You were awoken by the gentle wisp of hair on your face, the small puffs of breaths lingering on your neck, and your eyes flickered open. You weren't surprised to see him, but you're happy nonetheless.
"Harry…" He whispers, and you don't want to say anything, because you're afraid to ruin this moment. You don't want him to talk; because you know that the more he does the less time you have with him.
"Don't talk, please…"
And he doesn't talk to you anymore, not for a long time. You lay there, wrapped in his arms. You smell his scent and you take him in, just stare at him for so long it's almost painful to look away. And it is painful, because you know it won't last.
"Harry, please don't think like that", He says. And it's a fleeting sound, like he'd never even said anything to begin with.
"Who said anything about me thinking?"
"Because you have that look on your face."
His lips ghost over your face, his hands fleet over your thighs, like he's afraid to touch you. Like he's afraid he'll break you. But he is breaking you, and you'll keep breaking, because you won't say anything to him. You don't want him to stop.
You gasp, like a wanton whore, and you feel so horrible about this that you almost want it to stop, because you know that you'll never really have him. He'll never really be yours, but you'll be his, as long as he lets you.
He's easing your flannel pajamas down your hips, his nails scrapping over your legs as they go down, he's kissing your lips, searching and learning the contours of your mouth. Like you actually matter to him, maybe you do, maybe he really does love you like you want him too. But you'll never really be sure, and you're too afraid to ask him what he's really thinking or feeling at this moment.
He's pushing into you, so slowly and so carefully, not really moving, but not actually unmoving. He's taking care of you, and you let him go on. And it hurts, more than anything else you've ever felt before, but you don't say anything, because you're afraid he'll stop, afraid he'll leave and never come back.
"Harry, am I hurting you?"
"No, I'm fine".
"You're crying Harry, am I hurting you?"
"No, keep going, I'll be okay".
And you are okay, just like you told him you'd be. Because now, it's not so much about the pain anymore. Now it's the sleek slip and slide of him moving in and out of you. You expect more than this, there isn't any fireworks, no stars when he hits that certain spot that make most people turn into a puddle of goo. Now you just feel the emptiness that's settled into your heart, and you can't quite get rid of it.
You can still feel the pain, and the anger, and the utter hopelessness of this situation. But maybe this is supposed to be painful, because maybe life isn't always about the pleasure you get from it. And maybe, behind all that pain, you know that you're still human, and capable of feeling something besides borderline hysteria.
And he's calling your name, saying it with some kind of emotion. You're his, and he's claiming you as his, and there's absolutely nothing you can do about it.
"But are you mine?" You whisper, maybe he'll hear you, maybe he'll understand that you need him like you need the air you breathe, and the water that you drink, because he is your life, and without him, nothing seems to make any sense. Because without him, you can't find a light in this dark place that so often calls out your name.
" Harry…"
And he says nothing after that, because he's too tired, and you're to fucked up to listen too whatever he has to say to you. Because you know it isn't what you want to hear, because you know he'll never be yours, but you'll always be his.
And when you wake up, he'll be gone. Just like he always is, never to come back, except in your dreams, and you'll cry, wondering why this is happening to you, because you can still feel his stubble rubbing against your face, and you can still feel the feather light touches of his hands, wondering in places that a godfather's hands shouldn't be wondering on his godson.
"Sirius, are you mine?" You say to no one, and you curl up, just like you always do. Because you know, this time is different. This time is the last time you'll ever see him, and this hurts you more than almost anything in the world.
"Never".
You hear, and you know. He isn't yours, but you're his, and he owns you, and he'll always own you. Because you love him so goddamn much it's killing you, and it feels like he's ripping your heart out. But you let him, because you'll do anything for him.
You wake up, feeling the coldness of your bed, and the empty feeling of knowing this will be the last time you'll ever see him again.
"I love you, Sirius".
"I know".
But for some reason, you don't think he does.