He hadn’t even bothered with a glass this time. A bottle of fire whiskey stood on the desk, its cap off, and its amber liquid glinting in the candle light. It was half empty, but since Sirius was sitting up and reading rather than lying in a pool of his own vomit, he assumed that that was the work of several sessions.
Harry slipped into the room – Sirius’ father’s old study – closing the door behind him with a light click. Sirius glanced up, briefly, and put the papers aside as Harry padded across the room towards him.
“Are you okay?” Harry asked, knowing it was a stupid question but needing anything to fill the silence.
“Yeah,” Sirius replied, lying through his teeth. “What’s up?”
This close – and it was a testament to the Order’s vigilance that he hadn’t been this close to Sirius in days; they didn’t believe he was innocent, no matter what Dumbledore said – he could see how bad Sirius looked. He was well-groomed and clean, certainly, much better than he’d been when they’d first met, but his eyes were dull and slightly glassy and there were lines on his face that Harry had never noticed before. This close, his breath smelled of whiskey.
“Just wanted to spend time with you, that’s all,” Harry said.
Sirius grinned at that, and for a split second he looked young again. Warmth curled through Harry’s belly at the sight: this was the Sirius that had been in his parents’ photographs.
He didn’t object when Sirius poured him a finger of whiskey into a crystal tumbler; mostly because – now he had company – Sirius used a glass himself. He sniggered when Harry sputtered over his first sip, and launched into one of his tales, one about the Marauders sneaking Firewhiskey into the Gryffindor dorms and Wormtail getting caught streaking through the corridors on a dare.
Harry watched in fascination as he spoke. Sirius had an oddly hypnotic quality about him – and while it was brilliant to hear about his Dad’s adventures, it was Sirius he was interested in. When he spoke he was deliciously animated. His hands fluttered like birds, graceful and elegant and fragile, and Harry wondered if he was capable of talking at all if he couldn’t move them. But there were moments – strange moments – when his voice would fade and he’d grow completely still; sometimes not even breathing before he snapped out of it and continued on, just a little more fragile than before.
Another glass of whiskey later, and Harry’s feet were in Sirius’ lap. They’d moved to the sofa in the corner at some point, and Harry was sprawled out upon it. His head felt muzzy, and he knew he was smiling like an idiot. It took so much effort to focus on anything that he’d chosen not to focus at all, and simply watched – smiling – as Sirius’ hands swooped and dove through the air.
He liked Sirius’ hands.
He liked them so much that he noticed immediately when they stopped moving. He blinked at Sirius in confusion. His godfather had stopped talking again, but he was looking at Harry instead of into the middle distance, and he looked…surprised?
“Fuck, you’re wasted,” Sirius said after a moment.
Harry shook his head and the room spun. He closed his eyes. “Nuh,” he said, and giggled. When he opened them again, Sirius was wearing that look that he always wore around the Order – the look of someone who hates that everyone around him can’t stand him, but who can’t do anything to change it. Harry hated that look.
He sat up, suddenly determined. Determined to do what, he wasn’t sure, but something needed to happen. It needed to be done. He drew his feet out of Sirius’ lap and leaned over, replacing them with himself.
Sirius had gone very still beneath him, watching him warily, but he reached up to steady him when Harry wobbled precariously on his knees. Harry felt his breath hitch. For such delicate-looking things, his hands were strong and warm, and the feel of them gripping his waist sent blood flooding to his groin.
Oh, he thought. Right then.
He cupped Sirius’ cheek, running his thumb along the line of his jaw. “I really, really want to kiss you,” he said, focussing so that his words didn’t slur. “Really, really.”
“You’re really, really drunk,” Sirius told him, but he didn’t push him away. Instead, his gaze flicked briefly towards the door and his fingers flexed; but then he drew Harry in, settling him on his lap properly.
“Really, really drunk,” Harry agreed. He slithered forward, wanting to get as close as he could, and plastered himself to Sirius’ front. Like this, he could feel the line of Sirius’ cock pressing against his arse through their trousers – long and thick and swelling rapidly.
When Sirius kissed him, his head spun with it. It was a harsh kiss: full of teeth and tongue, wet and bruising and desperate. Harry clung to him eagerly, kissing back with sloppy inexperience, and grinding his hips down. Sirius tasted of whiskey. He tasted of home. And when he moved from Harry’s mouth and started to kiss a path down Harry’s neck, Harry told him that just to feel the way Sirius smiled against his skin.
He babbled. “Fuck me. Fuck me, Sirius. Right here. Fuck me please. I want you, fuck, please. Please, Daddy.”
He felt Sirius go still again. At least, his mouth paused at the juncture of his shoulder and neck; his cock twitched. “You sure, baby?” he asked, his breath hot on Harry’s skin.
Harry nodded eagerly. Sirius pushed him away, guiding him gently off his lap and onto the floor. Harry staggered, a combination of lust and alcohol, and Sirius kept him upright.
“Get undressed,” he said. “I’m going to lock the door.”
Harry nodded. He watched Sirius weave his way around the furniture to the door and turn the key: his steps were wobbly and he had to balance himself a few times on tables and the back of a chair, but wand was steady when he spelled the door shut as well, adding something that Harry thought was a silencing ward.
He grinned when he turned back, seeing Harry standing watching him. “Undress, baby boy,” he said. “Unless you’ve changed your mind.”
Harry stripped as quickly as possible, yanking his shirt over his head and shoving his hand-me-down jeans and boxers down over his hips in one move, stumbling only slightly when he stepped out of them.
When he looked up, Sirius was there. His long-fingered hands were on Harry’s shoulders, pushing him down onto his knees.
“This is why they don’t want me near you. They’re all so afraid of how I’m going to corrupt you – how you’ll let me do it because you know you’re mine. You know that, don’t you, Harry?”
He spoke softly, continuously, as he unfastened his trousers and pushed them open; guiding his cock out and hissing slightly as it came into contact with the air. It was as long as it had felt pressed against him before, but thicker and flushed at the tip. He gripped himself at the base, and threaded his free hand through Harry’s hair, pulling him closer. He rubbed the tip of his cock over Harry’s lower lip, smearing precum that – when Harry flicked his tongue out to taste it – tasted of salt and musk.
Sirius’ breath hitched. When Harry looked up at him, he saw that Sirius was staring – his eyes wide and dark and glassy. The fingers in his hair tugged ever so slightly, urging him on.
“That’s it,” Sirius said when he opened his mouth. “Nice and wide. Just like that.”
He guided Harry down slowly, pausing every so often, until Harry gagged. Then he urged Harry to move, tugging his hair so that he bobbed his head, and ordered him to suck. Harry obeyed, drooling uncontrollably around the cock in his mouth; sometimes Sirius tugged him down so far that he gagged and his eyes watered, but he kept looking up, watching the expressions flicker over Sirius’ face.
Lust. Guilt. Astonishment. Joy and sadness in equal measure. Love.
“Get it nice and wet, baby,” he said. He sounded breathless, and Harry redoubled his efforts, flexing and rolling his tongue against the thick vein as he moved. “You look so good like this. So good, baby boy.”
Harry flushed at the praise, pleased, and kept going – balancing himself with one hand against Sirius’ jerking hips until finally, Sirius pulled him away. He panted, even as Sirius traced the head of his cock over Harry’s lips; he flicked out his tongue to taste it again and pressed light kisses to the head between gasps for air as his chest heaved. He was shaking, exhilarated and nervous all at once, and so lightheaded that he could barely see.
Then Sirius was guiding him up and pulling him back into his lap as he sat down on the sofa again. The tip of his wand pressed against his arse; Harry squirmed to get away from it, but Sirius held him still as he pressed the tip in, just past the tight ring of muscle.
“Lubricus,” he whispered, his breath fanning hot and wet on Harry’s cheek. “Musculare relaxia.”
Harry felt something wet and slick rush through him. It was cool and uncomfortable, but it was accompanied by the feeling of his muscles relaxing and the tip of Sirius’ wand slipping deeper in. He wriggled, scrunching up his nose at the feeling.
“You still want it, don’t you, baby?” Sirius asked. “You begged so prettily, you’re not going to back out now, are you?”
Harry shook his head and nudged back a bit onto Sirius’ wand. It felt weird – unforgiving – and a little uncomfortable, but not bad. And he wanted Sirius…he wanted Sirius to be happy like he had been when he’d first asked Harry to live with him. This was making him happy. He could see it in the glint of his eyes and the feel of his cock nudging insistently at Harry’s inner thigh.
Sirius grinned. He thrust his wand in a little before pulling it out, lingering with the tip at Harry’s entrance again before setting it aside on the table next to the whiskey. “Beg for it,” he said.
Harry shivered. “Please,” he said. He licked his lips, tasting whiskey and salt and the lingering musk of Sirius’ cock. “Please.” His breath hitched a little as he met Sirius’ gaze. “I want you to fuck me, Daddy.”
Sirius’ eyelashes fluttered slightly, his eyes darkening and his grin widening. He drew Harry in and down, reached around Harry’s hips to hold his cock steady. Harry flinched when the tip touched his entrance: it was wet and slick with saliva and precum, and it was so much thicker than the wand had been.
“Relax for me, baby boy,” Sirius breathed. He leaned up and caught Harry’s lips in a kiss, more tender than their first. “You’re so good. Such a good boy, Harry.”
Harry found himself relaxing as Sirius talked, as he cooed soft reassurances. Harry was good. He was so good. Sirius could taste himself on Harry’s lips and it was so fucking hot, baby. As he spoke he guided Harry down, down onto his cock – his breath catching in his throat. He felt so big. Harry moaned, long and loud as he was filled, and leant forward to rest his forehead on Sirius’ shoulder. It hurt, but Sirius’ hands were rubbing his back and curling round his cock to stroke it for the first time, and the pain was fading – mingling with pleasure.
When he’d settled, the buttons of Sirius’ trousers digging into his arse, Sirius pulled his hand from his cock and wrapped in round the whiskey bottle instead. He took a long swig, and pressing Harry close with the hand on his back, kissed him – passing the fiery liquid between them. It spilled, dribbling out of the corners of their mouths and down their chins, catching in Sirius’ goatee and dripping onto Harry’s chest. It burned the taste of cock from Harry’s mouth along with the last of his inhibitions; made his head swim and his heart race, and he shifted on Sirius’ lap, feeling the way Sirius moved inside of him. Another kiss, another shared mouthful, and Sirius set the bottle back down on the table before chasing the stray droplets down Harry’s chest – sucking them off his nipples; biting and kissing and marking.
His hands flexed on Harry’s back, sliding to his hips and lifting Harry a little, showing him how to move just right. Harry moaned, throwing back his head and staring vacantly up at the ceiling as he rode his Godfather’s cock. It was beginning to feel good. Sirius was brushing up against something inside of him that was making him see stars; his neglected cock was dripping from want, but when he moved his hand to touch it Sirius growled around his nipple and guided his hand back onto his shoulder.
“Not yet, baby boy,” he breathed. He moaned softly, as Harry kept moving. “Got to – got to earn it. Fuck, you’re so good. So tight.” He mouthed something soundless against Harry’s chest, kissed his way back up to his neck. “Daddy’s going to come in you, baby,” he whispered. “Going to fill you right up.”
Harry whimpered, looking down from the ceiling to meet Sirius’ eyes. He could see himself in them; the wide-blown pupils were like mirrors, and he could see how he looked all flushed and wanton with his red-bitten lips and bite marks littering his neck and chest. Sirius was flushed as well, and Harry felt something flutter in his chest knowing that he was the one who had put that colour there and bruised that mouth. He leaned in for another kiss, hungry, and sobbed when the change of position brushed the sensitive head of his cock over the material of Sirius’ shirt.
“Daddy,” he whispered against Sirius’ mouth. “It hurts. Please.”
He felt Sirius’ lips curve against his own. “I know,” he said. “Just a little longer, baby, and Daddy’ll kiss it all better for you. You can hold on a little longer, can’t you? Such a big, strong boy can wait a little.”
Harry sobbed and whined under his breath, but he nodded. “Yeah,” he panted, quickening the movement of his hips. “Yes, Daddy.”
Sirius nudged him back a bit, slouching in his seat so that Harry’s cock was denied its little bit of friction and so he had better leverage to thrust himself up, hard into Harry, meeting him thrust for thrust and jolting him in his lap. He kept hitting that spot, sending pleasure spiralling through Harry’s body. Harry cried out with each upward thrust, clutching at Sirius’ shirt with white-knuckled fingers and clamping down hard on his cock. That extra bit of friction had Sirius tossing his head back, his eyes fluttering closed as his mouth opened.
“Just like that,” he whispered. “Just like that, Harry. So close – so close.”
Sirius was gorgeous like this, sprawled on the couch, dazed and half-delirious with pleasure. His words were slurring together so Harry could barely understand him. He knew that Sirius was begging, pleading with him, telling him he was so, so good – and it felt good to be begged.
Now he knew why Sirius liked it. He liked the power of it.
He arched his back and ground his hips down in small circles as he clenched. The movement buried Sirius’ cock deep inside of him, right to the root, and trapped it against that special place, but it also drew a desperate cry from his Godfather’s lips. He couldn’t keep it up like this for much longer. He needed to be touched – needed Sirius to touch him.
“Daddy, please,” he begged. “Come inside of me. I need you to come in me, Daddy. I need it so much.”
“Fuck,” Sirius panted. “Fuck, Harry.”
He grasped Harry’s hips tighter, digging bruises into the tender skin, and dragged him down even as his hips snapped up. Harry cried out when he felt the hot splash of come inside of him, and he watched as beneath him, Sirius’ face crumpled in release. He sat, taking spurt after spurt inside of him, rolling his hips to milk Sirius as much as he could – this felt good too – while Sirius struggled to catch his breath.
In the sudden quiet, he could hear the echo of how loud they’d been. Their cries, the slap of skin on skin, the things they’d been saying – the thought of the trouble they’d be in if Sirius hadn’t put a silencing ward up crossed his mind, and he bit back a giggle.
Sirius was watching him, a crooked little smile on his face like he knew what Harry’d been thinking. “Come here,” he said, and he tugged Harry down into a kiss, trapping his sensitive cock between them. Harry cried out desperately.
“Do you want to come now, baby?” Sirius asked.
He didn’t have to ask to be begged this time. Harry obeyed without thinking, babbling again as Sirius lifted him gently off his cock, replacing its thickness swiftly with his long, beautiful fingers. He guided Harry forwards, up his body so that he was straddling Sirius’ chest, and breathed hot, wet air over Harry’s cock just to watch it twitch in response.
The tip was dripping – had been dripping – a steady stream of precum, and Harry watched as Sirius licked it up with sure movements. Harry’s hips jerked reflexively, and Sirius grinned up at him.
“Want to fuck my mouth, baby boy?” he asked.
Harry did. He did so, so much. Sirius opened his mouth and let Harry inch forward. His mouth was hot and wet, and he swallowed around Harry’s length, fluttering his tongue as Harry thrust in. Harry was tentative at first, but Sirius didn’t seem to have the same choking problem that he’d had before, so he thrust a little harder, a little deeper; every time his hips moved back, he thrust himself onto Sirius’ long fingers, which crooked a little inside of him, finding that spot with unerring accuracy and rubbing along it as Harry moved.
It didn’t take long. Harry had been so desperate – he was practically screaming when he came; his head thrown back and his body arching as he emptied himself down his Godfather’s throat.
He came back to himself afterwards, naked and pressed into Sirius’ side. Sirius’ cock was hanging out of his trousers still, spent and flaccid and faintly ridiculous looking. He glanced up at his Godfather’s face, thrown into relief by the light of the fire. Sirius was watching him, a faint smile on his lips.
There were so many things Harry thought he should say, but Sirius touched a finger lightly to his lips. It was slightly wet, sticky, and Harry licked it reflexively – tasted salt and musk and something like…cherry? – before he realised that it was one of the fingers Sirius had put up inside of him. Feeling decadent, and liking the way the flavour mixed with the residual smokiness of the whiskey, he sucked it into his mouth and suckled it clean.
Sirius’ eyes darkened, and he moaned again. In his lap, his cock twitched, but didn’t harden. Harry grinned around the digit in his mouth. He lazed there, sucking Sirius’ fingers clean, his mind in a warm, fuzzy haze while Sirius drank in silence.
“Regrets?” Sirius asked him after a while.
Harry shook his head, half-asleep. His arse ached a little, but Sirius didn’t need to know that. He stretched, reached for the bottle, and Sirius let him take it. He swigged heartily, coughing only a little when he swallowed.
“I want – ” he started. He licked his lips, took another swig, and passed the bottle back. “I want you to fuck me when I’m sober next time.”
Sirius stroked a hand down his side. “I can do that,” he said.
“And I want you to be sober,” Harry continued. “Happy and sober – I don’t like it when you’re sad. You drink too much.”
Sirius snorted. “Look who’s talking,” he said, but he set the bottle aside anyway and shifted them ever so slightly, so that he was lying down and Harry sprawled on his chest. “I am the worst adult ever,” he muttered.
“Nuh-uh,” Harry argued. He pressed a kiss to the only bit of bare skin he could reach: a small patch at the base of Sirius’ throat. “My Godfather,” he slurred, feeling Sirius stiffen beneath him. “Not allowed to say that about my Godfather.”
“Tell me that again when you wake up, baby boy,” Sirius replied, but Harry barely heard him. A blanket Sirius had got from somewhere had settled over him, warm and fuzzy, and he could barely keep his eyes open.
“G’night Daddy,” he whispered.
Sirius’ hand stroked through his hair. “Goodnight, baby boy.” He felt Sirius sigh. He heard, just before he slipped into unconsciousness: “I’m going to hell for this.”