A/N: Hello munchkins, I need some help. So this post is a tad cheeky, and I'm not sure whether I should change the rating of the story to M or whether it's still in the boundaries of T. Please let me know what you think so I can change it/leave it accordingly. Oh, and the title quote is from A Thousand Kisses Deep by Leonard Cohen. Notice the absence of one kiss (let alone a thousand). Not yet, anyway.

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You came to me this morning

And you handled me like meat.

You´d have to live alone to know

How good that feels, how sweet.

My mirror twin, my next of kin,

I´d know you in my sleep.

And who but you would take me in

A thousand kisses deep?

.

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Last night I made a responsible decision to take things slowly with Sirius. Unfortunately, my body seems to have different plans. My fingers drum on my neglected mattress in the same urgent rhythm as my heart. Every bit of me is alive with restlessness. I can't stop thinking about how good it felt to have his leg hitched over me underneath the hospital blanket.

It's dangerous how dependant I'm becoming on him. Just from one night of sleeping next to him, I'm finding it unbearable to be deprived of his company. I can't let myself enter such treacherous territory. I can't rely on him to survive. I need to limit myself to small doses of him while I try and find solidarity in myself again.

I swear violently under my breath. While I've been assembling these wise thoughts my feet grew bored and led me to Sirius' door. I can't go on this way with such a violent discord between my actions and my thoughts. The two need to get together and learn how to cooperate before I develop split personalities. I push the door gently open. Since I've trekked all the way up to the top of the boys' dormitory it'd only be polite to pop in and say hello. What a brilliantly idiotic rationalisation.

The beds' curtains hang stiffly in the dark. There are no manifestations of noise or movement to bear evidence of consciousness in the dark room. I inch painstakingly slowly towards Sirius' bed. Stealth is the key in today's adventure. If I'm caught in the midst of what appears to be scandalous intentions my reputation will plummet back to the depths of debauchery. I can't risk loosing all the delightful pity points I've earned from being cheated on by Frank Longbottom.

My fingers stall as they trail the slit between his heavy red curtains. I know perfectly well that I'm just making a civil social visit that happens to be during the forbidden hours of the night. I know all I'm searching for is some restrained contact. But Sirius often has other ideas that are firmly grounded in immorality. He can be terribly persuasive when he's arguing against me with wanton intentions.

My internal debate dissipates as I'm struck by terror. Rough fingers latch onto my wrist. The disembodied hand pulls me through the musty curtains. The force of the pull would surely leave me battered if there wasn't a mattress to cushion my flying figure. I wriggle around on my back with frightful urgency. I thoroughly regret having my judgement clouded by such a preposterous notion of a civil social visit to Sirius' bed.

Abandoning all attempts at maintaining silence I thrash wildly in the tangled sheets as I try to push myself up. Escape is futile. He straddles me, pinioning me to the firm mattress. He catches my arms mid flight and slams them back above my head. I buck my waist in a weak attempt to dislodge him. He slides his legs down the length of mine, dispersing his weight fully against me. His body chaffing tightly against mine inspires a more pleasurable imitation of my recent fever.

"What are you doing here?" His voice is rigid with excitement. His face looms over mine, masked by darkness.

"I was just passing by," I say rather flippantly for someone who's being held against their will.

"Try again." His vulgar smirk penetrates the dark, leering with an almost creepy exuberance.

"I was going to ask Peter if I could borrow a quill?"

"At this indecent hour? That won't do," he says, clucking his tongue.

"You're right. I think I'll come back in the morning."

"That won't do either," he replies, dismissing another one of my pale excuses. His restraining posture remains unyielding.

"I was just coming to wish you goodnight," I say finally, mustering all the remnants of innocence I possess.

"How would you like to go about that?" Sirius makes a suggestion by plotting a line of kisses down my neck. His mouth skims over my collarbone with a delicacy that makes my skin ripple. My flesh seems to be imbued with a heightened sensitivity.

"Verbally," I choke. He tilts his head up to frown at me.

"That's all I get?" He's feigning outrage but I can tell he's perfectly happy with the current situation. I'm unavoidably trapped underneath him.

"Maybe a quick hug." Recognising the telling signs of me caving Sirius releases both my wrists. They remain where they are suddenly limp against the idea of protest. His other hand joins the first in the tantalizingly slow endeavour up either side of my torso. Personally, I wouldn't define this as a quick hug but I completely respect his interpretation.

"And?" He urges, and I can feel my patience for closer contact crumbling in an instant. To hell with taking things slowly. Patience is by no means one of my virtues. Patience is a librarian's virtue.

"A minor peck," I say conservatively, but my voice croaks with hunger. His fingers twist through my hair and lightly pull so my chin tilts up. He kisses my cheek gently, the protrusion of his lower lip stutters against my skin.

"Yes," I say fervently. Sirius draws back in mild confusion.

"Yes what?"

"Yes, I want you to kiss me." The answer is a little late but I feel as if the question has always hung above us, stubbornly waiting to be answered. He pulls back a little as he recalls the occasion of the question. His eyes flash with understanding that subsides into the violent lightning that afflicts his eyes. He licks his lips with a ragged starvation. He stoops to press his lips against mine but at the last moment his head veers to the side as a cough cuts through his throat.

"Are you sick?"

"No. Don't be silly."

He dives towards me but is again held back by another rough convulsion. I pull him closer by his collar and shove my hand against his burning forehead. I had noticed his skin was incredibly hot but I assumed it was for a different reason.

"You've got the flu!"

"Don't offend me. I don't get sick," he replies grumpily, still attempting friendly interactions. I push him and this time is body rolls off weakly. I search through his sheets for my wandering wand.

"Lumos," I mutter when I finally find it. The wand light touches upon his pallid complexion. There's no doubt about it.

"You look terrible," I smile. My heart is swelling with affection at his vulnerable state. He's positively helpless.

"Why didn't you say anything?" I ask, biting my lip so as not to chuckle. That would really infuriate him.

"It's not everyday you crawl into my bed. I wasn't going to waste the opportunity," he answers tetchily. Crawling and being dragged into someone's bed are two very different things. I was more milling about outside his bed than anything.

"Come on. Lets get you to the hospital wing," I say responsibly.

"Don't insult me with talk of the hospital wing," he pouts, thrusting his jaw out in defiance.

"So what? You're just going to sweat it out?"

He sinks back into his pillow and folds his arms stubbornly. It'd be pointless trying to lure him up to the Hospital Wing. He's determined to take the difficult route to recovery in order to protect his delicate pride. As much as I enjoy having him at my mercy in his weak state, I do want him to feel better. I slip off the bed and my bare feet slap against the bitingly cold floor.

"Where are you going?" Sirius' voice trails behind me as I descend the spiral staircase. My sudden departure has prompted the barest hint of panic in his voice and I quietly relish his need for my company. I'm back moments later, smuggling the half empty body of Madame Pomfrey's magical flu cure that she let me keep just in case my fever sprung up again.

"Lottie, what are you doing up here?" Remus' voice is thick with sleep but he's conscious enough to sound duly suspicious.

"Absolutely nothing, believe me," I whisper back, clambering into Sirius' bed before Remus has the audacity to banish me from the boys' dorm on account of my gender. Sirius releases a rush of air in relief at my return. His clammy skin is slick with sweat but he's still trying to project a casual demeanour. I suspect he's not going to accept the medicine without putting up a fight first so I automatically resort to drastic measures. I sit heavily on his chest, using my knees to pin down his wrists. He tries feebly to struggle but I drive my knee harder into his arms and thrust his head back roughly. I clamp his nostrils shut so his tightly drawn lips are forced to pop open. I quickly pour the medicine down his throat, with little to no delicacy.

"Swallow," I instruct him with a definite tone of menace. He chokes and splutters, the medicine spilling messily down his chin, but I'm satisfied that enough of the elixir has made it down his throat. Move over Madame Pomfrey, there's a new nurse in town, and she's going to cure her patients even if she has to beat them into good health! I draw the blanket up and softly tuck it around him. He doesn't look the slightest bit grateful, only annoyed that he isn't strong enough to resist my enthusiastic coddling of him. I'd kiss him on the nose but I'm afraid he'd be overwhelmed by nausea at the sweetness of such a gesture.

"Your ill health is preventing our relationship from progressing," I joke, recycling his words from last night. I'm somewhat relieved by this. Sirius is downright grumpy as he sticks his hand defiantly up my top. It seems as if the flu is acting as my chaperone, preventing me from rushing into any teenage depravity. What a spoilsport this sickness is.

"Would you like me to leave now?' I ask as his eyes become clogged with the promise of sleep.

"Stay," he requests simply. I tunnel under the blanket beside him and comb his damp hair back away from his forehead. It's cramped in his bed. We don't both fit comfortably. His feet are jutting through the curtain and lolling over the bed. This isn't a position that can be maintained for very long. It reminds me a little bitterly of the pirate figurine shoved roughly into the doll's velvet prison for one of his brief visits. I feel like this is a stolen moment, coveted while time dawdles in the sleeping hours. I know this perfectly isolated moment with him is fleeting, just like the illness that allows me to take care of him in a way he'd normally deem unnecessary. But I relish it all the same, with only a timid dread of the morning sun that will wrench us from his bed and force us into the eternal routine of another school day.