Work Text:
Snow crunched under their boots, creating a soft rhythm with each step, the sounds swallowed up by the trees around them. The forest stilled as the two men wound their way through the pine trees. Once they passed by, the animals picked up their chittering again as if the humans had never been there at all.
Occasional weak rays of sunshine battled their way past the swiftly moving clouds to make the snow sparkle here and there. Harry watched the patterns change as they walked, shadows bleeding into shimmering white, morphing back into darkness once more.
He glanced at the man walking with an easy gait beside him, tall, slender, and comfortably familiar. There was something almost feline about his long strides and easy posture. Ironic, all things considered.
Sirius’s winter coat was unbuttoned, revealing a navy jumper underneath. His hair hung loose around his face, brushing the tops of his shoulders. Even like this, dressed to cut down a tree, he was all casual elegance and class. He always was.
There was no reason it should unsettle him today. Except it did.
Distracted, Harry didn’t notice the root in front of him until his body was free-falling forward while his foot remained stuck. A strong arm wrapped around his middle, catching him before he smashed against the ground.
“Alright there, Harry?”
“Mind elsewhere, I guess,” Harry mumbled, keenly aware of the pressure of the arm around his waist and the woodsy masculine scent that engulfed him.
He blinked and pulled away, trying desperately to force his rebellious mind to think of something else, anything else than the wildly inappropriate thoughts it was conjuring about his godfather. He almost succeeded, forcing himself to think of Aunt Petunia ironing, Ron chewing, Professor Flitwick droning on about the Troll Accords of 1689—
Sirius ran a sinewy hand through his dark hair, and Harry lost the fight. He wondered if the hair was as soft as it looked. The urge to run his own hand through it pounded in his veins. What would it feel like if he were to twine his hand through that dark hair, to grip it, gently at first, then a little harder? Use it to pull Sirius’s face back so he could catch his eyes and guide the other man to his knees. Would those full lips part as he did so?
Harry ran a hand through his own hair, needing to do something to stop himself from reaching out and following through on the fantasy. Picking up the pace, he walked on without a word, ignoring the confused look Sirius shot him. Silence stretched between them, while Harry’s mind helpfully kept presenting one forbidden thought after another.
He was normally better at reining his brain back in, but today his mind spun like a possessed carnival ride until he couldn’t stand it any longer.
“So, uhm, I broke off the engagement.”
Sirius’s head snapped around, a look of disbelief on his face.
“Bloody hell, what happened?”
“Nothing happened. That was really the problem. Ginny lives her own life. When she’s not training, she is busy with—fuck if I know. And I’ve been busy with Auror shit. We haven’t been happy for a long time, basically living parallel lives. So, I finally decided to grow some balls and call it off.”
Oh, and also, I’ve been fantasizing about you for years, which pretty much put the final nail in that relationship coffin.
Probably best to leave that out.
“Grow some—Harry, you’ve been together since you were fifteen for Merlin’s sake, isn’t it a bit…hasty to throw away a decade of relationship on a whim?”
“Not a whim. Also—” Harry knew if he didn’t get all of it out now, he would lose his nerve. “I quit the Aurors.”
Sirius whirled around to face Harry, coming to a complete stop. “You what?”
Harry shrugged, sticking his hands in his coat pockets, and pretended they weren’t shaking. “It isn’t right for me. Never was. It was just kind of what was expected after the war, you know. Follow in my father’s footsteps, continue the good fight, and all that. So I joined, and then, I don’t know, I just kept going.”
He fell silent for a moment, trying to shape the jumbled thoughts in his mind into coherent words. “Not unlike with Ginny, actually. We fumbled around during the war, dated a bit after, and suddenly everyone thought we were meant to be together and so we just… were.”
“Harry.” Sirius ran a hand through his long hair again. Annoying habit, really.
Harry tracked the movement with his eyes, momentarily distracted by the light catching the few silvery strands running through Sirius’s black hair. It matched the small crinkles that now appeared in the corners of his eyes when Sirius smiled. According to normal conventions, it should have made him look like he was aging. Instead, it just made Sirius all the more fascinating. Of course it did. Leave it to Sirius Black to defy conventions and age like a fine wine.
Harry’s heart clenched with the reminder of how Sirius almost didn’t get to have this. He came so close to never getting old enough to have a few grey hairs. Or walk through a winter forest, berating Harry for his life choices. Or anything at all actually, when his life was ripped away from him in the Department of Mysteries before the war even really broke out.
The agonizing feeling of losing him, the aching loneliness after he was gone, were etched into Harry’s heart and mind. The gratitude for getting Sirius back could still overwhelm him, even almost a decade later.
When the war ended, there were funerals and rebuilding and picking up the pieces. They were all functioning at a bare minimum, one foot in front of the other, an hour at a time. Except Hermione, who had somehow found the energy to do research. A few months after the war ended, Hermione had marched into the Ministry, armed with ancient scrolls and legal documents, and demanded that they give her access to their completely illegal and outrageously dangerous death veil that had no business being anywhere inside the Ministry buildings. The powers that be had caved. A few hours later, she yanked a thin and shaking Sirius back from the dead.
Harry had been ecstatic; cherishing the gift of having Sirius back, of finally having a family—not a parent, but close enough. Harry moved into Grimmauld Place with Sirius. They settled into a routine: meals, grocery shopping, chores, waking from nightmares, and finding themselves on each end of the sofa in the sitting room, a tumbler of whisky or a mug of tea in hand. Harry had been in Auror training and dating, casually at first, and eventually Ginny exclusively. Everything had been nice and easy and comfortable.
Until it wasn’t.
Until suddenly, Harry couldn’t look away when Sirius walked from the bathroom to his bedroom wearing just a towel—he told himself he was checking to make sure Sirius was remembering to eat and wasn’t too thin. Until his glances lingered when Sirius turned pages in a book with long, elegant fingers—he told himself it would be weirder if he didn’t notice. Until he found himself wanting to cut his dates with Ginny a little shorter, looking forward to evenings on the sofa discussing books or Quidditch or the philosophy of war with Sirius.
He moved in with Ginny then, leaving Grimmauld—and Sirius—for a small flat close to the Ministry. Told himself it was for the best, that it was just proximity, that there wasn’t any more to it than concern or the occasional curiosity.
He lied to himself for a good five years. Until he couldn’t lie to himself any longer and decided to blow up his life.
“How about this one?” Sirius’s question brought Harry back to the snow covered forest.
“What?”
Sirius gestured to the fir in front of them. “The Christmas tree? What we came here for? Are you sure you’re alright?”
Harry blinked at him while he processed the words, trying to surface from where his thoughts had been wandering.
Right, they were here to get a tree.
“Erm, sure.”
Sirius looked at him for a long moment before he shrugged off his coat and draped it over a low-hanging branch of another tree. Moving himself into position, he swung his axe at the trunk of the tree.
“So—” Thwack. “What is your plan then?” Thwack.
“My plan? I don’t know if I have one. I guess I finally just want to live my life for me and not for everyone else. Maybe travel. I don’t know. I’ve never been anywhere other than England and Scotland. Kind of pathetic for a guy in his mid-twenties, wouldn’t you say?”
He probably should have had more of a plan before he walked into Robard’s office and handed in his resignation, but in the moment, all he knew was that he was drowning and if something didn’t change, he would go under and never surface again.
Before Harry could stop them, the words kept coming. “You could come. We could get out of England for a while. I don’t know, go to the States or something.” He blamed his lack of filter on the way Sirius looked, all dressed in his Muggle jeans and Doc Martens, sleeves on his jumper pulled up to reveal sinewy forearms, tattoos winding their way up under the fabric. Distracting as fuck.
Sirius stiffened before he resumed his chopping.
“Harry, listen—and I know I am in no position to be giving out career or life advice. But quitting? Without a plan?” He grimaced. “Gods, the Marauders would have drowned me in the Black Lake if they knew I would one day sound like such an old fuddy-duddy. But still, quitting the Aurors is huge. And breaking off your engagement—” he trailed off, giving Harry a sideways glance, an odd expression on his face that Harry couldn’t interpret. “That’s a lot all at once. Maybe take some time to think about it? I don’t know. I guess I would just hate for you to end up like me, you know.” The rhythmic thwacks of the axe hitting the trunk emphasized the bitterness that crept into his tone.
Harry could hear the echoes of Walburga’s abuse in Sirius’s words. Her ability to make Sirius feel like he was worthless was unparalleled, reaching decades past her death. His heart clenched painfully in his chest, the urge to wrap his arms around Sirius and tell him he was worthy and wonderful almost overwhelming. He forced it down and focused on the question.
“I did think about it.”
“Good. That’s good,” Sirius ran his hand through his hair again, with a self-deprecating laugh. It was actually remarkable how often the man touched his hair. Perhaps he knew how good he looked when he did it. “I’d really hate for your father to haunt me for being a shitty example to you. Would he want you to do this?”
And there he was again. James Potter, eternally hanging between them, an ever-present specter that Harry couldn’t exorcise.
Harry clenched his jaw, forcefully holding back the words crowding in his brain. His empathy fled, replaced by sudden anger. Lately, it seemed like that anger was always close to the surface. Hermione said it was stress—when Harry had last seen her, she had encouraged him to follow his heart and quit doing things just because they were expected by others. She had followed it up with one of those looks she gave people when they were being extra obtuse.
Sometimes Harry wondered if she knew and approved of how he felt. He had been too much of a coward to tell her so far, but he wouldn’t put it past Hermione to have put the pieces together.
In any case, it seemed like Sirius had an extra special talent for igniting Harry’s anger. He would say something, or he would look at Harry with his damn stormy-sea grey eyes, and it would be hard to breathe or think, Harry’s chest clenching with the agonizing raw desire to be seen by Sirius in a different way.
To be something he wasn’t.
To not have Sirius look at him and just see James.
And just like now, fury would roll through Harry, violent and immediate.
He knew it was unfair. Of course it was. Sirius was trying very hard to be a good godfather despite having no experience and no examples of how to be a decent parental figure. And Harry appreciated that, really. There was just one problem.
He didn’t want Sirius to be a parental figure. He didn’t want a godfather. He wanted… He couldn’t even put words to it, or perhaps he could, and that was what terrified him when he looked into that dark, all-consuming black hole in his chest that just longed for something more.
Something else.
“I don’t know, Sirius, I have no idea what James might have wanted, on account of him being dead and all.” Sirius blanched, but Harry couldn’t stop now that he had opened the floodgates. “Fortunately, this is my life, and this is what I want. I want to break off these godsdamned shackles of expectation that the entire fucking British wizarding world has placed on me. I want to—for the first time ever— start living for me. I don’t want to suddenly be old and have nothing but regrets to show for my life.” Harry was yelling now, his voice swallowed up by the trees around them.
“Nothing to show—Harry, you are a godsdamned war hero at the age of twenty-five. What the hell are you going on about? You have everything you could ever want.” Sirius matched his ire, his tone heated—which triggered more anger in Harry. What the hell did Sirius have to be angry about right now, this was Harry’s life.
“No, actually, I don’t,” Harry spat. “I do not have everything I could ever want; in fact, I have a whole bunch of things I decidedly did not want. And the one thing and I do not have the one thing I need.” It felt good to get this out, to yell at someone. Especially the someone who seemed to be at the root of Harry’s frustrations, his dissatisfaction, his fucking yearning. “I don’t get to have that because somehow, despite everything I’ve done and everything we fought for in the war, apparently happiness is not allowed or something.”
Sirius was still now, frozen, staring at Harry.
“Harry—” His quiet voice held a small wobble.
For one heady moment, Harry thought perhaps Sirius knew what Harry meant and that he might, impossibly, incomprehensibly feel the same.
Then reality rushed back in like a chilly winter wind. What a ridiculous notion.
Sirius would bring it back to James, always James. Sometimes, in his darkest moments, Harry resented his father for dying, for remaining that goofy, kind twenty-one-year-old, who would never age and forever remain perfect in Sirius’s mind. How the hell did one live up to something like that?
“Sirius.” He took a step towards Sirius without meaning to, drawn to him like a moth to a flame.
“What are you—”
The air between them felt charged, heavy, and tense. A storm brewing.
Harry knew he should stop. He should shut up and swallow down the emotions threatening to choke him right now.
But he couldn’t.
He had blown up his life in the last few weeks. He might as well continue—he needed to get everything out, to have a clean slate, or he would never be able to move on. After that, he supposed he could move to some distant country and change his name or whatever. And try to forget.
“I want—” It came out as a breath, the words sticking in his throat.
Sirius stared at him with wide eyes. His Adam's apple moved slightly on the long, elegant column of his throat when he swallowed.
Then, in a movement so quick and minute that if Harry hadn’t been watching closely, he would have missed it, Sirius’s eyes flicked down to Harry’s lips.
The feeling that had been lurking behind Harry’s anger for years now, the one he grabbed and forcefully shoved into a locked chest in his mind each time it surfaced, came rushing in, crashing over the anger like a wave in a storm. The forbidden, cursed, hopeless ache. The one thing he wasn’t allowed to feel, the longing for the one thing he couldn’t have, welled up in Harry, threatening to drag him down and drown him in the maelstrom of want and fury.
Because even if he were allowed this, he knew it was pointless. Knew that when his godfather looked at him, he would always see his father.
And yet, sometimes his gaze flickers to your lips like it just did. Sometimes, he looks at you like…
Ludicrous. That way lay madness, a mountain of all the things that would drive Harry insane if he kept doing this.
“Nothing. It’s nothing. I’m probably just tired, forget I said anything.” Harry grabbed the axe from Sirius’s hand, pretending the brush of their hands didn’t send shockwaves through him.
“Let’s get the tree cut and head back to Grimmauld. We still need to decorate it before everyone comes over tomorrow.” He swung the axe at the trunk, needing something to do with the energy buzzing under his skin.
“Harry—”
“Just stop.” Harry could hear the dullness in his own voice. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Please listen to me.” Sirius’s pleading snapped the last tether Harry had on his temper. He rounded on Sirius.
“For Merlin’s sake, just stop.”
“Stop what? Mate, what has gotten into you?” Sirius’s look of concern somehow infuriated Harry even more. He didn’t want concern. He wanted…
He wanted.
Fuck this.
“Stop talking to me like I am a skittish thestral. I know you don’t understand, but I need to do this for me. Alright?”
“I am still your godfather. I am the closest you have to a father figure. I have a responsibility to your—”
Harry flung the axe down with utter disregard for tool safety and took the two steps to close the gap between Sirius and himself. The staccato drumbeat of his heart thrummed through his blood, rushing in his ears muffling the sounds of the forest. Before he could pause to think, he crowded the other man against a tall fir behind him. His forearm pressed against Sirius’s throat, and he grabbed the front of Sirius’s jumper with his other fist. The space between them felt like a few inches of unbreachable no-man’s land.
“I swear by Merlin’s saggy sack, Sirius, if the next word out of your mouth is father, I am going to fucking lose it.” He slowly breathed in through his nose, trying to regain control of himself.
“Well, it’s certainly not going to be now,” Sirius joked, apparently hoping levity would diffuse the situation.
And fuck, Harry wanted to laugh and step back, cut down the Christmas tree, and return to Grimmauld Place. Perhaps they could manage to pretend nothing had happened.
Sirius placed a hand on Harry’s arm, where it was pressing into his throat, but he didn’t try to push it off. He merely held on. The gentle pressure scrambled Harry’s thoughts.
Harry needed to let go.
He didn’t move.
Opening his mouth, he burned down the last major bridge in his life.
“I don’t need you to be my father figure. I don’t need a daddy, Sirius.”
Sirius inhaled sharply at the word daddy, shifting under the pressure of Harry’s arm. The movement brought him just a fraction closer, and Harry’s lust fought past his anger once more, going straight to his cock. A voice in the back of his mind whispered that he might not mind calling Sirius daddy after all.
Mouth dry, he swallowed and forced the rest of his words out.
“I hate that you look at me and see him. I want you to see me. I am not James. I never will be.”
“I know,” Sirius whispered, his gaze never leaving Harry’s.
“What…what the hell does that mean?”
“It means—” Sirius stopped, taking a deep breath. They were so close that Harry felt his chest move and watched his throat expand. It took everything he had not to close his hand on Sirius’s throat and feel the path of that breath. “I mean that I don’t see James when I look at you, Harry. I see you. And—”
He stopped again, and Harry’s voice shook, frustration simmering just under his skin.
“And what, Sirius. You see me? Are you saying you don’t need me to be an Auror like James wanted to be? Are you saying you approve of me being my own person? Or are you saying something else? Spit it out.”
The tension made Harry feel too taut, the spring of a bow drawn to its utmost limit, just before it snapped.
He needed there to be no loose ends. No more wondering what if. He wanted everything spelled out, the words carved into his bones so he could perhaps finally put this impossible, unattainable need away.
Sirius exhaled, his warm breath washing over Harry’s face and Harry shivered, unable to think straight anymore. Sirius was right there, so fucking close, and he wanted to shake the man until the words fell out. He pushed just a little harder against Sirius, the nearness of his body lighting every single one of Harry’s nerve endings on fire. For once, he wanted to force a reaction out of him, something other than Sirius’s usual unflappable calmness. Although truthfully, Sirius didn’t seem all that unflappable right now.
“And what, Sirius?” he repeated, his voice cool despite the storm roaring within him.
A world of emotions passed through Sirius’s eyes, fear, anger, hesitation… and something else that Harry didn’t dare put a name to.
The moment stretched, eternal and pivotal. Harry no longer remembered how to breathe or move. All he could do was wait until something gave.
Sirius broke first.
“And what? Here’s what, Harry: I haven’t seen James when I look at you since you were maybe twenty years old, living at Grimmauld.” He rubbed a hand over his face, and continued, resignation in his voice. “And I am broken. I am a perverted bastard, because I should have been seeing you as a kid who needed my guidance and support. Instead, I began seeing something else, something I should never have seen.” Sirius let out a hollow, bitter laugh. “So no, I don’t see James. I see you, and I can’t fucking stop seeing you, and I have to stop looking because it’s so godsdamned wrong. But I can’t. And I hate myself for it. It doesn’t matter what I do—and trust me, I have tried, I have tried so damned hard. But nothing, nothing, can change it, and it’s fucking torture.” The last part came out on a broken half-sob.
Stunned, Harry turned Sirius’s words over in his mind. Under his grip, Sirius sucked in a shaking breath, drawing Harry’s gaze again. He drank in the man before him in case he never got to be this close again. Sirius’s lips were slightly parted, his pale skin flushed, his cheekbones dusted with a lovely, soft rosy-red. His grey eyes were wide and the color of a stormy winter sky.
He was breathtaking.
The world spun faster, and Harry dropped his arm from its iron hold on Sirius’s throat. He wanted to lean in, to melt into Sirius and be held. Wanted those arms around him, holding him up.
At some point, Harry had recentered his existence and fallen into orbit around Sirius Black. He had become hyper-aware of the man’s moods, his looks, his fucking body and the way it moved. But he had tampered down his want. His need. He had had it all trapped and tethered. Ropes of can’t, impossible, unattainable keeping him safe.
Except now, Sirius had cut those ropes with a few words, and Harry was floating into the ether, unmoored, nothing to hold him back. His world was spinning out of control, and he placed his hands on the tree trunk behind Sirius, caging him in. Sirius inhaled a ragged breath, a death knell to Harry’s composure.
Fuck, he was everywhere. The scent of Sirius’s cologne filled Harry’s lungs when he breathed in. The sounds of his breaths danced across Harry’s skin, sinking into his awareness. Harry hung his head down and tried to remember how to speak.
A deep breath, and another, and the world slowed down once more. He opened his eyes.
“Please, say something,” Sirius pleaded, his gaze searching Harry’s face. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ve ruined—I shouldn’t have said anything at all. Gods.” He ran a hand over his face and looked away. “I don’t know what got into me. You were asking if I expect you to follow in James’s footsteps for his career, and I spew out all of this perverted shit that I should never have—Fuck.”
Now or never.
“I wasn’t asking if you think I should be an Auror like James.”
Like they had a will of their own, Harry’s fingers found a lock of Sirius’s black hair and tugged gently on it.
Sirius's gaze snapped back to Harry’s face.
“Then what—” Sirius’s voice was low and raspy, and Harry’s cock twitched.
“This.” Throwing caution to the wind, Harry leaned closer, moving slowly, giving Sirius every chance to push him away. He didn’t.
Harry paused, mere inches from Sirius’s lips. Their breaths mingled, two clouds of smoky condensation becoming one.
“I’m too old for you,” Sirius whispered.
Harry shook his head and moved a fraction closer, trailing a thumb along Sirius’s jawline.
“I don’t give a fuck how old you are.”
“I’m all wrong for so many reasons.”
He ignored Sirius and instead pressed the pad of his thumb to Sirius’s full lower lip, tracing it slowly. He had fantasized about doing this so many times, it felt unreal now. Sirius’s breath flowed over Harry’s fingers as he exhaled, and Harry’s already hard cock throbbed against the confines of his jeans.
Sirius’s hands shook, gripping the lapels of Harry’s coat, as if he were suspended between pulling him closer or pushing him away.
“People will talk.”
A huff of laughter escaped Harry at that. “Since when do you give a fuck what people say?”
Sirius shook his head, and Harry could feel him shutting down as Sirius’s grip began to slacken. “This is different. I’m your bloody godfather. Practically a parent for Merlin’s sake. I should never—we shouldn’t—”
“Are you quite done yet, Sirius?” Harry interrupted, finally giving in to temptation. He closed the distance between them and pressed a kiss on Sirius’s neck, breathing in deeply.
Fuck, he smelled good— something woody, and spicy, and uniquely Sirius. Harry sucked experimentally, and Sirius’s moan shot straight to his cock. “I don’t care what people say,” he mumbled against Sirius’s skin between gentle kisses. “I am done living my life for others.”
And with that, Harry was lost, drinking in the taste of Sirius’s skin as he trailed his way along Sirius’s jaw till he brushed a kiss against the corner of his mouth. Sirius’s grip on his coat tightened, and Harry knew he might not ever be able to let him go.
Hands framing Sirius’s face, Harry closed the final distance between them and kissed the man he’d been in love with for years. Sirius’s lips were soft and pliant, and he pressed a gentle kiss to them, terrified of what he was doing and terrified of not doing it at the same time.
The world screeched to a halt as Sirius held still and the drumbeat of fear pounded in time with Harry’s heart.
And then he was kissing Harry back, hard and desperate, brushing his tongue against Harry’s lips and moaning into the kiss when Harry’s lips parted. The moan vibrated through Harry, heat following in its wake, and he was floating, dizzy, the world narrowing to this one moment.
Tongues brushing, hands exploring, they tugged on clothes, each touch lighting signal fires along the way—each one sending the same message of scorching, desperate want through Harry’s body. Harry wanted to melt into the kiss, to sink into this one thing in his life that finally felt right and never surface again.
When Sirius halted and broke the kiss, the tips of his fingers just brushing Harry’s arse, Harry almost swore from frustration.
“Are you sure?”
A sound that was pretty much a growl escaped Harry in response, and he closed the remaining space between them, pressing Sirius back against the tree. Their bodies flush, Harry could feel the outline of Sirius’s cock against his own, and when he shifted experimentally, Sirius made a sound that short-circuited all thoughts in his mind.
His lips found Sirius’s neck again, sucking and kissing; Sirius’s tugs on his hair and the sounds he was making spurring Harry on. When he pulled back, he trailed a fingertip over the redness left by his beard. Satisfaction pooled in his gut, primal and raw. He liked that he left a mark, that people might see it and know who it came from.
Sirius traced Harry’s jaw with a shaking hand, an expression of wonder in his eyes.
“This is madness.”
“This is the most sane thing I have done in my life,” Harry countered.
Sirius stilled Harry with a gentle touch, his fingertips soft against his face. “I’m scared I’ll wake up, and it will all be some kind of fever dream.”
“If it is, let’s get the most out of it.” A cocky, mischievous grin spread over his face as he dropped to his knees in the snow. He had fantasized about Sirius’s mouth on his cock, but suddenly he needed this. Needed to be the one on his knees.
Hands on the button of Sirius’s trousers, he looked up at the man. “Is this alright?”
Wordlessly, Sirius nodded, eyes wide.
Harry paused, taking in the sight of Sirius above him, framed by the trees and illuminated by late afternoon winter light.
Gorgeous.
Harry’s chest clenched with more than just lust. He loved Sirius. It was the first time he allowed himself to even formulate the thought. It was a heady feeling, like hurtling towards the ground on his broom, just a fraction faster than what was considered safe. And somehow, he knew Sirius would never let him crash.
Harry bit his lip, determined to move slowly. He undid the button and zipper, barely even registering the cold seeping through the fabric of his trousers. The bulge in Sirius’s pants looked even larger once freed of the confines of the denim. Deliciously so. He let his hands trail down Sirius’s hard thighs and back up again, just barely brushing his groin as he did. He repeated the movement, the teasing making his own cock throb harder, his own need stoked by Sirius’s shallow breaths. Dragging out the moment he’d been dreaming of for years felt like the perfect kind of torture.
“Gods, Harry—” Sirius whispered, raspy and low. Harry rewarded him with a hard stroke of his thumb across his groin before he went back to caressing his thighs. Heat spread over him, and he smiled.
“Thank you for the warming charm.”
“You’re—” A sharp inhale as Harry’s hands lingered for a long moment, squeezing a little harder on Sirius’s inner thighs. “Welcome.”
Harry’s world had been spinning out of his control since he was a child. Now, here, kneeling in the pocket of a warming spell in a snow-covered forest, he finally felt like he might be in charge of his own destiny.
He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Sirius’s fabric-covered cock, then resumed caressing his legs, his arse, moving slowly, like he had all the time in the world. He held his own need and desire in check until Sirius cursed and spread his legs a little more, shifting in search of more friction. Harry’s control snapped.
With deft fingers, he pulled Sirius’s cock free of his pants. It was perfect—long and thick, and already leaking. Harry licked his lips and Sirius groaned. Shooting him another cocky smile, he brushed his thumb over the head and closed his fist around it. Sirius hissed and thrust into Harry’s hand as he began stroking up and down its length. His own cock ached, pleasure mixed with an edge of pain from being stuck in his tight trousers, and he shifted, trying to ease the pressure a little. Then, leaning forward, he licked up the length of Sirius’s cock and closed his lips around the top.
“Fuck, Harry—” Sirius gasped, his hands finding Harry’s hair.
“That’s the idea.” Harry pulled his mouth off long enough to be cheeky. Then his mouth was back on Sirius’s cock. It was dripping pre-cum, and he sucked slowly, relishing in the slightly salty taste, in the hardness underneath the silky-soft surface. He pulled back to circle his tongue around the tip again, flicking it into the slit, sucking and licking, and Sirius’s grip on his hair tightened.
“Merlin, shit—”
A gust of wind rushed past them but Harry remained warm in their heating spell bubble that Sirius was somehow maintaining through the distractions. The thoughtfulness of that gesture in this moment made Harry’s throat tighten.
He glanced up. Sirius’s head was thrown back against the tree, lips parted, his breath coming out in puffs of air. Sirius moaned, and he was so fucking hot, Harry almost came in his pants.
Pulling his mouth off Sirius, he rose and kissed him, hard and needy, his hand still on the other man’s cock, stroking it. Sirius moaned into the kiss, and Harry couldn’t wait any longer.
“Fuck me, Sirius,” he whispered into his ear, tightening his grip on his cock just slightly. “Please.”
“Jesus Christ.” The Muggle oath spilling from Sirius’s lips was sexy as fuck. He flipped them around so Harry’s back was against the tree and undid Harry’s trousers with shaking hands. His hand closed on Harry’s cock, and heat gathered at Harry’s spine as Sirius stroked it with long steady strokes. Harry’s hips jerked into the touch.
“Impatient?” Sirius asked and slowed, giving Harry back a little of his earlier torture.
“Fuck you,” Harry mumbled, pulling Sirius face closer and kissing him hard. Sirius groaned into the kiss and his hand reached around to caress his arse. Arching into the touch, Harry hitched a leg around Sirius’s thigh to give him easier access, and Sirius obliged, sliding his long fingers along Harry’s crack until he reached the rim of his arsehole. He pushed gently against it, and Harry’s legs almost buckled under him.
“Are you sure?” Sirius’s voice was hoarse with need as he searched Harry’s face for any sign of doubt.
Harry pulled his face close and kissed him, nipping at his lower lip.
“I am so fucking sure. Haven’t been this sure of anything before.”
Sirius muttered a wandless spell and pushed a lubed finger slowly inside Harry.
“Is this alright?”
“Yes, gods, yes.”
He pushed in further, moving in and out, slowly, so slowly, and despite the tightness, pleasure rolled through Harry, tension slowly coiling in his limbs. He relaxed against the pressure. It wasn’t enough.
“More,” he gasped, “Sirius, I need more.”
Sirius added a second finger, stretching, sliding in and out. It was tight, carrying an edge of pain, and Harry tensed against it for a moment. Then, his muscles relaxed around the intrusion, and the pain was replaced by the ache for more still. Sirius moved a little faster, and Harry moaned, pressing his face against Sirius’s neck.
“Please,” he begged. “Gods, Sirius, please fuck me.“
“Not yet.” Sirius’s voice was gruff, and the raw need in it made Harry’s aching cock throb. The wandless spell repeated, and Sirius pushed a third finger inside him, dripping in lube. Harry gasped out shallow breaths as he adjusted to the stretch. Fuck, it was tight, and he couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything other than cling to Sirius, making small needy noises. Then Sirius curled his fingers, stroking against a spot inside Harry that made his vision narrow to a blinding white tunnel.
“Gods, I’m—fuck, yes, shit—” He was gasping and incoherent, and he wanted, craved, needed—“Please, gods, yes, ahh—” He was burning, his legs shaking, threatening to buckle under him. He clung to Sirius, pushing back against his slick fingers, seeking more depth, more traction, more. “I need, fuck, Sirius, please—”
Sirius pulled his fingers out, and Harry let out a whine at the loss of pressure inside him. “Please—” He didn’t care how much he was begging, didn’t care about anything other than being filled by Sirius’s cock.
His hand found Sirius’s cock once more, and he copied the wandless spell Sirius had used, stroking him with a lubed hand. Sirius hissed, hips thrusting into Harry’s fist. Grabbing Harry’s face, Sirius kissed him, hard, plunging his tongue into Harry’s mouth, ferocious and desperate. Harry stilled his strokes and squeezed just a fraction harder and Sirius froze, forehead resting against Harry’s.
“We don’t have to—” Sirius started.
Harry tightened his grip on Sirius’s cock a little more, stroking him with short, tight strokes, flicking a finger over the sensitive tip. Sirius sucked in a sharp breath.
“Do you want to?” He needed to be sure. Needed Sirius to be sure as well.
“Gods, yes,” Sirius breathed, his grip on Harry’s shoulder so tight it was almost painful. “Yes, I want to, fuck—”
Harry pressed one more kiss to his lips and turned around, bracing himself on the tall tree.
“Now, Sirius.”
Sirius' breath hitched when Harry leaned forward a little, pushing his arse out towards him.
“Fucking hell, Harry.” His hands stroked down Harry’s spine, to his arse, squeezing, kneading, caressing. When he spread Harry’s arse cheeks apart, Harry wondered if it was possible to die from anticipation and longing. Then his finger was caressing the rim of Harry’s entrance, and he was lining himself up; the gentle caress of his cock on Harry’s arse making Harry shiver.
A gentle hand on his back, and then Sirius was pushing in a couple of inches, stretching him, and for a long moment it was too much, too tight, and Harry shook, hands clenching the tree trunk before him. Sirius pulled back a little and pushed in again, a little deeper this time, and the pain morphed to pleasure, as Harry relaxed around Sirius’s hard cock. He kept moving agonizingly slow—Harry could feel him tremble, his breath shaky, his hand gripping Harry’s hip.
It still wasn’t enough. Harry wanted him deeper, wanted to be filled completely.
“Faster,” he breathed, a moan escaping him when Sirius thrust in a little faster, hitting him deeper. “Fuck, yes—”
Heat was building at his spine, deliciously slow at first, then burning hotter, faster, and then Sirius shifted and hit that spot inside Harry that made stars explode behind his eyelids. White-hot wildfire rushed through him now, each stroke hitting it again and again, just right.
“Gods, yes, fuck, Sirius, please—” His words devolved into incoherent pleading, and he pushed back against Sirius’s thrusts, legs trembling so much he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to hold himself up much longer.
Sirius reached around him and stroked Harry’s cock in time with his thrusts, and he was hurtling towards a precipice, so fucking close—
“Harry, shit, I can’t—I’m going to—” Sirius’s grip on Harry’s hip tightened as his thrusts became erratic, and fuck if hearing Sirius fall apart wasn’t the hottest thing Harry had ever heard. He had had sex, with men and women before he and Ginny became exclusive. He enjoyed it. But this was different somehow; it felt like more—two magnets pulled together until they clicked into place, fitting perfectly, their very cells rearranging as their bodies became one.
He closed his eyes and sank into sensations; the sound of their bodies coming together in the otherwise silent forest, the chill air mingling with the heating charm, the thrusts of Sirius’s hard cock inside him, filling him, pushing him closer and closer to that drop-off waiting just ahead—
And then he was coming, falling, crashing towards the ground, stars imploding behind his eyes as his cock spurted cum over Sirius’s hand. His arse clenched around Sirius’s cock, and with a last thrust, Sirius followed him over the edge, his cum filling Harry, until they both stilled.
Breathing hard, Sirius rested his forehead against Harry’s back, holding him up with the arm around his waist. Harry stood, immobile, letting the world settle back into a new reality, the atoms of existence shifting around until he was allowed to hold Sirius. To be held by him.
They stood like that for a long moment until Sirius kissed Harry’s neck gently and pulled out, holding Harry still. He made a satisfied sound and Harry groaned, the imagery of Sirius watching his own cum drip from Harry’s arse so bloody sexy.
“Alright?” His voice held a tone of uncertainty.
“Fuck yes,” Harry grinned, casting a cleansing charm on them both before he quickly pulled his clothes on. “Better than I have imagined, even.” He felt lighter, buoyant, the weight pressing down on his chest for so long finally gone.
Sirius finished buttoning his trousers and wrapped his arms around Harry, and Harry sighed, content to melt into the hug. It felt safe. It felt like home.
They stood like that for a long time. Then Sirius cupped his face and kissed him softly. “Let’s go home.”
The warming charm dropped, and with it the winter chill swirled around them again, but Harry wasn’t cold. He drank in the sight of Sirius as he picked up the axe and, with a few swings, finished chopping down the tree, his muscles tightening as he swung the tool. It wasn’t any less sexy than it had been earlier, and Harry’s cock already twitched again.
Casting a temporary miniature spell on their tree, Sirius held out his arm for the apparition.
“Ready?”
Harry stepped into the turn with Sirius.
“Anytime. Daddy.”
Sirius’s sharp inhale was accompanied by flushed cheeks and widened eyes. Heat rushed through Harry and he smirked as his body was compressed in the apparition.
It seemed like he wouldn’t be retiring that term entirely.