An: Smutty, holiday one-shot for you guys! I might continue this into a real, full length story after I finish Approaching Paradox (more Sirius/Hermione if you haven't checked it out, and it will contain smut EVENTUALLY but for now they are still a bit young in that one bc it's a time travel fic), but that's probably a while off. So for now I hope you enjoy this! Also, I picture Sirius in this story as looking rather like Vigo Mortenson as Aragorn in LOTR so…feel free to do that as well. Hermione is 17 in this, it takes place at Christmas during her sixth year in a world where Sirius didn't die. So…that's either too young for you or it's not. Read at your own discretion.
Conditional Self-Loathing
Hermione padded quietly across the upstairs landing of Grimmauld Place, intent on heading down to the kitchen for a late night cup of tea. She'd have to be careful not to wake anyone, as Harry and the Weasleys had all long since fallen asleep, but a nice black tea sounded far too good for her to resist just then. Hermione had stayed up unexpectedly late that night, having gotten lost in a rather intriguing novel, and she found that despite the late hour she still wasn't quite ready for bed yet. It was the Christmas holidays, after all, and Hermione thought that they were just the sort of time to stay up late getting lost in a good book. She was just passing by the door to Sirius' room, making her way towards the stairs, when she heard a noise. It was a curious sort of muffled cry. Faint, but noticeable nonetheless.
Hermione paused, letting the hand which clutched her novel fall to her side as she attempted to discern the source of the mysterious sounds. As she listened, it became clear to her that it was a sound of distress; someone in the throes of a nightmare, she suspected. Hermione frowned. Harry would have been the most obvious culprit for such a thing. She knew her friend was prone to nightmares, and he wasn't yet 17, so of course he was unable to cast a silencing charm as a precautionary measure in case he should happen to have one. But she was nowhere near Harry's room. The cries continued, and now that Hermione was paying attention to them, they only seemed to be increasing in both volume and intensity. She was now more desperate than ever to figure out where they were coming from, hoping that she could at least wake whomever it was that was suffering and maybe invite them down to the kitchen with her for a calming cup of tea.
And so Hermione listened. And the more she listened, the more it seemed that the tormented sounds were coming from…Sirius' room. Slowly, she turned, her eyes coming to rest on his door. Now that she was focusing on it fully, Hermione could tell that the distinct sounds which usually accompanied someone having a nightmare were indeed emanating from the room of her best friend's Godfather. She bit her lip. It had never even occurred to Hermione that it might be Sirius who was suffering from such a thing. Godric, she was dense. She'd been standing right outside of his door this whole time!
Had her normally unimpeachable powers of observation really been so impaired by her preconceptions about the man that she hadn't realized until just now what was happening? Sure, Sirius was an adult, but If Hermione truly thought about it, he had more reason to be having nightmares than almost any of the people currently staying in his ancestral home. He'd spent 12 years in Azkaban. That was bound to have at least the occasional detrimental effect on ones sleep, Hermione reasoned. Not to mention that fact that Grimmauld Place, which was at best gloomy, and at worst outright threatening in its décor, was hardly the type of place to conjure up happy memories for anyone, much less Sirius, who Hermione knew had spent a miserable childhood there. She shook her head. Really, she shouldn't have been surprised that Sirius was having nightmares at all.
Hesitantly, Hermione found herself reaching for the handle of the door to his room. Her impulse to help hadn't been dampened by the uncomfortable realization of just who it was that happened to be having a nightmare, but she'd always felt slightly awkward around Sirius. He could be a bit moody and gruff, and they tended to pick at each other sometimes, especially when it came to his treatment of Kreacher. But he could also be quite unexpectedly funny, and he loved Harry fiercely. Hermione certainly didn't want to just leave him. Not when it sounded as if he were having such a distinctly miserable time of it in there. It was quite a dreadful thing to listen to, really, and Hermione found that she wanted to wake Sirius not only for his own sake, but for hers as well. She didn't like to hear him like that.
Despite everything that he'd been through, or perhaps because of it, Sirius had always come across to her as a very tough individual. He could be quite caustic, and he was also undeniably reckless at times, often to his own detriment and that of others. That was Hermione's opinion at least, and likely Molly Weasley's as well. Not that Sirius made much of a habit of soliciting the input of either of the two women when it came to his actions or his attitude. Which didn't stop Molly from offering hers up, but Hermione tended to be a bit more reticent when it came to such things. And actually she quite liked Sirius, even if she did occasionally clash with him. In fact, it was precisely because of Sirius' typically unapologetic, forceful personality that it was so particularly disconcerting for Hermione to hear him in the midst of such a deeply vulnerable moment. She was sure that he would have been mortified to know she was hearing him in such a state. Hermione could only assume that Sirius had either forgotten to cast a silencing charm, or that he hadn't thought he would have a nightmare in the first place.
Sirius had been in a merry mood this holiday, even more so than last Christmas, when the events with Mr. Weasley had cast something of a damper on things. Maybe he'd simply thought that with Harry and the rest of them there, and him consequently being in such a good mood, that he wouldn't be troubled by nightmares. Well, it seemed that if that's what Sirius had thought, he'd been more short sighted than usual. Hermione worried her lip. She was unsure whether Sirius would even welcome her intervention, but nonetheless she couldn't find it in herself to just leave without waking him. And so, after a few minutes of nervous pacing on the landing in front of Sirius' room spent working her self up to her intended action, Hermione steeled herself and pushed open the door to his bedroom.
The sight that met her eyes was, for lack of a better and less cliché turn of phrase, heart wrenching. Sirius was thrashing about on his bed, the sheets having fallen to his waist and tangled around him as a result of his jerky, chaotic movements. He was muttering, whimpering almost, and the sound of such pained noises coming from Sirius made Hermione feel both acutely uncomfortable and also desperately sad. When he cried out suddenly, the sound of it shockingly loud now that she was alone with him in the confines of his room, Hermione acted on instinct. Hastily kicking his bedroom door shut behind her in the hopes of ensuring that no one else would hear any of the disquieting, frightful sounds which Sirius was currently emitting, she rushed towards him, scrambling up onto his bed without hesitation and perching on her knees next to him. Hermione reached out, using her small, shaking hands to press down on either side of Sirius' shoulders. They were surprisingly broad, she noticed, and his skin was hot to the touch, coated in a light sheen of sweat.
The force of her hold couldn't have possibly been enough to contain him if Sirius actually wished to move, but something about Hermione's touch seemed to calm him, and he stopped violently thrashing almost the minute she put her hands on him. He was still whimpering though, turning his head this way and that as though he were flinching away from some unseen enemy which he couldn't escape, and which Hermione couldn't see; one that existed only in his mind and in his memories. Immediately she set about shaking him, softly and subtly at first, and then progressively more assertively when he failed to stir as a result of her first gentle efforts. A few minutes later, just as Hermione was contemplating slapping Sirius out of pure desperation, he finally jerked awake.
One moment he was asleep, in the midst of a horrible nightmare, and the next he had lurched suddenly upwards, causing Hermione to fall back slightly in shock at the abrupt change of position. Seemingly without seeing her, Sirius roughly seized her wrists, flipping her onto her back in one fluid, vertigo inducing motion and pinning her down, his large body looming over her own considerably slighter one. Hermione let out a small, aborted scream, biting her lip to muffle the sound as much as possible. She had not expected such a violent reaction to being woken up on his part, though in retrospect, maybe she should have. The man had fought in a war when he was barely older than she was now, and he was currently in the midst of fighting another one. Sirius still seemed not to see her, his eyes clouded with confusion and lack of understanding as Hermione lay panting beneath him.
"Sirius," she said softly, her voice breathless, probably as a result of all of the adrenaline currently being pumped through her system. "Sirius it's me. It's Hermione, Sirius. Wake up." she pleaded. "Sirius, it's okay. Everything's okay. It's just me, it's Hermione. Please wake up."
Finally, after a few tense moments, his eyes seemed to clear, recognition dawning in them, and he released her wrists, falling back from her with a sigh. It was silent for a few moments, Hermione laying there in shock, Sirius in the process of fully waking up and attempting to gather his bearings.
"Hermione?" he said finally, confusedly, his voice somewhat hoarse. "What are you doing in my room?"
She sat up, turning to face him. "I heard you. Having…having a nightmare," she explained haltingly, her eyes fixed on the fitted sheet of Sirius' bed.
"Ahh," Sirius said with quiet understanding, and Hermione raised her eyes, watching as he lent back tiredly against his head board, her eyes flicking fleetingly and involuntarily over his exposed, bare chest and the medley of lean muscle and tattoos on display there. "And when you attempted to wake me, I reacted by assaulting you with my war reflexes," Sirius continued. "Sorry about that, love."
"It's okay," Hermione assured him, her voice small and her eyes once more fixed firmly on Sirius' sheets.
"Is it?" Sirius asked with a sigh. "You're crying, Kitten," he pointed out, reaching over and swiping one of Hermione's falling tears from her cheek with his thumb, holding his wet digit up between them as irrefutable proof of her upset. "I didn't hurt you did I?"
Hermione shook her head desperately. "No. No you didn't hurt me, I just—," despite herself, the volume and flow of her tears increased, choking her words in her throat as she tried to speak. She looked up at him. His eyes were dark and tired. "I'm sorry, Sirius. I'm so, so sorry."
"Hey, hey, none of this is your fault, Kitten," Sirius said hastily, voice soft but insistant. "As usual, it's all my doing, forgetting to cast a silencing charm like a bloody imbecile. I'm sorry."
"Don't—don't apologize to me," Hermione sniffed, wiping futilely at her still streaming eyes. This was all going to be very embarrassing in the morning, she reflected distantly.
Sirius, not quite knowing what to do with the young, crying witch with whom he found himself unexpectedly occupied in the middle of the night, lifted his hand and patted her awkwardly on the thigh. He hoped it was at least vaguely reassuring.
"I didn't know you had nightmares. I'm sorry," Hermione whispered through her tears.
Sirius raised an eyebrow. "I do," he confirmed. "You will too, I expect, once we get a bit further along in this war. If you don't have them already."
Hermione nodded tightly. She did, indeed, have nightmares herself, though nothing so horrific as what she'd just seen Sirius experiencing. She'd never had to cast a silencing charm. She'd never screamed like that.
"Are you sure you're alright, Kitten?" Sirius asked, watching her worriedly.
Hermione nodded once more, sucking in a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself down. But as her hysterics faded, she found herself more and more aware of the fact that she was sat in the bed of a grown man (with said grown man, who just so happened to be at least half naked, given the evident fact that his torso was very much bare) wearing just her pajamas. And she had made an embarrassing mess of herself, blubbering all over the place like a silly little twit and probably embarrassing Sirius as well on top of it all. The situation was not ideal.
Eventually, after having gotten ahold of herself as much as she thought was possible for the time being, Hermione extracted herself from Sirius' bed and took a seat on his bedside chair instead.
"Hermione," Sirius said warily. "What are you doing?"
"I'm just going to sit here until you fall asleep," Hermione informed him. "And then if you start to have another nightmare I can wake you up."
Sirius sighed in the wake of this explanation. "That's very sweet, love, but I'm a grown man." Hermione very pointedly did not let her eyes stray anywhere near Sirius' tattooed chest. Or his shoulders. "I certainly don't need you to sit up and keep vigil over me all night."
"Well, I want to," Hermione said simply, tucking her legs up under herself.
"That's really not necessary, Kitten," Sirius told her, his tone faintly pleading, as though he didn't have much strength to argue with her at the moment and was too tired to sufficiently deal with her stubborn inclinations. But still, he had called her 'Kitten' again, so she knew he couldn't be too annoyed with her. Sirius, Hermione had noticed over the course of the past year or so, called lots of people love; her, Ginny, Tonks, Fleur, even, occasionally, Molly. But she'd never heard him call anyone else 'Kitten', and for reasons she was hesitant to delve too deeply into, she had become quite possessive of the unique endearment.
"It's necessary to me," Hermione said, quietly but firmly.
Sirius surveyed her intently, as though silently evaluating the strength of her convictions.
"Fine," he said eventually. "But at least take a blanket."
He reached for the rich, bright red one that was draping the end of his bed, his movements causing the sheet at his waist to slip down slightly and reveal that he was wearing what looked to Hermione like black boxer briefs. She quickly averted her eyes from the sight, and Sirius gently tossed the blanket in her direction. Hermione caught it, wrapping it around her body and immediately making herself cozy, reveling in the newfound warmth it lent her. She settled herself as comfortably as she was able in her chair. Meanwhile, Sirius lay back down, tugging the top sheet up to partially cover his chest and shooting Hermione one last inscrutable look before turning over and preparing himself to fall back asleep.
It wasn't too much longer before Sirius' soft snores were reverberating around the room. It wasn't too much longer after that, though, that Hermione's back had grown considerably stiff from being folded into the awkward confines of Sirius' bedside chair. As the minutes passed, she eyed his bed with increasing degrees of longing. Hermione bit her lip. When Sirius began moving once more, his manner slightly distressed, it provided her with the excuse she needed. She'd just make sure he was okay, make sure he wasn't having another nightmare, Hermione told herself. Maybe rub his back a bit. Her touch seemed to sooth him for some reason, and he'd calmed down almost immediately the last time when she'd grabbed his shoulders. And he'd already been in the middle of a nightmare then. Whatever was happening now was just beginning. Surely she could draw him out of it if she just got a bit closer.
A few minutes later, Hermione quietly raised herself up out of the chair, carrying her borrowed blanket with her, and climbed hesitantly onto Sirius' bed. Her careful, reluctant approach was in marked contrast to how she had thrown herself into his bed earlier. She hadn't been nearly so nervous in that instance, not having had time to think very much. But what was the harm, Hermione told herself as she settled in next to Sirius, in laying out next to him on top of the covers, a good foot or so of space between them? She would just rub his back and watch him sleep, making sure he didn't fall into another nightmare. It was perfectly innocent. And besides, it wasn't as though she planned on falling asleep herself.
Hermione awoke slowly, suffused in pleasant sense of warmth. It was emanating from somewhere behind her, and she found herself snuggling sleepily back into the source of the heat. It was at this point, with her movement, that Hermione became aware that she seemed to be rather more constrained than usual, and oddly so. There was a weight draped over the curve of her hip. An arm, Hermione realized as she woke further. There was an arm draped heavily across her waist. An arm which, Hermione saw as she opened her eyes, was slightly tan, subtly muscular, and dusted with fine black hair. An arm which was attached to a hand splayed low across her bare stomach, just above her sleep shorts, her shirt having been pushed up slightly during the night. Hermione shivered at the novel sensation, quite unsure what was going on or how she may have gotten herself into this situation. Was she dreaming? Suddenly, the last vestiges of sleep shaking themselves from her consciousness, Hermione realized with startling, horrifying clarity exactly where she was and just whose arm was currently around her waist.
Sirius! Gods, she must have fallen asleep on his bed last night! But how had she gotten under the covers? Hermione restrained a groan. She supposed it didn't matter, all that mattered was how she was possibly going to extricate herself from this situation without Sirius or anyone else ever finding out about it. Hermione shifted hesitantly, not wanting to wake Sirius with her movement. Unfortunately, all her small effort succeeded in doing was prompting him to make a small noise in his sleep and pull her further against him, tightening the arm around her waist and using the hand on her stomach to guide Hermione even closer to him. She blushed hotly at her resulting position. She'd only made things worse for herself, Hermione thought miserably. She could now feel every inch of Sirius behind her, the length of his body pressed fully against her own as he held the younger witch intimately to him.
Hermione had never been this close to a man before. She'd given the odd hug to both Harry and Ron, of course, and she'd even kissed Viktor Krum, but those experiences felt very different than what was happening to her right now. And besides, Harry, Ron and Viktor were boys, not men. Well, she amended, she supposed Viktor had been a man. He had been 18 at the time of their relationship, a whole four years older than her, which back then had seemed to Hermione like a large age difference. Of course, four years seemed laughably insignificant now, laying as she was in the embrace of a man a full 19 years older than herself. The little her and Viktor had done together had never resulted in her being in this close of contact with him, and certainly not wearing such little clothing. Her sleep shorts and shirt, which only last night Hermione had thought wholly appropriate for a winter evening spent in a well heated house, now felt inadequately scanty, if not downright slutty.
She'd never realized before quite how thin the material of this particular set of pajamas was. So unfortunately thin, in fact, that Hermione could feel every agonizing detail of Sirius' body pressed up against her own, from the hard planes of his chest to certain lower portions of his anatomy currently nestled against her bum that she'd rather not give thought to at the moment. It was difficult to think of anything else though, when Sirius' lower anatomy insisted on making its presence irrevocably apparent. The biological tendency in males for so-called 'morning wood' was truly a terrible thing, Hermione reflected despondently as she felt Sirius stirring against her. She actually had to physically restrain herself from lurching violently away from the man due to the uncomfortable reality of it all. Hermione would have gladly done so, had she thought that she'd somehow be able to avoid waking Sirius in the process and thereby making things infinitely worse.
As if it were possible for things to get worse, Hermione thought ruefully. Figuring she didn't have all that much to lose, and certainly not her long gone dignity, she made another attempt to put some distance between herself and Sirius. Once again, it backfired. Despite the fact that he was clearly still asleep, Sirius was quite determined to hold onto her. The minute Hermione moved, he let out a murmur of unconscious disquiet and pulled her firmly back to him. She sighed, making the exhalation as minute as possible so as not to chance waking her companion. For someone who was often referred to as the 'brightest witch of her age', Hermione was having a remarkably hard time trying to figure out how she might plausibly extract herself from her current situation. She had begun contemplating, out of sheer desperation, whether or not she ought to just throw herself onto the floor and roll under the bed in the hopes that Sirius wouldn't notice her there, when all rational thought was suddenly driven from her mind.
Sirius' hand, the one low on her stomach, had begun moving; his fingers tracing small, nonsensical shapes across the expanse of Hermione's bare abdomen. She jerked involuntarily in response to the sensation, shocked at her strong reaction to such a light touch. Hermione hadn't realized before just how sensitive of an area her stomach was, and as Sirius continued his ministrations she struggled to minimize her body's desire to react physically to what he was doing. She successfully managed to constrain herself to a series of aborted gasps as he dragged and swirled his fingers across the lower portion of her abdomen, but she couldn't keep her stomach from jumping without her consent whenever his hand hit a particularly sensitive spot. Was she having a muscle spasm, Hermione wondered. Could this possibly be normal? She'd never given much thought to her stomach before, at least not in the context of it being an erogenous zone, but she was certainly being forced to do so now.
She couldn't deny that what Sirius was doing felt unexpectedly good. Dangerously good. She was slightly ticklish, Hermione discovered as he continued to run his fingers over her, though if she were honest with herself that wasn't the entirety of the response Sirius was drawing from her. She'd certainly never been 'tickled' in such an erotic way before, and to her horror Hermione felt herself becoming slightly wet. She squirmed uncomfortably from a combination of shame and unwelcome desire. She could feel Sirius' cock, unquestionably hard at this point, jutting into her bum as she squirmed against him. Blushing hotly, she forced herself to stop moving immediately. This was so incredibly, horrifyingly wrong. And yet it felt good, and Hermione found that she simply couldn't help her bodies response to what was happening.
Alarmingly, Sirius' fingers had gradually wandered lower and lower on her stomach until he was playing with the hem of her sleep shorts, eventually slipping beneath them altogether. And then, suddenly, Sirius was touching her through just the scant barrier of her thin cotton knickers, running his fingers lightly over the top of her pubis. Hermione sucked in a strangled breath, finding herself paralyzed with not only shock and panic, but also with a curious sensation that was something like wonder, or maybe even eagerness. No one had ever touched her there before, so intimately. No one besides herself, that is, and this was quite a lot different than any of the times late at night when she had cautiously and furtively explored her own body.
One of Sirius' fingers darted briefly across her clit and Hermione let out a sharp, involuntary, little cry in response, bucking automatically into his hand before she could control herself. She bit her lip. Hard. Hermione desperately wanted to whimper, whether out of pleasure or situational anguish she wasn't quite sure, but she knew she shouldn't make any more noise. Things had spiraled very quickly and very far out of her control. At this point, with her brain so scrambled by everything which had already happened, Hermione had completely given up on attempting to extract herself from the situation at all, and had instead resolved to simply ride it out in the vain hope that Sirius somehow managed to sleep through the entire thing. Unfathomably, he was still asleep now. Rather than waking at Hermione's cry, Sirius had instead settled his hand more firmly against her, cupping the entirety of her sex in his large palm.
His hand was warm against her, shockingly so, the heat of it almost unbearable to Hermione, but in the most tantalizing way. Sirius' hold on her was all encompassing, the span of his hand covering the whole of her sex in a way that felt almost possessive to the young witch. Hermione wriggled against the feel of it, letting out a breathy sigh, which, with her current hazy, desire addled state of mind, she was quite unconscious of. She was very conscious, however, of the fact that she was becoming more and more aroused, her natural wetness beginning to saturate her knickers and maybe even to soak through them. Hermione knew that if Sirius had been awake there was no way he wouldn't have been able to feel how very wet she was from his touch. She shuddered at the thought, unable to decide if it was exciting, humiliating or both. Either way it made her squirm.
Situated as she was, Hermione really didn't want to parse the exact motivations of her current, shameful lack of action. With Sirius' hand pressed so hotly against her most intimate place, she was likely incapable of even attempting to do so at the moment anyway. Rational, self-critical thought was entirely beyond her now. Distantly, Hermione knew that she should have immediately gotten out of the older man's bed the minute she'd woken up there. But she hadn't. She had stayed, frozen in place by some bizarre, awful combination of embarrassment, fear and a dangerous kind of curiosity. And now her best friend's godfather was cupping her increasingly wet pussy through her knickers as she struggled not to rock into his hand. Things had certainly escalated beyond what Hermione ever could have anticipated.
Sirius Black was having the most delicious dream. There was a warm, lithe, and distinctly female form pressed tightly against the length of his own body. He was spooning the woman from behind, his arm slung around the curve of her waist to in order to pull her close and keep her firmly against him. Sirius reveled in the woman's warmth, in the feel of her soft curves pressing up on him in the best way. Her arse was nestled right up against his cock, and he could feel his member already striving to become more acquainted with it. She wiggled against him, and Sirius restrained a groan at her movement, tugging her even closer and arching slightly into her. Gods, but that felt good. His cock was definitely becoming very interested in the proceedings.
The witch only continued to squirm, letting out little, unconscious whines as she did so and teasing Sirius into further hardness and arousal. Seeking to return the favor, he let his hand fall from the crest of her hip and down onto her stomach. Sirius could feel that the woman was wearing a top, but it had been pushed up sometime during the night and he had full, easy access to her bare abdomen. He trailed his fingers lightly across her skin, and he felt the woman suck in a breath in response to his touch. For some reason she seemed to be trying to moderate her reactions, but the more Sirius continued to tease her, the more it seemed that she couldn't help the way her breath hitched or how she jerked when his fingers hit certain spots. Slowly, he let his fingers dip lower and lower until he was playing with the hem of her sleep shorts, teasing himself as much as he was the woman in his arms.
Eventually he let his hand slip into her shorts, continuing to stroke and play with her through the thin fabric of her knickers. It wasn't bare skin, not yet, but it was still immensely, torturously pleasurable and utterly tantalizing. Sirius hadn't had sex with a woman in a long time, and dream or no, he intended to draw this out as much as he possibly could. Or for as long as he could stand anyway. He dragged his finger over where he knew her clit to be, and the witch gasped, bucking back into him. She made the most exquisite little noises, Sirius decided. He slid his hand lower still, reaching down to cup her pussy in its delectable entirety. The woman froze, shocked, perhaps, at this new development, and Sirius stilled his hand as well, pausing to enjoy the underlying soft heat emanating from her core. Even without moving his hand, and even through the shield of her knickers, he could feel that she was quite wet. She let out a small whimper before rocking gently into his hand, and Sirius smiled into her neck, her hair tickling his nose. The subtle scents of baked apples and just a hint of cinnamon washed over him, and he inhaled greedily.
Something niggled at him though, in the very back of his mind. That particular combination of scents, it almost reminded him of…Hermione. But that was ridiculous. Even Sirius, irresponsible, lecherously depraved screw up that he was, wasn't fucked enough in the head to be having a sex dream about his godson's 17 year old best friend. Furiously, he tamped down any thought of the girl, not sure where it had even come from or why his subconscious had chosen to conjure it at all, but determined not to let it spoil his current imaginations. The girl in his arms was moving eagerly into his hand now, her bum pushing back on him and his straining cock with every rocking motion of her hips. Unable to resist any longer, Sirius swiped his thumb under her knickers, finally able to feel his witches wet folds naked and unimpeded. Gods, she was soaked, Sirius realized wonderingly. She was so very ready for him, and he couldn't wait to take her fully, to slide into that wet, waiting heat and fill her up.
"Eager, little witch," he murmured, as he continued to stroke her. "So wet for me."
"Sirius," she moaned, her voice young and plaintive.
Sirius stilled abruptly. Her voice sounded very young. Too young. And it was unsettlingly familiar. Now his dream witch sounded like Hermione as well as smelling like her, Sirius thought despairingly to himself. What the fuck was wrong with his subconscious?
The woman in his arms squirmed impatiently against his fingers, unhappy with his momentary lack of movement. "Sirius!" she whined again, and it was then, with this second plea, that he was sure. That was unmistakably Hermione's voice, and he knew that for certain, even if he'd never heard it exercised in such a devastatingly sexual way before. Sirius snapped open his eyes, and was met by the sight of a very distinct set of riotous curls.
Fuck.
He withdrew his hand from her knickers with an unprecedented speed, throwing himself violently from the bed and landing hard on his ass in an undignified pile on the hardwood floor of his bedroom. He gaped in shock at the scene before him. Hermione, it was definitely Hermione, had sat up in his bed, the blankets falling in a tangle around her waist, and she was gaping back at him. She looked disoriented, and very much as though Sirius had already thoroughly ravaged her, which he very nearly damn well had! Gods, he'd had his hand in her knickers! He'd been very close to tugging them off her and fucking her. How the fuck had this happened?
"What the fuck happened?" Sirius demanded, his voice a disbelieving, despondent croak.
Hermione climbed shakily out of his bed, revealing bare legs and feet which had until very recently been entangled with his own. Gods, she looked so unsure. And so incredibly, undeniably young. And he'd almost fucked her.
"I-I-," she stammered. "You had a nightmare, don't you remember?" she asked, voice barely a whisper
Yes, he remembered. Now Sirius remembered. He'd forgotten the silencing charm. She'd heard him crying out, she'd come into his room, she'd pleaded to help with her wide, pitying eyes, and he'd let her, dammit, he'd let her.
"I just meant to sit for a bit, after you fell back asleep," Hermione continued, her voice small, her eyes downcast. "I wanted to make sure you were okay, that you didn't have another nightmare. I didn't mean to fall asleep. I didn't think I'd fall asleep."
"How did you get into my bed?" Sirius asked raggedly.
"You were sleeping, but then you started moving and I thought, I thought you were having another nightmare. So I got in the bed to, to calm you down," she explained haltingly, seemingly unable to look at him. "I rubbed your back, and then I thought I'd sit with you, just for a bit, but then I, I must have fallen asleep." Her eyes were still trained determinedly on the floor. "I'm sorry, Sirius, I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"
"Hermione," he interrupted, not sure what he intended to actually say.
"For anything to happen," she finished quietly.
He stared at her. She wasn't wearing a bra, something which hadn't been readily apparent to him last night, but that he was sure as shit noticing now. Hermione was clearly panicked and embarrassed, Sirius could see that, but she was also pretty clearly aroused, at least judging by her obviously erect nipples. Either that or she was cold. Somehow, given her flushed face and blown pupils, Sirius doubted it was the latter explanation. Not to mention that he had felt how wet she was earlier, when his hand had been in her fucking pants and he'd still thought he'd been dreaming. But that wasn't exactly a detail he could stand to recall right now, or possibly ever. Not if he wanted to restrain himself from doing something both horribly wrong and horribly stupid. But there weren't exactly a lot of safe details for Sirius to focus on at the moment. For instance, the outline of Hermione's pert, little breasts was all too evident to him through the thin material of her white sleep shirt, the clearly visible peaks of her nipples pointing tauntingly up at him. That was the opposite of a safe detail, and Sirius forcibly averted his eyes from the sight. He couldn't look at Hermione right now. Not when she looked like she did. He let his head fall into his hands.
"Did you wake up before me?" he asked eventually, after a period spent staring at the floor and attempting to get a hold of himself.
"Yes," she confirmed.
Sirius raised his eyes to her once more. "Then why didn't you leave?"
"When I woke up you were holding onto me," Hermione explained awkwardly. "And I couldn't figure out how to….extract myself."
"You're a smart girl Hermione," Sirius said tiredly. "You could have fucking pinched me or kicked me or something. Anything. I'm sure I would've woke up and let go of you eventually."
"I didn't want to wake you," she said, and he thought from her tone that she may have been almost crying.
"Hermione, I almost—we almost-," he started angrily before cutting himself off, unable to actually say out loud what it was they had almost done. Nevertheless, it hung heavily in the air between them.
"Because you didn't want to wake me?" Sirius asked incredulously, in the end.
"No, I, well, at first, yes," Hermione began. "But then you were moving your hand on me, on my stomach and then, and then lower, and holding me to you, and I could feel—at first I was terrified, but then it started, it started to feel good, and I couldn't move, and then I didn't want to move, not away anyway, I only wanted—I don't know what I wanted Sirius, gods, I'm sorry. I just got, I got caught up in it. It just felt so good, and I, I didn't know how to—no one's ever touched me like that before-,"
"Hermione," Sirius said, cutting her off, his voice a hoarse, desperate plea. "Please stop talking."
"Sorry," she said immediately.
"You need to leave," Sirius managed to say, his voice choked. "I need you to leave, Hermione."
"Sirius, I—"
"No," he said firmly. "I'm serious, Hermione, you need to leave. Now."
"Sirius-," she tried again.
"Get out!" he ordered her. "Just get out Hermione, go back to your room."
She didn't say anything more, and Sirius didn't look up until he heard the door slam.
He remained on the floor for an indeterminate length of time, stewing in his thwarted arousal and contemplating what a disgusting old man he was. Eventually, belatedly, Sirius realized that he was still hard. He slammed his fist against the floor like a petulant, angry child, and welcomed the dull, throbbing pain which the action brought on. He deserved it. What the fuck was wrong with him? His dick should have wilted the moment that he realized it was jutting into Hermione. And yet somehow, because he was sick, it had remained hard the throughout his entire, horrific confrontation with the girl. Sirius wondered if she had noticed it, noticed his still hard cock the way that he'd noticed the peaks of her nipples and the shape of her breasts through her t-shirt. It would have been glaringly obvious if she'd bothered to look in the direction of his crotch, but luckily Hermione hadn't seemed to be able to look at him much at all.
Had she been ashamed that she'd reacted so—so wantonly to him, of all people? Had she been horrified by the fact that it was he, Sirius, who had drawn such a response from her? Surely she was disgusted by the fact that he had been the first person to touch her like that. Of course she was. How could she not be? How could Hermione ever be anything but repulsed by the fact that he, a man 20 years older than her, had felt her like that, so incredibly intimately, when no one else had before? But, whispered a voice in the back of his head, a voice that Sirius would have done well to ignore, she had called out his name. Twice. Hermione had done it twice, and in a voice that both times had been dripping with such, raw, needy sensuality that it was impossible for Sirius to deny what she had been feeling, what she had wanted from him. And she'd said his name. Hermione had known who was behind her, she'd known who was touching her, and she'd wanted him to keep going. She would have let him keep going.
Hermione had as good as admitted earlier that she would have, when she'd been babbling on apologetically about how good he'd made her feel. Maybe if Sirius hadn't made her leave, maybe if he'd kissed her instead, and dragged her back to his bed, she would've let him keep going. Would've wanted him to keep going. Would have begged him in that breathy, needy little voice of hers that Sirius had never heard before to keep touching her, to keep making her feel good. And he would have too, Gods he would have. Sirius hadn't fucked a virgin since Hogwarts, hadn't fucked anyone in a long time, but that didn't mean he had forgotten how. Hermione had already been so wet for him, it would have been easy to gently finger her open. He would've started with one finger, slowly adding more and gradually getting her untouched pussy used to having something fill it up. He'd make her ready for him, get her so stretched and wet that it wouldn't even hurt when he slid inside her virgin hole for the first time.
Maybe he would've eaten her out first, Sirius thought, to relax her before he put his dick in her and fucked her like he wanted to. He'd never been a man who shied away from eating pussy. Actually, he'd always loved it, and somehow Sirius just knew that Hermione's would have been delicious. He could smell her even now. Her juices still coated the hand that had been cupping her, and her scent lingered on it intoxicatingly. Inhibition fading in the face of his fantasy, Sirius brought that hand, the hand that had been holding her, touching her, up to his nose and inhaled deeply. Gods, that was a sweet smell. And Sirius bet Hermione would've tasted even better. Merlin, he wished he could have tasted her. Wished he could've licked her out until she came, writhing with pleasure against his face.
Or maybe he would have taken her just to the edge that way, and then stopped. Stopped, so he could sheathe himself inside of her and slide right into that tight, wet heat. It would have been torture for him to keep still and wait for Hermione to adjust to him, wait for her to get used to the unique, novel sensation of being filled up by a man, but it would have been a torture of the most delicious kind, and Sirius would have submitted to it happily. And then, when she was ready, he would have slowly thrust into her, touching her just right until she called out his name and came on his cock. But Sirius hadn't, in fact, done any of that. Instead, he'd told Hermione to leave. No one could ever fucking say shit about his reckless lack of self-control ever again. Not that he was planning on telling anyone about this. There would be no congratulations handed to him over his decision not to fuck a confused, little girl even though he'd desperately wanted to. He was sick in the head and he was a fucking loser.
As though to demonstrate irrevocably just how much of a loser he was, Sirius found his hand sliding inside of his boxer briefs to find his cock. He brought himself off quickly and furiously, imagining his god son's best friend the whole time as he stroked himself, and coming explosively in a fit self-loathing and shameful pleasure. Gods, Sirius thought in the aftermath of it all, sitting on his bedroom floor with his stomach covered in his own slowly drying cum, he really fucking hated himself.
AN: Why do I do such mean things to fictional characters who I love so much you guys? Shame plus sex is such a huge kink of mine, and I've wanted to write this trope (character A comforts character B, who had a nightmare, and then accidental unexpected sex happens) between Sirius and Hermione for YEARS and I finally did it. And now I have, and I can get back to writing Approaching Paradox lol! But anyway, hope you enjoyed, reviews are love!