For a little while, Sirius wasn't aware of too much except the sticky, but relieved, feeling in his groin and the fact that his entire body was coated in sweat despite his having at some point kicked down the covers. He was still mostly hard when James's grip tightened for a moment, causing Sirius to dig his toes into the bed at the overstimulation.
Then, as James moved his hand away, Sirius became aware that James had shifted back towards him, his own erection pressing into Sirius's leg. And James was breathing heavily, and not in a relaxed sort of way.
This wasn't right. James might have been protesting before, but his body sure wasn't protesting now. And although Sirius was feeling very relaxed and a slight bit sleepy, he wanted to do this for James, just what James did for him, just as he did so many years ago. Then he'd truly be able to sleep well, knowing that James was calm and happy by his side.
And maybe if he could just start things off, James would realise that he would be able to handle it, and he'd come, too, and then the two of them could lie there curled up and fall asleep. The tension between them could then fuck off for a bit and wait until morning.
Sirius reached down and slid his hand into James's trousers, gripping him firmly and stopping him mid-turn.
"Prongs," he whispered, "please, let me do it. I really want to, and you'll feel so much better, I promise. Please, Prongs."
Heavy breathing. James' hips bucked despite himself. The hand was warm, too rough, but also familiar. And oh magic and mysteries he wanted...! And Padfoot was asking him. Begging him.
Trembling, James put a hand on Sirius chest to push him back, but his fingers curled for a second and he held on instead, fisting the shirt. He shook and it made him stroke himself back and forth in Sirius' hand. Once. Enough to make him groan again.
James shook his head. "No Padfoot. It's ok. I'll be fine, mate."
The temptation to close his eyes was great. Bigger than great. But this wasn't his Pads. And Sirius could ask and ask, but James wanted his Padfoot. He wanted the boy who'd make him scream, make his toes curl and who'd smile, smugly and talk about tension, and pull out a chocolate frog from no where before pinning him to the bed to sleep.
"Pads!" Longing and desperation. James swallowed. It was the wrong tone. The wrong everything. The person he wanted was gone. He shook his head again, trying to steady his voice.
"Padfoot, please. No. No."
James looked into Sirius' eyes. Those old old eyes. Eyes that had seen too much in a face that had felt too much.
At first, it seemed like Sirius's idea was working. James clearly wanted it - and he needed it, Sirius just knew it. As James groaned, Sirius moved his legs closer towards James's, pressing his toes into the rough fabric encasing them, letting James know he was there for him, no less intimate than they had always been.
Against the arm encircling James's shoulder, Sirius felt James tremble, and then James was clutching his shirt and thrusting into his hand. James's groan made Sirius feel even warmer than he already was, and he couldn't help but smile. This was normal, and Sirius desperately wanted to make James come, to make him feel good, to show him that things weren't different.
He was about to squeeze and then start with long, slow strokes when James spoke. Sirius paused, hand still wrapped firmly around the middle of the shaft.
"No, its not okay," Sirius said, his voice still low. There was no good reason that James should deny himself this, especially when Sirius wanted to give it so badly, just as badly as he had wanted it for himself a few moments before.
And then there was that note in James's voice as he called out Sirius's pet name, the shortened version that no one else could use, because it was James's, and only James's, to say. It was full of desire and need, further proving how much James really did want this, and if Sirius could just get him going on a good start - his hand tightened and started to stroke downward - then he would surely start to relax, and Sirius could make James feel good, just the way Sirius was feeling.
And then James was saying no again, but everything else about him was saying yes, and Sirius decided he believed the everything else. Sirius looked into James's eyes, and he saw the desire there, too.
"Prongs, trust me." And with that, he started stroking again, gently, to show James that he could trust him, that this would be okay, that James needed this - no, that both of them needed this.
He was shaking. It was wrong and good and wrong and he was shaking and Pads was being so gentle, arm around him, hand on him.
"It'snotyouspellsandspiritsImisshim." A groan as James bit his lip, caught and trapped, still trying to push Sirius away. But he wanted...! And it was so. almost. Padfoot.
The low voice. The words. Trust him, he'd said. 'Prongs, trust me.' Which was calmer than any wicked, gloating, smug, loving voice he'd ever heard in the past.
"Please." James whispered, not quite knowing what he was asking or what he'd say next.
His free hand fumbled down, fingers wrapped around Sirius' which were wrapped around him, warm and firm.
"Please!" James shook his head from side to side, despite the movement of his hips. He felt overwhelmed.
He fumbled more, trying to move Sirius' hand out of the way, put his own hand there instead. It was far, far too late to stop. He needed - he had to come. He was close.
James closed his eyes, then opened them, fought to keep them open, to not give in. He shook a little and then groaned, loud, mouth open, lips wet, head half tilted back, breath stuttering in his throat like a purr.
The hand on Sirius shirt became a fist to push back at him, push him away.
"You'renot..it'snotright!" A pause. Then another oh, soft and shocked and gutterally passionate.
James scrambled to move away, to have no hands touching him but himself, but Sirius' arm was still around his shoulders, holding him close, cradling him almost.
He kept shaking his head. Body shaking. And then he was driving his hips, furiously thrusting, eyes open wide and vulnerable and young. A shadow of hurt in them, mixed with disbelief. Tears wetting his lashes.
James' moan went on and on, punched like a motor, matching each movement of his hips until it was over, and he'd come, wet and spurting and already curling into himself.
It took him a few swallows before he could whisper. "Don't do that again." And attempt to turn over, to curl and stay in the same bed but not face Sirius.
The words nearly ripped Sirius apart. He was that 'him' and would always be. A strange pang of jealousy for himself, the person he was twenty years before, stabbed Sirius somewhere in the chest. If that person was James's best friend, then where did that leave him? Second best to himself? Sirius desperately wished that there was something he could do to be that person for James, to help James realise that the two people were really the same, that they both loved James just as much. No, in fact, the person Sirius was now loved him even more.
And then James kept saying 'Please', and Sirius wasn't sure if it was a plea for more or a plea for Sirius to move away, to stop touching him. But his hips were pushing into Sirius's, and Sirius refused to give up.
James's hand found Sirius's, and Sirius could feel him trying to pry his hand off, to unwrap his fingers, but he refused to move them, instead allowing James to curl his hand around Sirius's. With his other arm, Sirius pulled James closer into him, his hand tucked around James's arm, trying to reassure him that it would be all right.
Truth be told, Sirius had never seen James like this before. He was jumping between extremes, shivering and moaning, pushing away and thrusting in, saying no but inflecting yes.
James's frantic motions made it even clearer how much James needed this. And in some ways, this was even more intimate, James's hand covering Sirius's as James thrust wildly into both, and Sirius tried to block out James's insistence that something was wrong with what they were doing. Nothing was wrong.
Except that James was crying? Crying and moaning, and again, Sirius didn't know what to make of the two emotions.
And then James finally came, over both of their hands, and Sirius adjusted his grip a little bit to allow James's fingers to lace with his, the stickiness binding them together. He lightly brushed his fingers across the back of James's neck. It was a compromise, as what he really wanted to do was pull James in tightly and plunge his fingers into James's hair.
As James's shudders subsided, Sirius looked down at his face, tear streaked and full of emotion. For several moments, James's words echoed in Sirius's head: It'snotright!
Fuck. No, it wasn't right. What did Sirius think he was playing at? James was a child. Harry's age. A confused child whom he had just touched in the most intimate of ways without permission - in fact, directly against his wishes. Sirius's throat started to tighten, and he felt his own tears welling up in his eyes.
Immediately, he pulled his hand out of James's trousers. It was covered in come, but that didn't matter right now. He wiped it off on the blanket and allowed James to turn over.
But still, he couldn't help but put his hand lightly on James's arm and move a bit closer.
"Prongs," he whispered, his voice cracking. "Prongs, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. You're right. I'm over twice your age. It's just - it's so easy for me to forget that I'm not your age." Sirius's own tears had now begun to fall, and he buried his face against James's back.
"I'm so sorry. I won't do it again. It wasn't right," he said, voice muffled against James. In a whisper, he said, "I wish I were seventeen again."
The length of James' spine was stiff, body tense. He kept himself firmly facing away from Sirius. One hand was under the pillow, the other around his own waist. Pads was squished against his back. And he was sad. Again. And shocked, again.
But James didn't have anything to say. His body, his skin was still hyper sensitive. And he wanted more than anything for Sirius to be seventeen behind him. Then all he'd have to do is roll over and talk it out, or not.
He shrugged and spoke, voice gruff. "Sleep, Pads. We can talk about it later." Or never. As long as Sirius didn't touch him again they might never have to. "It'll be alright, mate."
If Sirius were to go back to Azkaban, this moment would surely be one of the memories the Dementors would force him to relive. It was one of his lowest moments, having hurt his best friend in such a raw, personal way.
And this was supposed to have made things better. Both of them were supposed to be relaxed, sprawled out side by side, maybe telling a dirty joke or just lying there in comfortable silence until they both fell asleep - next to each other, in each other's arms, it didn't matter.
Instead, James's back was straight and tense against Sirius's face, and Sirius dared not embrace him, even though he desperately wanted to. Sirius hadn't thought their situation could get any worse, but it undoubtedly had. In fact, Sirius would have much preferred to be floating above the bed again.
No, Sirius didn't want to sleep, and he didn't want to talk about it later. "No, Prongs," he said a bit more forcefully than before, "it's not all right. I'm really really sorry." His voice softened. "I just wanted you to feel good. I didn't want to hurt you...and I won't do it again, not unless you ask me to, I promise." His hand stroked James's arm for a moment, and then he drew it back, almost as if it were burnt. The last thing he wanted to do was set James off again, not when things were already this bad. He pulled all the way back from James.
For a moment, he turned away, taking the opportunity to wipe his eyes off. Then he grabbed a pillow and put it next to James, upright, so that it acted as a sort of divider between the two of them. He pressed himself against the pillow. It was the closest he could get to embracing James, and for now it would have to do, unless James transfigured it into a brick wall or something...which wouldn't really surprise Sirius. Not at this point. And there was nothing he could do or say in protest.
"I'm so sorry." It was said in the softest of whispers. Sirius really wanted to say more, to ask James questions, to try to resolve this. But at this point, he didn't want to counter James any further. He couldn't bear to hurt him even more. Instead, Sirius sighed softly. It was a shaky sigh, his breath hitching in his throat once more.
I wish I were seventeen again. If only there were some sort of way. Sirius tried to fixate on this thought so that all the other emotions that were threatening to overwhelm him would stay at bay. The last thing James needed was to have to worry about him.
Sirius tried to run through the different magical subjects in his head. A charm would be no good - not strong enough. Transfiguration was possible, but a large sort of transfiguration like this one would probably take a very long time to achieve, like the Animagus transformation - and anyway, Sirius would probably have to ask Remus about it, and he knew Remus wouldn't agree.
Arithmancy, too complicated; Defence Against the Dark Arts, not applicable; Divination, rubbish.
Maybe there was a potion Sirius could drink, one that would turn his age back just the right amount, just for a short amount of time, like a day, or two days at the most. Then he and James could talk this out without James shying away or feeling unsettled. And once they reached some sort of understanding - and, frankly, once the both of them had a nice vacation from this confusing reality - maybe they could settle back into a similar routine, with Sirius back to his normal age and body.
Dammit and fuck. Maturin. The Potions professor. Sirius would be forced to go to him. Well, at least Sirius could say one thing about Maturin: He might be somewhat boring, and Remus might be far too interested in snogging him, but Maturin was nothing but professional about delicate matters such as these. Although Sirius hadn't really liked Maturin's explanation of being in love, Maturin had taken their previous exchange very seriously, and Sirius was confident he could trust Maturin about this matter, too.
At least something was resolved in his mind.
In the same soft whisper as before, Sirius said, "G'night, Prongs. I really am sorry, but I'll find a way to make it better." He pressed his hand up against the pillow a little bit and then tried to settle against it. He knew sleep wouldn't come for a while, though.
Then, as James moved his hand away, Sirius became aware that James had shifted back towards him, his own erection pressing into Sirius's leg. And James was breathing heavily, and not in a relaxed sort of way.
This wasn't right. James might have been protesting before, but his body sure wasn't protesting now. And although Sirius was feeling very relaxed and a slight bit sleepy, he wanted to do this for James, just what James did for him, just as he did so many years ago. Then he'd truly be able to sleep well, knowing that James was calm and happy by his side.
And maybe if he could just start things off, James would realise that he would be able to handle it, and he'd come, too, and then the two of them could lie there curled up and fall asleep. The tension between them could then fuck off for a bit and wait until morning.
Sirius reached down and slid his hand into James's trousers, gripping him firmly and stopping him mid-turn.
"Prongs," he whispered, "please, let me do it. I really want to, and you'll feel so much better, I promise. Please, Prongs."
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Heavy breathing. James' hips bucked despite himself. The hand was warm, too rough, but also familiar. And oh magic and mysteries he wanted...! And Padfoot was asking him. Begging him.
Trembling, James put a hand on Sirius chest to push him back, but his fingers curled for a second and he held on instead, fisting the shirt. He shook and it made him stroke himself back and forth in Sirius' hand. Once. Enough to make him groan again.
James shook his head. "No Padfoot. It's ok. I'll be fine, mate."
The temptation to close his eyes was great. Bigger than great. But this wasn't his Pads. And Sirius could ask and ask, but James wanted his Padfoot. He wanted the boy who'd make him scream, make his toes curl and who'd smile, smugly and talk about tension, and pull out a chocolate frog from no where before pinning him to the bed to sleep.
"Pads!" Longing and desperation. James swallowed. It was the wrong tone. The wrong everything. The person he wanted was gone. He shook his head again, trying to steady his voice.
"Padfoot, please. No. No."
James looked into Sirius' eyes. Those old old eyes. Eyes that had seen too much in a face that had felt too much.
"No Pads."
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Against the arm encircling James's shoulder, Sirius felt James tremble, and then James was clutching his shirt and thrusting into his hand. James's groan made Sirius feel even warmer than he already was, and he couldn't help but smile. This was normal, and Sirius desperately wanted to make James come, to make him feel good, to show him that things weren't different.
He was about to squeeze and then start with long, slow strokes when James spoke. Sirius paused, hand still wrapped firmly around the middle of the shaft.
"No, its not okay," Sirius said, his voice still low. There was no good reason that James should deny himself this, especially when Sirius wanted to give it so badly, just as badly as he had wanted it for himself a few moments before.
And then there was that note in James's voice as he called out Sirius's pet name, the shortened version that no one else could use, because it was James's, and only James's, to say. It was full of desire and need, further proving how much James really did want this, and if Sirius could just get him going on a good start - his hand tightened and started to stroke downward - then he would surely start to relax, and Sirius could make James feel good, just the way Sirius was feeling.
And then James was saying no again, but everything else about him was saying yes, and Sirius decided he believed the everything else. Sirius looked into James's eyes, and he saw the desire there, too.
"Prongs, trust me." And with that, he started stroking again, gently, to show James that he could trust him, that this would be okay, that James needed this - no, that both of them needed this.
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"It'snotyouspellsandspiritsImisshim." A groan as James bit his lip, caught and trapped, still trying to push Sirius away. But he wanted...! And it was so. almost. Padfoot.
The low voice. The words. Trust him, he'd said. 'Prongs, trust me.' Which was calmer than any wicked, gloating, smug, loving voice he'd ever heard in the past.
"Please." James whispered, not quite knowing what he was asking or what he'd say next.
His free hand fumbled down, fingers wrapped around Sirius' which were wrapped around him, warm and firm.
"Please!" James shook his head from side to side, despite the movement of his hips. He felt overwhelmed.
He fumbled more, trying to move Sirius' hand out of the way, put his own hand there instead. It was far, far too late to stop. He needed - he had to come. He was close.
James closed his eyes, then opened them, fought to keep them open, to not give in. He shook a little and then groaned, loud, mouth open, lips wet, head half tilted back, breath stuttering in his throat like a purr.
The hand on Sirius shirt became a fist to push back at him, push him away.
"You'renot..it'snotright!" A pause. Then another oh, soft and shocked and gutterally passionate.
James scrambled to move away, to have no hands touching him but himself, but Sirius' arm was still around his shoulders, holding him close, cradling him almost.
He kept shaking his head. Body shaking. And then he was driving his hips, furiously thrusting, eyes open wide and vulnerable and young. A shadow of hurt in them, mixed with disbelief. Tears wetting his lashes.
James' moan went on and on, punched like a motor, matching each movement of his hips until it was over, and he'd come, wet and spurting and already curling into himself.
It took him a few swallows before he could whisper. "Don't do that again." And attempt to turn over, to curl and stay in the same bed but not face Sirius.
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The words nearly ripped Sirius apart. He was that 'him' and would always be. A strange pang of jealousy for himself, the person he was twenty years before, stabbed Sirius somewhere in the chest. If that person was James's best friend, then where did that leave him? Second best to himself? Sirius desperately wished that there was something he could do to be that person for James, to help James realise that the two people were really the same, that they both loved James just as much. No, in fact, the person Sirius was now loved him even more.
And then James kept saying 'Please', and Sirius wasn't sure if it was a plea for more or a plea for Sirius to move away, to stop touching him. But his hips were pushing into Sirius's, and Sirius refused to give up.
James's hand found Sirius's, and Sirius could feel him trying to pry his hand off, to unwrap his fingers, but he refused to move them, instead allowing James to curl his hand around Sirius's. With his other arm, Sirius pulled James closer into him, his hand tucked around James's arm, trying to reassure him that it would be all right.
Truth be told, Sirius had never seen James like this before. He was jumping between extremes, shivering and moaning, pushing away and thrusting in, saying no but inflecting yes.
James's frantic motions made it even clearer how much James needed this. And in some ways, this was even more intimate, James's hand covering Sirius's as James thrust wildly into both, and Sirius tried to block out James's insistence that something was wrong with what they were doing. Nothing was wrong.
Except that James was crying? Crying and moaning, and again, Sirius didn't know what to make of the two emotions.
And then James finally came, over both of their hands, and Sirius adjusted his grip a little bit to allow James's fingers to lace with his, the stickiness binding them together. He lightly brushed his fingers across the back of James's neck. It was a compromise, as what he really wanted to do was pull James in tightly and plunge his fingers into James's hair.
As James's shudders subsided, Sirius looked down at his face, tear streaked and full of emotion. For several moments, James's words echoed in Sirius's head: It'snotright!
Fuck. No, it wasn't right. What did Sirius think he was playing at? James was a child. Harry's age. A confused child whom he had just touched in the most intimate of ways without permission - in fact, directly against his wishes. Sirius's throat started to tighten, and he felt his own tears welling up in his eyes.
Immediately, he pulled his hand out of James's trousers. It was covered in come, but that didn't matter right now. He wiped it off on the blanket and allowed James to turn over.
But still, he couldn't help but put his hand lightly on James's arm and move a bit closer.
"Prongs," he whispered, his voice cracking. "Prongs, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. You're right. I'm over twice your age. It's just - it's so easy for me to forget that I'm not your age." Sirius's own tears had now begun to fall, and he buried his face against James's back.
"I'm so sorry. I won't do it again. It wasn't right," he said, voice muffled against James. In a whisper, he said, "I wish I were seventeen again."
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But James didn't have anything to say. His body, his skin was still hyper sensitive. And he wanted more than anything for Sirius to be seventeen behind him. Then all he'd have to do is roll over and talk it out, or not.
He shrugged and spoke, voice gruff. "Sleep, Pads. We can talk about it later." Or never. As long as Sirius didn't touch him again they might never have to. "It'll be alright, mate."
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And this was supposed to have made things better. Both of them were supposed to be relaxed, sprawled out side by side, maybe telling a dirty joke or just lying there in comfortable silence until they both fell asleep - next to each other, in each other's arms, it didn't matter.
Instead, James's back was straight and tense against Sirius's face, and Sirius dared not embrace him, even though he desperately wanted to. Sirius hadn't thought their situation could get any worse, but it undoubtedly had. In fact, Sirius would have much preferred to be floating above the bed again.
No, Sirius didn't want to sleep, and he didn't want to talk about it later. "No, Prongs," he said a bit more forcefully than before, "it's not all right. I'm really really sorry." His voice softened. "I just wanted you to feel good. I didn't want to hurt you...and I won't do it again, not unless you ask me to, I promise." His hand stroked James's arm for a moment, and then he drew it back, almost as if it were burnt. The last thing he wanted to do was set James off again, not when things were already this bad. He pulled all the way back from James.
For a moment, he turned away, taking the opportunity to wipe his eyes off. Then he grabbed a pillow and put it next to James, upright, so that it acted as a sort of divider between the two of them. He pressed himself against the pillow. It was the closest he could get to embracing James, and for now it would have to do, unless James transfigured it into a brick wall or something...which wouldn't really surprise Sirius. Not at this point. And there was nothing he could do or say in protest.
"I'm so sorry." It was said in the softest of whispers. Sirius really wanted to say more, to ask James questions, to try to resolve this. But at this point, he didn't want to counter James any further. He couldn't bear to hurt him even more. Instead, Sirius sighed softly. It was a shaky sigh, his breath hitching in his throat once more.
I wish I were seventeen again. If only there were some sort of way. Sirius tried to fixate on this thought so that all the other emotions that were threatening to overwhelm him would stay at bay. The last thing James needed was to have to worry about him.
Sirius tried to run through the different magical subjects in his head. A charm would be no good - not strong enough. Transfiguration was possible, but a large sort of transfiguration like this one would probably take a very long time to achieve, like the Animagus transformation - and anyway, Sirius would probably have to ask Remus about it, and he knew Remus wouldn't agree.
Arithmancy, too complicated; Defence Against the Dark Arts, not applicable; Divination, rubbish.
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Maybe there was a potion Sirius could drink, one that would turn his age back just the right amount, just for a short amount of time, like a day, or two days at the most. Then he and James could talk this out without James shying away or feeling unsettled. And once they reached some sort of understanding - and, frankly, once the both of them had a nice vacation from this confusing reality - maybe they could settle back into a similar routine, with Sirius back to his normal age and body.
Dammit and fuck. Maturin. The Potions professor. Sirius would be forced to go to him. Well, at least Sirius could say one thing about Maturin: He might be somewhat boring, and Remus might be far too interested in snogging him, but Maturin was nothing but professional about delicate matters such as these. Although Sirius hadn't really liked Maturin's explanation of being in love, Maturin had taken their previous exchange very seriously, and Sirius was confident he could trust Maturin about this matter, too.
At least something was resolved in his mind.
In the same soft whisper as before, Sirius said, "G'night, Prongs. I really am sorry, but I'll find a way to make it better." He pressed his hand up against the pillow a little bit and then tried to settle against it. He knew sleep wouldn't come for a while, though.
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