So here's the deal...I was watching Brokeback Mountain the other night when this idea popped into my head. It's actually nothing like that movie. It was just the trigger (no pun intended!). And I do enjoy writing about pairings that are not the most popular, hence the two I chose for this story. It's short. I could post it as a really looong one shot, but I think chapters are more fun. This is just a little diversion from Irish Eyes...an exit for some snack food off the highway if you will. LOL I haven't written in quite this way before, so I'm using this as a test to see what everyone thinks. It's about two men, obviously, with a little bit of sexual description along the way, so if you have an issue with that, better wait for my next Irish Eyes chapter. ;)

As always, I'm a sucker for a review. It lets me know that the picture I'm trying to paint actually comes across. Thanks!


Sirius POV

If someone asked me to pinpoint the exact moment it started, I suppose I'd have to say the beginning of his fifth year. We'd met previously, of course, in his third year when I finally broke free of that hellhole I'd been locked up in, but it was a couple more years before anything would happen.

You see, his fifth year is when he and his family set up house with me, per Albus' request. My family home had been protected and served as the perfect location for the Order to meet and others to live. I had been lonely for so long. I welcomed the intrusion at first and was thankful to have others around to talk to.

It wasn't long before the arguments started though. Oh, Molly always did mean well, of course, and I understood her reasoning and protectiveness over my godson. But he was MY godson. She wanted to shield him from the horrible reality in his life and I wanted him to be aware as soon as possible, for it wasn't just his life at stake, but everyone's. I liked it no more than she, but it didn't change the facts. With Albus keeping his distance for fear Voldemort was using Harry's mind at his disposal and with Molly doing her best to keep him a little boy and with me practically on 'house arrest'…well one can see how I might lose my temper from time to time.

I still remember the night he knocked on the door. It all started so innocently. It had to have been after midnight. We had become friendlier over our days together, and between Hermione and Harry's friendship with me, I think he felt safe with me as well.

He was reluctant to come in; his freckled face about as red as his hair when I closed the door behind him. He wanted to talk about Hermione; like I didn't see that coming from a mile away. He wasn't comfortable with his brothers or his father so I was next. I felt honored actually. I'd never had a son (always wanted one), so I enjoyed these type moments immensely.

He wanted to know the typical things young virginal lads wondered about and I was happy to answer the few questions he had. He didn't stay long and soon returned to his room.

It was about a week before he returned with more questions, and I always welcomed him. I would have welcomed any of the kids, of course, but he was the only one to seek me out.

A couple weeks before Harry was scheduled to arrive, he came to my room again. Perhaps I should have told him it wasn't a good night for me, as I'd been indulging in self pity and was halfway finished with a bottle of Ogden's Best, but I didn't let him know I was upset.

Being the 'cool' adult in the house (after all it was MY house), I offered him the bottle I was drinking from. Come on, I was half lit. I certainly wasn't going to find a glass. This time his questions were not about Hermione. This time he wanted to know about my experiences. And being loose-lipped and half lit, I told him all about them.

In hindsight, had I been completely sober, I probably would have been a little selective about what I shared. However, I wasn't so I wasn't. To make things worse, the more we drank, the braver he became and the more explicit I was, not a good combination.

I know I shouldn't have told him about the summer fling Remus and I had while we were students at Hogwarts or that we occasionally warmed each other's beds still, because he began to ask a lot of questions that I was all too eager to answer. I slept with men and women (which muggles often termed bi-sexual I know), but I just called it being randy.

That's when he began asking the 'what does it feel like with a guy' questions and that's when my alcohol induced loose lips spoke before my brain caught up. We were both in my bed because, hell, there was no other furniture and the floor was filthy. And we were relatively close physically because we'd been taking turns at passing the bottle between us. When he asked what it was like to kiss a man, I told him that I really couldn't explain it, that it was something he had to experience for himself, but that it was an amazing thing.

Now, that being said, we chatted for a bit longer before he stumbled off to bed and I didn't give anything a second thought. I didn't have too many thoughts left at that point. I turned off the lights soon after he left and passed out. Next thing I know, I'm dreaming about kissing him, only I'm awake. I can't see him; only feel his hesitant lips on mine.

Perhaps I should have jumped away startled or gasped in surprise, but I didn't. I remained still and allowed the feather light touches of his lips to mine, still able to taste the Ogden's we'd shared. When I felt more pressure from his mouth, I opened mine just a little to gently touch my tongue to his lips, wondering if he'd let me explore. I could feel the slightest movement of his head, but he did not pull away. Instead I was rewarded with our mouths joining and tongues slowly wrestling for dominance. It was wrong, I know, but so delicious. My cock was stirring in slight jerks in response to what his kiss was doing to me. I remained still, though, not daring to touch him for fear of breaking whatever spell had caused this.

After he lifted his head and ended our kiss, he was gone. Five minutes after he'd left, I was spent, having easily brought myself to climax from his attentions.

Now I've never been interested in children, obviously. But he was almost seventeen. He was no child. I briefly entertained the idea of him coming to my room again, both of us keeping this huge secret, but told myself that it was only hormonal curiosity sparked by alcohol and sexual conversation. Perhaps he wouldn't even remember it in the morning and certainly there would be no more visits.

Well, even I can be wrong sometimes.


If you'll go to my profile and click on the link for my blog, you'll see a couple banners I made to encourage myself with the story. There will be one for each chapter. I'd love to hear from you!!