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.

With His Tail Between His Legs

Sitting up in bed, looking at him, Sirius said, "Please come in and make yourself at home, Bill."

Sirius looked perfect. He was exactly how Bill kept picturing him: a pale sculpture accentuated by touches of darkness - black hair and stubble, shadowed eyes. He looked like an angel who'd just spent a night sleeping rough. This was the vision that had been getting in the way of everything for days. Better even, the hair soft and clean, the gloomy room the perfect setting.

Bill had been trying to be good. He had plenty of work to do at the Bank with spying and coercing for Dumbledore on top of that. For months it had been an effortless undertaking, leaving plenty of time, energy and concentration to spend flirting with Fleur and catching up with friends and family.

But since his last visit to Grimmauld Place, it had all become impossible. He lost count when working on the simplest calculation, he kept forgetting where he was in the code sequences. Every time he saw Fleur he had to remember who she was all over again. There was an Order meeting tomorrow night and he was supposed to be reporting progress to Dumbledore. One more day to get something definite out of Rignaff. And he'd been so close at the beginning of the week.

Thoughts of Sirius were impossible to ignore. He'd tried very hard. Their tumble had been powerfully erotically torrid, like nothing Bill had done for years. Actually, not exactly like anything he had ever done. When the memory of it broke in and distracted him, he was filled with the old thrill he'd had from groping behind the Greenhouse as a schoolboy. Even his encounters with Egyptian lads in back alleys had been calmly ordered in comparison.

He reasoned with himself that this was because it was illicit. That was bound to be exciting, but it also made it a very bad idea. He was too old to be getting off on breaking rules. It took him longer to admit that it was also about Sirius.

He'd been dismissive of the HQ building at his first Order meeting. It was such a clichéè. This wasn't what the Magical community was about any more - this was like the Haunted House ride on the pier. When Sirius had slouched in looking gaunt, highly strung and interesting, the house had made sense. It was the perfect backdrop to him. He had sulked and snarled through the whole meeting, while Dumbledore urged and berated. Bill had watched the passions crossing the handsome stranger's face and had almost changed his mind.

He'd known when he made the decision to come back to the UK that he was either going to have to come out to his parents, or change his life-style. His mother wanted grandchildren. He had decided that it was time to settle down and give everyone what they wanted.

It had all been going so well until he'd found himself alone with this man and now he was obsessed. He couldn't keep away any longer. It could still work. After all, Bill was a spy. He wasn't much use to the Order if he couldn't even manage a simple affair. A bit on the side.

So, that was the new plan. He'd sent his mother an OWL from work, telling her he would be out with Fleur; he'd told Fleur that he had to get straight home tonight because his parents needed to see him. He'd Apparated from Gringott's into a side road near Grimmauld Place.

The Muggles at the bus stop were sheltering under hoods and umbrellas, a toddler battled her father over keeping the rain cover over the pushchair, a cat slipped on a railing and the wet tarmac road reflected the street lights back at themselves. It was hard to believe that it had been sunny a few days ago.

Bill tried to snuggle into his collar, but it did nothing to prevent his hair slicking to his skin and dripping into his mouth. It reminded him of being in the shower, making it uncomfortable and arousing at the same time.

It was only as he crossed the square towards the only house where the lights were off, that he began to doubt the reception he would receive. He recalled how he had left. He'd been thinking about it for days, but his response to the image of a wet, naked Sirius sitting cross-legged on a towel had been dominated by the fact of Sirius' nudity. Now he remembered the look on his face.

Number Twelve was silent and dark. Bill was careful to be quiet as he entered and performed a drying charm. He didn't want to wake the portrait again. There was nobody in the kitchen. Had Sirius gone out again? He was worried now. If Sirius really had been upset about the way Bill had left him - and Bill acknowledged now that he'd been crass - would that have made him go out? Was he going to be captured or killed? Would it be Bill's fault?

Anxiously Bill mounted the stairs. As he checked the rooms on the first floor he tried to work out what he was going to say when he saw the object of his desire in the flesh again. Not knowing what reaction he was going to get made that difficult.

He stood still in the bathroom as erotic intensity swept over him again. It was soured by his panic at being unable to find its cause and the fear that he had done something stupid.

His eyesight was accustomed to the gloom by the time he made it to the top floor. When he saw the figure lying on the bed, the best his brain could come up with was: "Hello you." There was no sound, no movement in reply. He nearly ran away. Instead he let the relief and the terror and the rush of desire settle down before checking, "Do you mind if I come in?"

The man in the bed did no more than move his head before coolly answering, "It's your HQ. Go where you like."

The tension was too much and Bill lost his Weasley temper, snapping, "For Salazar's sake, Sirius, it's your bedroom!" He didn't want to blow this. He didn't know how he'd cope if he never touched Sirius again. He added, as calmly as he could, "I don't know if I'm welcome. Would you rather I went away?" He hoped hard for the answer he wanted.

Thankfully Sirius finally responded to that, sitting up and inviting him in. Bill took a few tentative steps into the room. He'd run out of things to say. What he wanted to know now was whether he could kiss Sirius, whether he could run his hands over his body. Who was he kidding? He wanted to know if they would fuck.

Sirius just sat and stared at him like a statue. He was wearing faded blue pyjamas. Bill's brain took off on a tangent, wondering if they were silk like that shirt he'd ripped off him in the bathroom …

"Is it Friday already?" Sirius finally asked. Bill couldn't tell if he was being acid or genuinely confused. After all, he was in bed at five thirty. He could have lost track of the time.

"Er, no," Bill stammered.

"Why are you here?" Sirius asked then, as Bill swallowed and tried to marshal his thoughts again.

"To see you." Non-committal, more difficult to reject than a declaration of lust.

"To see me what?"

What was the answer to that? To see you bobbing up and down in my groin again? To see you stripped and begging for it? To see if you'll forgive me?

"I like to see you, you're a nice thing to see and I like seeing nice things," Bill offered.

Sirius smiled. "Well, it's good to see you too. Why don't you take your coat off so I can see you properly?"

Grateful for something to do, Bill slid his trench coat off his shoulders and moved forward to drape it over the end of the bed. "You tired?" he asked.

"Nothing to do," Sirius answered with a shrug.

"That sucks," Bill sympathised. Then he saw the opening, "You want to do something now?" Not seductive wording, he tried again, "I can think of a few things that might keep you occupied!" He attempted a leer, but he wasn't really relaxed enough to pull it off.