Severus woke silently, eyes closed, body still. He breathed with the rhythm of sleep, listening, mind whirling. His Occlumency walls snapped around his woken mind as he drew out his day: plans, goals, context, information, all weaving together into a strategy. A skill born equally as much from his forays into espionage as his tumultuous upbringing, the scant few months of 'peace' he had lived after the Battle of Hogwarts had not lulled this habit. Neither, apparently, had death.
Not quite leaving his mindscape, Severus peered from between his lashes. As expected, Sirius slept peacefully beside him, face lax with deep slumber. His eyelids did not flutter, nor did he frown or murmur. A truly dreamless sleep, Severus thought, unsurprised but pleased all the same. True to form, Sirius had stubbornly refused to take anything before bed, but by the third night terror Severus had coaxed him into a half-dose. However, only after needlessly assuring Sirius that Severus had brewed the potion himself. Were such fears the Black family paranoia peeking through, or some other trauma Severus didn't know?
So many of Sirius' actions since returning had entirely bemused him—like Sirius' proposal. Warm pleasure stirred inside Severus at the memory. Severus had always assumed they would marry again, but to do so following Dark custom had never crossed his mind. Severus would have never asked for that. Never even dreamed. Sirius had stunned him. Could the proposal have just been a response to Draco's memory? For a split second, Severus had thought so. Sirius had been crying unconsciously, so caught up in the emotion. Anyone would have assumed Sirius had merely spoken in the moment.
Severus, though, was not anyone. Sirius would never speak flippantly of Dark rites. No one who, like Severus, like Sirius, knew the struggle of turning away from the Dark ever would.
Guilt-ridden and betrayed by the side of magic that had been his only solace throughout his childhood, Severus had fled to Dumbledore in the wake of Lily's murder. To the Light. Dumbledore had at least tried to save her, Severus had rationalized. The Dark Lord had given his word that she would remain unharmed, and instead Severus' lord had murdered her. He'd broken his vow and any faith that had remained in Severus.
Dumbledore, grim-faced and patronizing, had been well-pleased to give Severus his penance. All but confined to Hogwarts on Dumbledore's word, for two months Severus had lived in almost complete sequestration. Only the vague promise of a teaching position come September had assured him that Dumbledore had some purpose for keeping him around. Severus had lived those months miserably, battling his guilt by day and insomnia at night. His hands had shook. He could keep down nothing. When he'd dreamed, he'd dreamed of death. As a wizard whose magic called out for the Dark, the power and blood and ritual, turning to the Light was sickening.
Severus couldn't comprehend how Sirius had done so at eleven. Had his youth helped? There had to have been some mitigating factor. Severus, even as his husband, had never seen Sirius use Dark magic. But Severus' magic insisted that Sirius was of a kind. That Sirius was not naturally a Light wizard. If Sirius had truly gone through that violent illness and somehow survived, no longer reliant on Dark magic, Severus could think of no reason Sirius would carelessly offer his participation in a Dark ritual.
Severus himself had not managed to turn away from the Dark. Not like Dumbledore had wanted. Severus had fought desperately to do so, determined to atone for his badly placed trust, his dark rage, his betrayal of Lily. By the end of that August, he could barely see straight under the strain. And then, one calm dark night, he had received a fire call.
Narcissa had appeared in the flames: desperate, harried, and looking far younger than her already youthful nineteen. Even over the crackle of the flames, Severus had heard the three-month old Draco's infant wailing. "Please, Severus," Narcissa had begun, straightforward as always. "Lucius can't be disturbed at the Ministry for hours more and I've made a mess of the fever relief potion three times."
Dumbledore had, at the time, forbade him from associating with any of his old contacts, and especially the Dark ones. If Severus had ever dared to leave the castle, which he had not since Dumbledore had ordered him there, Malfoy Manor was the last place Severus should have been going. Lily's murder, his own messy emotions, and Lucius' Dark Mark roiling within him, Malfoy Manor had also been the last place Severus had even wanted to be.
"Please," Narcissa had repeated, her mouth twitching the same way it had the day Regulus was buried. Severus had spent the funeral on her left, glaring down manipulative family hangers-on, while Lucius had done the same on her right. "If you have ever felt kindly towards me, or Lucius, please."
Severus had floo'ed over without thinking, sparing a moment only to snap at Narcissa to move out of the way. Ignoring her thanks, he'd brewed quickly, deftly; using her blood as the base without thought, following the Dark recipe by instinct. Enough potion for five stricken infants was bottled before comprehension had been given a chance to dawn.
His hands hadn't shaken once. Severus had felt the strongest he had since finding Lily's corpse.
"I said, thank you," Narcissa had insisted later, her strength to be snide restored by tea and some blessed quiet. Somehow, probably by some Black family secret, Severus had wound up holding Draco.
"I can't do this anymore," Severus had replied, staring down at Draco's fat baby face. Draco had smiled at him, gummy and trusting. Very few living things had ever trusted Severus, but Draco had taken to him instantly. For a long time Severus would pretend that the feeling hadn't been mutual.
Severus had never liked children, even as a child himself. He had been prepared to make an allowance for Narcissa and Lucius' child, before Lily. But even as he felt his magic reach out to soothe the child, forming a protective, almost parental bond, he could feel his rioting emotions seethe under his skin.
Lily may not have wanted anything to do with him anymore—his own stupid fault—but he'd wanted her safe. He'd trusted the Dark Lord and his fellow followers, and now Lily was dead. How could he have been so stupid? He should have listened to Dumbledore earlier. Now he could only atone.
He could not do that as a friend of the Malfoys. Lucius and Narcissa were Dark to the soul. Severus was too, but he had the motivation to turn away. The Dark Lord had not betrayed the Malfoys. They would remain loyal to him.
"You can't do what?" Severus had looked up from Draco to see Lucius, looking far older than his twenty-four years, slumped tiredly against the drawing room door.
Severus' rage had reared up. "Did you know?" He had snarled, startling Lucius. "Did you know he was going to kill her?"
"Severus," Lucius had snapped, staring at him with wide eyes. "What the hell are you talking about?"
Severus had been brought up short. The Malfoys hadn't had a clue about the raid. Hell, Lucius hadn't even known about the Horcruxes. Information had been so decentralized in the Dark Lord's court, everyone restricted to their rings, and within those rings, restricted to their assignments. Such organization had made spying bloody hard.
"She was under my protection," Severus had replied, voice breaking. Calling on his few remaining, shaky mental faculties, he had handed the baby back to Narcissa. At that point, Severus had only been sleeping in snatches caught between night terrors. "He swore she would be safe."
Comprehension had dawned on Lucius' face. His expression had softened. "Oh, Severus. I swear on my magic, we had no idea."
Lucius had never approved of Lily. Not because of her blood, Lucius had maintained, and Severus had never had reason to disbelieve him. Lucius had always been aware of Severus' muggle origins, and that hadn't stopped their friendship. Lucius's one rebellion against his family had, in fact, been his friendship to Severus.
Rather, Lucius had taken exception with Lily's loyalties.
"I'll never understand how she can be friendly with those barbarians," Lucius had regularly commented, often while scraping Severus up from wherever the Marauders had left him after their latest prank. "Doesn't she see what they do to you?"
"It's not like I don't give it back. Or even start it, sometimes," Severus had always replied, often while spelling away the slime/dye/blood staining his robes after such encounters
Lucius would snort. "Four on one is hardly a gentleman's dual, no matter who starts it."
"Yes, Severus had habitually countered, "But at least I have you in my corner."
That had always made Lucius grin nastily. By the end of the week, Gryffindor would be down fifty points—the maximum a single prefect could take per week—and the Marauders would be drowning in detentions. Lily had disapproved of such retributions, and Lucius in general, but Severus had never asked him to stop. Lucius hadn't always been able to protect Severus' back, they having had different schedules due to their age gap, so if his protection came from an administrative level Severus was hardly going to turn it down.
Really, that the werewolf escapade and that awful day by the lake had happened after Lucius had graduated only made , at the core, was possessive. Protective. He kept a small circle of confidants, and woe betide they who hurt one of that tight number.
Severus hadn't realized he was crying until Lucius was slumping beside him on the sofa. Narcissa had left, ostensibly to put Draco down. Distractedly, Lucius had fussed with his formal robes, loosening the constricting collar and letting out his hair from the tight cue pulled at the back of his head. Tiredly, he'd handed Severus a handkerchief.
"You didn't kill her, Severus." Lucius had said after a long while. "Neither did I, or Cissa."
"I gave him the prophecy!" Severus had hissed. "I trusted the Dark Lord. I painted a target on her and left her for slaughter."
Lucius had snorted. "You warned Dumbledore. He's the one who let them stay in England. And moving them to Godric's Hollow! Not even a manor house. What arrogance."
"Lucius," Severus had cautioned, sensing a tirade.
"No!" Lucius had interrupted. "You did what you could. It's not your fault our lord broke his word to you, or that Dumbledore didn't take proper precautions, or that the Potters decided to go to war."
At Severus' silence, Lucius had continued quietly, "Who held the wand that night, Severus? Not you."
Severus had been unable to reply. He'd floo'd back to Hogwarts with only silence behind him.
That night had sent Severus on a long and convoluted path, even before the time travel. He'd returned to Hogwarts, accepting that Dumbledore would chuck him in Azkaban for seeking out the Malfoys unobserved. Instead, the old man had greeted him with a knowing smile and guided him to his office. Severus, seeing his chance to finally repent, officially became an Order spy that night. He'dbeen twenty years old.
"I think," Lucius had echoed himself, some decade and change later, "That You are seeing the wrong wand again, old friend." First semester of Draco' fifth year had just started. More importantly, the Malfoy family had been on their second month as Light informants. Just that July Lucius had called on Malfoy Manor's ancient, irrefutable blood wards to oust the unwanted Dark Lord and his entourage. The effort had nearly killed Lucius.
Severus had frozen, surprised out of his rant about the Potter boy. He'd come to the Manor under the auspices of checking the health of the Order's newest ally. Anyone with any sense (namely, not the Order) knew Narcissa had that well in hand. Severus had actually come to escape the castle, which was consumed with Potter's latest bit of idiocy involving a Dementor and the Ministry.
Easily reading the incredulity on Severus' face, Lucius had laughed. Lucius had been doing that more often, Severus had thought, momentarily pleased. Even in such short time, breaking from the Dark Lord had done wonders for Lucius.
"I am merely suggesting," Lucius had said, "That the boy who ticked me out of a House Elf at twelve cannot be all Gryffindor balderdash. Quite cunning, that. Let alone how he seems to thwart the Dark Lord with little but determination and a pair of playmates. A rather ambitious goal, I would say, that he regularly achieves..."
"He's Potter's son," Severus had sneered, as though that were all that needed saying.
Lucius had hummed thoughtfully. "Yet, I wonder if James Potter would even recognize his son. The boy was a babe when he died. I would hazard, Severus, that James Potter had moreinfluence on you than he ever did his son."
Severus had gritted his teeth, anger uncurling in his gut. "What are you implying?"
Lucius had met his eyes calmly. "Nothing that hasn't been bothering you already."
Damn him, but Lucius had been right. Since the Tri-Wizard Tournament, Severus had harbored...suspicions. Curiosities. Reflecting on Harry Potter's actions, if Severus forgot who had committed them, they appeared startlingly Slytherin. Especially the instance with the Gillyweed, he was loathe to admit.
From that point, the evidence had continued to build in Harry's favor. After all, how could a spoilt, stupid child have the perseverance or ability to so cleverly run a training group—an army—under the Ministry's nose at Hogwarts? The Dark Lord's original Walpurgis Knights, and his later Death Eaters, had started the same way. A lazy, idiotic publicity grabber the Dark Lord was not, and for Harry to follow so successfully in the same tradition...
Draco had also played a part in Severus' perceptional readjustments. As he had watched Slytherin fall in Draco's sway and marshal Potter's fighting force, he had pulled his godson aside.
"You are certain this is wise, Draco?" Severus had asked, the pair of them safe behind the wards of Severus' private office.
Draco had smiled reassuringly—his mother's smile, an expression given to a privileged few. "I am certain I cannot follow the Dark Lord, and I am certain I cannot abide the alternative for long."
Severus had raised a doubtful eyebrow. "And you think following Potter is not following the alternative?" The boy's fighting force was called Dumbledore's Army, for Morgana's sake!
"I think Harry will do whatever it takes to protect his friends," Draco had answered confidently. "He now has many Slytherin friends."
Severus had stilled. 'Harry,' was it? "Is this feeling mutual, Draco?"
Draco, Severus knew, had been a much-indulged child. Such was the product of having three adults who loved him dearly. But Draco was Lucius and Narcissa's child, and he had never been stupid. He'd been forced to understand the war on a level many children had not. The Dark Lord had lived in his home, had tortured and threatened in the halls that had once protected him. He had grown up quickly, and well, and Severus trusted his judgement.
Draco had sighed, his face more haggard than a fifteen-year-old's had any right to be. Severus had felt a pang of despair, but not surprise. British Wizarding children hadn't grown up innocently in a long time.
Eventually, Draco had replied. "He makes it hard not to."
Faced with such evidence, Severus had finally admitted to himself what he had long ignored: that he had grossly misjudged Harry Potter.
The change had come just in time. Shortly after Severus' epiphany, Dumbledore had instructed Severus to teach the boy Occlumency. Severus couldn't imagine what a nightmare those lessons would have become if he hadn't gone into them with a clear mind. Fortunately, Severus had been able teach the boy fairly, giving him enough of a foundation to take the edge off the nightmares. In exchange, Severus had been able to meet the true Harry Potter. A cunning young man, determined to defend his friends and family at any cost against intolerable odds. Something of a bond of trust had formed.
"Sirius," Harry had gasped at him, stumbling into his office breathless and wild-eyed one afternoon. Severus had been so surprised he'd nearly upended his ink pot.
"Mr. Potter, is your History O.W.L not in another hour—?" And besides that, how had the little rebel slipped into the Slytherin Dungeons? The damn door was supposed to be secret.
Harry had cut him off. "There's no time! Voldemort's got Sirius, he's going to kill him!" Harry had spun in his heel, pacing, magic snapping agitatedly. "No one believes me, but you know my visions, you know they're real." Harry had frozen and stared, his mother's green eyes begging for the help he couldn't bring himself to ask for. Not when every adult he had ever turned to had failed him, denied him, or ignored him. Severus had known; Severus had seen.
And Severus hadn't seen Lily's ghost, looking at Harry then. He'd seen her incredible son, a survivor whose trust Severus had somehow won despite his own failures.
He would not fail again.
Acting on instinct, Severus had grabbed the boy and strode into his personal apartment. The floo there was not censored, an allowance Dumbledore had given his personal spy that Severus had refrained from mentioning after Umbridge's takeover. With a cry of "Number 12 Grimmauld Place" they were through the flames and standing in the receiving room.
The Order had turned this room, used by traditional families as a formal or public greeting space, into a sort of muggle living room. This, Severus had felt, was evidenced especially strongly by Sirius Black, who had been stretched across the couch with an expression of total boredom on his face, clad in nothing but a robe and boxers.
"Harry!" Black had cried, leaping to his feet as his godson lunged at him. Staggering, the man had found himself crushed in the grip of a panicked fifteen-year-old, boredom forgotten.
"Snivillus," Black had snarled, going from confusion to protective anger in a split second, "What the hell did you do to him!?"
"Shut up, Sirius!" Harry had snapped, cutting of Severus' attempt to explain. Both men had stared at Harry in surprise. "He's the only one in the whole bloody castle who believed me when I saw—saw you with him, Voldemort, bloody, and—and tortured, and dying. So just, knock it off, fucking Christ." And then Harry had gone back to clinging, a gesture Black had carefully returned, like the man was still remembering how to touch gently.
Later, after Dumbledore and Moody and Lucius and the Weasley gaggle and Morgana knew who else had been given their chance to storm in and demand answers, Black had waved a bottle of Firewhiskey in Severus' face, his other hand filled with a pair of tumblers. It had been very late in the night, by that point. Severus had been deeply tired, having had to put up with the suspicious glances and snide remarks of what seemed to be every Order member to walk through the door. No one could believe that Severus had acted with Harry's best interests at heart, apparently. Except for Harry himself. He had defended Severus with an almost Hufflepuff loyalty, until the mother Weasley had shuffled him and the other minors off to bed, under protest. Following that had been a lengthy discussion of strategy wherein he, Lucius, and Narcissa had been interrogated for every scrap of information they knew. Again. As if they hadn't already given over every detail they'd possessed.
Even Severus, a veteran spy, had felt his head spinning by the end of it.
These were the excuses Severus had prepared if anyone (re: Lucius, Narcissa) ever asked what had possessed him to drink with Sirius Black. Black had not been the attractant. No. The alcohol, a vintage twice older than Severus and from the fabled Black private reserve, was what had made Sirius Black tolerable. Definitely.
Three glasses in, Severus had found himself willing to admit that Black had a nice smile. Not exceptional, but nice. He was rather witty, too. Apparently, having one's house overrun with people who had all but convicted you for a decade and a touch dimmed your appreciation of them. Who'd have thought? Black had been in the middle of a particularly amusing impression of the mother Weasley when Severus (four drinks gone; matched with Black) had made the mistake of snickering. Sirius had grinned as like a hunting dog scenting blood.
3am and started on the next bottle, Severus had banished his teaching robes. They were restrictive, and heavy. Fantastic for intimidating rowdy students, not so much for drinking with your nemesis. Nemesis? Was that a bit strong, maybe? Nemeses, as a rule, did not share they're very good Firewhiskey with you, Severus had felt quite sure. Unless it was poisoned. But Severus was a potions' master. Pishah. No fucking poison would dare. Stopper that, Death.
Oh Morgana, Severus had thought, I may have said that last bit aloud. Sirius, eyes tearing with laughter, had confirmed his dark suspicion with a wobbly nod and another wheezing snicker.
"You know," Sirius had said, once somewhat collected. "I invited you over here to apologize."
Severus had blinked once, slowly, because Sirius being serious (ack, he'd cringed mentally, we are to never say that aloud) was unfairly charming. But why was he being serious? Ah, yes. He'd said why. He was apologizing. Reaching for his last staunch sober bits of brain matter, Severus had made himself pay attention.
"For what, exactly?" Severus had asked, distractedly unbuttoning the top handful of fastenings on his dress shirt. The room had been getting increasingly warm throughout the night. Severus had already unbuttoned his cuffs, but had left the sleeves down. No need to remind anyone what decorated his arm.
Sirius winced, glancing around uncomfortably. Severus had been about to change the subject (spying and traumatizing childhoods had a lot of overlap, actually), when Sirius had sighed.
"Everything, really. We, the Marauders, were fucking awful to you. I almost got you killed at least once, probably more. There was no good reason. Not for me, at least. Jamie had that thing with Lils, but that's not an excuse, either. We just, fuck, I don't know. Everyone laughed when we fucked with you. It seemed like what we were supposed to do," Sirius had finished quietly.
Severus had nodded. He'd suspected as much, really. He had been the physically weakest in Slytherin, not hitting his final growth spurt until graduation, when the werewolf nightmare had already forced the Marauders to back off some. Severus had also been a loner. He'd spent time with Lucius, who as the Prince and later King of his year had protected Severus. After Lucius had graduated, though, Severus had only really taken time to get to know Narcissa, who was in his year, and Regulus, who was a year younger. Severus had avoided court politics entirely. This had kept Severus from the drama that had distracted so many from their studies. Yet, when the Marauders went looking for a victim, he had also almost always been alone. The added tensions with Lily must have just sweetened the pot.
"I can see how you reached that conclusion," Severus had replied. After all, everyone liked seeing a snake skinned.
Sirius had cringed, and Severus figured he had accidentally muttered that. Well, fuck. Whatever.
"For what it's worth," Severus had added, toying with his glass, "I'm also sorry for trying to get you chucked back into Azkaban for the second time." Damn this guilt thing.
Sirius had barked a laugh. "Yeah, well. It's not like I went back. Call it even?"
Feeling oddly—dare he think it?—happy, Severus had offered his hand. "Accepted."
Sirius had grinned. They'd clasped hands a moment, locking eyes by chance. He has eyes like twilight, Severus had thought fleetingly, and then ripped his traitorous eyes back to his drink. He'd also wrapped his hands back around his glass.
Out of the corner of one eye that was definitely not watching Sirius Black's frustratingly symmetrical features, Severus had thought he caught a blush, and a touch of a nervous smile. But surely not.
"What do you say we finish this," Sirius had shaken the bottle, "And then head upstairs before the kids and," Sirius had snickered, " the 'Mother Weasley' find us passed out at the table?"
"I don't have a room here," Severus had replied mournfully, thinking of the terrible job it would be to floo back to his apartments. He had only ever tried doing it once before this drunk, with Lucius, and it had been a bit of a mess. Narcissa had read them the riot act. She said floo splinching was a thing? Now that was what they should teach at Hogwarts. Absolutely ghastly stuff.
"Well," Sirius had responded, voice dropping an appealing notch. His pretty grey eyes had peeked up from under his ridiculous lashes. "We could always share?" This time, Severus had thought, there was definitely a blush struggling to show through the stubble. How far did it go, below the collar?
That had sounded like a question an experiment could answer. Severus had always liked experimenting. Standing on amusingly flimsy legs, Severus had offered his arm. "Lead the way."
Fingers carded gently through Severus' hair. His mental shields slipped with every stroke, yielding easily to the physical contact. The memories faded until Severus only saw black on the back of his eyelids. He didn't fight the transition, content to relax into the coaxing touches. There was, after all, only one person who would so sweetly draw him back to the present.
Beloved lips pressed to his forehead, then his lips, chastely. Sirius murmured into his ear, "You're smiling. Are you remembering me?"
Bottling up his amusement, Severus put on a derisive expression. "Surely not. Merely a particularly fortuitous ingredient purchase..."
Sirius swallowed the rest of his sentence in a kiss. Hot and wet took over Severus' perceptions, derailing his little joke. His senses flooded with Sirius; the minty tingle of his breath-freshening charm, his sandalwood shampoo, the natural, warm scent of his skin. He savored Sirius' caging weight pressed over him, the demanding hands tangled in his hair. Sirius kissed to possess, to demand his partner's pleasure and to lay a claim. Severus reveled in such attention, but would not fall so easily under such dominion.
Eyes shut, Severus slid his hands up Sirius' sides, fingers ghosting over the slowly diminishing divots of ribs to splay over Sirius' chest. One hand he explored with higher, curving along Sirius' strong shoulder to perch at the back of his neck. Sirius moaned, shifting between one hurried gasp and the next kiss to straddle Severus.
Cunningly, Severus used the opportunity to roll them.
Sirius fell back was a satisfying bounce, curly hair flying. He blinked wide grey eyes up at Severus, the picture of innocence but for his swollen red lips. He was anything but, and the sinuous roll of his hips that pushed him snug against Severus' cock was ample evidence. Biting back a hiss, Severus responded by taking a dusky nipple between his fingers and rolling and twisting until Sirius keened. He reached for Severus, to pull him closer or perhaps to topple him, but Severus was faster. He caught up both questing hands and pressed them to the mattress.
"You're lucky I don't tie you," Severus mused. He skimmed his fingers leisurely down the sensitive undersides of Sirius' arms, pressing kisses with just a hint of teeth to the delicate flesh of one inner wrist, to the bend of Sirius' elbow. He rocked in the cradle of Sirius' legs, snapping just a bit more harshly with every nipping kiss. When he reached the hollow of Sirius' throat, he bit hard, nursing the little wound indulgently with lips and tongue. He was high off the taste of salt and blood, the tingling vibrations against his lips as Sirius moaned.
"You're such a brat," Severus said as he pulled away. Satisfaction pulsed in his blood when he took in Sirius' lovely eyes, wet with his desperation. He was entranced by the dusky red color that bloomed high on Sirius' pale cheeks, the way it bled down his neck to greet the bruises Severus left across his chest and base of his throat.
"Yours, though." Sirius gasped. His strained as if to sit up, but daren't move his hands. He whined, frustrated, while Severus watched him. "Only yours, love. Please, Severus."
Severus leaned back down, hushing Sirius with soft kisses, gentling his heaving sides. Sirius sobbed as Severus took his cock in hand, stroking firmly, but Severus hushed him through the touches. "I know, dearest. You're so good for me, Sirius. Completely perfect. I could never do anything but love you back."
Sirius gasped, a hoarse sound that must have come all the way from his gut. He bucked sharply into Severus' hand. "Fuck me, then. I need you, missed you so much, please."
Having met each of Sirius' increasingly wild arches and thrust, Severus was beginning to lose himself to his own desperation, his control fraying. Patience gone, he drew Sirius into another drugging kiss and cast a silent slicking charm on them both. "Of course, Sirius," he breathed between kisses as he slipped in the first finger, "As you wish."
Sirius cursed, going slack against the pillows as he pushed back against the stretch. His face twisted adorably, Severus thought, as he bit as his lips and whined, frantic with need.
"Please, Severus, faster, another," spilled from Sirius' lips, an endless litany, but Severus resisted temptation. He parried Sirius' attempts to wrest control with long kisses and stillness, waiting until Sirius relaxed with a whine or a sob before continuing. The process was long, even for Severus' formidable willpower, and by the time Severus was satisfied Sirius leaked both tears and from the tip of his desperate cock.
"There we go," Severus soothed, and consumed Sirius' final pleas in a distracting kiss as he thrust in.
Sirius arched up to him, arms flying around his shoulders, Severus' commands be damned. One long, strong leg locked around his waist, while Sirius curled his face in Severus' shoulder, breathing hard. Severus found himself locked still, overwhelmed by the perfect heat of his lover, the unadulterated pleasure of their entanglement.
"You have to tell me when," he managed to force out with what little mental capacity he had left, "I will not hurt you."
Sirius sunk his nails into Severus' shoulder. "Move now, then, damn you," he cursed emphatically, eyes wild, "Morgana's tits, Severus, you fucking gentlemanly twat."
Severus growled and did just that, pulling entirely out, meaning to silence his brat with a maddening thrust. Instead, Sirius howled, wracking his nails down Severus' back like a wild thing. Severus, forever drawn where Sirius led, set a vicious pace that left them both aching as they lay in the afterglow.
Sweaty and satisfied, Sirius lay wound around Severus, cradled by his arm and twined with his legs. He was exhausted, but completely happy. He pressed grateful, apologetic little kisses to the claw marks he could reach, some of which crawled over Severus' shoulders. Feeling he'd done his appeasement, he snuggled more comfortably into the sheets and Severus in preparation for a lengthily nap and perhaps an afternoon spent further in bed.
Severus watched this simple ritual with amusement. "Sirius?"
Sirius hummed, almost dizzy with content. "Yes, my love?"
Severus snorted. "You realize we must be dressed and in the dining room in twenty minutes, yes? We're all to go shopping for Yule together. That was the plan decided on last night."
Sirius cursed bitterly. "We'll skip it."
"It is Narcissa's plan."
"Balls."
"Indeed."