LONG: Moonlit (Harry/Sirius)
Warnings: romance, somnophilia, quasi-incest, chan -- Harry is 15
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Sirius’ face was soft and open with sleep, eyes closed, cheek luminous in the moonlight, and lips - Harry wanted to touch them.
Words: 4902
Disclaimer: They belong to JKR.
Notes: A PWP that developed a plot... Thanks to nimori, who said "write porn" -- and to littlecup, sazzlette, fleshdress, spessartine and morriganscrow for ideas. Eternal love to everyone who read. And apologies to Edmond Rostand for shameless plagiarism of Cyrano de Bergerac.
Harry woke, and realized that the fire had died. He lifted his head.
Sirius’ face was soft and open with sleep, eyes closed, cheek luminous in the moonlight, and lips - Harry wanted to touch them. He couldn’t, of course, but he wanted to. So he imagined it, put his finger to his own lips, soft, soft as Sirius’ looked. And Sirius’ mouth was open, his head fallen against one wing of the chair, his legs fallen apart.
Harry slipped forward, quiet in the silence, the crackling of the fire gone now, no noise to cover his movement. Slowly, gently, he came to rest between Sirius’ legs, laying his head down carefully against one thigh, looking up at him. And Harry was ready to close his eyes at any moment, to feign sleep, because his arms and legs were lax and still heavy with it.
But Sirius didn’t wake. He didn’t move except for the rise and fall of his chest, the sound of his breath. His thigh was warm against Harry’s cheek. Harry rubbed his face against it, slow, quiet, careful; and the wool trousers made his face hot, made his skin tingle down the back of his neck. He turned his head just a little, and yes, there - against his lips now - hot and scratchy and his mouth wanted to open. Sirius was still.
So Harry lifted his arms; innocently, still innocently, and slid them around Sirius’ waist.
Sirius’ shirt was undone, only the undershirt over his skin. In the moonlight, Harry could see the stubble on his neck where it stretched to the side.
He let his lips touch the warm scratchiness of Sirius' trousers again, moving again, so careful, higher, until he rested in Sirius lap. He turned his cheek, felt the rough wool, warm, warm as he laid his head down carefully, eyes closed now, still innocent, just resting here.
Sirius breathed softly.
And Harry let his head begin to move back and forth, heat against his cheek, his mouth open, breathing against Sirius’ leg, feeling his own breath heat his face, and yes, Sirius hot now against him. He let one hand fall between his legs, casually, pressing it against his prick; oh.
Sirius made a noise and he froze, eyes closed. He let himself go completely limp, waiting.
Sirius breathed. Then he shifted, made an incoherent sound, hard against Harry’s cheek, his cock hard. Harry could feel the shape of it.
Sirius was silent, breathing. Harry looked up.
And while he looked, his hand went to the zip, sliding it down carefully, quietly, then undoing the button.
Sirius’ mouth had fallen open a little wider, a lock of hair had fallen onto his forehead, and his mouth moved slowly, lips shaping a silent sound as Harry’s fingers lifted the elastic, careful, sliding it down out of the way.
And then Harry looked.
His mouth opened and he let his tongue slide up the heat of Sirius’ cock.
He imagined how that would feel.
He ground himself against his hand and did it again, oh, yes, slowly. And then, because he loved Sirius, because Sirius was not just anyone, he let his mouth fall open around the head of his cock, gentle, feeling it fill the emptiness. He moved slowly, not wanting to wake him, letting his tongue caress that spot just below the head that felt so good, stroking himself, stroking his mouth on Sirius’ cock, his tongue spreading wide and pressing tenderly, caressing, just that spot below the head. And oh, that felt so good, the taste that was Sirius, Sirius now in his mouth, his tongue stroking as sweetly as he knew how, and Sirius sliding into him.
Then there was a groan in the darkness and hands pressing his head and he gave himself up to it completely, opening, stroking, caressing with his tongue, his own hand pressing hard against his zip. And Sirius was rocking into him as he ground against his hand, holding his head now and just taking what Harry wanted to give, and later Sirius could stretch him out on the floor and take him again, he could be naked, and held in Sirius arms, and Sirius inside him, and oh, Sirius mouth. And he was coming, coming hard against his hand, the tight constriction of his trousers, and Sirius pulsing, filling his mouth, yes, please.
When it was over he pulled away, sucking gently, tenderly as he felt Sirius slip between his lips, until finally the shape of Sirius’ cock left his mouth and was gone. He lifted his head.
Sirius had fallen asleep again, his face flushed now in the moonlight, his forehead damp with sweat, the lock of hair clinging. His mouth moved.
Harry rose with utmost care, feeling a kind of sweet possession as he did up Sirius’ trousers, set him to rights. He stood and leaned to kiss Sirius’ cheek, not his mouth. That could come later.
And then he heard what Sirius was whispering.
“Remus.”
~
Harry brushed his teeth and listened to the water run in the shower. It was starting to steam up the mirror.
He switched the brush to the other side of his mouth. He couldn’t see his face quite clearly. He was glad of it.
The first time it happened, he had been sure it was written all over him. He had walked around school all the next day knowing everyone could see what he had been doing the night before, where his hands had been -- on someone else’s trouser buttons, someone else’s.
“Hey, Harry -- pass the soap?”
Ron’s hand was sticking out from behind the curtain.
Harry put the soap in it.
He went back to brushing his teeth.
He knew this. He knew how to do this. You never looked at the bloke the next day -- you didn’t talk to each other; you didn't go near each other.
He rinsed out his mouth. He spat.
If you kept quiet, it might happen again -- in a closet or an empty classroom, in the changing room after practice as if by accident -- hurried dark quick slide of skin, hands slipping inside clothes, no words, biting your lip to keep quiet and wanting to scream with it.
But Sirius had made a sound. Harry leaned his forehead against the mirror.
If he thought about it, he could still hear it. Sirius had not tried to hold still -- Sirius had arched into his arms, his mouth, he had heard him gasp, and then there had been that sound -- sweet, open, wide open. There had been fingers in his hair, gentle on his neck -- Sirius had held him, and he had thought -- for one moment. Oh god.
The shower stopped running. Ron opened the curtain in a rattle of steel rings and grabbed for the dry towel. Harry leaned back, reached up, and wiped the mirror with his sleeve. He saw a kid with messy hair.
He had been such an idiot.
The cool air of the hallway made the steam disappear. The bedsprings squeaked when he sat down.
Ron came in and started rummaging through the dresser and talking about the Chudley Canons’ chaser and the reading they had to do for Charms.
Harry bent to tie his shoes.
Thank Merlin Sirius didn’t know. Sirius would never know if he could keep his face together. He could do this; it was just like always -- after all, nothing had really happened. Nothing was different.
Nothing had changed. Nothing could change it.
Sirius would never know.
“You ready?” Ron was standing in the doorway, tucking in his shirt.
Harry grunted because he couldn’t speak just then. He kept his face down, putting his hands in his pockets as if looking for something. He ran his hand over his face and combed his hair with his fingers as he turned around, and they went downstairs to breakfast just as usual.
~
Ron kissed his mother on the cheek.
“Good morning, dear. Good morning, Harry -- how would you like your eggs?” She levitated the egg basket across the room from the pantry, with a little bob over George’s head when he stood up suddenly.
“Fried, please,” said Harry.
“Of course dear. Your own plate, Ronald.”
Behind her back, Ron took his hand away from Hermione’s plate -- but kept the sausage he had stolen. He kicked out a chair for Harry, grinning and eating it with his fingers. Across the table Remus raised his cup and sipped his tea with a lift of his eyebrows.
And it was easy to sit down and smile back at Remus, because Remus was the same as ever; grey in his hair and the edges his collar a little threadbare. Harry just didn’t think about it and it was easy. He reached across Ron’s plate to grab a roll, Ron elbowed him in the ribs, and Hermione rolled her eyes and he relaxed -- thanking Mrs. Weasley when his plate arrived and chewing his sausage and elbowing Ron when he tried to steal another. On the other side of the table, Tonks was laughing at some joke Remus told her.
Tonks turned to say something to Fred, gesturing with her fork. Hermione said “pass the pumpkin juice?" and Ron levitated it over her glass with a showy swish of his wand. Remus looked at Harry and said something in his quiet voice.
Harry smiled and leaned forward. “What?”
And Remus leaned toward him, laughing, saying “how did you sleep last…”
Remus’ eyes went wide.
Harry could see his nostrils flare. He was so close Harry could feel his breath on his face.
All at once there was moonlight in Remus’ eyes and everything was strange. Because Remus knew exactly what he had done last night. Even though he had taken a shower and brushed his teeth, Remus knew.
Harry held his breath. He looked directly into Remus strange eyes and thought, Please. Please don’t say anything.
Remus sat back in his chair. He looked down at his tea. He picked up the cup, and weighed it in his hand. Mrs. Weasley said something to him and he smiled at her absently.
Harry picked up his fork and began to eat his eggs.
The door opened.
Harry lifted his head, knowing that of course, it would be Sirius -- and of course it was. Sirius walked in easy and rumpled and yawning. He saw Harry looking at him and smiled a crooked smile. Harry smiled back.
He should have known it was going to be like this, that Sirius would be no different at all, that Sirius would smile at him just as usual. He caught himself looking for signs. He couldn’t stop looking -- god, it was just like the first time all over again.
Sirius looked like he had slept in a chair. He hadn’t changed his clothes. He thumped down right next to Remus.
Harry’s hand tightened on his fork, but it was like the moment right before a collision in a game -- he couldn’t do anything but watch it happen. Remus was staring, his nostrils flaring again; if Remus had had any doubt before, well, he certainly didn’t now.
Remus swallowed, and said “Good morning.”
Sirius grinned at him and threw an arm over his shoulder.
Remus' eyes went wide.
Harry smiled, but he had to look down at his plate. He heard Sirius laugh. He poked at his eggs and looked up again at Sirius hair falling over his cheek, his lips close to Remus’ ear now, moving, whispering something.
Mrs. Weasley asked if anyone wanted more toast.
Remus mouthed “Excuse me,” and stood up, holding his plate.
Sirius laughed at him again and fell back in his chair. His eyes followed Remus over to the dresser behind Harry, then focused on Harry’s face. He grinned, and said, “Good morning.”
So Harry smiled back. And he could do this after all; he had a right to. He could look Sirius right in the eye and let everything show in his face, just for a minute. And everything was different, oh, this was completely different -- this was nothing he had ever done before, because Sirius was looking at him; Sirius knew him. Sirius never hid anything, and if he asked, Harry would tell him whatever he wanted to know.
Sirius was leaning toward him across the table to say something.
“Hey.” Sirius said it softly, and ruffled his hair, one hand on his head, down the back of his neck, so good, just like. Harry closed his eyes. In the daylight, there were all the things he could not do -- he could not touch Sirius, but Sirius touched him -- all the time -- just like this.
Sirius said “Hey, kid.”
In the daylight, his face was tender, his eyes light against the dark of his eyebrows and his hair. Sirius would do anything for him, loved him absolutely. Sirius thought of him as a child, as innocent. And all at once he felt innocent again.
“There,” said Sirius softly. “That’s better.”
~
It was late and the lamps were out, but pale light spilled through the open door at the end of the hall. Rows of portraits dozed in the darkness above his head.
Harry’s feet made no noise on the frayed carpet. But when he reached the door, Remus was already looking up courteously, then closing his book and getting out of his chair. Sirius was asleep in the other one. Remus held his finger to his lips as he came out.
Harry nodded, silent because it was Mrs. Black who hung drowsing over their heads now. He realized that he was alone with Remus for the first time all day.
Remus looked up at the portraits as if he could see whether any of them were listening -- and he probably could. He said, “Harry,” hesitating, only half his face visible in the dim light from the room behind. It made his eyes glitter. Then his face turned toward Harry and he said in his quiet voice, “He’s never been the same since Azkaban.”
By which he meant that Sirius was suddenly mad as a march hare. Harry grinned.
Remus was still looking at him. Remus looked worried.
Remus was worried about him.
He almost laughed out loud. He slumped with his shoulder against the wall and wondered what he could possibly say. No. No, he didn’t really want it. He didn’t even know it was me. He shook his head. Remus had nothing to worry about. And then he realized that this was the truth -- so he looked directly at Remus again and repeated it with all his sincerity, saying it very softly: “You have nothing to worry about.”
Remus looked surprised for a moment. Then his eyes got that strange new look in them, as if Harry were an adult; they glittered again. In the darkness, lots of things happened that you didn't talk about in the daylight; but Remus was at home in the dark -- more at home than any of the rest of them. He looked at Harry and said, “You’ve done this with others -- haven’t you.”
Harry said, “Yes." He said, "I have.” It was like stepping off a cliff. It felt so good to say it.
And out of this bizarre new equality he spoke again; out of the desire to tell someone. He realized that Remus was the only one he could tell. He said, “I have --” whispering it close and secret and earnest now, “but he is different.” He knew he looked like a kid, that his helpless infatuation must be written all over his face.
But Remus nodded slowly, with a kind of gentle consideration. Then he took a step back, and there was polite distance between them again.
He moved away down the hall and left Harry alone in the quiet, feeling the pulse of the place, the shiftings of the sleeping portraits, the small noises of the house itself. And Harry felt different; he stood and listened to the house and the feeling did not go away.
He turned and stepped into a room filled with moonlight. It poured through the window, over the furniture, making the frayed edges glisten and sparkle. It fell on Sirius face, made him turn his head, restless, his lashes spiky dark shadows on his cheek.
There was no fire at all tonight. Harry sat down in Remus chair, then lay back in it; and he hung suspended, loving the moment of waiting, where he was still able to do anything. In this moment he was free.
He could never look at Sirius this way when he was awake. Sirius pressed his cheek into the wing of his armchair. Harry did the same, felt the rough upholstery against his face. He could just see the edge of Sirius' teeth. He let his own mouth fall open just a little, felt his own teeth touch his lower lip, moved his lip across them just a little, nothing that anyone would see, just to know what it felt like. Would Sirius teeth feel like that? If Sirius. He wondered if it would feel like that -- or if it was just short and awkward and embarrassing, like kissing a girl. Sirius was looking at him.
“Harry?” Sirius looked surprised, sleepy. “Crept in here while I was asleep, did you?”
And Harry nodded, because yes - that was exactly what he had done. Then out of the strangeness he spoke without thinking for the first time in a long time. “Let’s get out of here.”
Sirius looked at him. “I -- That’s mad, Harry.”
“Yes.” He looked down at the floor. He stood up. “But we could be back in time for breakfast.” He just let the words tumble out; “No one would have to know.” He walked over to Sirius chair with Sirius watching, seeing him this time. “Just once -- just for one night.” And he knew that he had said the right thing because he felt something coming free inside him, a wind blowing through, and he couldn’t help the silly ridiculous smile that was creeping across his face. The feeling between them was something old and familiar and easy that he had almost forgotten.
Sirius turned toward the window, toward the bright light that poured in over him.
A dog barked somewhere.
They looked back at each other.
One corner of Sirius' mouth quirked. “Well. Somebody’s got to go to keep you out of trouble. Besides,” he said, narrowing his eyes, “I know just the place.” He stood. “Don’t forget your wand.”
“I’m not going to forget my wand.”
Sirius put his finger to his lips and Harry raised an eyebrow at him, because they were tip-toeing down the hallway toward the back door now. Before he knew it, Sirius had transformed from his feet upwards and was running.
He ran after Sirius, through the vacant decrepit yard, through the gate and into the alley. Sirius turned his head, opened his mouth, bit down gently on Harry’s hand and pulled. His stomach twisted inside out and the alley was gone.
~
The wind blew his hair over his forehead. Their shadows danced over the grass before them. And all that thinking about what he did seemed silly now that it was just him and Padfoot running for the woods. He ran as fast as he could, but Padfoot was much faster, pulling farther and farther ahead and then finally running back to him in a big circle. Show off. Harry tackled him and they rolled into the shadow of the trees.
Sirius was holding him. “You all right?” He was so close, large and warm all around him and breathing hard.
“Yeah,” Harry gasped; felt Sirius' chest moving against his. He pushed Sirius over and rolled on top of him to make his point. “You?” He grinned.
Padfoot barked right in his ear and wriggled out of his grasp, and suddenly he wanted to yell as loud as he could, so he did. Padfoot howled. He put his hands over his ears.
Padfoot was just sitting there with his mouth open and his tongue hanging out, laughing at him silently; Harry knew it. He jerked his chin toward the trees and walked into the darkness underneath them. Padfoot followed, soundless but for the leaves rustling under his paws and Harry’s feet. The dark under the trees made them quiet; and it got darker, until Harry was blind.
But Padfoot could still see, was warm against him, large and solid and reassuring -- slipping easily into his old place under Harry’s hand, still coming up to his hip even though Harry had gotten taller. Harry buried his fingers in the fur of his ruff, feeling for his cues, falling into a pattern he had almost forgotten. Then Padfoot stopped and so did he. He reached out his hand. It was a low branch. He ducked under it. There was a little slope downward and his feet were wet inside his shoes; he was standing in a tiny stream. They followed it and the going was easier.
The stream turned. The trees opened up in front of him and there was light in the distance, and Harry thought he saw two little boys, one with red hair. The other had glasses that glinted. It was himself and Ron, afraid and trying not to show it -- he could see it; he remembered it. They were following a trail of spiders.
He moved to shout, but Sirius caught him by the shoulder. “They won’t hear you.”
Harry knew this was true; so he said only, “The Forbidden Forest?”
And Sirius said, “You were expecting Hyde park?” But he was standing right behind him. They watched until the two boys had left the clearing. When they turned to go, Harry’s fingers were clutching a handful of Sirius shirt, warm from the heat of his body.
They followed the stream a long, timeless way into the darkness, close, in step, listening for the shape of the still air around them, the two of them cut off from the entire world. Then Padfoot pulled toward the right. But Harry stopped, because there was a break in the trees again up ahead and he could see himself through it.
He was with Hermione this time, and a fat pompous witch he didn’t recognize. She had a pink bow in her hair. He stepped closer, but he still didn’t know who she was. Then he saw the centaurs moving soundlessly in the bushes, getting out their bows, nocking their arrows. He took another step forward, trying to see what would happen, knowing that he was looking at his own future.
“Sirius,” he whispered.
There was no answer.
He turned and Sirius was gone. The noises of the forest rose up around him, his heart pounding, the water moving around his feet faster and faster, and he fought to go upstream in what had suddenly become a raging torrent, stumbling, falling to his knees now but not stopping, blind in the darkness, gasping against the water that tried to drown him, and something caught his arm and swung him right around and it was Sirius, Sirius holding tight to him and both of them saying, “You just disappeared,” and “Don’t do that again,” and “Never, I promise.”
The tiny stream flowed right out into the clearing before them to become a pond. They stood at the edge of it. The water was absolutely still, everything still; the leaves did not whisper, the night birds did not sing. The moonlight fell on them bright as the sun, brighter than Harry had ever seen it, warm because there was no wind and time had stopped.
Then Sirius let out a whoop that made him jump and pushed him and he was falling into the water, but he twisted and snagged Sirius’ leg with his foot, and they fell in together, shrieking with cold and laughter, water clinging to Sirius’ eyelashes. Harry launched himself at him and felt Sirius hair brush his face, felt arms around him squeezing his ribs until he couldn’t breathe and went limp for a moment, eyes closed, hot flesh and cold water all around him. Then he twisted away and came up coughing and launching himself at Sirius again from the side, pushing his head underwater and gasping and tripping him with his legs, then going down in a whoosh with Sirius on top of him and his arms flying out.
Here, he could twist and fly in Sirius’ arms, grapple without thought, push and grab at the warm body against him, fingers sliding over cool slick skin, be lifted upright after a throw face first into the water, his head cradled in Sirius fingers now and hear Sirius say, “You all right, kid?” He could do all this and rest in Sirius arms for the space of a few heartbeats and know it was what Sirius wanted.
But finally Sirius climbed out of the water and stood panting with his hands on his back, his worn shirt clinging to him and water dripping from his lips. Harry climbed out and stood next to him.
Sirius turned into Padfoot and shook himself, sending water flying all over Harry, then transformed back into Sirius, clothes almost dry, except around the cuffs of his shirt and trousers. He grinned.
Harry pushed him back into the water.
~
A dizzy endless time later they fell quiet, and lay on their backs in the grass with the stars close above them.
They weren’t tired and they weren’t hungry. The moon was just as high in the sky as before. In this place nothing changed. Nothing could change it. Harry lay still and breathed and felt Sirius next to him.
He said, “Did you use to come here with Remus?”
“Yes.”
He didn’t look at Sirius then. But he asked very quietly, “Did you and he ever?”
“So you saw that this morning, did you?”
And then Harry cringed -- but Sirius felt it and put a hand on his arm.
“No. All a misunderstanding on my part.” Harry could hear the rueful smile.
He closed his eyes and leant his head against Sirius. He said, “I’m sorry.” He meant it from the bottom of his heart.
The moon was bright even through his eyelids, the earth cool against his back, under his fingers, his head warm against Sirius’ shoulder. Sirius sat up, but he kept his eyes closed, felt Sirius lift his head into his lap. In the cool silence, Sirius began to stroke his hair absently, and this was paradise.
Then Sirius’ hands stilled.
“Merlin, Harry.”
Harry opened his eyes.
Sirius was looking at his mouth.
“It was you.”
His heart fell down into his belly and he couldn’t make a sound. He closed his eyes and then he opened them again, but this was real; Sirius still looking at him, shocked. He felt his childhood falling away from him, leaving nothing that anyone could want.
Sirius’ mouth twisted. “It was a dream. I knew it was a dream. It was impossible. I thought I was insane, Harry. But it was you.” The anger moved over Sirius face, his hair falling over his forehead, his eyes becoming terrible. “Tell me.”
“I love you.” He had said that much too loudly.
Sirius was staring, would turn away in a moment, but there was one finger still on Harry's cheek. He clung to it, felt it move slowly down toward his jaw. Then it was on his chin and he didn't breathe. Somehow it Sirius was still looking at him. Then Sirius finger was on his mouth and his lips opened with a little gasp and Sirius whispered, “It was you.”
He pushed himself up against Sirius’ neck with a sound, thinking that he had never made a sound before, but that this was different -- and he fumbled, but Sirius' hands were under his shirt now, Sirius really touching him, undoing buttons, hot flesh inside, fingers inside his clothes, cock heavy in his hand until Sirius’ hand covered his.
“That would be over in a minute.”
He was right. Harry knew it from dark closets and dark classrooms and the changing room after everyone else had gone. Sirius’ finger was on his mouth again.
“That would be over in a minute -- but this can go on forever.”
Kisses.
He didn’t know how to kiss.
Sirius taught him.
And yes, this was different, slow and whispering things he had never told anyone -- denim wrapped legs wrapped around each other, warm in the cool air, his hands in Sirius’ hair; kissing and whispering, kissing and laughing -- kissing Sirius, mouth open this time, hoping.
And then the touch of a tongue between his lips and Sirius rolling him over, rolling on top of him, heavy legs still tangled and slow, clinging, Sirius pulling away and then coming back; his tongue, his teeth consuming Harry’s lips, opening his mouth, pulling away gently and then coming back until he lay open, sighing, suspended -- his jeans tight where his legs bent and opened, Sirius heavy and solid in his arms, his mouth hot and alive with the touch that slid inside and always came back. And yes, this could go on forever.
Feedback: Oh, please... (concrit welcome!)
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Sirius’ face was soft and open with sleep, eyes closed, cheek luminous in the moonlight, and lips - Harry wanted to touch them.
Words: 4902
Disclaimer: They belong to JKR.
Notes: A PWP that developed a plot... Thanks to nimori, who said "write porn" -- and to littlecup, sazzlette, fleshdress, spessartine and morriganscrow for ideas. Eternal love to everyone who read. And apologies to Edmond Rostand for shameless plagiarism of Cyrano de Bergerac.
Harry woke, and realized that the fire had died. He lifted his head.
Sirius’ face was soft and open with sleep, eyes closed, cheek luminous in the moonlight, and lips - Harry wanted to touch them. He couldn’t, of course, but he wanted to. So he imagined it, put his finger to his own lips, soft, soft as Sirius’ looked. And Sirius’ mouth was open, his head fallen against one wing of the chair, his legs fallen apart.
Harry slipped forward, quiet in the silence, the crackling of the fire gone now, no noise to cover his movement. Slowly, gently, he came to rest between Sirius’ legs, laying his head down carefully against one thigh, looking up at him. And Harry was ready to close his eyes at any moment, to feign sleep, because his arms and legs were lax and still heavy with it.
But Sirius didn’t wake. He didn’t move except for the rise and fall of his chest, the sound of his breath. His thigh was warm against Harry’s cheek. Harry rubbed his face against it, slow, quiet, careful; and the wool trousers made his face hot, made his skin tingle down the back of his neck. He turned his head just a little, and yes, there - against his lips now - hot and scratchy and his mouth wanted to open. Sirius was still.
So Harry lifted his arms; innocently, still innocently, and slid them around Sirius’ waist.
Sirius’ shirt was undone, only the undershirt over his skin. In the moonlight, Harry could see the stubble on his neck where it stretched to the side.
He let his lips touch the warm scratchiness of Sirius' trousers again, moving again, so careful, higher, until he rested in Sirius lap. He turned his cheek, felt the rough wool, warm, warm as he laid his head down carefully, eyes closed now, still innocent, just resting here.
Sirius breathed softly.
And Harry let his head begin to move back and forth, heat against his cheek, his mouth open, breathing against Sirius’ leg, feeling his own breath heat his face, and yes, Sirius hot now against him. He let one hand fall between his legs, casually, pressing it against his prick; oh.
Sirius made a noise and he froze, eyes closed. He let himself go completely limp, waiting.
Sirius breathed. Then he shifted, made an incoherent sound, hard against Harry’s cheek, his cock hard. Harry could feel the shape of it.
Sirius was silent, breathing. Harry looked up.
And while he looked, his hand went to the zip, sliding it down carefully, quietly, then undoing the button.
Sirius’ mouth had fallen open a little wider, a lock of hair had fallen onto his forehead, and his mouth moved slowly, lips shaping a silent sound as Harry’s fingers lifted the elastic, careful, sliding it down out of the way.
And then Harry looked.
His mouth opened and he let his tongue slide up the heat of Sirius’ cock.
He imagined how that would feel.
He ground himself against his hand and did it again, oh, yes, slowly. And then, because he loved Sirius, because Sirius was not just anyone, he let his mouth fall open around the head of his cock, gentle, feeling it fill the emptiness. He moved slowly, not wanting to wake him, letting his tongue caress that spot just below the head that felt so good, stroking himself, stroking his mouth on Sirius’ cock, his tongue spreading wide and pressing tenderly, caressing, just that spot below the head. And oh, that felt so good, the taste that was Sirius, Sirius now in his mouth, his tongue stroking as sweetly as he knew how, and Sirius sliding into him.
Then there was a groan in the darkness and hands pressing his head and he gave himself up to it completely, opening, stroking, caressing with his tongue, his own hand pressing hard against his zip. And Sirius was rocking into him as he ground against his hand, holding his head now and just taking what Harry wanted to give, and later Sirius could stretch him out on the floor and take him again, he could be naked, and held in Sirius arms, and Sirius inside him, and oh, Sirius mouth. And he was coming, coming hard against his hand, the tight constriction of his trousers, and Sirius pulsing, filling his mouth, yes, please.
When it was over he pulled away, sucking gently, tenderly as he felt Sirius slip between his lips, until finally the shape of Sirius’ cock left his mouth and was gone. He lifted his head.
Sirius had fallen asleep again, his face flushed now in the moonlight, his forehead damp with sweat, the lock of hair clinging. His mouth moved.
Harry rose with utmost care, feeling a kind of sweet possession as he did up Sirius’ trousers, set him to rights. He stood and leaned to kiss Sirius’ cheek, not his mouth. That could come later.
And then he heard what Sirius was whispering.
“Remus.”
~
Harry brushed his teeth and listened to the water run in the shower. It was starting to steam up the mirror.
He switched the brush to the other side of his mouth. He couldn’t see his face quite clearly. He was glad of it.
The first time it happened, he had been sure it was written all over him. He had walked around school all the next day knowing everyone could see what he had been doing the night before, where his hands had been -- on someone else’s trouser buttons, someone else’s.
“Hey, Harry -- pass the soap?”
Ron’s hand was sticking out from behind the curtain.
Harry put the soap in it.
He went back to brushing his teeth.
He knew this. He knew how to do this. You never looked at the bloke the next day -- you didn’t talk to each other; you didn't go near each other.
He rinsed out his mouth. He spat.
If you kept quiet, it might happen again -- in a closet or an empty classroom, in the changing room after practice as if by accident -- hurried dark quick slide of skin, hands slipping inside clothes, no words, biting your lip to keep quiet and wanting to scream with it.
But Sirius had made a sound. Harry leaned his forehead against the mirror.
If he thought about it, he could still hear it. Sirius had not tried to hold still -- Sirius had arched into his arms, his mouth, he had heard him gasp, and then there had been that sound -- sweet, open, wide open. There had been fingers in his hair, gentle on his neck -- Sirius had held him, and he had thought -- for one moment. Oh god.
The shower stopped running. Ron opened the curtain in a rattle of steel rings and grabbed for the dry towel. Harry leaned back, reached up, and wiped the mirror with his sleeve. He saw a kid with messy hair.
He had been such an idiot.
The cool air of the hallway made the steam disappear. The bedsprings squeaked when he sat down.
Ron came in and started rummaging through the dresser and talking about the Chudley Canons’ chaser and the reading they had to do for Charms.
Harry bent to tie his shoes.
Thank Merlin Sirius didn’t know. Sirius would never know if he could keep his face together. He could do this; it was just like always -- after all, nothing had really happened. Nothing was different.
Nothing had changed. Nothing could change it.
Sirius would never know.
“You ready?” Ron was standing in the doorway, tucking in his shirt.
Harry grunted because he couldn’t speak just then. He kept his face down, putting his hands in his pockets as if looking for something. He ran his hand over his face and combed his hair with his fingers as he turned around, and they went downstairs to breakfast just as usual.
~
Ron kissed his mother on the cheek.
“Good morning, dear. Good morning, Harry -- how would you like your eggs?” She levitated the egg basket across the room from the pantry, with a little bob over George’s head when he stood up suddenly.
“Fried, please,” said Harry.
“Of course dear. Your own plate, Ronald.”
Behind her back, Ron took his hand away from Hermione’s plate -- but kept the sausage he had stolen. He kicked out a chair for Harry, grinning and eating it with his fingers. Across the table Remus raised his cup and sipped his tea with a lift of his eyebrows.
And it was easy to sit down and smile back at Remus, because Remus was the same as ever; grey in his hair and the edges his collar a little threadbare. Harry just didn’t think about it and it was easy. He reached across Ron’s plate to grab a roll, Ron elbowed him in the ribs, and Hermione rolled her eyes and he relaxed -- thanking Mrs. Weasley when his plate arrived and chewing his sausage and elbowing Ron when he tried to steal another. On the other side of the table, Tonks was laughing at some joke Remus told her.
Tonks turned to say something to Fred, gesturing with her fork. Hermione said “pass the pumpkin juice?" and Ron levitated it over her glass with a showy swish of his wand. Remus looked at Harry and said something in his quiet voice.
Harry smiled and leaned forward. “What?”
And Remus leaned toward him, laughing, saying “how did you sleep last…”
Remus’ eyes went wide.
Harry could see his nostrils flare. He was so close Harry could feel his breath on his face.
All at once there was moonlight in Remus’ eyes and everything was strange. Because Remus knew exactly what he had done last night. Even though he had taken a shower and brushed his teeth, Remus knew.
Harry held his breath. He looked directly into Remus strange eyes and thought, Please. Please don’t say anything.
Remus sat back in his chair. He looked down at his tea. He picked up the cup, and weighed it in his hand. Mrs. Weasley said something to him and he smiled at her absently.
Harry picked up his fork and began to eat his eggs.
The door opened.
Harry lifted his head, knowing that of course, it would be Sirius -- and of course it was. Sirius walked in easy and rumpled and yawning. He saw Harry looking at him and smiled a crooked smile. Harry smiled back.
He should have known it was going to be like this, that Sirius would be no different at all, that Sirius would smile at him just as usual. He caught himself looking for signs. He couldn’t stop looking -- god, it was just like the first time all over again.
Sirius looked like he had slept in a chair. He hadn’t changed his clothes. He thumped down right next to Remus.
Harry’s hand tightened on his fork, but it was like the moment right before a collision in a game -- he couldn’t do anything but watch it happen. Remus was staring, his nostrils flaring again; if Remus had had any doubt before, well, he certainly didn’t now.
Remus swallowed, and said “Good morning.”
Sirius grinned at him and threw an arm over his shoulder.
Remus' eyes went wide.
Harry smiled, but he had to look down at his plate. He heard Sirius laugh. He poked at his eggs and looked up again at Sirius hair falling over his cheek, his lips close to Remus’ ear now, moving, whispering something.
Mrs. Weasley asked if anyone wanted more toast.
Remus mouthed “Excuse me,” and stood up, holding his plate.
Sirius laughed at him again and fell back in his chair. His eyes followed Remus over to the dresser behind Harry, then focused on Harry’s face. He grinned, and said, “Good morning.”
So Harry smiled back. And he could do this after all; he had a right to. He could look Sirius right in the eye and let everything show in his face, just for a minute. And everything was different, oh, this was completely different -- this was nothing he had ever done before, because Sirius was looking at him; Sirius knew him. Sirius never hid anything, and if he asked, Harry would tell him whatever he wanted to know.
Sirius was leaning toward him across the table to say something.
“Hey.” Sirius said it softly, and ruffled his hair, one hand on his head, down the back of his neck, so good, just like. Harry closed his eyes. In the daylight, there were all the things he could not do -- he could not touch Sirius, but Sirius touched him -- all the time -- just like this.
Sirius said “Hey, kid.”
In the daylight, his face was tender, his eyes light against the dark of his eyebrows and his hair. Sirius would do anything for him, loved him absolutely. Sirius thought of him as a child, as innocent. And all at once he felt innocent again.
“There,” said Sirius softly. “That’s better.”
~
It was late and the lamps were out, but pale light spilled through the open door at the end of the hall. Rows of portraits dozed in the darkness above his head.
Harry’s feet made no noise on the frayed carpet. But when he reached the door, Remus was already looking up courteously, then closing his book and getting out of his chair. Sirius was asleep in the other one. Remus held his finger to his lips as he came out.
Harry nodded, silent because it was Mrs. Black who hung drowsing over their heads now. He realized that he was alone with Remus for the first time all day.
Remus looked up at the portraits as if he could see whether any of them were listening -- and he probably could. He said, “Harry,” hesitating, only half his face visible in the dim light from the room behind. It made his eyes glitter. Then his face turned toward Harry and he said in his quiet voice, “He’s never been the same since Azkaban.”
By which he meant that Sirius was suddenly mad as a march hare. Harry grinned.
Remus was still looking at him. Remus looked worried.
Remus was worried about him.
He almost laughed out loud. He slumped with his shoulder against the wall and wondered what he could possibly say. No. No, he didn’t really want it. He didn’t even know it was me. He shook his head. Remus had nothing to worry about. And then he realized that this was the truth -- so he looked directly at Remus again and repeated it with all his sincerity, saying it very softly: “You have nothing to worry about.”
Remus looked surprised for a moment. Then his eyes got that strange new look in them, as if Harry were an adult; they glittered again. In the darkness, lots of things happened that you didn't talk about in the daylight; but Remus was at home in the dark -- more at home than any of the rest of them. He looked at Harry and said, “You’ve done this with others -- haven’t you.”
Harry said, “Yes." He said, "I have.” It was like stepping off a cliff. It felt so good to say it.
And out of this bizarre new equality he spoke again; out of the desire to tell someone. He realized that Remus was the only one he could tell. He said, “I have --” whispering it close and secret and earnest now, “but he is different.” He knew he looked like a kid, that his helpless infatuation must be written all over his face.
But Remus nodded slowly, with a kind of gentle consideration. Then he took a step back, and there was polite distance between them again.
He moved away down the hall and left Harry alone in the quiet, feeling the pulse of the place, the shiftings of the sleeping portraits, the small noises of the house itself. And Harry felt different; he stood and listened to the house and the feeling did not go away.
He turned and stepped into a room filled with moonlight. It poured through the window, over the furniture, making the frayed edges glisten and sparkle. It fell on Sirius face, made him turn his head, restless, his lashes spiky dark shadows on his cheek.
There was no fire at all tonight. Harry sat down in Remus chair, then lay back in it; and he hung suspended, loving the moment of waiting, where he was still able to do anything. In this moment he was free.
He could never look at Sirius this way when he was awake. Sirius pressed his cheek into the wing of his armchair. Harry did the same, felt the rough upholstery against his face. He could just see the edge of Sirius' teeth. He let his own mouth fall open just a little, felt his own teeth touch his lower lip, moved his lip across them just a little, nothing that anyone would see, just to know what it felt like. Would Sirius teeth feel like that? If Sirius. He wondered if it would feel like that -- or if it was just short and awkward and embarrassing, like kissing a girl. Sirius was looking at him.
“Harry?” Sirius looked surprised, sleepy. “Crept in here while I was asleep, did you?”
And Harry nodded, because yes - that was exactly what he had done. Then out of the strangeness he spoke without thinking for the first time in a long time. “Let’s get out of here.”
Sirius looked at him. “I -- That’s mad, Harry.”
“Yes.” He looked down at the floor. He stood up. “But we could be back in time for breakfast.” He just let the words tumble out; “No one would have to know.” He walked over to Sirius chair with Sirius watching, seeing him this time. “Just once -- just for one night.” And he knew that he had said the right thing because he felt something coming free inside him, a wind blowing through, and he couldn’t help the silly ridiculous smile that was creeping across his face. The feeling between them was something old and familiar and easy that he had almost forgotten.
Sirius turned toward the window, toward the bright light that poured in over him.
A dog barked somewhere.
They looked back at each other.
One corner of Sirius' mouth quirked. “Well. Somebody’s got to go to keep you out of trouble. Besides,” he said, narrowing his eyes, “I know just the place.” He stood. “Don’t forget your wand.”
“I’m not going to forget my wand.”
Sirius put his finger to his lips and Harry raised an eyebrow at him, because they were tip-toeing down the hallway toward the back door now. Before he knew it, Sirius had transformed from his feet upwards and was running.
He ran after Sirius, through the vacant decrepit yard, through the gate and into the alley. Sirius turned his head, opened his mouth, bit down gently on Harry’s hand and pulled. His stomach twisted inside out and the alley was gone.
~
The wind blew his hair over his forehead. Their shadows danced over the grass before them. And all that thinking about what he did seemed silly now that it was just him and Padfoot running for the woods. He ran as fast as he could, but Padfoot was much faster, pulling farther and farther ahead and then finally running back to him in a big circle. Show off. Harry tackled him and they rolled into the shadow of the trees.
Sirius was holding him. “You all right?” He was so close, large and warm all around him and breathing hard.
“Yeah,” Harry gasped; felt Sirius' chest moving against his. He pushed Sirius over and rolled on top of him to make his point. “You?” He grinned.
Padfoot barked right in his ear and wriggled out of his grasp, and suddenly he wanted to yell as loud as he could, so he did. Padfoot howled. He put his hands over his ears.
Padfoot was just sitting there with his mouth open and his tongue hanging out, laughing at him silently; Harry knew it. He jerked his chin toward the trees and walked into the darkness underneath them. Padfoot followed, soundless but for the leaves rustling under his paws and Harry’s feet. The dark under the trees made them quiet; and it got darker, until Harry was blind.
But Padfoot could still see, was warm against him, large and solid and reassuring -- slipping easily into his old place under Harry’s hand, still coming up to his hip even though Harry had gotten taller. Harry buried his fingers in the fur of his ruff, feeling for his cues, falling into a pattern he had almost forgotten. Then Padfoot stopped and so did he. He reached out his hand. It was a low branch. He ducked under it. There was a little slope downward and his feet were wet inside his shoes; he was standing in a tiny stream. They followed it and the going was easier.
The stream turned. The trees opened up in front of him and there was light in the distance, and Harry thought he saw two little boys, one with red hair. The other had glasses that glinted. It was himself and Ron, afraid and trying not to show it -- he could see it; he remembered it. They were following a trail of spiders.
He moved to shout, but Sirius caught him by the shoulder. “They won’t hear you.”
Harry knew this was true; so he said only, “The Forbidden Forest?”
And Sirius said, “You were expecting Hyde park?” But he was standing right behind him. They watched until the two boys had left the clearing. When they turned to go, Harry’s fingers were clutching a handful of Sirius shirt, warm from the heat of his body.
They followed the stream a long, timeless way into the darkness, close, in step, listening for the shape of the still air around them, the two of them cut off from the entire world. Then Padfoot pulled toward the right. But Harry stopped, because there was a break in the trees again up ahead and he could see himself through it.
He was with Hermione this time, and a fat pompous witch he didn’t recognize. She had a pink bow in her hair. He stepped closer, but he still didn’t know who she was. Then he saw the centaurs moving soundlessly in the bushes, getting out their bows, nocking their arrows. He took another step forward, trying to see what would happen, knowing that he was looking at his own future.
“Sirius,” he whispered.
There was no answer.
He turned and Sirius was gone. The noises of the forest rose up around him, his heart pounding, the water moving around his feet faster and faster, and he fought to go upstream in what had suddenly become a raging torrent, stumbling, falling to his knees now but not stopping, blind in the darkness, gasping against the water that tried to drown him, and something caught his arm and swung him right around and it was Sirius, Sirius holding tight to him and both of them saying, “You just disappeared,” and “Don’t do that again,” and “Never, I promise.”
The tiny stream flowed right out into the clearing before them to become a pond. They stood at the edge of it. The water was absolutely still, everything still; the leaves did not whisper, the night birds did not sing. The moonlight fell on them bright as the sun, brighter than Harry had ever seen it, warm because there was no wind and time had stopped.
Then Sirius let out a whoop that made him jump and pushed him and he was falling into the water, but he twisted and snagged Sirius’ leg with his foot, and they fell in together, shrieking with cold and laughter, water clinging to Sirius’ eyelashes. Harry launched himself at him and felt Sirius hair brush his face, felt arms around him squeezing his ribs until he couldn’t breathe and went limp for a moment, eyes closed, hot flesh and cold water all around him. Then he twisted away and came up coughing and launching himself at Sirius again from the side, pushing his head underwater and gasping and tripping him with his legs, then going down in a whoosh with Sirius on top of him and his arms flying out.
Here, he could twist and fly in Sirius’ arms, grapple without thought, push and grab at the warm body against him, fingers sliding over cool slick skin, be lifted upright after a throw face first into the water, his head cradled in Sirius fingers now and hear Sirius say, “You all right, kid?” He could do all this and rest in Sirius arms for the space of a few heartbeats and know it was what Sirius wanted.
But finally Sirius climbed out of the water and stood panting with his hands on his back, his worn shirt clinging to him and water dripping from his lips. Harry climbed out and stood next to him.
Sirius turned into Padfoot and shook himself, sending water flying all over Harry, then transformed back into Sirius, clothes almost dry, except around the cuffs of his shirt and trousers. He grinned.
Harry pushed him back into the water.
~
A dizzy endless time later they fell quiet, and lay on their backs in the grass with the stars close above them.
They weren’t tired and they weren’t hungry. The moon was just as high in the sky as before. In this place nothing changed. Nothing could change it. Harry lay still and breathed and felt Sirius next to him.
He said, “Did you use to come here with Remus?”
“Yes.”
He didn’t look at Sirius then. But he asked very quietly, “Did you and he ever?”
“So you saw that this morning, did you?”
And then Harry cringed -- but Sirius felt it and put a hand on his arm.
“No. All a misunderstanding on my part.” Harry could hear the rueful smile.
He closed his eyes and leant his head against Sirius. He said, “I’m sorry.” He meant it from the bottom of his heart.
The moon was bright even through his eyelids, the earth cool against his back, under his fingers, his head warm against Sirius’ shoulder. Sirius sat up, but he kept his eyes closed, felt Sirius lift his head into his lap. In the cool silence, Sirius began to stroke his hair absently, and this was paradise.
Then Sirius’ hands stilled.
“Merlin, Harry.”
Harry opened his eyes.
Sirius was looking at his mouth.
“It was you.”
His heart fell down into his belly and he couldn’t make a sound. He closed his eyes and then he opened them again, but this was real; Sirius still looking at him, shocked. He felt his childhood falling away from him, leaving nothing that anyone could want.
Sirius’ mouth twisted. “It was a dream. I knew it was a dream. It was impossible. I thought I was insane, Harry. But it was you.” The anger moved over Sirius face, his hair falling over his forehead, his eyes becoming terrible. “Tell me.”
“I love you.” He had said that much too loudly.
Sirius was staring, would turn away in a moment, but there was one finger still on Harry's cheek. He clung to it, felt it move slowly down toward his jaw. Then it was on his chin and he didn't breathe. Somehow it Sirius was still looking at him. Then Sirius finger was on his mouth and his lips opened with a little gasp and Sirius whispered, “It was you.”
He pushed himself up against Sirius’ neck with a sound, thinking that he had never made a sound before, but that this was different -- and he fumbled, but Sirius' hands were under his shirt now, Sirius really touching him, undoing buttons, hot flesh inside, fingers inside his clothes, cock heavy in his hand until Sirius’ hand covered his.
“That would be over in a minute.”
He was right. Harry knew it from dark closets and dark classrooms and the changing room after everyone else had gone. Sirius’ finger was on his mouth again.
“That would be over in a minute -- but this can go on forever.”
Kisses.
He didn’t know how to kiss.
Sirius taught him.
And yes, this was different, slow and whispering things he had never told anyone -- denim wrapped legs wrapped around each other, warm in the cool air, his hands in Sirius’ hair; kissing and whispering, kissing and laughing -- kissing Sirius, mouth open this time, hoping.
And then the touch of a tongue between his lips and Sirius rolling him over, rolling on top of him, heavy legs still tangled and slow, clinging, Sirius pulling away and then coming back; his tongue, his teeth consuming Harry’s lips, opening his mouth, pulling away gently and then coming back until he lay open, sighing, suspended -- his jeans tight where his legs bent and opened, Sirius heavy and solid in his arms, his mouth hot and alive with the touch that slid inside and always came back. And yes, this could go on forever.
Feedback: Oh, please... (concrit welcome!)