Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be
Dedications: To the mouse that rustled the plastic
The Definition Of Cool
Sirius Black was the definition of all things Cool. There was just something about him. Well, actually, there was a lot about him. Right from the top of his head to his toes.
His hair had to be admired. Gorgeous silken tresses, only obtained by a good routine of shampoo and conditioner. Daily. Also, it fell into his eyes, in such a flattering way. That exuded innocence to the Professors, mischief to the boys and pure sex to the girls. Also, that shade, that deep black. Words do not exist, only incoherency.
You know, no body but The Marauders knew this, but Sirius spent an inordinate amount of time adjusting the angle of his tie. He even used a protractor. (Though he'd die before telling anyone.) His shirt was always slightly too small, just a little bit, it showed off his muscles in the Summer.
He adjusted everything . To a fanatical degree actually. But, yet another secret is that he was all mine. That sweet hair I could run my fingers through, that tie I could just yank off and throw to the floor. There were even some words of his only for me. Mentions of love, and forever, he never said that to anyone else.
The first time we were going to… have sex (though why I still blush at 37 is unprecedented.) We were kissing, snogging rather, raw words (once again only for me) clothes flying. We were both shirtless, only our trousers remained. We were both scared.
Should I let him do it? Should I set an example? Should I BE this scared?
But, ever the trend setter, Sirius went first. To reveal… tiny pants. As in those little things that prostitutes from America wear. Not my cool Sirius, surely not. He shrugged at me as if to say 'Does it matter?' I leant in close to his ear, opening my mouth ever so slightly, and said:
"You'll always be the definition of cool to me..."
This was supposed to be hilarious, but it wenta bit... sickly sweet.