Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the work of J.K. Rowling and is not my intellectual property. I intend no copyright infringement and seek no financial gain from this work. This work of fiction is purely for entertainment purposes.

He's angry – a lot of the time. And I simply cannot imagine blaming him.

He's witnessed, first hand, the rebirth of Voldemort, has watched a friend be murdered inches away from him for fuck's sake; he blames himself for it, and he tries to pretend like he's dealing with all of it just fine.

He's viciously curious, desperate for information that the Order refuses to part with – and when we do tell him, no more than the very basics, carefully trimmed and cleaned around the edges, there's nothing he can make anything of it, not really.

It only pisses him off further. He's furious – all the time.

And he's scared. He's terrified he's going to be expelled, be forced to part with his friends, be kept away from the only place he's considered home.

I'm worried about his trial, of course I am - any parent would be.

But I've never been a very good parent, have I? Because a part of me actually fucking hopes for – hopes that he...

I cannot bring myself to finish the thought even in my own head.

He's making me want things, hope for things, imagine things, that no self respecting adult ever should, especially not about their godchild who isn't even of age yet, goddamn it.

It's all his fault.

Harry is too like him for comfort. It's unnerving, unsettling...

Arousing.

I want to touch him – more than just the brief skimming of fingers, the stiff hugs his adolescent awkwardness permits him to bestow upon me.

I want to know what it's like to have his fingers laced through mine, his thin, strong body against mine, skin on skin, tongue against tongue, young stubble grazed by scratchy, unkempt whiskers.

I want and it's mortifying and it's all his fault.

I'm reduced to tugging at my swollen prick while lying alone in bed every night, and it's Harry's face that shines in my mind.

But that voice... It's not his voice—

'Sirius... Sirius – so good, so beautiful... Come for me, oh lord, look at you...'

Most nights, my cock is sticky and sated and my pillow damp and salty by the time I fall asleep.

Some of the light returns to his eyes after the trial, and he smiles more, jokes around more, and I watch him even more.

I wish I would stop because he's noticed.

He's sharp, my Harry, and he's noticed.

He's seen the way I look at him across the table at dinner, cradling my goblet, my eyes on him, on the dip at the base of his throat, the razor sharp edges of his collar bones.

His sinfully pouty mouth.

I wish I would stop looking because Harry starts looking back.

Having no hope left with myself, I begin avoiding him. I find myself at Buckbeak's side for long hours, letting the grating scratch of his talons against the floorboards fill my head so the voice stops echoing.

'Your skin... God, your skin. It's...'

'Open your eyes, look at me. Kiss me, Sirius...'

'Sirius... Sirius...'

"Sirius?"

I start and scramble to my feet, opening the door and blinking at Harry standing there, oversized t-shirt and round glasses and slouching shoulders and stubborn jaw.

"What are you doing here?"

"Feeding Buckbeak."

"It's been three hours."

"He was hungry."

Harry doesn't say anything to that, simply looking at me with a faint line between his dark brows and then, quite suddenly, stepping into the room.

I don't move out of the way quickly enough and get a lungful of his scent – it's some cheap Muggle cologne, young sweat and caramel candy.

I'm instantly hard.

"You're avoiding me," he stuffs his hands into his pockets, sending his jeans sliding down his hips a couple of inches, and I want to lick the sliver of hip bones visible. I don't answer simply because my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth (or his hipbone, I can't tell anymore) and simply watch as he lightly pets the petulant hippogriff.

"I'm not," I pick words at random and pray they fit the context.

"Talk to me, Sirius."

He turns, and the movement is sudden and I'm abruptly staring right into fiercely blazing green eyes and Merlin, I want to touch him so badly.

"What about?"

"Tell me what you're thinking."

I nearly laugh. I do actually snort, and quickly tamp down the hysterical giggles that fight their way up.

My godson wants to know what I'm thinking about and it's so sweet and innocent and honest that I actually consider telling him that I've spent the last two days obsessing about what his cock will taste like.

"You don't want to know," I bite my tongue as soon as I've said the words because the boy is nothing if not constantly eager for a challenge.

"Let me decide that," he says and in that moment he's more adult-like than I've ever seen him and that's saying something considering the boy has seen more death and blood at fifteen than I have at thirty five.

He takes a step closer to me, and then another, and then I'm just standing there with Harry standing less than a foot away from me, the tips of our shoes brushing.

"Harry," I say and it unintentionally comes out a groan.

The boy kisses me.

It's not deep or wet or ambitious. It's a press of warm, dry lips against mine, his face slightly angled so that the curve of his lower lip presses lightly between my own.

I gasp lightly and jerk backwards. I'll proceed to curse and rant at myself for the next several months for that particularly idiotic move.

But Harry, nothing if not tenacious, just blinks, takes half a step towards me and kisses me again, and this time, I let my lips part.

He's shorter than me, thinner than I am, but when he walks forward, backing me into the door, I'm powerless.

His kisses are inexperienced, unskilled and completely glorious.

I moan as he winds a hand into my hair and tugs my face down so he can properly lick around the insides of my cheeks. He even tastes of the caramel candy I can smell on him and Merlin, I can't get enough.

I cup his face, feel his soft, flushed skin under my fingers, and it's everything.

Harry is everything.

And I'm capable of wrecking him faster than the boy can draw his wand.

So I push him away.

"Sirius."

He says my name on a breathless whisper and I nearly sob out loud at the sound. He sounds like a patiently exasperated owner, lightly chiding their pet for chewing through yet another shoe.

His smile is light, understanding, indulgent and I ought to be offended, because really, who's the adult here?

And so like a miserable fool, I lean forward helplessly and he's kissing me again, his hands disentangling themselves from my hair and brushing, teasing their way down over my shoulders, my chest, and then quite abruptly, as if he'd not really planned on it at first but then had decided to on a sudden whim, undoes the flies on my trousers.

"Harry," it's a loud gasp, and I can feel the way my eyes have gone round and shocked.

But Harry is just so Harry, and so he ignores me and drops to his knees, pulls my twitching cock out and bravely sucks on the head like he had been dared to try a particularly bold new flavour of ice cream that nobody else was willing to experiment with.

I cry out and Buckbeak stomps his hooves agitatedly, craning around took look at us joined cock to mouth and silently judging us with his enormous amber eyes.

"Harry, what- what are you doing?"

What the fuck does it look like he's doing, Sirius? He's sucking your cock, that's what, and don't you pretend like you haven't dreamt of this for eight nights in a row now.

Harry doesn't answer in favour of letting the entire length of my cock slide into his wet mouth, the heat enveloping inch after inch, until my throbbing balls are pressed into his chin.

He sucks his way back, pulls darkened lips off my cock and laughingly says, "You taste like peppermint, Sirius."

It's the stupid lube I used last night, I want to tell him. But he's already dived back down and I want to feel something other than skin melting arousal, because now would be a good time to be embarrassed about being on the verge of an orgasm from having my cock sucked for all of twenty five seconds, but then my brain shuts down because I've tipped over that verge and I'm coming furiously, into the mouth of my underage godson who's viridian eyes are boring smugly into mine as he swallows my come.

I let my eyes fall shut and soundlessly buck forward. I guess I've just paid the entrance fee into hell.

When I finally open my eyes, we've exchanged places because now I'm slumped on the floor and he's leaning his shoulder into the door, arms crossed, eyes shining, mouth wet and curved into a disturbingly attractive smile.

"What the hell was that?" I tell myself that I ought to atleast pretend to be mad, to be disapproving.

"I believe it's called a blowjob," he tells me seriously. His ensuing grin is blinding and infectious and I hate myself more than words can convey as I return it.

We dance around each other as we help set the table for dinner. His shoulder bumps into my chest and my fingers brush his hip and I feel appallingly disappointed for not having tasted his cock earlier.

But he'd slipped out before I could reach out and cup the bulge in his jeans and then the bubble had broken and I couldn't do anything more than follow him downstairs and stare unblinkingly at him.

I wonder if he'll hang around after dinner but Snape unexpectedly turns up and Molly shoos them all to bed.

I'm beyond aggravated.

But Harry soothes it away a couple of hours later.

I grit my teeth as my bedroom door groans loudly on its hinges as I shut it behind me, undressing as I walk into my dark room. Meeting Snape always manages to leave me angry and on edge and so when the quiet knock sounds, I start and, idiotically, draw my wand.

Breathing slightly hitched, I carefully open the door and peer out.

I'm met with glowing green eyes before thin hands are pushing the door open wider and then a wiry body is pressing itself into my bare chest.

"Harry," laughably enough, I'm trying to push him away as he licks up my jaw.

As if he can't feel the excited jump of my cock.

"Sirius," he breathes. "Want you."

I choke on a gasp, though I don't know if it's at his words or at his nimble fingers stroking my cock through my clothes.

"We—shouldn't we talk about this?" I stammer and I swear there's raucous laughter somewhere in my head. "Harry, oh Merlin."

He's walking me back once more, honestly, what's with him doing that to me everytime? He's just like him—

"Your skin, Sirius," Harry breathes into my shoulder, running his hands up my back, warm and firm. "Has anyone ever told you that your skin is fucking-"

Breathtaking.

'Fucking breathtaking, Sirius, I could touch you all day...'

Words, the contrived, meaningless bilge I'd been attempting to dredge up from whatever remained of my conscience, die in my throat.

He's murmuring into my throat, pressing his hands all over me, as if desperate to cover as much skin as he can in each stroke.

"Get on the bed, Sirius," he uses that same gentle assertiveness I'd glimpsed in his face earlier. "Strip."

I've obeyed before I can tell myself not to. I doubt I can tell myself anything at all now.

Harry will tell me things and I will do them.

He's licking my cock again, short, tiny licks that are meant to tease, finger tips lightly brushing my balls.

"I want to see you," I surprise myself by choking out.

Harry's smile is the soft, indulgent sweetness of a person in command.

When he's naked, I stop breathing for a while. Because it feels as if everything must be stopped for this moment; the turning tides, the rustling winds, the waning moon, my thudding heart.

"I want you, Sirius."

He's straddling my thighs, one hand languidly stroking my cock, his own gorgeous erection standing against his concave belly.

"Take me," the words come out like it's the most natural response to his words.

Like I've said them a hundred times before.

'Take me, take me, make me come, make me yours...'

"Will you teach me how?" he tilts his head so his hair falls in his eyes and the sight of him so childlike and tentative after being so enterprising all day sends a random wave of parental affection crashing over me.

Of course, no parent would teach their incorrigible kid how to slick his fingers and open up their tight arsehole. No parent would turn over onto hands and knees and beg to be fucked good and hard.

They have whiskey in hell, right?

It hurts when Harry first pushes into me. It's been so long after all, years and years of surviving on just the memory of that cock inside me, and now I'm tight and tense and it's indescribably good to be burned open like this.

"Sirius, oh god, I didn't know it would be like this. I can't- shit, I should have sucked you off first-"

I was expecting this, and so I urge him to come, ask him to finish inside me and he does. He's a virgin and exceedingly sensitive and it doesn't take him more than half a dozen strokes to come, groaning in pleasure, a strong strain of disappointment evident in the sound as well.

I'm hard and trembling and covered with sweat when he falls forward next to me, apologising and reaching desperately for my cock.

I still his hands with mine and stop his words with my mouth. He kisses me back eagerly, moaning into it, stroking my face, climbing atop me, crouching over my chest as he throws his tongue down my throat.

"Your arse," he pants suddenly. "Sirius, you're so tight," he bites my ear and I arch up into him, nearly unseating him.

'So tight, can't think, can't stop, Sirius, Sirius...'

"I want to put my fingers in you again," he growls the words into my chest and I shudder, nodding, before realising he's too busy licking my nipple to look up and see me give assent.

"Yes," I whisper, and open my legs.

He's gentle, careful and a startlingly quick learner.

"Tell me how it feels," he bites my inner thigh. "Does it feel good, Sirius?"

'Tell me it feels good, tell me not to stop...'

"Brilliant," I croak, and then guide him to find my prostate.

He takes me on my back this time, and for several seconds, I'm completely certain that I won't be able to bear it.

It's too much, watching him braced determinedly over me, biting his lip, that bloody head of wild hair—

'You're so goddamn beautiful, did you know that...'

"Oh, fuck," Harry's face drops onto my shoulder as he starts to thrust, and he quickly ups the pace, hips bucking wildly.

Luckily enough, I'm right there with him this time.

"So good, so fucking good, Sirius," he moans. "You're bloody beautiful, did you know that, has anyone told you that..."

'Can't stop this, don't want to stop, have to stop this, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, you're so beautiful...'

"Please," I pull him deeper easily, lifting my hips to meet his thrusts, my gut clenching, heat coiling at the base of my spine...

"Sirius".

'Sirius...'

"Harry!"

'James...'

"Yes, oh fuck-"

'Don't do this, please, don't marry her-'

"Shit—Harry!"

'I'm sorry, Sirius, don't make this harder than it already is-'

'I love you, you know I love you-'

"Sirius?"

He speaks into my temple and I can feel his fingers sifting through my hair.

"Yeah," I speak into his shoulder, lifting my hand to scratch my nose so he can't see my wipe my eyes.

"I'll miss you, you know. At Hogwarts."

'Of course I know that, and... Merlin, don't make me say it, Sirius'

"I will too."

'Say it.'

'Please, Sirius.'

"Will you try and visit me?" Harry moves to lie down next to me, resting his head in one hand. "Like last year?"

'Say it, James, you fucking coward.'

'I- I can't.'

"I can't, Dumbledore says I shouldn't risk it..."

"Oh..."

'We'll always have this. This, Sirius, us – it's real. We'll always have this.'

"We can always just write to each other."

"Yeah."

"Sirius, why are you crying?!" Harry scrambles up, eyes wide with alarm. "Did I- did I hurt you?"

'I never meant to hurt you, Sirius. I could never.'

I laugh. "No, no you didn't."

'You haven't hurt me, James, don't flatter yourself. Go marry her and knock her up and have a happy fucking life.'

"What happened then?" he drops sweet kisses over my face.

'You make me happy, Sirius, you should know that.'

"You make me happy, Harry," I press my hand against his cheek and he leans into my touch. "You should know that."

~end~