Disclaimer: Sirius Black is part of the world of Harry Potter, and belongs to JKR. He just lives in my head.
Author's Notes: Sirius had fun. It's not entirely canon-compliant, though, I suppose.
For Tori.
o.o.o.o
Sirius stretched, his back to the bar and his elbows still resting on the countertop. There was a slow, languid sort of grin on his face, giving the misleading impression that he was sleepy. His eyes, of course, were narrowed and bright, sparkling even though the lighting in the club was less than adequate.
He loved Muggles, and pubs, and alcohol. It seemed a forgone conclusion that he'd love them even more when they were combined. This particular place was one of his favorites, and even James hadn't found it, to be able to drag him away while he was still sober. (Not yet, anyway. With Lily urging her husband on, he expected it to happen any weekend-night in the very near future.)
This particular time, Sirius was well started on his whiskey, for so early in the night. He'd had four shots, though he'd only admit to three. The very fact he'd started with whiskey told how he wanted his night to go; he disliked mixed drinks normally, and couldn't stand them when all he wanted was a fast liquor headache and a good long anonymous fuck.
Whiskey was his drink of choice, though he'd settle for vodka or rum if he had to, with tequila as a last resort. For a while he'd switched to Ogden's Finest, but after much consideration he'd realized that there was more than a touch of magic in the instant gratification of getting smashed on Firewhiskey, and that was the end of that, because Sirius liked his alcohol buzz the way he liked his people; real and honest.
He considered ordering another shot, but the bartender was the same one who'd gotten him all his others, and he didn't need to push his luck this soon after arriving. He could wait fifteen minutes more.
A woman slid up to the bar, brushing against him a little more than was actually necessary. He looked at her without turning his head, and the left corner of his mouth tilted down until he was smirking. She was a very attractive woman -- just his type. He stretched again as she ordered her drink, making sure his leather-clad thigh touched her hip.
Dark blue eyes darted toward the movement. Sirius watched out of the corner of his eye as her gaze traveled up his legs, past his hips, over his chest and shoulders, to his face. He was still smirking, and knew his pale gray eyes had to be shining. Her cheeks went pink and she turned away just as the bartender passed her the cognac she was waiting on.
"God," she breathed, and tossed back her drink. Sirius wasn't sure if she was referring to him or not, but he moved his leg again and she repeated herself. A very promising reaction, indeed.
He chuckled deep in his throat, leaving his body pressed against her skirt. In a low, smooth voice, he murmured, "Yeah."
She pushed his leg away, brushing her hand up his thigh as she did so. Her face was still flushed, an eager light in her eyes -- and it was probably the alcohol in his system but he thought he was drowning. When he licked his lips reflexively, she gave him a coy little wink.
She paid for her drink quickly, then she was moving back out to the dance floor, but she shot him a provocative grin over her shoulder as she passed. Her back was bare, gleaming with sweat in the press of people. The muscles in Sirius's stomach tightened.
He wasn't at all surprised by his body's reaction; he'd been waiting for his crotch to catch up with his mind. Now that it had, he stepped away from the bar in the direction she'd just gone.
She'd all but disappeared by the time Sirius reached the edge of the dance floor. Being taller than almost everyone else had advantages, though, and he spotted her pale hair immediately. What little light there was reflected off it the same as it reflected off her skin. He sidled almost effortlessly between people to reach her, moving with the music that was already throbbing through his veins.
The woman didn't see him until he looped a long arm around her waist and pulled her back toward him. She came unresistingly, leaning her head against his shoulder and turning so she could get a look at him. When she realized who he was, he felt her laugh and press her body more fully to his.
His large hands caught her hips and ground them sharply into his groin. "God," she said yet again. Sirius wondered if she could say anything else.
She kept her head turned, pressing her lips to his throat. One of her hands found its way to the base of his head and tangled in the hair there, pulling just till it hurt.
Sirius grinned.
He ran his hands up her sides. One of them he sent back down to make sure her hips couldn't get away from the hot press of his cock in his suddenly too tight leather trousers. The other continued over her chest to cup her breast, fingers teasing her nipple through the surprisingly thin fabric.
He bent his neck, capturing her mouth with his. Instantly she parted her lips, and his tongue darted in without preamble. Kissing was always a fascinating thing for Sirius, even more than sex, since he rarely kissed women beforehand. (He considered it cheating, kissing them first; there was never any question, after he'd kissed them, whether they'd let him fuck them.)
With a last tug of his teeth at her lower lip, he pulled his head away, tilting his face to the ceiling and closing his eyes so he could enjoy the feel of her, more willingly touching him than ever.
"Oh God," she gasped against his neck, breathless. With the way she said it, Sirius knew he had figured out who he'd be doing for the rest of the night.
He grinned again, deciding that the night had been worthwhile even if he didn't find a convenient alley wall for fucking against within the next half hour, and it was just because of his dance with a beautiful woman -- not the first beautiful woman to pass through his arms, and definitely not the last. He liked his beautiful women the way he liked his hangovers; never there in the morning.
It wasn't really the women he went to pubs for, though. It was the experience. He was addicted, and he'd shoot the first person to mention a cure.
Sirius never felt freer than in those moments on darkened dance floors, surrounded by carefree people who didn't know the world was ending. He had the pounding music and the alcohol and the blood singing in his ears, pressed all over to a woman whose name he didn't know and wouldn't have to remember. He had everything he'd ever needed.
He wasn't walking the thin, jagged, scary line between life and death. And he wasn't watching James walk it, either. Or Remus, or Lily, or Peter, or anyone else. It didn't exist on one of his adored dance floors.
That was why Sirius loved Muggles. And pubs. And especially alcohol.
They made it so he didn't have to care.