All is Bright...Part 2
Dec. 14th, 2009 12:52 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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mini_festTitle: All is Bright
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
literaryspell
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I make no money from writing this.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: non-magic AU, explicit slash, chan (Harry is 15), rimming
Prompts: Harry/Sirius: AU/AR Victorian Christmas, Sirius finds Harry out on the streets, brings him to his home, where love/smut ensues.
A/N: As always, love to my betas! I had an absolute blast writing this. As an English major with a focus on Victorian literature, this fic really let me have fun with the things I love most (Victorian England and Harry Potter!). I hope you all enjoy.
The walk wasn’t a long one. There was a reason Harry had stayed so close to the area—he hadn’t wanted to leave his parents’ graves.
Sirius held back a little as Harry approached the graves. They were adorned with simple markers, the kind the city paid for when there was no one to foot the bill.
He watched as Harry traced the names with a gloved fingertip, though he couldn’t make out the writing from where he was standing. He watched, sure his heart was breaking in two, as Harry took something out from inside his cloak and placed it beside one of the tombstones. He wasn’t sure what the boy said, but a murmur reached Sirius’ ears.
It was the box of chocolates Sirius had given him the day before.
Biting his lip, Sirius turned away. He couldn’t watch, it was too raw. There was no love lost between himself and any of his family, but he missed, so desperately, the only family he had had—Lily, James, Peter, and Remus. His godson, who was out there in the world with Remus, living the life Sirius finally knew he wouldn’t have been able to give the boy. Why, he must have been Harry’s age by now. Actually, Harry and his godson had a lot in common, now that he thought about it. They were both orphaned around the same age, having lost both their parents.
A sinking feeling settled in Sirius’ stomach. Harry pulled the cloak over his face, but by the way his thin shoulders were shaking, Sirius knew he was crying.
A hiss of wind covered the sound of his footsteps as Sirius approached the markers.
James Potter. Lily Potter.
Nausea overwhelmed him as his mind tried to make desperate connections. His godson. He’d fucked his own godson.
No one was more despicable than he.
Sirius did the only thing he knew how to do, the only thing he’d ever done in the face of pain.
He ran.
*
Staring with empty eyes at the windowsill, Sirius marvelled at how much it had snowed over the last day. When he’d left the…
Left his…
Yesterday, Christmas day, it had snowed like the Earth was getting revenge for something. Now he could hear the howls of the wind even over the roaring of his fireplace. No matter how hot the coals, how long the flames, he couldn’t seem to get warm.
He’d slept in the extra bedroom. Even after ten years of sleeping in his bed, it smelled more like—say it, you coward! —smelled more like Harry than it did of Sirius.
Punishment. Deserved.
Sirius shuddered. Harry would be all right. Children were resistant, perseverant. Harry’d been on the streets for ages; there was no reason to be so afraid for him. He wondered idly what had happened to Remus; his friend was not the type to shirk responsibility. He must be dead. The knowledge added to the sickness in his heart, but he couldn’t bring himself to mourn. He didn’t deserve it.
Yesterday, faced with the innocent sweetness of Harry (Potter, his beleaguered soul reminded him), Sirius had been able to convince himself he’d been doing the boy a favour with his attentions. A warm place to say, food, a bath… all of which Harry would have gone without for who knew how long until Sirius offered it.
Now, in the harsh reality of the day after, he knew he’d treated his own godson like a whore.
A particularly blustering wind rattled the glass of his window. The snow encroached halfway up, depicting a scale of how punishing the weather had been that day.
And his godson was out there somewhere. Alone, cold, discarded. How many people had left Harry over the course of his short life? How many had hurt him?
How could Sirius bear to be another?
He had his cloak on before he’d even realised what he was doing but hesitated at the door. Harry would not be pleased to see him. He’d promised him another dinner, a day in front of the fire, time spent together. And then he’d left him in the graveyard like discarded Christmas wrapping. His sweet lover, his Harry, who gave gifts of chocolate to the dead even though he sometimes didn’t eat for days.
His sweet Harry who said things like, Does it displease you? or How can I make it better for you?
His sweet Harry who’d been orphaned and left and starved and worked and used.
Sirius knew he was something of a bastard. He was selfish and sometimes cruel, uncaring about the plights of others. That Harry claimed to be in love as a result of an act of kindness Sirius could barely recall—and that was certainly the only of its kind for as long as he could remember—made Sirius feel all the more useless and undeserving.
He was a bastard, but he wasn’t a monster.
He had to find his godson.
The streets were every bit as cold as they’d seemed from inside, with none of the protection of distance. The first place he looked was Harry’s small alcove, where Sirius had spoken with him for the first time. Could it only have been two days?
But Harry wasn’t there. The small pile of rotted blankets remained, or what he assumed were blankets beneath the mountain of snow.
He almost decided to make the trek to Tremont Street before he realised where Harry must be. The graveyard. It was possible he’d never even left. Had he turned around, face pale and eyes red with grief, only to find himself alone? Had he searched for Sirius, thinking maybe he’d just gone to relieve himself? Had he been completely unsurprised by being cast off yet again? Had he eaten the offering of chocolates, knowing that he wouldn’t be sharing Sirius’ dinner table that evening?
Seeing a small form slumped against a headstone filled him with simultaneous glee and dread. The form was so very still.
Running, Sirius stumbled a little in the thick snow before falling to his knees beside Harry—
—who turned to look at him with the most accusing eyes Sirius had ever had set upon him.
“I’m sorry,” he said lamely, brow drawn and eyes earnest. “I made a mistake.”
The chocolate box was unopened and had been cleared of snow.
Harry rested his head back against the marker and did not answer.
“Harry, please. There’s something I have to tell you. I’d like for you to come home with me.”
Sirius waited long moments for a response, but there was none. The snow was picked up by the wind and danced with. “I won’t leave you again,” he said in a low but insistent voice. “I swear it.”
Harry shivered almost violently, and Sirius couldn’t stop himself from pulling him into his arms. He was as cold as the tombstone he clung to, but Sirius tugged him away and into his embrace.
“Let me go,” Harry protested weakly. “You left. You left.”
The truth of the accusation stung Sirius more than the biting wind against his cheeks. He closed his eyes, but opened them a moment later with renewed determination. He hauled Harry into his arms, unmoved by the half-hearted struggle. He could feel the heavy coldness of the limbs that were trying to assault him; Harry would not have made it through the night.
By the time Sirius reached his front door, Harry was no longer fighting, but the trembling of his body was almost as hard to contain.
Sirius filled the fire with too much wood, and then did the same in the bedroom after he placed Harry on the bed. Then he tended to his godson, whose muscles were spasming from the cold. The clothing was awkward to remove, stiff and frozen, but Sirius managed. Harry’s skin was red and chilled, but that was better than blue. Drawing the covers back, Sirius guided him beneath. Harry didn’t move except to help Sirius place him.
He pushed the hair from Harry’s face and then pressed a hand against his cheek, absorbing the cold there. Harry was still practically vibrating.
“I’m going to heat water for a bath,” he said gently, noticing but not understanding why his own hand was shaking.
He didn’t expect an answer and wasn’t disappointed. He set up the pots and the copper tub as he had the day before, a much more desperate and pleading tone to the actions. There would be no pleasure in seeing Harry’s frail form enter the tub.
When he came back into the bedroom, Harry was crying. The action wracked his body with a different tension than the cold, but it was the tears that gave it away. They flooded his eyes but would not spill, and Harry looked at anything but Sirius as he struggled to contain himself.
“You left me.” His tone wasn’t even accusing, as if he didn’t believe he had the right. It was a statement of fact, nothing more. No more than he should have expected, no more than he deserved.
“I… discovered something,” Sirius admitted. He stared as if in a trance at the way Harry shook. The water wouldn’t heat fast enough, and even if it did, the abrupt change in temperature might be damaging. “I know you’re angry with me—”
But Harry shook his head in denial. Sirius didn’t know what it could have meant, so he continued. “But I think it might be best if I come beneath the covers to share body heat. If you’d rather I didn’t—”
“It’s all right,” Harry whispered, his lips quivering.
Sirius undressed perfunctorily, not taking his eyes away from his charge. When he was in his pants, he moved to the other side of the bed and got under the covers. The sheets were just as cold as they had been before Harry’d gotten in the bed; he wasn’t warming up at all.
Harry hissed when Sirius pressed his front against the boy’s back. He pulled and prodded until Harry was pressed against him at every juncture, from the bottoms of Harry’s feet against his shin, to the back on his neck against Sirius’ collarbone. He wrapped his arms around him and held tightly, exhaling slowly down the boy’s back to warm him with his breath.
After a few minutes, Harry’s constant trembling slowed to a sporadic shake now and then. Sirius left only to take the bed warmer out of the fire and place it as near Harry’s front as he dared, warning him not to move too much.
“What did you discover?” came Harry’s sweet voice almost an hour later. Sirius jolted a little, having dozed a little after Harry’s back had warmed.
“Harry…” Sirius exhaled against his back, and when Harry shivered, it didn’t seem to be from cold. Suddenly realising how his body was reacting to their proximity, Sirius pulled away. Harry turned to face him, a question in his eyes. “I knew your parents.”
The look of unadulterated joy on Harry’s face secured Sirius’ place in hell. “I did. We were friends. We went to school together. Your father was one of my best friends, along with Peter and Remus. We were—”
But Harry broke in. “You knew Uncle Remus, too?”
And Sirius realised Remus was the first uncle Harry had mentioned—the one who had educated him. The one who had died not long after his parents.
Remus.
“Very well,” he said, his voice breaking a little.
“How come knowing my parents made you leave me?”
Sirius dropped his head into his hands. “I fought with Remus after your parents died. I’d drifted away from them, our friendship suffered. But then they died, and I heard about their son… You’d been charged to Remus, even though… even though James had always sworn I’d be the godfather. I thought I should have had you.” It’s all my fault.
Harry touched Sirius’ cheek with a fingertip. After a moment, he cupped Sirius’ neck and squirmed forward, closing the distance. Sirius froze, but he didn’t full away.
“Why are you sad? You have me now.”
Sirius broke. “Aren’t you angry? Your entire life, everything bad that’s happened to you, that’s my fault! If Remus and I hadn’t fought, I would have known he’d died. I would have been there to take you! You never would have been given to your bastard uncle or ended up without a home, you never would have been put in the workhouse, none of that! We would have shared a life together, you could have been… mine.”
Harry kissed his lips, but it was chaste, reassuring. “I’ve already lived all that. It’s over. It’s not like I have to live it again, is it? Everything’s easier when it’s in the past. It’s all right now. Isn’t it? Can I be yours now?”
Tears spilled from Sirius’ clenched eyes, but he forced himself to open them, to face Harry. “I took advantage of you.”
“Don’t you remember?” Harry asked. “I’ve loved you.” He kissed Sirius again, but Sirius pulled away and left the bed altogether. The temptation to accept the forgiveness was too great.
“Do you want me to leave?” Harry asked in a wooden voice.
“No!” Sirius exclaimed, shocked. “No, god, no. I want you to stay with me. I can’t be your father, or even Remus, but I can make sure you never go hungry, never get scared, never feel pain.” They were brave promises, but Sirius owed them. He would work every day to keep them.
“Don’t be silly,” Harry chided. “Just never leave.”
Never.
“April twenty-first,” Sirius said suddenly, making Harry frown in confusion. “Your parents’ wedding anniversary. April twenty-first. It rained.”
“Thank you,” Harry breathed, eyes wide and grateful. Sirius looked away.
“It’s getting late,” he said. He needed time to think about things. He was being forgiven, he knew. Not just by Harry. By James and Lily. By Remus. He had them back, in a way. And the first thing he would do was alter his will, leaving everything to Harry. His godson would want for nothing, and he’d never be abandoned again.
Harry pulled back the covers in response. “It’s your bed,” he said shyly, biting his lip. Sirius yearned to tug it from his teeth.
“You want—” Sirius backed away a step.
“Of course. Don’t you?”
God, yes. “It wouldn’t be right,” he said instead.
“It wouldn’t be wrong!” Harry countered fervently.
But Sirius kissed him softly on the forehead, avoiding Harry’s lips when he tried to make Sirius’ kiss into something different.
“Good night.”
*
Sirius woke up very warm. He stretched luxuriantly before he realised it was still dark outside. Had Harry called for him?
“Couldn’t sleep,” came a mumbled voice from beneath the covers. The source of the heat peaked its head out and smiled sheepishly at him.
Sirius carded his fingers through the wild array of hair, unable to resist. “Just for tonight.”
But Harry shook his head and pressed his lips against Sirius’. Too shocked to disallow it, Sirius was forced to accept that there was no way he could live with Harry and not love him in every possible way.
Harry’s tongue smoothed against his; Sirius hadn’t even realised he’d opened his mouth. A warm moan made him throb, and suddenly Harry was pressed all against him.
“Want you,” Harry whispered, and the evidence was irrefutable.
Sirius kissed him again. He knew at that moment he’d never refuse Harry, never let him down, never hurt him.
Never.
The end.
Author:
literaryspellDisclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I make no money from writing this.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: non-magic AU, explicit slash, chan (Harry is 15), rimming
Prompts: Harry/Sirius: AU/AR Victorian Christmas, Sirius finds Harry out on the streets, brings him to his home, where love/smut ensues.
A/N: As always, love to my betas! I had an absolute blast writing this. As an English major with a focus on Victorian literature, this fic really let me have fun with the things I love most (Victorian England and Harry Potter!). I hope you all enjoy.
The walk wasn’t a long one. There was a reason Harry had stayed so close to the area—he hadn’t wanted to leave his parents’ graves.
Sirius held back a little as Harry approached the graves. They were adorned with simple markers, the kind the city paid for when there was no one to foot the bill.
He watched as Harry traced the names with a gloved fingertip, though he couldn’t make out the writing from where he was standing. He watched, sure his heart was breaking in two, as Harry took something out from inside his cloak and placed it beside one of the tombstones. He wasn’t sure what the boy said, but a murmur reached Sirius’ ears.
It was the box of chocolates Sirius had given him the day before.
Biting his lip, Sirius turned away. He couldn’t watch, it was too raw. There was no love lost between himself and any of his family, but he missed, so desperately, the only family he had had—Lily, James, Peter, and Remus. His godson, who was out there in the world with Remus, living the life Sirius finally knew he wouldn’t have been able to give the boy. Why, he must have been Harry’s age by now. Actually, Harry and his godson had a lot in common, now that he thought about it. They were both orphaned around the same age, having lost both their parents.
A sinking feeling settled in Sirius’ stomach. Harry pulled the cloak over his face, but by the way his thin shoulders were shaking, Sirius knew he was crying.
A hiss of wind covered the sound of his footsteps as Sirius approached the markers.
James Potter. Lily Potter.
Nausea overwhelmed him as his mind tried to make desperate connections. His godson. He’d fucked his own godson.
No one was more despicable than he.
Sirius did the only thing he knew how to do, the only thing he’d ever done in the face of pain.
He ran.
Staring with empty eyes at the windowsill, Sirius marvelled at how much it had snowed over the last day. When he’d left the…
Left his…
Yesterday, Christmas day, it had snowed like the Earth was getting revenge for something. Now he could hear the howls of the wind even over the roaring of his fireplace. No matter how hot the coals, how long the flames, he couldn’t seem to get warm.
He’d slept in the extra bedroom. Even after ten years of sleeping in his bed, it smelled more like—say it, you coward! —smelled more like Harry than it did of Sirius.
Punishment. Deserved.
Sirius shuddered. Harry would be all right. Children were resistant, perseverant. Harry’d been on the streets for ages; there was no reason to be so afraid for him. He wondered idly what had happened to Remus; his friend was not the type to shirk responsibility. He must be dead. The knowledge added to the sickness in his heart, but he couldn’t bring himself to mourn. He didn’t deserve it.
Yesterday, faced with the innocent sweetness of Harry (Potter, his beleaguered soul reminded him), Sirius had been able to convince himself he’d been doing the boy a favour with his attentions. A warm place to say, food, a bath… all of which Harry would have gone without for who knew how long until Sirius offered it.
Now, in the harsh reality of the day after, he knew he’d treated his own godson like a whore.
A particularly blustering wind rattled the glass of his window. The snow encroached halfway up, depicting a scale of how punishing the weather had been that day.
And his godson was out there somewhere. Alone, cold, discarded. How many people had left Harry over the course of his short life? How many had hurt him?
How could Sirius bear to be another?
He had his cloak on before he’d even realised what he was doing but hesitated at the door. Harry would not be pleased to see him. He’d promised him another dinner, a day in front of the fire, time spent together. And then he’d left him in the graveyard like discarded Christmas wrapping. His sweet lover, his Harry, who gave gifts of chocolate to the dead even though he sometimes didn’t eat for days.
His sweet Harry who said things like, Does it displease you? or How can I make it better for you?
His sweet Harry who’d been orphaned and left and starved and worked and used.
Sirius knew he was something of a bastard. He was selfish and sometimes cruel, uncaring about the plights of others. That Harry claimed to be in love as a result of an act of kindness Sirius could barely recall—and that was certainly the only of its kind for as long as he could remember—made Sirius feel all the more useless and undeserving.
He was a bastard, but he wasn’t a monster.
He had to find his godson.
The streets were every bit as cold as they’d seemed from inside, with none of the protection of distance. The first place he looked was Harry’s small alcove, where Sirius had spoken with him for the first time. Could it only have been two days?
But Harry wasn’t there. The small pile of rotted blankets remained, or what he assumed were blankets beneath the mountain of snow.
He almost decided to make the trek to Tremont Street before he realised where Harry must be. The graveyard. It was possible he’d never even left. Had he turned around, face pale and eyes red with grief, only to find himself alone? Had he searched for Sirius, thinking maybe he’d just gone to relieve himself? Had he been completely unsurprised by being cast off yet again? Had he eaten the offering of chocolates, knowing that he wouldn’t be sharing Sirius’ dinner table that evening?
Seeing a small form slumped against a headstone filled him with simultaneous glee and dread. The form was so very still.
Running, Sirius stumbled a little in the thick snow before falling to his knees beside Harry—
—who turned to look at him with the most accusing eyes Sirius had ever had set upon him.
“I’m sorry,” he said lamely, brow drawn and eyes earnest. “I made a mistake.”
The chocolate box was unopened and had been cleared of snow.
Harry rested his head back against the marker and did not answer.
“Harry, please. There’s something I have to tell you. I’d like for you to come home with me.”
Sirius waited long moments for a response, but there was none. The snow was picked up by the wind and danced with. “I won’t leave you again,” he said in a low but insistent voice. “I swear it.”
Harry shivered almost violently, and Sirius couldn’t stop himself from pulling him into his arms. He was as cold as the tombstone he clung to, but Sirius tugged him away and into his embrace.
“Let me go,” Harry protested weakly. “You left. You left.”
The truth of the accusation stung Sirius more than the biting wind against his cheeks. He closed his eyes, but opened them a moment later with renewed determination. He hauled Harry into his arms, unmoved by the half-hearted struggle. He could feel the heavy coldness of the limbs that were trying to assault him; Harry would not have made it through the night.
By the time Sirius reached his front door, Harry was no longer fighting, but the trembling of his body was almost as hard to contain.
Sirius filled the fire with too much wood, and then did the same in the bedroom after he placed Harry on the bed. Then he tended to his godson, whose muscles were spasming from the cold. The clothing was awkward to remove, stiff and frozen, but Sirius managed. Harry’s skin was red and chilled, but that was better than blue. Drawing the covers back, Sirius guided him beneath. Harry didn’t move except to help Sirius place him.
He pushed the hair from Harry’s face and then pressed a hand against his cheek, absorbing the cold there. Harry was still practically vibrating.
“I’m going to heat water for a bath,” he said gently, noticing but not understanding why his own hand was shaking.
He didn’t expect an answer and wasn’t disappointed. He set up the pots and the copper tub as he had the day before, a much more desperate and pleading tone to the actions. There would be no pleasure in seeing Harry’s frail form enter the tub.
When he came back into the bedroom, Harry was crying. The action wracked his body with a different tension than the cold, but it was the tears that gave it away. They flooded his eyes but would not spill, and Harry looked at anything but Sirius as he struggled to contain himself.
“You left me.” His tone wasn’t even accusing, as if he didn’t believe he had the right. It was a statement of fact, nothing more. No more than he should have expected, no more than he deserved.
“I… discovered something,” Sirius admitted. He stared as if in a trance at the way Harry shook. The water wouldn’t heat fast enough, and even if it did, the abrupt change in temperature might be damaging. “I know you’re angry with me—”
But Harry shook his head in denial. Sirius didn’t know what it could have meant, so he continued. “But I think it might be best if I come beneath the covers to share body heat. If you’d rather I didn’t—”
“It’s all right,” Harry whispered, his lips quivering.
Sirius undressed perfunctorily, not taking his eyes away from his charge. When he was in his pants, he moved to the other side of the bed and got under the covers. The sheets were just as cold as they had been before Harry’d gotten in the bed; he wasn’t warming up at all.
Harry hissed when Sirius pressed his front against the boy’s back. He pulled and prodded until Harry was pressed against him at every juncture, from the bottoms of Harry’s feet against his shin, to the back on his neck against Sirius’ collarbone. He wrapped his arms around him and held tightly, exhaling slowly down the boy’s back to warm him with his breath.
After a few minutes, Harry’s constant trembling slowed to a sporadic shake now and then. Sirius left only to take the bed warmer out of the fire and place it as near Harry’s front as he dared, warning him not to move too much.
“What did you discover?” came Harry’s sweet voice almost an hour later. Sirius jolted a little, having dozed a little after Harry’s back had warmed.
“Harry…” Sirius exhaled against his back, and when Harry shivered, it didn’t seem to be from cold. Suddenly realising how his body was reacting to their proximity, Sirius pulled away. Harry turned to face him, a question in his eyes. “I knew your parents.”
The look of unadulterated joy on Harry’s face secured Sirius’ place in hell. “I did. We were friends. We went to school together. Your father was one of my best friends, along with Peter and Remus. We were—”
But Harry broke in. “You knew Uncle Remus, too?”
And Sirius realised Remus was the first uncle Harry had mentioned—the one who had educated him. The one who had died not long after his parents.
Remus.
“Very well,” he said, his voice breaking a little.
“How come knowing my parents made you leave me?”
Sirius dropped his head into his hands. “I fought with Remus after your parents died. I’d drifted away from them, our friendship suffered. But then they died, and I heard about their son… You’d been charged to Remus, even though… even though James had always sworn I’d be the godfather. I thought I should have had you.” It’s all my fault.
Harry touched Sirius’ cheek with a fingertip. After a moment, he cupped Sirius’ neck and squirmed forward, closing the distance. Sirius froze, but he didn’t full away.
“Why are you sad? You have me now.”
Sirius broke. “Aren’t you angry? Your entire life, everything bad that’s happened to you, that’s my fault! If Remus and I hadn’t fought, I would have known he’d died. I would have been there to take you! You never would have been given to your bastard uncle or ended up without a home, you never would have been put in the workhouse, none of that! We would have shared a life together, you could have been… mine.”
Harry kissed his lips, but it was chaste, reassuring. “I’ve already lived all that. It’s over. It’s not like I have to live it again, is it? Everything’s easier when it’s in the past. It’s all right now. Isn’t it? Can I be yours now?”
Tears spilled from Sirius’ clenched eyes, but he forced himself to open them, to face Harry. “I took advantage of you.”
“Don’t you remember?” Harry asked. “I’ve loved you.” He kissed Sirius again, but Sirius pulled away and left the bed altogether. The temptation to accept the forgiveness was too great.
“Do you want me to leave?” Harry asked in a wooden voice.
“No!” Sirius exclaimed, shocked. “No, god, no. I want you to stay with me. I can’t be your father, or even Remus, but I can make sure you never go hungry, never get scared, never feel pain.” They were brave promises, but Sirius owed them. He would work every day to keep them.
“Don’t be silly,” Harry chided. “Just never leave.”
Never.
“April twenty-first,” Sirius said suddenly, making Harry frown in confusion. “Your parents’ wedding anniversary. April twenty-first. It rained.”
“Thank you,” Harry breathed, eyes wide and grateful. Sirius looked away.
“It’s getting late,” he said. He needed time to think about things. He was being forgiven, he knew. Not just by Harry. By James and Lily. By Remus. He had them back, in a way. And the first thing he would do was alter his will, leaving everything to Harry. His godson would want for nothing, and he’d never be abandoned again.
Harry pulled back the covers in response. “It’s your bed,” he said shyly, biting his lip. Sirius yearned to tug it from his teeth.
“You want—” Sirius backed away a step.
“Of course. Don’t you?”
God, yes. “It wouldn’t be right,” he said instead.
“It wouldn’t be wrong!” Harry countered fervently.
But Sirius kissed him softly on the forehead, avoiding Harry’s lips when he tried to make Sirius’ kiss into something different.
“Good night.”
Sirius woke up very warm. He stretched luxuriantly before he realised it was still dark outside. Had Harry called for him?
“Couldn’t sleep,” came a mumbled voice from beneath the covers. The source of the heat peaked its head out and smiled sheepishly at him.
Sirius carded his fingers through the wild array of hair, unable to resist. “Just for tonight.”
But Harry shook his head and pressed his lips against Sirius’. Too shocked to disallow it, Sirius was forced to accept that there was no way he could live with Harry and not love him in every possible way.
Harry’s tongue smoothed against his; Sirius hadn’t even realised he’d opened his mouth. A warm moan made him throb, and suddenly Harry was pressed all against him.
“Want you,” Harry whispered, and the evidence was irrefutable.
Sirius kissed him again. He knew at that moment he’d never refuse Harry, never let him down, never hurt him.
Never.
The end.
