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Chapter two – Crave
Keeping secrets is hard. At least when it comes to this kind of secret. It does not help that Sirius proves to be absolutely terrible at being discreet either: his hand, which is planted in the small of Harry's back as they enter the basement kitchen together that night for supper, slides to hold his waist as the door closes behind them. His eyes, when Harry looks into them, are hungry, he thinks. And that would not be for the roast chicken Kreacher is just putting down before them.
Mrs Weasley's mouth is a thin line and there are angry red blotches spattered all over her cheeks. A muscle jumps in her jaw when Sirius, casual as you please, guides Harry deeper into the kitchen. There is complete silence.
Lupin, for his part, stares stubbornly at his plate, in case you are wondering. He is looking as though he would prefer to melt into the wall behind him.
Harry is hungry for actual food but when he catches his godfather's eye as the latter reluctantly lets go of him to allow him to sit, that hunger is smashed into dust. Sirius is looking at Harry as if he would have no problem taking him over this table as well – in this very moment. This realisation is enough to chase the air from Harry's lungs and replace it with hard iron. Which, interestingly enough, is not as uncomfortable a feeling as it sounds. Not when Sirius' grey gaze keeps washing over him and promises things that Harry has no name for yet. It does make him blush, however, at which his godfather gives a small smirk.
Ron and Hermione enter together. Perhaps they already know (meaning, that is, that Hermione has already figured it out, has even possibly suspected something before) or it is too obvious to miss and misunderstand for they keep calm as they sit down. When Harry meets Ron's eye, though, he understands that there will come a time for explanations and the telling of secrets. Harry would rather not keep anything from Ron, if they both can handle it.
The silence is shattered as Fred and George enter with Ginny and if they do not at once put two and two together that is understandable. As the twins' presence spins the energy in the room a little higher and conversation gradually picks up around the table, Harry finds he can eat and does so, too, with quite a bit of enthusiasm.
Sirius eats at a much more leisurely pace, taking his time, spearing the peas with his fork in twos. Harry glances at him now and then: he is having a hard time not staring, truth be told, because Sirius is the most entrancing person he has ever met, and he has met Veelas. His godfather is looking rather relaxed at the table, and he even quips back when Fred throws a gibe his way. And when he slides Harry such an intimate smile that it should probably be prohibited, Harry's heart does funny things. It does not matter, then, that Mrs Weasley is looking at Sirius as if she wants him dead.
-xxx-
Harry is sitting in the old, black velvet armchair. Sirius is sitting on the bed.
"Have you packed?"
Harry shakes his head. "No, not yet." His wand lies across his knees, as if he is only here for a quick visit.
"You should."
It hurts. Or stings, at least, quite sharply. "I don't really want to go back."
Sirius acknowledges this with a grimace. "You have to."
It is a pointless discussion for of course Harry will be going back and why Sirius is suddenly choosing to behave like a responsible adult is unclear. His attitude, coupled with those stupid Muggle posters of the bikini clad girls on the wall behind him, makes Harry cold all over even though the room is rather warm.
"I know."
Sirius nods. He is only on the edge of the bed, not inviting or suggesting anything. "At what time do you plan to leave with the Knight bus?"
Harry's tongue feels like parchment. "I don't know," he says, if only to be obstinate.
"Well, the others will."
There is absolutely nothing to say to that and so silence lowers itself heavily over them until a dull ache grips Harry's insides and wrings his lungs into tangles. They came up here after supper because Sirius did not suggest otherwise and Harry wants nothing else than to be with him, but apparently whatever he had hoped for he can just as well forget.
"So," says Sirius, at last. His eyes are cool now, showing no trace of the desire that burned in them earlier. His voice holds an almost detached quality. "At school, among your…" a pause, "classmates. Is there anyone you fancy?"
He can just as well be pouring a bucket of sleet down Harry's back. "What do you mean?"
He shrugs. "You know… Are you going out with anyone?"
Harry stares at him. "No." He is having a hard time pushing the words past his teeth. "Not really."
Sirius offers a new odd grimace that has no likeness whatsoever to a smile. "Perhaps you should."
This makes no sense and Harry would tell him as much if he could only remember how to speak. The floor has disappeared under his feet and he is – distantly – grateful that he is sitting down.
Sirius continues instead, as if he has done nothing but raise kids his entire adult life. "You're fifteen, Harry. You should be having fun. I know you're having those dreams and I know that Hogwarts has changed a bit lately but… you've got all your friends there and loads of stuff to do. You've got Quidditch and… Well, the weekends. Hogsmeade."
Harry watches him talk but the words are buzzing so hard in his ears that he wants to throw up for the second time this day. He swallows against the sensation. "I don't want to go out with anyone," he finally forces out. He only wants Sirius.
"Well, I'm not going to force you," his godfather says, in a fashion that is sickeningly fatherly: the only thing missing is a conspiratorial waggle of the eyebrows. "But you should make sure to have some fun, too, at school."
Harry gets up. He has to. He needs to. Even the phoenix wand feels wrong in his grasp. Sirius' bedroom lies draped in shadows since the fire is burning rather low and the handful of lit candles are just that: a handful. He needs air and he is glad that his legs prove to work as he begins to move towards the door.
"I'm going to…" he manages. If he does not make it out of here quickly he will maybe start crying and he refuses to do that in front of Sirius. He has reached the door when the name pops into his mind like a stray thought and he seizes it desperately. "Cho," he says. "I fancy Cho."
Sirius sits up a little straighter. "Cho?"
"She's in Ravenclaw," he hears himself saying. "I… She's a Seeker, too."
Something draws over his godfather's face. His eyes fix on Harry and they are sharp now. "Oh," he says, not sounding very impressed at all. "Lovely."
"Yeah…" Harry feels for the doorknob behind him. He fumbles a bit for his fingers seem to have stopped working. "She kissed me, after one of our… our lessons." The kiss after their DA session had, of course, been a complete disaster but he is not about to tell Sirius that.
"Did she?" Some type of hardness is collecting in his godfather's jaw and his voice is clearly strained. "Well, good for you, Harry, for… exploring…" he makes a restrained little gesture with one hand, "options."
Harry licks his lips. The cool brass of the doorknob brushes against the back of his hand and he half turns towards it.
"Harry."
Sirius has got up too. He looks as though his breathing has gone shallow and there is a storm brewing in his beautiful grey eyes. "Don't."
Harry raises an eyebrow at him in a sudden burst of courage. There is time for one more breath, one more shaky heartbeat, before Sirius strides across the room and slams Harry up against the door. His mouth on Harry's is thunder and rain and lightning and everything in between.
-xxx-
He is fifteen years old and yearning. He is on his side, glasses discarded, trying to hold on to his breath. He is most definitely underage and he hates Dolores Umbridge and what she has done to Hogwarts, and soon he is going back. The purple triple-decker bus will put miles and miles between Harry and London, but - oh God Merlin no - he is not thinking about that right now.
Sirius is plastered to his back, to his arse and the back of his thighs, so tight against Harry that there is scarcely room to feel. But feel he does. Sirius has parted his arse cheeks and has his hard cock wedged between them, and his arm looped around Harry's chest.
Sirius is probably too old. He is almost family. He is maybe a little bit mad (Harry thinks not). He is reckless and silly and funny and cynical and sometimes really bitter. He is covered in sweat and his longish hair is tangled and his breathing on Harry's neck and shoulder could just as well be a dragon's roar. He has slicked himself even though he apparently does not mean to penetrate. Not after Harry revealed to him that he is still sore from that afternoon and has refused to try to heal it.
Maybe Harry is a little bit mad, too.
Sirius tugs at him – as if they could come any closer. His kisses on his godson's neck are half-kisses, half-bites. He finds Harry's weeping prick and fists it until the room is spinning and Harry is close to tears. Sirius falls back and pulls Harry onto his chest. His hips buck upwards relentlessly, his slick, hard cock pounding between Harry's buttocks. Hands are grasping for purchase as moans and whimpers fill up the room until everything is practically shaking. It might actually be that the house is collapsing around them.
Sirius is thin: twelve years' near-starvation in Azkaban wore him down to a shadow. Harry is thin too, because he is a teenager and still growing and maybe he will always be that person who can eat whatever he fancies and not look it. Or maybe not: he is only a fifth-year and time will tell.
It begins in fifth year. They begin in fifth year. In a few short months Death will close his long fingers around Sirius' wrist and yank but they do not know this yet.
Harry arches back against his godfather when light explodes within and he comes all over Sirius' hand that knows all the tricks in the world. He wants it to last forever.
TBC