HARRY POTTER AND EVERYTHING RELATING TO THAT MAGICAL UNIVERSE BELONG TO JK ROWLING, WARNER BROS, BLOOMSBURY BOOKS ETC. AND I AM VERY LUCKY TO BE ALLOWED TO PLAY WITH IT ALL.

Puppy-Dog Tails

Bill couldn't bear it any more. Black was breaking up in front of his eyes. He couldn't, didn't want to, imagine losing everyone the way Sirius had; he couldn't begin to comprehend how it might feel to have spent that many years in Azkaban. And then to be shut up in this grim house all day every day …

In context, it really wasn't all that much to ask: for Bill to shower in front of him. If Bill was having trouble going straight and happened to find that gaunt smouldering intensity a turn-on, that was hardly Sirius' problem, was it? It was Bill who needed to deal with it. He had to practice being tempted and resisting. How could he propose to Fleur unless he was sure he'd be able to be a faithful husband to her?

So Bill stood up and walked to the kitchen door, saying, "I'm going up for a shower. I won't lock the door."

Sirius didn't move, just sat still staring at his own grimy hands. It was up to him now, his decision. Bill wasn't provoking anything, he'd just left things open. Hadn't he? In defiance of the two cans of Stella, his mouth was dry again. He mounted the window-less stairwell, pulling up each heavy, trembling leg one step at a time.

"Foul creature of filth!"

Bill missed a step. His blood ran cold. His breath stopped. And then he realised that it was just the familiar rantings of Mrs Black's portrait.

"Blood Traitor! Infecting the pure house of Black!"

Just a Blood Traitor. That's all she was accusing him of being. And Bill had been brought up to be proud of that description.

"Despicable, disdained swine plotting against Magical Purity!"

Yeah, whatever. Bill's pulse slowed to an almost normal pace. His hatred for the old witch gave his legs energy. She'd made her son's youth wretched and now he was a grown man, Bill had a way to cheer him up. A way of which she would certainly not have approved.

At the top of the first flight of stairs he was faced with a series of doors. He knew which one lead to the sitting room. He opened another, releasing clouds of dust and foul odour from a cupboard. The next room was the shabby, lifeless study containing the venomous family tree. It exuded hate and Bill wasn't surprised that this room seemed unused.

He struck lucky with his next attempt. The bathroom fittings were old-fashioned and could have been cleaner, but the marble and moist air made it the most comfortable place he'd yet been in this stuffy house. It smelled pleasantly of soap. The end wall was mostly taken up by a window of frosted glass, which filled the room with light.

Opposite it, next to the door, was a large gilt-framed mirror. Bill examined himself. His face was blotchy red and shiny with sweat, his hair was unravelling from its ponytail and sticking to his skin in strings. How could anyone in their right mind fancy that?

The shower was the most spectacular thing in the room. It looked like it was probably Edwardian and hung like a large, upturned silver bowl over a free-standing, roll-topped, black bath. There was no shower curtain or screen, but escaping water was probably repelled by some charm.

After taking off his socks and shoes, Bill undid the buttons on his trousers and dropped them to the floor. Sirius was right about them, they were heavy and the waistband was too stiff for comfort. They left a red line round his middle. The skin on his tummy was getting pale. Soon it would be impossible to tell that he'd ever lived in Africa.

It was ridiculous getting this over-heated here, when he'd been used to Egypt. Was it because the clothes suited the weather better there? Of course all the Wizard buildings used Cooling Charms, the Muggle ones had air conditioning and the tombs were made of thick, cold stone, but he remembered being pole-axed by ferocious dry heat the first time he'd walked outdoors. He'd been enjoying regular sex then, too. Perhaps that had helped.

He pulled his shirt over his head. It stank of sweat. So did he. There were lots of good reasons for him to have a shower. He turned round the lever and steaming hot water gushed down. Too hot. He adjusted it down.

Then there was the sound of a footfall. Sirius was coming up the stairs and in a moment he'd see Bill in his underwear. Bill froze as his stomach dropped. How the hell did he get here? Semi-naked in somebody else's bathroom? How stupid was he? This wasn't an easy way to cheer someone up. It was a bloody difficult way to test his own resolve.

His back to the door, Bill stared towards the window. A floorboard creaked behind him and then a shadow fell across the pane. Sirius was standing in front of the mirror, blocking the light reflected back onto the glass. For several minutes there was stillness and silence apart from the patter of water on enamel.

Bill couldn't stop it now, there was no way to get out. Sirius was standing far too near. The darker patch on the window didn't move. Neither of them spoke. What would Fleur say if she could see him now? What would his mother say? How scathing could his brothers be if they knew?

Bill pulled the band out, letting his hair fall straight to his shoulders. He knew he should take off his boxer shorts, but he felt so exposed already and he needed to get that hardening under control before Sirius got the wrong idea. The wrong idea? He turned the temperature lever of the shower right down.

He stepped over the side of the bath tub and into the stream of cool water. His skin shrank from it in goose-bumps. Needles of cold pounded onto the top of his head. His focus suddenly had hard edges. All he had to do was shower, get dressed and go home. Then Sirius could have something to think about when he wanked. Hopefully that would be enough to keep him occupied for a while, which would keep him safe indoors where Dumbledore wanted him. Bill was doing this for The Order.

That calm, clear train of thought gave Bill the strength to open his eyes. Merlin, he was cold now! He turned up the heat a bit and shuffled his feet round, turned himself to face the man in front of the mirror.

Sirius' face was tense. His hands gripped the gilt frame; his shoulders leaned forward, every muscle taut. They stared into each other's eyes. Sirius had his lips pressed together, his teeth clamped shut. His breathing was audible. Then the older man closed his eyes, swallowed and forced out the one word: "Please."

Bill swiped bedraggled, wet hair from his face. Please?

Sirius looked at him again, then down to his crotch. Bill followed his gaze. The soaked grey cotton of his Calvins clung to his thighs, and to the bulge which shouldn't have been there.

"Please," Sirius hissed again.

Bill's hands trembled. Then, watching only the water eddying around his feet, he took hold of the elastic at his hips and pulled downwards.

He couldn't stop it now, there was no way to get out, Sirius was standing far too near. How the hell did Bill get here? Semi-erect, naked and in somebody else's bathroom?

Author's Note: Some of the phrases in this chapter quote (and mis-quote) from the song Underwear on Pulp's album, Different Class (written by Cocker, Banks, Mackey, Senior, Doyle).