Fic: No Home Here, Sirius/James, NC17
Today I bought a bag from H&M, and it's a nice bag (flat yellow shoulder-bag with checky bits and doodles and blue stitching and illegible french handwriting on) but I mainly bought it because on it there's a picture of a big black dog standing in front of a thatched cottage. I should get a life, but I really don't want to.
The hp_springsmut reveal tells me that stumbletongue wrote Warm Red in Grimmauld for me. Ron/Ginny! Makes me so happy! Thank you! I would do other springsmut recs, but let's face it; they'd be hideously biased towards pairings and people that I love.
And I still actually quite like the fic I wrote, though I don't know where to crosspost it to. Anyway, here it is:
Title: No Home Here
Pairing: Sirius/James
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: James visits Sirius at Grimmauld Place, hoping to steal him away for good.
Notes: Beta-ed by lovely lovely scoradh and read through the usual million or so times by lovely lovely wildestranger.
No Home Here
He tumbles untidily out of the floo in a scrambled sprawl of limbs, thumping sooty footprints over the fireplace rug as he hurries out of the room. On his way along the dim hallway he passes a muttering Kreacher, who has anticipated his arrival and is angrily brandishing a dustpan and brush. Other than that he gets no welcome.
The house is the same as it always is; stifling dead atmosphere, air thick with misery and dead skin. It smells bitter, decaying, a dry taste on his tongue, and James shudders as he creeps tremblingly up the staircase.
He always finds himself imagining what his mother would say, if she saw this place, were she ever invited (and she wouldn't be). She'd bustle crossly about, furious and itching to strip it down, to tear away the creaking, forbidding darkened oak. The walls would be papered in a garish shade of candy-coloured pastel if she got her hands on them, and the gloomy rooms chintzed up with doilies and twee pictures of animals and chubby children. It wouldn't look nicer, but it would look loved. He'd be able to be still here then: the current décor insists instead that when asked to tea he sit bolt upright, straight-backed and tense. It makes his skin crawl with little prickles of irritation and disgust. He wants to vomit on the pristine carpet.
Pausing two steps before the landing, James freezes: he's being watched. The door at the end of the first-floor corridor is ajar, peeking open to show only darkness within, but it's a sure sign. There must be grey eyes in that darkness, and James glares fiercely, for several seconds. The boy doesn't back down so James turns away, takes those final two steps up and walks in the opposite direction, his shoes loud on the polished wooden flooring.
He doesn't knock; just leans into the heavy door which groans in the aching silence. James is the only child in his house, but it's still never this quiet. When he slips inside, the door clicks shut behind him and the sound echoes.
This room is dark too, but cluttered enough to feel friendly. James knows this room loves him. It's crammed with junk, pointless things, posters and clocks and comics. But there's a crack in one window-pane, and that's new. James edges closer.
"Fuck off," the bundle on the bed hisses, tight and forced-out in a way that makes James's stomach lurch. He's offended, actually, that with eyes closed Sirius can't tell between his best friend and prim little brother.
"I'm here," James says after a few more paces forward. He reaches out, combs his fingers into the black-silk tuft of hair that's peeking out from under the blankets.
Sirius shifts at the touch, turns, and he's awful; a white-skinned and shattered doll, sprawled out, nearly tears shining in red-lined eyes. James pulls at the crumpled, unwashed sheets, thick with the scent of Sirius. He repeats "I'm here," and burrows himself under, careful hands flat-palmed so as not to cause pain in his eagerness.
"Shush, shush," he whispers, mashing his nose and lips to Sirius's sharp little jaw-line as he watches. "I'll make it better."
"Can't," Sirius says, pretty lips pouted stubbornly, though they tug down at the corners.
"Bet I can." James slides gentle hands over Sirius's shirt-front before he drags himself lower, pulling at Sirius's underwear.
It's never taken much. James knows he isn't terribly good at this, but Sirius is hard enough, so quickly, and cries out when James licks and runs his tongue all around the slit at the head of his cock. And then James sucks, softly, nestling himself down between Sirius's legs; loving the way Sirius's slim body loses all tension, relaxing into it as both their pricks swell thicker.
Sirius lies almost quietly, just weak little whimpers as he curls into James sucking him, and it's done quickly; over with that sharp sound of almost-pain. James swallows and presses his face to Sirius's sticky, warm belly, not nearly there himself.
"It's not better," Sirius claims with a whooshing sigh, but James ignores that: he knows it won't ever be.
He climbs carefully on top as below him Sirius smiles and sighs again, eyes now glazed. "See; it's already a bit better," James insists. "And you'll come home with me, won't you?"
Sirius nods and James settles, one leg between Sirius's and his forearms either side of his head. "You're rake-skinny," he adds, which is painfully true; Sirius is pasty and wilting from being shut in this room. "But we'll feed you up." He presses down, angled so his lips graze the shell of Sirius's ear. "Just think: roast beef, Yorkshire pudding and lashings of gravy, and sticky, syrupy treacle tart and custard with real lumps in." Sirius sighs, deep and rough, and James grins, smile sliding over soft skin and cartilage. "And you can stay in my room," James continues, "in my bed, naked. And I'll feed you chocolate, lick it off your fingers, and - ooh, cake with butter-cream icing, how 'bout that?"
Now Sirius is tilting his head in, eyes fallen back closed. James begins to chew on his earlobe between words, confused with the feelings of pity and sorrow and that deep pull of lust all tugging him at once.
"Padfoot," he says, pained and irritable and needy, and that gets a smile, even a short laugh out of Sirius.
Sirius whispers "Go on," and pushes a hand down to cup James's prick, palm clammy over James's underwear, "go on." James holds Sirius as tight as he can against him and begins to shift and twist, his cock thick and throbbing as it moves inside the curl of Sirius's fingers. He comes easily, little whines and gasps pouring from his lips directly into Sirius's ear as his orgasm spills out.
They cuddle together in the sweaty little tent of blankets, and James knows how Sirius feels, never wanting to get up ever again.
~~~*~~~
"So. This visit is a surprise," Mrs Black states. The words And not a pleasant one hang in the air as effortlessly as if she'd spoken them.
"Uh. Yeah." James smoothes down the crinkled front of his robes - Creased from fucking your son, he thinks - but he doesn't apologise. He will never apologise for coming here.
Sirius's father gestures for them to sit, saying nothing. He takes dinner with them only because it's the polite thing to do when you have guests, and where would the world be without manners? Of course, beating your son isn't terribly polite, in James's opinion, but for some people that's also the done thing. James fights to keep his face straight and edges into his chair.
Sirius sits himself down gingerly, yet with supreme dignity, but all James can think of is the red-welt whip marks that probably stripe his buttocks and finds himself instantly hard. He stares down at his plate, ashamed, because his best friend is in all sorts of agony and he's just thinking about sex again.
The meal is some sort of stew, thick tender dark meat swimming in a rich sauce. It's expensive, and complicated for Kreacher to prepare, no doubt, but not James's idea of good food. He stares glumly into it, waiting for everyone else to be served. On his right, Regulus's face is carefully blank, and James wonders how they can be so similar and also utterly different: Regulus's selfish love of peace and quiet, his desperate attempts to keep his family life calm and orderly. Sirius, instead, is stroppy, outspoken and shrieking, and frequently whipped until all he can do is lie face-down on his bed and cry.
They sit sedately in front of their steaming food, waiting for the nod from the head of the house that says they can eat. Despite his unease, and shamefully keen erection, James reaches a hand to rest on Sirius's thigh to comfort him. Sirius's eyelashes flutter a little, and he gets the courage to lift his wineglass and drink a heavy mouthful. The wine is expensive too, so thick and strong it tastes meaty and burnt, but James squeezes Sirius's leg, looking forward to later that evening: Sirius's half-drunken giggles and clumsy, eager body.
~~~*~~~
"I can't spend all the rest of the holidays at yours," Sirius points out, "it's nearly five weeks," his eyes very serious but his mouth lipstick-stained purple with wine so that the movements of his lips are all James can see.
"No." James hesitates, not wanting to drop any bombshells when all he really wants is to take Sirius's clothes off.
Sirius flops backwards onto the bed (which must hurt him), so beautiful and so tragic, and James crawls up onto him, straddling his hips. He begins on Sirius's neck, with kisses just this side of painful, while his hands fall to the front of Sirius's button-down robes, exposing more skin as he slides his way down.
"You could stay forever," he mumbles, to Sirius's left nipple.
After more kisses, and too much silence, James looks up, only to have Sirius gasp "Don't stop," clutching handfuls of the sheets and his eyes closed. James pulls himself up until their faces are level.
"I mean it," he says, fumbling Sirius's robes off and slipping his palms down over narrow hips. "I'll look after you."
"Then get on with it." Sirius doesn't open his eyes, and the serious moment is gone anyway; the desperation in Sirius's voice too much for James and he starts peeling away Sirius's underwear so that all his attention is taken by Sirius's nakedness.
He starts kissing then, every bit he can reach; not just because he wants to, but as an excuse. He nudges Sirius over, kisses down his spine until his lips touch white skin that's cut with stripes of red. "It hurt?"
Sirius wriggles, but not uncomfortably. "Umm," he moans as James licks at the burning, broken skin.
It's too much, and James wishes he could control himself, but he never can. Dashing his own robes to the floor, he drags a squirming Sirius under the blankets, the smooth shift of their bare skin together making his bones feel like they itch on the inside.
Neither of them can keep still. They suck and nip at each others lips, James's hands shaking as they stroke over Sirius's bony hips and hollow, wine-filled belly, occasionally bumping over the tip of his straining prick. James pushes forward then, loving the uncomfortable press of Sirius's cock jutting into his stomach and thigh as their kisses become tighter and closer and their movements more rhythmic.
"James," Sirius says, voice soft and happy, the word combining with the kiss.
James agrees with a brief, muffled "Mmm," edging one knee up and between as he tries to take charge.
"You were thinking about doing this all through dinner," Sirius laughs, while James fastens his lips to Sirius's throat and edges himself on top.
He gasps, "All the way through," and Sirius laughs again, and moans again when their cocks rub together.
This is the only time James is ever comfortable in this godawful house. More than just comfortable of course; breathless and burning, his nose pressed into Sirius's cheek as they kiss madly. Tangled into Sirius's body like they really are joined at the hips, Sirius's legs hooked around his.
Sirius is getting clumsy now, twitchy like he can't control it, so James pushes a hand down. This bit is almost fucking, their cocks held together within his palm. Beneath him, Sirius shudders, his body losing some tension as he lets James do the work. He leans high over Sirius, his thrusts sharp little jolts of movement and pleasure, eyes screwed-up closed.
Sirius mumbles "James" and he bites upwards for a kiss James barely registers because he's concentrating too hard. Sirius repeats his name, this time really intense, and James opens his eyes to watch, grinding down more firmly as Sirius breaks. James's fingers, his prick and belly, wash with sticky warmth, and Sirius gasps quietly. James moans, watching Sirius's parted lips, the pointed tip of his tongue flickering between, the way his grey eyes widen then close.
"Fuck," James says, so spellbound by Sirius and starting to come himself. "Oh fuck."
~~~*~~~
He's woken by Sirius's low voice saying, "James, James," hushed but insistent.
Even half asleep, James's instincts are the same, and he's pushed away and rolled on top before he finds the word "What?" He doesn't even remember dozing off, but it's very dark and the house is silent. "Sirius, what?"
Sirius tilts his chin up, pressing a short peck to James's lips, before saying, "We have to go," an urgent note in his voice.
James stifles Go where? in favour of just staring down for a few seconds, though all he can see in the dull moonlight are highlights along Sirius's cheekbone and the shine in his eyes.
He scrambles off, retrieving his glasses from the bedside table and setting them on his face, then blinks impatiently at the largest clock until it realises it's being looked at and hastily lights up. "Sirius, it's four AM."
When he turns back he can feel the helpless desperation on Sirius's face much better than he can see it. Sirius was probably watching him sleep before, worrying quietly in the darkness while his fingers slid over James's skin and dipped into creases. He's been thinking it through carefully.
"Okay then. Right."
Sirius lights his wand, and James doesn't bother to tell him off. He finds his own wand in the pool of his discarded robes, shoots an Imperturbable charm at the door, and they pack in silence.
James does Sirius's school things, throwing them in his trunk haphazardly; dog-eared textbooks, scuffed shoes, practical jokes and crumpled clothing all mixed in together. He leaves Sirius to root out the more personal things. There might be the odd letter, even a birthday card he might want to take. Tiny family mementos that even James, who's seen all the pain, won't blame him for. And there's probably a few magazines hidden somewhere that he doesn't share with James either.
After only a few minutes, Sirius stops, sitting himself cross-legged on the bed. James kicks the trunk angrily, because he'd let himself get his hopes up. "Sirius. You should, honestly."
"I know. I've just finished, is all."
"That's everything you want from this place?" Sirius nods, serious. "Nothing hidden under the mattress?"
Sirius looks him straight in the eye. "I'm leaving that." He almost grins. "Nasty surprise for her. And she'll never tell anyone."
"Hardly. Even your father probably has-"
"Not like those." Sirius has a look of almost perfect calm, though his eyes are wild.
James is surprised: he doesn't have any magazines like that. All his magazines have a consistently female theme. Trying not to think about it, instead he says "One last time? In here?" and before he knows it, Sirius is kneeling between his legs with a mumbled "Oh yes."
James leans back, rested on his hands as Sirius settles on the floor at his feet. His borrowed pyjamas are quickly torn down, and he's already hardening when Sirius's warm lips meet his cock. "Fuck, Sirius," he sighs, as Sirius's head bobs, long hair and soft fingertips tickling James's thighs.
As always, he comes quickly, Sirius intent on his task and his mouth so firm and wet, while James's hands scrabble ineffectually at Sirius's shoulders and tangle in his sleep-matted hair.
Sirius stays kneeling, face pressed to James's leg, but James can't allow that. Ashamed, he hauls Sirius up, onto the bed and into his lap, lets Sirius muffle his face into the curve of his neck. After a minute or two, Sirius turns to kiss him. His face is hot and wet and he tastes like James's come, but it doesn't matter.
~~~*~~~
There's about ten seconds after they've tumbled out of the Floo, James's hands lingering as he hastily brushes soot from both of them, before a thundering of footsteps can be heard on the stairs. His mother crashes through the door, her arms somehow already folded crossly. Her mouth shuts when she's had time to look, taking in her son's fierce, pleading eyes, the smeared look of Sirius's face and the trunk sitting at their feet.
"It's five in the morning!" she exclaims, but leaves it at that and ushers them up to bed.
Edit: I really shouldn't find myself quite so amusing. But I do. Also, I had a yum-yum (twisty pastry/doughnut thing) and Robin didn't and he really wanted one, but he still wouldn't swap it for his willy. Damn.
The hp_springsmut reveal tells me that stumbletongue wrote Warm Red in Grimmauld for me. Ron/Ginny! Makes me so happy! Thank you! I would do other springsmut recs, but let's face it; they'd be hideously biased towards pairings and people that I love.
And I still actually quite like the fic I wrote, though I don't know where to crosspost it to. Anyway, here it is:
Title: No Home Here
Pairing: Sirius/James
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: James visits Sirius at Grimmauld Place, hoping to steal him away for good.
Notes: Beta-ed by lovely lovely scoradh and read through the usual million or so times by lovely lovely wildestranger.
No Home Here
He tumbles untidily out of the floo in a scrambled sprawl of limbs, thumping sooty footprints over the fireplace rug as he hurries out of the room. On his way along the dim hallway he passes a muttering Kreacher, who has anticipated his arrival and is angrily brandishing a dustpan and brush. Other than that he gets no welcome.
The house is the same as it always is; stifling dead atmosphere, air thick with misery and dead skin. It smells bitter, decaying, a dry taste on his tongue, and James shudders as he creeps tremblingly up the staircase.
He always finds himself imagining what his mother would say, if she saw this place, were she ever invited (and she wouldn't be). She'd bustle crossly about, furious and itching to strip it down, to tear away the creaking, forbidding darkened oak. The walls would be papered in a garish shade of candy-coloured pastel if she got her hands on them, and the gloomy rooms chintzed up with doilies and twee pictures of animals and chubby children. It wouldn't look nicer, but it would look loved. He'd be able to be still here then: the current décor insists instead that when asked to tea he sit bolt upright, straight-backed and tense. It makes his skin crawl with little prickles of irritation and disgust. He wants to vomit on the pristine carpet.
Pausing two steps before the landing, James freezes: he's being watched. The door at the end of the first-floor corridor is ajar, peeking open to show only darkness within, but it's a sure sign. There must be grey eyes in that darkness, and James glares fiercely, for several seconds. The boy doesn't back down so James turns away, takes those final two steps up and walks in the opposite direction, his shoes loud on the polished wooden flooring.
He doesn't knock; just leans into the heavy door which groans in the aching silence. James is the only child in his house, but it's still never this quiet. When he slips inside, the door clicks shut behind him and the sound echoes.
This room is dark too, but cluttered enough to feel friendly. James knows this room loves him. It's crammed with junk, pointless things, posters and clocks and comics. But there's a crack in one window-pane, and that's new. James edges closer.
"Fuck off," the bundle on the bed hisses, tight and forced-out in a way that makes James's stomach lurch. He's offended, actually, that with eyes closed Sirius can't tell between his best friend and prim little brother.
"I'm here," James says after a few more paces forward. He reaches out, combs his fingers into the black-silk tuft of hair that's peeking out from under the blankets.
Sirius shifts at the touch, turns, and he's awful; a white-skinned and shattered doll, sprawled out, nearly tears shining in red-lined eyes. James pulls at the crumpled, unwashed sheets, thick with the scent of Sirius. He repeats "I'm here," and burrows himself under, careful hands flat-palmed so as not to cause pain in his eagerness.
"Shush, shush," he whispers, mashing his nose and lips to Sirius's sharp little jaw-line as he watches. "I'll make it better."
"Can't," Sirius says, pretty lips pouted stubbornly, though they tug down at the corners.
"Bet I can." James slides gentle hands over Sirius's shirt-front before he drags himself lower, pulling at Sirius's underwear.
It's never taken much. James knows he isn't terribly good at this, but Sirius is hard enough, so quickly, and cries out when James licks and runs his tongue all around the slit at the head of his cock. And then James sucks, softly, nestling himself down between Sirius's legs; loving the way Sirius's slim body loses all tension, relaxing into it as both their pricks swell thicker.
Sirius lies almost quietly, just weak little whimpers as he curls into James sucking him, and it's done quickly; over with that sharp sound of almost-pain. James swallows and presses his face to Sirius's sticky, warm belly, not nearly there himself.
"It's not better," Sirius claims with a whooshing sigh, but James ignores that: he knows it won't ever be.
He climbs carefully on top as below him Sirius smiles and sighs again, eyes now glazed. "See; it's already a bit better," James insists. "And you'll come home with me, won't you?"
Sirius nods and James settles, one leg between Sirius's and his forearms either side of his head. "You're rake-skinny," he adds, which is painfully true; Sirius is pasty and wilting from being shut in this room. "But we'll feed you up." He presses down, angled so his lips graze the shell of Sirius's ear. "Just think: roast beef, Yorkshire pudding and lashings of gravy, and sticky, syrupy treacle tart and custard with real lumps in." Sirius sighs, deep and rough, and James grins, smile sliding over soft skin and cartilage. "And you can stay in my room," James continues, "in my bed, naked. And I'll feed you chocolate, lick it off your fingers, and - ooh, cake with butter-cream icing, how 'bout that?"
Now Sirius is tilting his head in, eyes fallen back closed. James begins to chew on his earlobe between words, confused with the feelings of pity and sorrow and that deep pull of lust all tugging him at once.
"Padfoot," he says, pained and irritable and needy, and that gets a smile, even a short laugh out of Sirius.
Sirius whispers "Go on," and pushes a hand down to cup James's prick, palm clammy over James's underwear, "go on." James holds Sirius as tight as he can against him and begins to shift and twist, his cock thick and throbbing as it moves inside the curl of Sirius's fingers. He comes easily, little whines and gasps pouring from his lips directly into Sirius's ear as his orgasm spills out.
They cuddle together in the sweaty little tent of blankets, and James knows how Sirius feels, never wanting to get up ever again.
~~~*~~~
"So. This visit is a surprise," Mrs Black states. The words And not a pleasant one hang in the air as effortlessly as if she'd spoken them.
"Uh. Yeah." James smoothes down the crinkled front of his robes - Creased from fucking your son, he thinks - but he doesn't apologise. He will never apologise for coming here.
Sirius's father gestures for them to sit, saying nothing. He takes dinner with them only because it's the polite thing to do when you have guests, and where would the world be without manners? Of course, beating your son isn't terribly polite, in James's opinion, but for some people that's also the done thing. James fights to keep his face straight and edges into his chair.
Sirius sits himself down gingerly, yet with supreme dignity, but all James can think of is the red-welt whip marks that probably stripe his buttocks and finds himself instantly hard. He stares down at his plate, ashamed, because his best friend is in all sorts of agony and he's just thinking about sex again.
The meal is some sort of stew, thick tender dark meat swimming in a rich sauce. It's expensive, and complicated for Kreacher to prepare, no doubt, but not James's idea of good food. He stares glumly into it, waiting for everyone else to be served. On his right, Regulus's face is carefully blank, and James wonders how they can be so similar and also utterly different: Regulus's selfish love of peace and quiet, his desperate attempts to keep his family life calm and orderly. Sirius, instead, is stroppy, outspoken and shrieking, and frequently whipped until all he can do is lie face-down on his bed and cry.
They sit sedately in front of their steaming food, waiting for the nod from the head of the house that says they can eat. Despite his unease, and shamefully keen erection, James reaches a hand to rest on Sirius's thigh to comfort him. Sirius's eyelashes flutter a little, and he gets the courage to lift his wineglass and drink a heavy mouthful. The wine is expensive too, so thick and strong it tastes meaty and burnt, but James squeezes Sirius's leg, looking forward to later that evening: Sirius's half-drunken giggles and clumsy, eager body.
~~~*~~~
"I can't spend all the rest of the holidays at yours," Sirius points out, "it's nearly five weeks," his eyes very serious but his mouth lipstick-stained purple with wine so that the movements of his lips are all James can see.
"No." James hesitates, not wanting to drop any bombshells when all he really wants is to take Sirius's clothes off.
Sirius flops backwards onto the bed (which must hurt him), so beautiful and so tragic, and James crawls up onto him, straddling his hips. He begins on Sirius's neck, with kisses just this side of painful, while his hands fall to the front of Sirius's button-down robes, exposing more skin as he slides his way down.
"You could stay forever," he mumbles, to Sirius's left nipple.
After more kisses, and too much silence, James looks up, only to have Sirius gasp "Don't stop," clutching handfuls of the sheets and his eyes closed. James pulls himself up until their faces are level.
"I mean it," he says, fumbling Sirius's robes off and slipping his palms down over narrow hips. "I'll look after you."
"Then get on with it." Sirius doesn't open his eyes, and the serious moment is gone anyway; the desperation in Sirius's voice too much for James and he starts peeling away Sirius's underwear so that all his attention is taken by Sirius's nakedness.
He starts kissing then, every bit he can reach; not just because he wants to, but as an excuse. He nudges Sirius over, kisses down his spine until his lips touch white skin that's cut with stripes of red. "It hurt?"
Sirius wriggles, but not uncomfortably. "Umm," he moans as James licks at the burning, broken skin.
It's too much, and James wishes he could control himself, but he never can. Dashing his own robes to the floor, he drags a squirming Sirius under the blankets, the smooth shift of their bare skin together making his bones feel like they itch on the inside.
Neither of them can keep still. They suck and nip at each others lips, James's hands shaking as they stroke over Sirius's bony hips and hollow, wine-filled belly, occasionally bumping over the tip of his straining prick. James pushes forward then, loving the uncomfortable press of Sirius's cock jutting into his stomach and thigh as their kisses become tighter and closer and their movements more rhythmic.
"James," Sirius says, voice soft and happy, the word combining with the kiss.
James agrees with a brief, muffled "Mmm," edging one knee up and between as he tries to take charge.
"You were thinking about doing this all through dinner," Sirius laughs, while James fastens his lips to Sirius's throat and edges himself on top.
He gasps, "All the way through," and Sirius laughs again, and moans again when their cocks rub together.
This is the only time James is ever comfortable in this godawful house. More than just comfortable of course; breathless and burning, his nose pressed into Sirius's cheek as they kiss madly. Tangled into Sirius's body like they really are joined at the hips, Sirius's legs hooked around his.
Sirius is getting clumsy now, twitchy like he can't control it, so James pushes a hand down. This bit is almost fucking, their cocks held together within his palm. Beneath him, Sirius shudders, his body losing some tension as he lets James do the work. He leans high over Sirius, his thrusts sharp little jolts of movement and pleasure, eyes screwed-up closed.
Sirius mumbles "James" and he bites upwards for a kiss James barely registers because he's concentrating too hard. Sirius repeats his name, this time really intense, and James opens his eyes to watch, grinding down more firmly as Sirius breaks. James's fingers, his prick and belly, wash with sticky warmth, and Sirius gasps quietly. James moans, watching Sirius's parted lips, the pointed tip of his tongue flickering between, the way his grey eyes widen then close.
"Fuck," James says, so spellbound by Sirius and starting to come himself. "Oh fuck."
~~~*~~~
He's woken by Sirius's low voice saying, "James, James," hushed but insistent.
Even half asleep, James's instincts are the same, and he's pushed away and rolled on top before he finds the word "What?" He doesn't even remember dozing off, but it's very dark and the house is silent. "Sirius, what?"
Sirius tilts his chin up, pressing a short peck to James's lips, before saying, "We have to go," an urgent note in his voice.
James stifles Go where? in favour of just staring down for a few seconds, though all he can see in the dull moonlight are highlights along Sirius's cheekbone and the shine in his eyes.
He scrambles off, retrieving his glasses from the bedside table and setting them on his face, then blinks impatiently at the largest clock until it realises it's being looked at and hastily lights up. "Sirius, it's four AM."
When he turns back he can feel the helpless desperation on Sirius's face much better than he can see it. Sirius was probably watching him sleep before, worrying quietly in the darkness while his fingers slid over James's skin and dipped into creases. He's been thinking it through carefully.
"Okay then. Right."
Sirius lights his wand, and James doesn't bother to tell him off. He finds his own wand in the pool of his discarded robes, shoots an Imperturbable charm at the door, and they pack in silence.
James does Sirius's school things, throwing them in his trunk haphazardly; dog-eared textbooks, scuffed shoes, practical jokes and crumpled clothing all mixed in together. He leaves Sirius to root out the more personal things. There might be the odd letter, even a birthday card he might want to take. Tiny family mementos that even James, who's seen all the pain, won't blame him for. And there's probably a few magazines hidden somewhere that he doesn't share with James either.
After only a few minutes, Sirius stops, sitting himself cross-legged on the bed. James kicks the trunk angrily, because he'd let himself get his hopes up. "Sirius. You should, honestly."
"I know. I've just finished, is all."
"That's everything you want from this place?" Sirius nods, serious. "Nothing hidden under the mattress?"
Sirius looks him straight in the eye. "I'm leaving that." He almost grins. "Nasty surprise for her. And she'll never tell anyone."
"Hardly. Even your father probably has-"
"Not like those." Sirius has a look of almost perfect calm, though his eyes are wild.
James is surprised: he doesn't have any magazines like that. All his magazines have a consistently female theme. Trying not to think about it, instead he says "One last time? In here?" and before he knows it, Sirius is kneeling between his legs with a mumbled "Oh yes."
James leans back, rested on his hands as Sirius settles on the floor at his feet. His borrowed pyjamas are quickly torn down, and he's already hardening when Sirius's warm lips meet his cock. "Fuck, Sirius," he sighs, as Sirius's head bobs, long hair and soft fingertips tickling James's thighs.
As always, he comes quickly, Sirius intent on his task and his mouth so firm and wet, while James's hands scrabble ineffectually at Sirius's shoulders and tangle in his sleep-matted hair.
Sirius stays kneeling, face pressed to James's leg, but James can't allow that. Ashamed, he hauls Sirius up, onto the bed and into his lap, lets Sirius muffle his face into the curve of his neck. After a minute or two, Sirius turns to kiss him. His face is hot and wet and he tastes like James's come, but it doesn't matter.
~~~*~~~
There's about ten seconds after they've tumbled out of the Floo, James's hands lingering as he hastily brushes soot from both of them, before a thundering of footsteps can be heard on the stairs. His mother crashes through the door, her arms somehow already folded crossly. Her mouth shuts when she's had time to look, taking in her son's fierce, pleading eyes, the smeared look of Sirius's face and the trunk sitting at their feet.
"It's five in the morning!" she exclaims, but leaves it at that and ushers them up to bed.
Edit: I really shouldn't find myself quite so amusing. But I do. Also, I had a yum-yum (twisty pastry/doughnut thing) and Robin didn't and he really wanted one, but he still wouldn't swap it for his willy. Damn.