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Sirius POV
I suppose that's how the 'routine' started really. I discovered that when he would visit me in the evenings, that within a few minutes of me putting the light out, he'd come back. It was like the carnal adult version of pretend, I guess. During the day, we were just us. But when I turned the light out, we were two other people. We didn't discuss anything. We let our actions speak for us.
Ah yes. The night of the news and the storm. We'd all been on edge. People had been disappearing, including a couple Order members, and Harry and Hermione had been sent out and had missed their rendezvous time. All of us were worried, beyond worried really.
As a terrible storm thundered and rumbled outside, he visited me again and we drank some more in a futile attempt to deal with our concern for our friends. I don't think either of us had slept in two days, quite honestly. The mood between us was rather somber and we didn't talk much. When he left, I didn't wait long before turning the light off. I wanted…no I needed him back beside me.
We'd done nothing but snog up until that point so I wasn't prepared for him to crawl in bed with me since he'd usually just kneel beside me. I made room for him and he was instantly pressing his body to mine, but not sexually initially. He was scared and worried and I was too, so I held him while lightening randomly flashed through the window and thunder continued to rumble outside, rattling the old window panes.
This is where two warm bodies and two worried souls leads to dangerous situations. We held each other in silence for some time until I began to feel him hard against the side of my leg. I was halfway there myself, but I didn't know what to do so I just held him. Tight.
Looking back, I think instinct took over at that moment. When his hips began to move against me slowly, I knew what was happening. I'm not but a man, people. What could I do? Send him away? Reject him? I could never do that. He trusted me. I wouldn't betray such a precious thing.
I remember inching my hand down his slender body until I reached the loose waistband of his plaid pajama bottoms. He never pushed my hand away. He never said a word. Instead he rolled to his back a little, silently telling me I could continue.
I could feel the pounding of his heart. I knew he was nervous. Hell, I was terrified! My hormones were in control, but there was something else besides just lust. We were upset. We were worried. We were looking for comfort in each other. That couldn't be all bad, right?
He was soft and warm against my hand when I began to caress him while lightly kissing his neck and cheek, and his quiet moans were nearly my undoing. They were desperate little cries and whimpers, but he never pushed me away. His reactions encouraged me to continue; his hands gripped my arms and his hips lifted in time to my hand.
When he climaxed, he dug his fingers into my arm harder while biting his lip to keep from calling out. Listening to him was beautiful really because I knew for just a moment he felt no fear or worry, and those moments were near impossible to experience anymore. Before he left my side, he kissed me sweetly. Since there were no words spoken, I understood it to mean 'thank you'.
Did I question our activity? Of course I did. What sane person wouldn't? Ultimately I came to the conclusion that he wasn't a child, that he knew exactly what he was doing and that I wasn't forcing him into anything. In fact, he'd been the one to initiate everything when it came right down to it. Oh, I could have told him it was wrong, but when he would have asked why, I wouldn't have had an answer. I couldn't be like the other adults no matter how hard I tried.
So I stopped trying.