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.

Dog Breath

Before Azkaban, Sirius had been pretty hip. But that was back when people still said 'hip'. That was back when The Boomtown Rats sang "She's so nineteen seventies" and it meant the same as "She's so modern". Pretty soon even the line "She's so twentieth century" would meant 'she's out of date.'

His mother wouldn't let him have anything as Muggle as a record player, so he'd kept all his Punk and New Wave LPs at the Potters' place. A few months ago, the first time he'd walked back into this bedroom, he'd found a mess of melted black vinyl in the middle of the floor.

Mr Potter had been pretty frail after the Death Eaters had murdered his wife and at Sirius' trial it had been announced that his son's death had killed him. He must have used the last of his strength to break through the Grimmauld Place wards and send Sirius that message of hate.

He had liked James' parents a lot. The old man had even taken to calling him 'son', unlike his own father who referred to him as 'betrayer of my blood' or, less articulately, 'that little shit'. But, like everyone else, Mr Potter had believed Sirius capable of betraying James to his death. And murdering Peter. Well, he was sure as shit capable of murdering Peter now.

'Sure as shit': the twins had used that phrase over the summer and Sirius had liked it. Most modern slang confused him, though. For instance, here was Bill saying "that sucks" like sucking was a bad thing. Sirius thought sucking was a pretty good thing. Especially in the context of Bill. It could be a very good thing.

Bill had brought the scent of rain-washed evening air in with him. Sirius was aware of being fusty and unwashed.

"I need to brush my teeth," he said. He could also do with a couple of minutes to himself to try and shake off the grey mist of depression still hampering his thinking.

"No!" Bill said sharply. Apologetically he added, "I don't want to taste toothpaste, I want to taste …" he trailed off looking anxious.

Tasting? Did he mean kissing? Sirius reached over the bed to get the wand he'd left on the table on the other side, but Bill grabbed his arm and held him still. Then he passed him his own wand.

Muttering thanks, Sirius pointed the wand to his mouth and performed the cleansing spell. He felt better for it. They were both sitting on the bed now, sitting close, watching each other's faces. Sirius remembered a game from school. He grinned. Why not?

He opened his mouth wider, brought the wand closer and licked the tip. Bill looked horrified. Sirius chuckled at him.

"What's the matter? Mummy tell you never to put a wand in your mouth?" Sirius asked, taunting.

"It's risky," Bill said.

"And you never do anything Mummy wouldn't approve of?" Sirius mocked.

He stuck out his tongue and ran it the full length of Bill's wand. Bill was fixated. Sirius put his mouth over the wood and closed his lips around it. He pushed it further in, watching Bill's lovely hazel eyes grow huge. He sucked in a few inched and then slowly pulled them out again. The worry creasing Bill's forehead made him smirk.

As he removed the wand-tip, Bill leaned in and pressed his own tongue onto it. He wrapped it round and Sirius got his own tongue out again to lick Bill's. They played with the wand and each others' tongues, twisting the muscles, caressing each other and the wood, saliva dripping down to Sirius' hand.

Suddenly the wand juddered. They both sprang back, each with a little scream. They quickly recovered and started laughing. Bill picked up the wand from where it had fallen and turned back to return it to his coat pocket. The movement exposed the pale stretch of his neck from collar to ear and the pulled-back strands of hair leading to the ponytail.

Sirius lunged to get his mouth to it. He held Bill by the shoulder and sank down onto the warm, soft flesh. He gently kissed, licked and sniffed, careful not to make a mark. He didn't think he'd be forgiven if he left evidence.

He snaked his other hand round Bill's waist, as the young man turned back to him, getting his hands under Sirius' pyjama top, stroking the bare skin of his back. Sirius heard himself moan and, as though that were the trigger he'd been waiting for, Bill twisted down and pushed their mouths together.

As their tongues danced against each other again, Sirius found himself pushed down hard onto the bed. Bill lay on top of him, his full weight on Sirius' chest, making him pant for breath. Bill thrashed about, uncontrolled, pulling at the pyjama fabric held in place by his own weight.

At first Sirius struggled, trying to breathe, trying to move Bill to his own rhythms, to direct the action. But it didn't take long before the thrusting of tongue and hips swamped him with arousal and he relaxed, his body following the other body's movements, letting them fit together.

Bill grunted in frustration and Sirius felt the noise reverberating through both their ribcages. Their feet were tangled in the sheets, Sirius' hair strewn across both their faces and in between both of them were still fully dressed. Sirius slid his mouth sharply sideways to break the kiss and then shoved Bill's head up off him.

Bill panted, his eyes heavy lidded and unfocussed.

"Clothes. Off," Sirius barked.

Bill nodded, but it took a moment for his hands and pelvis to stop jerking around and another moment before he rolled off Sirius onto his side. Now that he could get his hands to their clothes, Sirius stripped them both, first their top halves and then Bill's suit trousers. Bill grabbed the waistband of the pyjamas and tugged them down, running his hands first over the jutting hip-bones and then the engorged penis.

Sirius stroked Bill's hair, hoping, nudging his head gently. Instead of taking the hint, Bill moved back up the bed, sliding their now naked bodies against each other, coming up for another kiss.

This kiss was slightly less desperate than the previous one, but it was still harsh and demanding. Sirius gazed at what he could of Bill's face, at the freckled patches moving in and out of view. Bill's eyes were closed. His hands were running all over Sirius' torso in a continuous, fast, rough movement. Sirius reached round Bill's head to pull out the elastic band and free his long hair. Loose, it fell over their cheeks and red and black tangled together as Sirius got his hands through the tickly softness onto the warmth of scalp.

The movement slowed slightly, settling into a steady rhythm of jaw and hip thrusts, Bill's grip grew firmer. He moved one hand to a nipple and let it rest there, teasing and rubbing. Sirius slid a hand down from Bill's head to mirror the movements. Bill's other hand came up their mouths and he slipped a finger into the kiss before bringing it down Sirius' back and, in one movement, rolling their bodies slightly, pushing his knee between Sirius' thighs and slipping the hand between his buttocks.

Sirius froze.

He gripped the errant hand. Hard.

He took hold of Bill's jaw. Firmly.

He glared at him.

"I don't receive," he growled.

Bill looked shocked, then confused. He pushed Sirius' hand off his face.

"What?" he asked.

"I'm not passive. Or flexible," Sirius explained, clearly. He was calming down now. Of course Bill didn't know Sirius' preferences. There must be an etiquette for this, they probably should have sorted it out earlier.

Bill snatched his hand out of Sirius' grip, flexed the fingers, looked at them, then back into Sirius' face.

"You don't bottom?" he checked.

"Right!"

"Not even for me?" Bill wheedled.

"Not even for you, gorgeous."

Bill puffed, annoyed. "Well that makes two of us!" he said.

They remained nose to nose, glaring, daring each other for several seconds until they were both convinced that the other wasn't going to back down.

"So… Oral?" Sirius asked.

"Yeah. Great. Oral," Bill agreed.