His Precious
She is his. She will always be his. That he knows for certain.
To pin against the wall, to explore at will, to fuck until they both collapse onto the floor in a singular tangle of limbs and sweat and hair. Her body soft and pliable, her ravishing red hair, her deceptively innocent expression – ah, who but the most foolish of men would dare resist such treasures?
Sirius does not refuse the youngest of the Weasley progeny, but it is a little more complicated than that than merely succumbing to the powers of lust. He holds inside of him an ever-coursing desire, a desire to, simply, not to be enslaved by anyone. Little Ginny is no exception. He will control the very looks that ensnare him, so when she cries yes, yes, harder or sighs her fluttery little sighs as she comes, the pleasure he will receive from knowing that it all resulted from his bidding will be greater than that of any orgasm.
She is, after all, his. His own, his very own. His precious.
And they are trapped, Sirius and Ginny, by the will of the Order at the headquarters.