hear Harry breathing his name.
He had never been a cuddler, but Sirius loved holding the boy close afterward, feeling his heart pounding against his side, his breath against his neck, Harry’s fingers drifting over his chest, down his stomach, tracing tattoos, his own hand against Harry’s smooth, narrow back.
Sometimes they’d lay together and Sirius would pick up his wand and he’d draw things with sparks up over the bed.
He’d write things. He’d write, “Harry Potter,” and “Sirius + Harry,” and “I love you, my boy.” He’d write, “I’ll always love you.” And Harry would sniff against his chest, and Sirius would know that he was thinking about the veil and how they’d almost never had this and how easily they could lose it again for any number of reasons.
He’d hold Harry tighter and whisper, “I know.”
…
Christmas itself was lovely.
He surprised Harry with a pile of gifts at the foot of his bed when he woke and a note that said, “Levitate them here so I can watch you open them. ~S”
“Oh, brilliant!” Harry exclaimed from Sirius’ floor in front of a healthy fire. He rifled through the enormous box of chocolates until he found a truffle. Sirius grabbed one of the crèmes.
“Keep going,” he said, chewing. “I never got to see you open the Firebolt.” He shrugged.
Harry smiled back. “It’s still the best gift I’ve ever gotten. That and Dad’s cloak.”
“Open that one,” Sirius pointed.
Sirius watched Harry open a box of fireworks – “That one’s illegal in Wales.” – a book on famous Quidditch Seekers, a package of tightie whities – “Those are really for me,” Sirius told him, chuckling rather evilly. Harry shoved him in the shoulder, but he looked right pleased by it – and then Sirius nodded toward the last box. “One left.”
Harry tore at the paper but slowed when he saw what was inside. He withdrew the silver chain with the two rings dangling from the end, both white gold, one smaller than the other.
“I’m not proposing,” Sirius informed him. “You’re much too young. Those were your parents’. I’ve had them for safe keeping.” Harry held them to the light, apparently speechless. “There were instructions, in case…” Sirius cleared his throat; it had gone tight and it ached. “I was supposed to give them to you when you’d graduated, but… Well, I’m a shitty friend.”
Harry let them sit lightly in his hand and then pooled the chain around them. “They’re beautiful,” he said. He looked up. “Sirius, thank you.”
“Bah!” Sirius admonished. “It’s a bad gift. It’s something I was supposed to give you anyway.” He stood up and stretched.
Harry stood as well. He wrapped his arms around Sirius’ neck. “Thank you for everything,” he said. Harry kissed him sweetly, lingering. When he pulled back, he held up the chain. “I want to wear them. I want you to put them on me.”
Sirius took the necklace and put it on Harry, laying the rings down over his sternum.
Harry kissed him again. Then he said, “They’re from all of you.”
Sirius blushed. He didn’t want to take the credit. But he could see it in Harry’s face; he wasn’t going to accept anything else. He could be extremely determined. It was a trait that would serve him enormously, in life and in battle, so Sirius didn’t want to discourage it. “Merry Christmas, Harry.”
“Merry Christmas,” Harry told him, beaming. “Don’t you want to see your present?”
Sirius stepped back, rubbed his hands together, and sat back in his armchair. “Yes, yes! By all means. Let’s have it!”
Harry pulled a small box from the bottom of the pile of wrapping, handling it rather reverently it seemed. He handed it to Sirius, and Sirius watched him swallow hard.
“What is it?” Sirius asked.
“That’s what opening it’s for now isn’t it?” Harry shifted his weight from one foot to the other and back.
Sirius opened the small green box tied with red ribbon. Inside was a copper bracelet. He pulled it out and it shone like flames in the firelight. He turned it over in his hands and saw the engraving inside: “I’ll always love you. HP”
“Harry…” He looked up at his godson, speechless.
Harry said, “Look at it again.”
Sirius looked down at it, and this time it said, “I’ll wait for you.”
“It’ll change every so often. And when anyone but you or me looks at it, it’ll say something innocuous like, ‘Merry Christmas,’ or ‘You’re a swell godfather’…stuff like that.”
“You’ll wait for me?” Sirius asked, needing to know.
“Till I’m out of school. And then I want everyone to know. I guess, in a way,” Harry swallowed again. “I’m proposing to you.”
“Harry,” Sirius began again, his knee-jerk response to talk him down from that slippery ledge.
“No,” Harry stopped him, and all his nervousness was gone, replaced with iron resolve. “I’m not too young. I’m the oldest sixteen year-old here. Sometimes I’m more mature than you, you know. And this isn’t some pie-in-the-sky bullshit. I’m not thinking about a wedding and a guest list and registering at Harrod’s and playing the little wife to you…some fake-perfect life.
“Sirius, there’s a war coming. I know you can feel it. I’ve been feeling it for a long time. I…felt it when Voldemort took me over. I still feel it. You and I will be fighting it together.” He took a step closer, and then he knelt at Sirius’ feet and took his hands, the bracelet between them. “If one of us should fall…” He swallowed, and Sirius pressed his palm to Harry’s cheek. “I need the others to know what we are to each other. Even if we never get to grow old with me making you tea in the morning and fetching your slippers and arguing over Quidditch…even if that’s never…us… I need at least to fight and die beside you as the man that you love.” Harry smiled tremulously then. “Maybe having that will give us both something to stay alive for.”
Sirius still couldn’t find the words for Harry. He had taken Sirius’ every argument, his very voice, and left him unable to do anything but stare at him in wonder. That and put the bracelet on. And so he did. He slid it on, the fit perfect; it glinted in the light like something magical and eternal and he supposed it was both.
“You—” Sirius began, still at a loss. “You rend me, Harry Potter,” he said, taking the boy’s face in his hands. He kissed him soundly, kissed them both breathless. He kissed him down to the floor, on top of him, pulling at clothes, the both of them laughing and then once bare skin was reached, sighing, yet still kissing.
Sirius rolled Harry on top, and the boy started to frot him, a hand on either side of Sirius’ head, straining and humping, his skin swathed in flame then shadow. Sirius held Harry’s bare bottom and watched him. The only sounds were the popping fire, Harry’s rings tinkling together, and their breath.
…
Harry left Sirius’ room near sunset. Sirius had said that since the train would be back in just a few short days, they’d need to make it a habit not to see one another nearly as often. They’d have to make due with less clandestine meetings until Easter when Sirius promised to take him back to Grimmauld Place for the break where they could have uninterrupted privacy to be with one another however they wished.
“So we can shag three times a day, you mean,” Harry teased, grinning, his arms around Sirius’ waist.
“More or less,” Sirius had admitted.
They’d kissed one last time. Sirius’ tongue was slow and delicious, just a hint of pipe-smoke and dark chocolate, and Harry submitted, letting Sirius deepen the kiss, the both of them unwilling to let go too soon knowing that they’d have to wait so long for it again. Harry gripped Sirius’ wrist, stroked the skin under the bracelet, a reminder.
Sirius let him go, and Harry left the room, taking the winding stairs down out of the tower, his lips still tingling.
They most certainly saw him first, Harry realized after the fact. They were both looking his direction as he stepped out into the seventh floor hallway. Draco and Pansy were standing there in front of the Room of Requirement as though he’d interrupted something. Harry hurriedly schooled the lovesick look off his face and cleared his throat.
“What are you two doing here?” he asked, the suspicion rising.
“None of your business, Potter,” Draco spat half-heartedly.
Pansy just looked at him, her eyes narrowed. Harry felt like she was trying to look inside his skin; it made him want to shiver. Harry firmed his jaw. But Pansy just nudged Malfoy and said, “Let’s go, Draco. Potter obviously wants to use the room to cry over his Mummy and Daddy like a little baby.”
Harry held his tongue as they walked away, Draco’s gaze lingering on his for just a moment, unreadable.
Draco had a job to do… They were using the Room of Requirement….
Harry looked back up the stairs, wondering if he should tell Sirius what he’d seen and heard. He wondered if he should find Dumbledore.
Then he had another idea. He walked into the hall, in front of the blank wall. Harry closed his eyes and thought, as hard as he could, “I need to see what Draco and Pansy were doing. I need to see what Draco and Pansy were doing. I need to see what Draco and Pansy were doing.”
He opened his eyes, but no door had appeared. It was almost time for dinner. He’d need to bathe quickly first or risk smelling like sex. He didn’t have time to keep at the room. He resolved to come back and try again later, his gut churning with the uncertainty.
…
The train was back and school was starting back up again before Harry knew it. The entry hall was filling up, and the noise was disconcerting after the peace of the holiday.
Harry stood five stairs up to get the view over the heads of all the kids and made out Ron’s red head and Hermione’s bushy hair coming through the front doors. He was filled with a new excitement seeing them, something to take the place of the uneasiness he’d been feeling trying to get into the Room of Requirement. Something to take his mind off his desire to be with Sirius again.
He waved and called out, and his friends saw him and waved back. They met at the foot of the stairs and exchanged quick hugs. His friends were both aglow, and Harry had to wonder how little it had to do with him or returning to school.
“How were your holidays?” he asked them.
“Brilliant!” they chorused together and then blushed. Harry saw Hermione surreptitiously insert her hand into Ron’s.
“And you, mate?” Ron asked, shoving his shoulder playfully.
Harry dropped his eyes, but he couldn’t help the enormous smile taking over half his face. “Brilliant,” he admitted quietly.
Ron shoved him again. “You dog!”
“No, that’s the other one,” Hermione said cheekily.
Harry looked up at her, and she seemed torn between being happy for and worried about him.
“What are we waiting for; I’m starving!” Ron announced.
“When are you not starving?” Hermione said.
But they held hands all the way into the Great Hall with Harry following.
…
Defense was right after lunch. Everyone piled into the classroom eager to get back. Even Neville had lost that frightened look of overwhelm he usually wore. He looked more confident and ready than Harry had ever seen him.
Sirius strode into the room right on time and greeted everyone. They spent the first several minutes talking about everyone’s Christmas break. Sirius did not ask Harry how his was, of course.
Harry enjoyed watching Sirius with his friends. He felt proud that his lover was so charming – so much so as to be disarming; while Cho talked about her new wand, Sirius slowly turned her robes bright pink. When she was done talking and looked down at herself with shock, everyone laughed, including Cho. Well, not Draco or Pansy. Harry realized they were both watching him with open contempt.
He turned his attention back to Sirius with Cho. “Now show us your prowess in turning it back with that brilliant new wand, Miss Chang, and we’ll get started,” Sirius said with a wink.
He paired them off for some warm-up dueling: Pansy with Neville, Draco and Harry of course, Ron with Cho, and Hermione with Sirius. “Nothing too drastic this round. Nothing worse than a stunning spell, and we’ll move on to mental incantations next.”
Draco followed Harry over to their designated corner of the room, but not before he shot a look at his girlfriend that seemed clearly worried. “Pansy…” he called. But she gave him a sharp quelling look, and he demurred and left off, pulling his wand. Harry noted the sweat that dotted his upper lip, and his eyes were underscored by grey flesh that indicated a severe loss of sleep.
Harry lifted his wand.
“On the count of three,” called Sirius.
Harry was ready. He planned to hit Draco with a silencing hex straight off and then accio his wand, painless but quick and to the point.
Sirius called three, and while Harry shouted the silencing spell, he also heard, almost directly behind him and quite loud, Pansy’s shrieking voice:
“LEGILIMENS!”
Harry had just enough time to realize that poor Neville would be rubbish against that sort of advanced magic when he felt his own mind tumble out of his control and into hers.
The flashes were acute, recent, vivid, and there was no way to stop them:
That first kiss. Sirius kicking him out.
The ball. The swaying. Climbing the stairs – Sirius holding his hand – his palm sweaty.
Sirius undressing him.
Sirius sucking his cock. The gentle feel of his mouth.
Sirius laying him on his bed.
Harry’s legs pushed up, the fingers, the beautiful pain—
MORE.
Sirius inside.
Coming.
That was the first five seconds. The five seconds when she’d caught him completely unaware and split him open like soft fruit to devour his every unspeakable moment.
As soon as he realized she had hit him, he fought it. She wasn’t strong, and Harry had practiced Occlumency more than anyone else in the class, so it only took a couple more seconds to push her out entirely.
But the damage was done. Harry found himself on the floor, the pain in his mind worse than any headache. His vision was blurry, but he did see Pansy running quickly from the room. He saw Hermione lift her wand at the retreating back – “Obliv—” and then Sirius stopped her, a hand on her wand arm so that her spell hit the floor instead, “-iate.”
Harry’s ears were ringing, but he heard her agonized, “Why did you stop me?” Her fear palpable.
And then Ron kneeling over him. “Are you all right, mate? What did she see?”
Sirius then. Sirius standing over him, then coming closer, his hand on Harry’s hair.
Harry answered Ron while looking into Sirius’s sad eyes:
“Everything.”
Continue to Part Four: On DW | On LJ
