TITLE: Everyday Ejaculations
RATING: Not very smutty. More fluff, but hopefully humorous fluff.
DISCLAIMER: Belongs to J.K. Rowling, etc.
NOTES: written for the sirryslash Cookie Jar prompt number 14: Leather trousers. Dursleys. And. Um. This is my first Sirry. I really hope you like it, and please be gentle. Or give useful concrit, 'cause that's good, too.
SUMMARY: Total denial-fic. In which OotP didn't happen, or at least didn't end that way. 'Cause, you know. I'm all about the denial. The Dursleys have gone on vacation, while Harry is to be cared for by his godfather. Despite thinking Sirius is gorgeous, Harry is determined not to say anything, but Harry's own magical abilities conspire to reveal his interest. Humour/Romance

Everyday Ejaculations

Harry could hear the Dursleys banging around downstairs as they readied themselves to leave. He couldn't help but feel a slight pang of envy; he'd never been on vacation. He'd hardly been anywhere. He'd never gone to the beach, or toasted marshmallows, or ridden a ferris wheel.

Of course, his life was quite exciting enough without any of that, and anyway, Sirius would be coming to visit while they were gone. Sirius made everything wonderful. Sirius was wonderful.

Sighing, Harry scooped up a picture of Sirius and himself at Harry's graduation. Sirius was very photogenic. Harry gazed at it with a goofy half-smile on his face. Sirius had his arm around Harry, who was grinning brightly. He watched his godfather's image smirk, giving his head a toss, his long hair as wild as the man himself. Harry ran a finger over the picture, wondering if the man's hair was as silky as it looked.

"Come down here, boy!" Uncle Vernon was yelling for him. Save the world from a madman before he was eighteen, and his relatives still treated him like scum.

Harry sighed heavily, putting the picture back and hurrying down the stairs. "Yeah? What is it?"

"We're leaving, whether that reprobate of a godfather of yours is here or not. We'll be gone 'till Sunday, and the house had better still be standing when we get back. No parties. No music. No television. No trouble. No you know what," Vernon snapped, snatching up his suitcase.

Harry grimaced. "Don't worry, I won't blow the house up."

"And don't let…that…that man touch anything," Petunia spat.

He watched them, strapping stuff on the roof, stuffing things—like Dudley—into the back seat, and then finally pulling away. "Thank God for that," he muttered, and switched on the telly. Idly, he wondered when Sirius would be there. Harry kicked his legs up on the couch, settling in to the reruns.


There was a noise from somewhere nearby. Harry sat bolt upright on the couch. Voldemort! No, wait; Voldemort was dead. Then what was that noise? Sleepily, Harry fumbled around, sweeping his hand over the coffee table, trying to find his glasses. Why had he fallen asleep on the couch? What was going on?

"Ouch! Bugger!" a masculine voice grunted from the direction of the fireplace.

Harry scrabbled for his wand. "Who—who's there?" he asked, his heart beating a mile a minute.

"Harry? Just a second…can't see a ruddy thing," Sirius' voice complained. "Lumos! Ah, that's much better."

"You could just turn on a lamp," Harry said, reaching over and flicking the one on the end table on.

"Nah, that's really more Arthur's thing," Sirius told him. "Nox. Thanks, though." He grinned broadly, making Harry's stomach do flip-flops. "Sorry I'm late. We raided Malfoy Mansion today." He dropped onto the couch, making himself right at home, folding his arms behind his head. "Go ahead; ask me how it went," he dared, a smug look on his face.

Harry couldn't help smiling"How'd it go?" he asked eagerly.

"Couldn't have gone better," Sirius replied. "Guess what we found. You'll never guess. Go on, guess!"

Sirius was really keyed up, and his excitement was infectious. "Um. Contraband? Dark spells? Books of curses?"

"No, no, and no. Well, technically, yes, yes, and yes, but that wasn't the good bit. Go on. Keep guessing."

Harry shrugged, bemused. "I'm out of ideas. Come on, tell me!"

"Give you a hint. Starts with a P."

"Um…party favours? The pox? Parrots? Presbyterians?"

Sirius gave a great barking laugh at that. "Wouldn't put it past Lucius in his evilness, but no. Here's another hint. It wasn't a thing. It was a person."

Harry's jaw went slack. "P—Pettigrew? You finally caught Pettigrew?" Peter Pettigrew had slipped away during the last battle. Considering the damage he'd done to Harry's life, Harry's family, the lack of closure had been a bitter pill to swallow.

"Right in one," Sirius replied, his mouth twisting into an angry smile. "Peter's wriggled out of everything for the last time."

"That's great!"

"And it means that you ought to be free to leave this awful place soon, since he's no longer a threat. I'd say it calls for a drink. What do those horrible relatives of yours have?"

Harry showed him the fridge, and Sirius pulled out a beer. Sirius popped it open, throwing his head back and pursing his lips, guzzling it down. Harry stared as the long throat worked. He switched on the kitchen light, drinking in the sight of his godfather, hair wind-tossed and perfect, Adam's apple bobbing as he drank. Harry swept his gaze from that gorgeous face, down to…

"Oh, my God, Sirius! Are those leather?" he gasped.

Sirius lowered his beer, licking his lips. "Yeah. Like 'em?"

Harry watched as Sirius turned around, hunting for a bin to put his empty bottle in. When he located it under the sink, he half bent over to shove it in, giving Harry an excellent view.

"Ye-es," Harry responded, his voice coming out in a moan.

Sirius raised his eyebrows. "We could get you a pair," he offered.

"I wouldn't look like that in them," Harry told him, shaking his head.

Sirius reached out to ruffle his hair. "I like the way you look right now," he said earnestly. His eyes were warm and soft and full of something Harry'd never seen in anyone else's before. It was something Sirius never seemed to offer anyone else, either, something that was just Harry's.

Harry blushed. "Thanks."

After a couple of bottles of beer, Sirius crashed on the couch. Harry stared at him for almost an hour. His eyes were repeatedly drawn to the incredibly tight leather trousers that screamed SEX in every way. "I am such an utter pervert," he muttered. He shook his head and went up to bed, trying to think of anything except his wonderful godfather.


The next morning, Harry awoke to a disaster. He'd been having a delicious dream, about Sirius and a flying motorcycle, and all Harry could think was, He's so hot, with his hot smile…his hot, lean body…his hot stomach…his hot— Suddenly, there was a particularly loud thud, and Harry's eyes fluttered open. He was tangled in the sheets, which were wet with more than sweat, and he was hot with morethan simple arousal, and the foot of the bed was in flames.

"Harry! What's going on? Is that smoke?" Sirius' panicked voice came from the hallway, and the door resounded as he knocked his fist against it once more.

"I—I—Sirius?" Harry stuttered. "I don't know what happened! The bed's on fire!"

There was a spectacular crash as Sirius broke the door in. He stared at the smouldering bed. Sirius' eyes narrowed on the flames, which were blue. "Finite Incantatum," he said, pointing his wand at them, and they immediately winked out of existence. "Merlin. You were moaning my name, and there was smoke pouring from under the door."

Harry gaped. "What happened? Did someone get in the house?" Although Voldemort was dead, a few of the Death Eaters were still on the loose, and more than one had vowed to avenge themselves on Harry.

"That's…possible," said Sirius slowly, looking down at his godson. "But I think it's probably due to something else."

Harry followed Sirius' line of sight to the sheets, spattered from his dream. "Oh, no," Harry said in horror. "Please tell me I'm just having a really ghastly nightmare, and that I'll wake up soon."

"'Fraid not," Sirius replied cheerfully. "Don't worry; it's nothing to be embarrassed about. Happens to everybody. You had a…what do they 'call em? 'Nocturnal emission,' I think. We used to call them hot dreams. Kinda like a wet dream, only different."

Harry grabbed the sheets, wrapping them around himself. Why, oh why did this have to happen in front of Sirius? "A—a hot dream? W—what's that?"

"You haven't been able to do magic for a while, because of living with your relatives. Right?"

Harry nodded. "I'm not allowed. Uncle Vernon would kill me."

Sirius' eyes flashed. "I wouldn't count on that, but that's beside the point. Do you remember before you started Hogwarts? Did you do magic before then, without meaning to?"

Harry thought back. "Yeah. Hagrid told me about that. I got the impression it was normal."

"It is," Sirius assured him. "As you got older, your magical abilities…sort of tried to manifest themselves. Magic can…build up inside of you. It needs an outlet occasionally. It doesn't matter in little kids, because they don't produce very much of it. But as you get older, you have to find ways of spending that magical energy. That's why Hogwarts and other schools usually take kids on just before they hit puberty. They have to train them, or they'll start having all sorts of magical accidents, because they can't control it."

"Are you saying my magic built up until I…'discharged' it in my sleep?" Harry asked, thoroughly mortified by the conversation.

Sirius grinned. "Couldn't have put it better myself. I'm actually surprised it hasn't happened to you before. It's fairly common."

Harry knew he must be maroon by this point, and stared dismally at his lap. "I'm still feeling completely humiliated," he groused.

"Don't feel too bad. It even happened to me," Sirius comforted. "And I'm afraid it'll probably continue to happen to you, so long as you're stuck with your narrow-minded relatives. It'll be fine, so long as you don't blow the house up. You'll see. Why don't you take a shower, and I'll make breakfast?"

Harry headed for the bathroom, a blanket still wrapped around his waist.


Harry stumbled downstairs to find Sirius in the kitchen, half-naked, making something on the stove. He stared at the man's bare back, muscles working smoothly as he reached for an egg, cracked it, swore a bit, and fished bits of shell out of the pan.

"Need some help?"

Sirius shook his head, hair swinging. "I think I'm good. Besides, I want to take care of you, not the other way round." He tapped his wand against the pan, muttering something. "There! We have achieved…omelette!"

Harry glanced down. "Are you sure? It looks more like we've achieved toxic waste, to me."

"It's fine," the man told him. "I promise. Would I feed you something dangerous?"

Harry considered this. Sirius would never do anything to intentionally hurt Harry, but Sirius liked to live dangerously. But…eggs weren't all that treacherous, were they? Unless they'd gone off or something. Harry squeezed his eyes shut and took a bite. He swallowed, and looked up at Sirius, surprised. "These are good."

Sirius preened. "It was a snap. Maybe I'll become a chef if it gets boring after we've caught all the Death Eaters." He looked at Harry thoughtfully. "What are your plans, Harry? What do you want to do, now you're out of school? Do you still want to be an Auror?"

Harry lowered his eyes. "I—I don't know. I—was kind of hoping—I know I'm kind of old now—and maybe you don't want me—but I'd really like it if—I just always wanted—"

"Harry, take a breath," Sirius instructed, alarmed. "Whatever it is, I'm sure it's all right. Just calm down a minute and try not to explode."

Harry laughed nervously. "I—I'd like to move in with you. I never got to go live with you, like you promised, and—it's all I ever wanted."

"Really?" Sirius sounded shocked. "I would've thought you'd have better things to do than hang around with your old godfather. You don't want a place of your own?"

Wordlessly, Harry shook his head.

"Well, it's fine by me. I'd love to have you around, Harry. Seriously, I'll be an excellent roommate; I promise! I know Moony would tell you differently, but I'll try harder this time. I'll do the dishes before they have mould growing on them, and I won't let doxies infest the sugar tins, and—"

"Sirius! Don't worry about it," Harry said, laughing. "I've lived with four other blokes every school year; we're all slobs. I don't care if you don't do the dishes or we get doxies, because all I want is you." Harry gulped, realizing he'd said more than he should, but Sirius didn't seem upset by it.

"Well, I couldn't always be there when you needed me, but now I'll have a chance to make it up to you." Sirius gave Harry a crooked, hopeful grin.

Harry melted. "I'd like that," he whispered.

Sirius leaned over and gave Harry a peck on the forehead.

The vase of flowers in the centre of the table promptly went off like fireworks.

"Oops. Sorry," Harry ducked his head.

Sirius chuckled, and began cleaning up the kitchen, banishing the pyrotechnics with a flick of his wand. "Don't worry about it."


That afternoon, Sirius invited Harry outside to mess about. "I've got this ball here—normal, non-magical ball—and I wanted to throw it back and forth, watch you catch it. It's almost the same size as a Snitch, and it'd be good practice in case you decide on a career in Quidditch."

Harry was pleased with the idea, although it turned out to be more difficult than it sounded. The small, white ball didn't glitter like the Snitch, and Harry wasn't as quick on his feet as he was on his broom. Plus, Sirius kept launching it with a little too much force, and it repeatedly ended up in the flowerbed, where Harry had to crawl about looking for it.

"You know, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were doing that on purpose," he teased after retrieving it for about the tenth time.

Sirius gave a bark of laughter. "So I could watch you bend over and crawl through the daisies?" he asked, winking at Harry.

The flowerbed broke into a squeaky chorus of 'So This is Love,' with the daisies swaying to and fro in unison.

Sirius silenced it with a wave of his wand. "Harry, could I talk to you for a second?" he asked.

"Sure," Harry said reluctantly.

"I'm not sure how to approach this, but…are you afraid of me?"

Harry, who had been avoiding Sirius' eyes, jerked his head around. "What? No! Why would I be afraid of you?"

"You could tell me, you know. I don't want you to be afraid of me. You can always tell me to back off, if you want. It's just…all the magic, like when I kissed you and made a flirtatious joke. And that dream, where you said my name—"

"I was dreaming about you, but it wasn't a bad dream!" Harry insisted. "It was a nice dream, and I—" He stopped, clamping his mouth shut.

Sirius tilted his head. He stared at Harry for several long heartbeats. "I see. You know, I might not be the brightest bloke around, but I do catch on eventually. You've done everything but bash me over the head with a sign, haven't you?"

Harry buried his face in his hands. "I can't help it!" he moaned. "It's the trousers."

"Yeah, I do look pretty good in them," Sirius said smugly. "I didn't realize you'd have quite such a reaction, though."

"I understand if you hate me," Harry said. "I just can't help it. You're so nice and so smart and so funny and so sexy!"

Sirius was quiet for a long time. "Harry…I get the feeling that there's more to this than leather trousers. Do you…er—fancy me?"

Harry nodded miserably, his face still hidden. "For about a year, now. That's why I broke up with Seamus. He said I never stopped talking about you. I'm really sorry, Sirius. I know it's…against the rules."

Sirius slipped an arm around him. "Don't worry about it. Rules were made for other people," he assured Harry. "I don't mind. I'm really flattered, actually. I think you could do better, but…I couldn't."

Harry finally looked up, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "You mean…could you…see yourself with me? Even though I'm so young and scrawny and your godson?"

Sirius' eyes were soft. "Harry. You're my everything. I don't know if this is really what you want, but I'll certainly give you a chance to decide. And you're not scrawny. You're…lithe. And handsome. And clever. And brave." He leaned down, so that their noses were touching. "And very, very sweet." He gently pressed his lips to Harry's.

Number four, Privet Drive exploded.

Sirius and Harry broke apart to stare at the unexpected destruction. "Oh, hell," Sirius sighed. "You know, the first thing we're going to have to do is figure out how to stop that happening." Ministry officials began to Apparate at the scene, surrounding the house, trying to get the magical conflagration under control.

"My aunt and uncle are going to kill me," Harry said dully.

"Won't let 'em touch you," Sirius promised, pulling him into an embrace. "Besides, we'll be gone before they get back. You can't stay in this burnt-out wreck. You'll have to move in with me. Wow, wait until I go to the next Ministry Fundraiser with you on my arm! Won't we turn heads! ...We just need to get you some leather trousers."

Harry smiled against his chest, feeling like he was home already.