Title: His Own Dark
By: LiteraryBeauty
Pairing: Harry/Sirius
Word count: ~5100
Beta: Rainien
Warnings: non-con, dub-con, object insertion, rimming, minor (Harry is fifteen), mental unbalance
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and make no money from the writing of this fiction.
Summary: Harry tries to help Sirius cope with the damages of his imprisonment, but it soon becomes clear that Harry isn't in a position to help anyone—not even himself.


It was night.

It always seemed to be night in Grimmauld Place. The house's title was no misnomer; it was grim. And it wasn't just the small, dirtied windows and the ineffable weight of misery in the air. It was so much more than those simple, easy things.

The night in Grimmauld Place was a weight. Harry felt it every single time he burrowed under the covers, closing his eyes against the darkness, against the weight. The sheets were threadbare and pilled, rough against his tender flesh and too light to provide real comfort.

The real weight came from death. It pressed down on Harry from above as though he was ten thousand feet under water, gagging him, crushing him, flattening every capillary and flooding every orifice. It may have been intangible, but that didn't stop the pain.

He was as good as alone here. Only he went down for meals, only he came and went, only he sat in any room. But there was another occupant, another prisoner—the original prisoner.

Sirius Black was here, heavy and wraithlike, rarely leaving his room, never offering solace. Whenever their paths crossed, it was as though Sirius was staring through a wormhole in time. Harry knew his godfather did not see him. Usually, he didn't mind. Sirius was alive—worse for the wear, certainly, but not dead. Not like his parents. And whether or not Sirius knew how to be a parent didn't matter. Whether or not he knew how to be a human didn't matter.

Whether or not he knew who Harry was didn't matter.

None of it mattered because he was family. And sometimes, especially in the beginning when Sirius would meet him for meals and ask about his day, Harry would look at Sirius and make up similarities between the two. Their hair was the same colour. Their cheekbones a little similar. Sirius' lips were fuller but Harry felt they shared the same overall shape.

James Potter was gone, but Sirius was here, and Harry's imagination saved him from being entirely alone. Sometimes Sirius called him "Son," and Harry would smile and pretend he didn't know it wasn't literal.

But lately, he saw so little of Sirius that he began to wonder if he was real at all. Had Harry gone mad and made him up? Was he a figment of a desperate boy's overwrought mind?

But then he would lay in his bed, flattened under that impossible weight, and he could hear movement outside his door, or sometimes downstairs. A clinking of bottles, a sob, a thud. Proof that Harry wasn't alone.

The first time Sirius came to try to lift the weight off both of them, Harry had naturally resisted. He still wasn't entirely sure that Sirius knew who he was or remembered what he'd done.


It was night. It was always night. His door creaked open; Harry never shut it because he liked to hear his godfather walk around or cough or snore. The floorboards announced a stealthy weight, and Harry remained perfectly still. Was Sirius checking on him to make sure he was all right? Was he sleepwalking? Did he have bad news?

Harry turned over to face the intruder, who was standing by the head of the bed, looking a little lost and possibly intoxicated.

"Sirius? Is everything all right?" he whispered, the dark surrounding him, telling him to keep his voice down. Any louder and it's real.

"Everything's fine. I just missed you. Shove over." Sirius didn't care what the dark wanted; his voice was not quiet.

Harry obeyed, shifting to the far side of the bed. He thought his godfather might want to sit down and have a chat. It was not unheard of. Rare, these days, but there was precedent. Usually not in the heavy hours of the night, but Harry didn't mind being woken up.

But instead of perching paternally on the edge of the bed, Sirius dropped his pyjama pants and crawled into the bed with Harry. Harry froze, unable to fathom that Sirius was naked beside him, only inches away.

Sirius was on his side, facing the younger boy, who was trying to inch away before Sirius accidentally touched him. Harry slept with boxers on and they seemed a very insubstantial barrier at the moment.

"It's been a while since we talked, hasn't it?" Sirius asked as though there was nothing unusual happening.

Harry gulped, responding, "Yes. But we can talk in the morning, can't we?"

"Of course. I was just... lonely, you know. Sometimes, the dark... sometimes, the night...."

And Harry knew what he meant. It would be cruel to evict his only family from his bed when the man was obviously afraid. And Harry was so desperate for approval.

"You want to sleep here tonight, then?" Harry asked softly.

Sirius lifted a hand and placed it on Harry's bare shoulder. The sheet only covered them from the waist down, and Harry felt exposed. Sirius' hand moved slightly around to his back, traversing the side of his spine before resting lightly on the edge of his boxers at the back. Harry felt very uncomfortable, very scared, very alone.

But the touch was so human.

"Sirius, is everything okay?" he asked, wiggling a little to try to escape the circling fingertips above his arse.

"Of course. I just missed you, that's all. Turn over, won't you?"

"What do you mean?" Harry's voice was shaky with disbelief.

"I mean, face the wall. I want to hug you."

"Just... just a hug?" he clarified. A hug might not be so bad, though it would be better if they were both standing and fully clothed. The darkness whispered sickness in his ears, and he wished it was morning.

"A cuddle, then. Come, like we used to."

Harry knew they had never cuddled like this before. Did Sirius mean when he was a baby? Maybe Sirius had babysat him, and they had taken naps together. Or maybe Sirius just meant one of the times they'd sat on the downstairs sofas and hugged, both taking comfort in the reality of the other. If that's all Sirius saw this as, then that would be all right.

He turned over, facing away from Sirius. Not seeing his face made it easier, but also harder.

When he felt the bed move and Sirius inch closer, Harry wasn't afraid. When Sirius physically pulled him back into a tight embrace, Harry knew this was not like their hugs on the sofa. Harry's body was pressed tightly against the one behind him, which seemed abnormally cold. Sirius' hand was on Harry's belly, holding him insistently against a distinct hardness pressing into his bottom. Harry bit his lip. Sirius shifted so that the arm that was pressed against the bed was under Harry's neck and across his shoulder, resting it on his chest muscle, fingertips grazing his nipple. Harry's head rested on the firm arm beneath it, trying to reconcile what was happening with what it might mean.

He tried to ignore the way Sirius' hips were moving behind him, grinding his bare cock against Harry's thankfully clad behind. His cock was sliding between Harry's cheeks rhythmically, the fingers on his belly circling lower until the fingertips rested just under the top of his boxers, the hand on his chest pinching his nipple rather ferociously.

Harry knew he was crying, but he wasn't making a noise.

"Stop it, Sirius," he demanded, still quiet for fear of the dark.

"Shh," his godfather whispered, fingers softly stroking Harry's rather sparse pubic hair. "It's okay, just like we used to, remember? Remember how I always made you feel good?"

Harry didn't remember. Because it had never happened, not like this. And he wasn't feeling good—quite ill, actually.

The hand in his shorts suddenly disappeared and Harry sighed his relief. Sirius laughed softly, licking the shell of Harry's ear, whispering, "Eager, aren't we? But then you always were."

Suddenly Harry's boxers were unceremoniously yanked down to his thighs, higher on the side where they were trapped up by the bed, but he was completely uncovered now, his cock freed and his arse exposed to the demanding erection seeking purchase on his body.

Though Sirius' body was cold, his cock was frighteningly hot, and Harry began to suspect the darkness had finally gotten him, like it tried to get Harry sometimes.

Sirius was rutting against his pliant body without care to Harry's denials and struggles.

"Stop it," Sirius finally demanded, voice gruff and violent in the cool quiet of the room, and Harry wanted to tell him to shut the fuck up because they'd never get out alive if he kept being so damn loud. But Harry didn't say anything, and he stopped his struggles because Sirius was the devil he knew, and it was better to bear this than the unknown danger of the dark, of the night.

Sirius reached back to Harry's arse, kneading it harshly with his fingers—but at least he was leaving Harry's cock alone. Sirius grabbed a cheek and lifted it, shoving his cock in the crack and returning his hand to between Harry's legs.

Sirius began thrusting into Harry's crevice, the way slicked only slightly by precum and sweat. He grabbed Harry's cock but did not manipulate it into arousal, merely cupped it and pressed it hard against Harry's body, using his grip there to press Harry back into his thrusts.

Sirius was moaning and biting Harry's neck, bites that would have made him wilt immediately if he'd been hard in the first place—punishing bites that made Harry wonder if maybe he had done something to deserve this after all.

Harry allowed his body to be used, feeling like he would vomit any moment and hating himself and Sirius and his parents and Dumbledore and everyone who ever thought he would be okay on his own. His godfather's hand was crushing his cock, rhythmically squeezing in a way that brought only pain. Pants and grunts accosted his ears, and Harry wished he could shut them like he could shut his eyes.

Finally Sirius went unnaturally stiff, bellowing out his pleasure and staining Harry forever between his legs.

Harry couldn't take the yelling and finally screamed, "Shut up, shut up, shut up!"

Now the darkness would know he had tried to stop it.


Nothing like that happened again for a long time. Harry had hoped the night would be satisfied with his violation and leave him alone.

Harry closed his eyes. It was easier if he didn't have to see the stains, even though he knew they were there, he could even feel them sometimes, like fibreglass against his skin—soft at first, but hideously uncomfortable and finally unbearable.

He heard a bottle shatter downstairs, his godfather's penchant for Muggle beer making itself known with the violence induced by overindulgence.

The glass breaking reminded him of something, something shattering, something exploding. It hurt his mind to think about the first time he'd heard that noise, that noise so close to his bed. Sirius was always so loud in his bed that Harry knew it wouldn't be long for either of them. But when he stayed at the Burrow or Hogwarts, the darkness followed now. It never used to. It was still worst here, though, and no matter how Harry begged, Sirius just wouldn't stay quiet and placate the night with silence, an offering for another morning.


Harry smelled him before he heard him. Beer. It was so plebeian, so pedestrian. A noble pureblood like Sirius Black drinking Muggle beer—Walburga Black would have been horrified, a hundred generations of Blacks would spit on his grave.

That was probably why Sirius drank it.

Harry opened his eyes to see Sirius polish off the bottle and unsteadily place it on the bedside table. He was already naked, already hard.

Harry stared. It was ugly. It was swollen and swinging and hideous. It was a monster. Harry hated it. But he stared.

Sirius chuckled and got into bed, immediately pulling Harry against him.

"Can't keep your eyes off me, hmm?" His hand travelled over Harry's bare back to grip his arse and drag his smaller form against Sirius' larger one.

"Sorry, Sirius," he whispered. Quiet, quiet.

"I don't mind if you look at me, love. I wish I had more to offer you tonight, but I think I've had too much to drink to be of any real use."

Harry was relieved. He didn't want Sirius to fuck him; he was sure it would kill him.

"But we can still play, yeah?"


Harry closed his eyes as his godfather took off his underwear, running a calloused hand up his coltish leg to cover his bottom. His hand was hot and cold, and Harry hated that the sheet was pushed back, exposing them to one another, to the empty room.

Sirius was kissing his neck, large, sloppy kisses that felt like they came from Padfoot instead. Every now and then he would bite, holding Harry's flesh tightly in his mouth just like a dog would do, before releasing it and licking it in a way that might be soothing if it wasn't so disgusting.

Sirius' hand slid between his cheeks, stroking along his hidden crevice before settling on his tiny hole. Harry whimpered, and Sirius laughed.

A finger pushed against the hole and Harry shivered, burying his head in Sirius' neck. "Please, no," he whispered. His godfather shushed him, and Harry obeyed. Sirius was scary when he'd been drinking, he was scary when it was night, and he was scary when he was in Harry's bed. Harry wanted to live.

The finger couldn't breach Harry while dry, even with Sirius pushing fiercely. He brought his fingers to Harry's mouth, and the younger man knew what to do. Opening his mouth, he transferred as much wetness as he could to the fingers, licking them thoroughly and wishing it was enough. Sirius moaned and pushed his determined cock against Harry's belly.

Bringing the sopping fingers back to Harry's entrance, Sirius smiled reassuringly when Harry dared to meet his gaze. Sirius' grey eyes were flickering in a way Harry doubted he'd ever understand. A finger pushed in easily, the stretching feeling foreign and painful. His body wanted it out but didn't know how to get rid of it.

Sirius thrust shallowly for a moment, grinding his body against Harry's. Sirius wasn't getting hard, but to his shame, Harry was. The friction was unfamiliar and foreign, the burning in his arse painful but stimulating.

Another finger slipped in and Harry's erection thankfully wilted a little. The stretching hurt more than he thought was normal, and Sirius' pounding fingers were allowing him no respite.

"Good boy, good boy," Sirius chanted huskily. "So tight, so sweet."

Harry whimpered when his hips moved of their own accord against Sirius' warm, firm body. Betrayal by his own body hurt almost as much as that by Sirius.

"I know just the thing, baby," Sirius said, too loudly in Harry's ear. "It's not cock, sad to say, but it'll get you off. I know you love it when I get creative."

Harry loved no such thing.

He tightly clenched his eyes shut, wishing his cock would fall off so it would stop confusing him. He wanted this to stop. He didn't know why his body didn't understand that Sirius was doing Bad Things.

Suddenly Harry felt something cold and hard press against his entrance. He gasped as Sirius tried to force something alien inside him.

"What...?" he whimpered, hands clenching Sirius' shoulders, gripping the only thing that felt real, the only thing he hated right now.

The thing penetrating him finally forced its way through his barrier, and Harry cried out as it stretched him. Sirius was rubbing his cock against Harry's trembling belly, the way smoothed by Harry's light sheen of sweat. Neither men were fully aroused, with Harry's desire disappearing with the violation of his body.

Harry looked beyond Sirius' shoulder to the nightstand. It was empty, and Harry knew it was a beer bottle inside him. He was being fucked by a bottle for his first time. It was too disgusting to merit rational thought, so Harry let his mind separate from the situation. He drifted away a little, only brought back in bits and pieces when the stabbing motions in his arse became too violent to ignore.

The bottle scrapped against something inside him, and a piercing shock spread through his body, spearing his nerves. He moaned loudly, and Sirius chuckled, aiming the bottle to his that spot again and again. But it was too much, too brutal. The sweet shocks turned abusive and unbearable, and Harry knew he was crying. He hated himself for his weakness, but he hated Sirius more for his.

Suddenly the bottle stopped moving so viciously. Sirius' other hand came down and gently stroked his soft cock. Harry sobbed as Sirius' tender ministrations brought him to hardness again. Sirius somehow knew exactly how to touch him, and even if he hated what was being done, his body knew no such distinction.

"So beautiful," Sirius whispered, kissing Harry on the lips. "You like this, don't you? It feels good, doesn't it?"

Harry tried to turn his head to deny it, but he couldn't. Sirius was kissing him again, stroking his cock and only slightly pumping the bottle into his tender arse. Harry parted his lips, maybe to breathe, and Sirius snuck his tongue in, exploring every inch of virgin mouth. Harry wanted to hate it, but it felt so much like love.

"Remember the time in the broom shed by the Quidditch Pitch? When we'd fucked for hours already, until we couldn't go anymore? But then you got all hot when we were talking about what we wanted to do to one another the next time. And I couldn't get it up again, so I fucked you with your broom handle, instead. I don't think I've ever seen you come so hard. Remember that, James?"

Harry was sobbing when he came.


Harry heard Sirius say a rather enthusiastic version of a cleaning spell, presumably for the broken bottle downstairs. He stiffened when the familiar footsteps sounded on the stairs and only allowed himself to relax when he heard Sirius' door close, snores soon resounding through the walls.

It wasn't so dark tonight, he noticed. The moonlight glittered through the window like gemstones, sharing its light and offering Harry a reprieve. It was the full moon. He wondered what Remus was doing, if he was locked up somewhere or out exploring. He hoped Remus was free. He liked thinking that his former Professor was running around in the night, unafraid, happy. Like he had been with his friends, so many years ago.

Harry didn't like to think about what Sirius had said about his father. Knowing that the two had been intimate during their school days had been a horrible shock. He wondered if his mother had known.

But part of him wanted to know more. Not about the sex, gods, no. If he never heard another anecdote like the last one again, he'd die happy. No, he wanted to hear more about what his father had been like. Remus and Sirius sometimes talked about the pranks they'd pulled in their schools days, but that didn't really tell Harry anything other than the fact that his father was a bit of a prick and a bully. He wanted to hear about his father's hopes, dreams, and fears. Did James always want to be a dad? Had his father wanted to be a famous seeker one day?

Had he been afraid of the dark?

And Sirius was the one to ask. Remus might know, but the werewolf was reserved at the best of times. Harry didn't think Remus would tell him anything that might make Harry think less of his father, not knowing that the pranks and cruel behaviour made Harry think just that.


"Sirius?" Harry said softly, pouring tea for himself and then his godfather. Sirius never acted like anything had happened between them, during the day. At night, he remembered each encounter. But when the sun was out and the darkness banished to the corners of the rooms, untouched, Sirius acted like a slightly unbalanced, wild, somewhat inebriated inexperienced godfather.

"Yes, Harry?" Sirius measured out the sugar for his tea, taking enough to make Harry's mouth feel pinched by the hinge of his jaw.

"I was wondering if you could tell me more about... about my father. Not just stuff you guys did during school, but real stuff. You know, like what he wanted from life. What he hated. What he was afraid of. Real stuff."

"Why do you want to know all that boring stuff? And the stuff we did during our Hogwarts days was real, Harry. Those were the best days of any of our lives."

Harry wisely didn't interject with the fact that his father didn't really have much to compare it to, given that he died before he'd had a chance to really live. And with Sirius having been in Azkaban and Remus barely able to feed himself for twelve years, it wasn't hard to believe Sirius when he said those were the best days.

But Harry wanted to hear about the worst days, too.

But Sirius didn't want to talk, and eventually, he left to go lay down. Harry was left to his own devices, and he wasn't entirely sure what to do with himself.

He wandered from room to room, looking at the evidence of a hundred lives, none of them his. He didn't live here. This wasn't home.

The shadows were stretching across the floors in a macabre caress, and Harry hurried to his room. It wouldn't do to be downstairs when the darkness crept across the stairway and there was no way up as the room grew cold and black.

Curling up beneath the well-worn covers of his bed, Harry wondered if he should tell someone that Sirius wasn't quite right. But then he wouldn't be able to stay here anymore, and he would surely have to go back to the Dursleys.

And there was darkness there, too. There wasn't a place where the darkness wouldn't follow. Harry was beginning to suspect that he made the darkness, rather than the darkness following him. It made him feel hopeless.

Even if it was ugly and painful here, Harry was loved. Sirius loved him. He must. And he told him so, in breathy whispers, lips pressed firmly against his skin. And when Sirius touched him, sometimes it felt good, like Sirius cared. And it didn't always hurt. At least Sirius noticed him, and spoke to him, and fed him. Really, he was well taken care of.

And the darkness followed Sirius, too. Harry had seen it. Maybe if there were two of them, they had a better chance.

Yes, it was safer here.

Harry didn't startle when the door crept open.

"Psst," a hushed voice whispered. "You awake?"

Harry thought about that. Was he awake? Was he real?

If Sirius thought he was James, would he tell him some truths?

"I'm awake."

Sirius crept over the floorboards, avoiding the squeaky ones as if afraid to wake someone up, but they were the only ones there.

The older man quickly stripped and got into bed, pulling Harry close against his hot-cold body. Harry was used to this by now and went pliant to avoid bruises.

"I missed you," he said softly, lips against Harry's temple.

"I missed you, too," Harry admitted.

Sirius rolled onto his back, bringing Harry with him so he was straddling his godfather's body, their groins touching lightly. Harry recoiled a little at the intimate touch, but Sirius bore his hand down over Harry's back, forcing him to lay flat against his chest.

Sirius pushed the hair away from Harry's eyes, settling his hand in the crown of his hair and pulling Harry in for a kiss. Sirius' kisses were always a little sloppy, a little wet, a little painful. He bit a lot, but he always made sure to plant little kisses on the bites to make it better. It didn't work. Sirius' tongue was in Harry's mouth, exploring every tooth, silkily tickling his palate. Harry kissed back instinctively. If it didn't hurt, then it was okay.

Harry whimpered when Sirius' hips began to move beneath him. He'd hoped they would only kiss tonight. Some nights, Sirius wouldn't even touch him at all; he'd merely crawl into bed, say goodnight, and fall asleep. He was always gone before Harry awoke. Some nights a little touching was enough. Most nights a lot of touching was enough.

Sirius' hands were all over Harry, staining him with ever sweep, every pinch of his fingertips. Harry sometimes woke up expecting to be covered in blackness, like morbid finger-paint against his pale flesh.

A hand gripped Harry's arsecheek, squeezing rhythmically as Sirius moaned into his mouth. Harry tried to stifle the noises with more kisses. The hand slid into Harry's crack, rubbing harshly at the sensitive skin there before a finger began to gently trace his tiny hole.

The bottle had been the worse, but Sirius' fingers always hurt as well.

Harry panted lightly when the finger breached him, dryly forcing its way into his unwilling body. It pumped slowly at first, picking up speed as Sirius' hips began to move faster as well.

"Want me?" Sirius whispered, breaking the kiss.

Harry's lips felt wet and swollen. He didn't know how to answer.

"Will you... will you talk to me, after?"

Sirius smiled incredulously. "What about?"

"You know," Harry hedged. "Me. Us."

"You are unbelievably vain, Prongs. Imagine, wanting to hear all about yourself after a shag," Sirius scoffed, shaking his head but smiling.

"Yeah, weird, huh? But... could you?"

"Whatever you want, mate. If that's what gets you off. But can it wait 'til after, or do you want to hear all about your exploits and shenanigans right now?"

Harry looked down at Sirius. He looked lucid enough. He wasn't drunk, at least. Just... damaged.

"After, but you have to promise to remember."

Sirius held up his hand. "I solemnly swear," he vowed, kissing Harry to seal it.

"Okay, then," Harry whispered, feeling like he had sold a part of his future for a part of his past.

The finger that had been resting inside him slipped out, and Harry suddenly found himself face down on the bed.

"Spread your legs," Sirius said softly, smoothing his hands up the backs of Harry's trembling thighs.

Harry obeyed and felt Sirius settled between them. His cheeks were somewhat roughly forced apart, and Harry waited for the inevitable agony.

But it didn't come.

Instead, a wet and squirming tongue pressed against his entrance, circling and dancing and making Harry cry out in confused pleasure.

"Why—?" he began, but Sirius promptly bit one of his cheeks, and Harry remained silent, feeling uncomfortable and humiliated.

The tongue became lips, and they were kissing him back there like it was his mouth. Harry wiggled on the bed, trying to avoid it without making Sirius notice. But he was held firm against the bed, and the invading muscle began to make serious efforts to burrow into his body.

He forced himself to relax as he felt a strange sucking sensation on his hole, and a moment later, the tongue pressed inside him. He'd never felt anything so odd. It was awkward because he just couldn't believe Sirius was putting his mouth there, but it wasn't a twisting finger or the hateful bottle, so it was okay.

Sirius was humming and groaning against him, and Harry's struggle to escape became an attempt to rub his body against the sheets. The friction was hard and jerking, but it was something.

Suddenly the mouth left and two fingers immediately took its place. Harry cried out in surprise, but Sirius hushed him gently, stroking him and rubbing inexorably against his sweet spot, causing flashing lights behind his eyes and sharp tugs in his balls.

Sirius usually rubbed him too hard there, making the pleasant shocks turn into jolting twinges, pain mixed with the memory of pleasure.

"Good?" Sirius whispered, spreading Harry wider with his fingers. Harry shuddered at the hot burn, but nodded into the pillow.

The fingers left him and Harry felt something hard and soft at the same time pressing against him. It was bigger than the bottle, but warmer and somehow more forgiving. The pressure made him cry out, but he didn't struggle against it. Turning his head to the side, Harry saw the shadows of the room dance in glee, a tall tree outside his window leaving dark streaks across the floor that shivered in pleasure at his violation.

Harry hated the dark.

Sirius was inside him, pressing his body into the mattress so heavily that breathing was a luxury and breathing deeply, a memory. Sirius' hands took Harry's, pushing them into the bed on either side of his wet face, interlocking their fingers in the most disturbing pantomime of intimacy.

The pain was slipping slightly, being replaced by a strange void, which was strange, seeing as how he was so very full. But the emptiness yawned and gaped, pulling Harry into the darkness, where he did not struggle.

Sirius' movements were deep and hard, his body rocking more than thrusting into Harry. He was kissing Harry's neck and shoulders, whispering lies of love and fidelity and desire. Harry's urge to rut against the bed had disappeared, and now he just wanted to fade.

Suddenly, his godfather's movements became frenzied, and he was crying out as tried to delve deeper, hands clenching Harry's to a nearly unbearable degree.

"Gods, yes!" Sirius shouted as Harry was filled with a wet warmth that felt eager and hated.

The punishment inside Harry softened and slipped out, and Harry allowed himself only two conscious tears, only two: one for him and one for her. None for Harry, none for Sirius.

"Did you come?" Sirius asked, fingers whispering over Harry's come-slicked hole, slipping in a little and squirming about before spreading the wetness all around.

"Yes," Harry lied, because lying was better than feeling pleasure from this.

Sirius rolled over on to his back, hand idly running through the dark hair that trailed below his naval. His cock was wet and dirty and Harry didn't look, not even for a moment.

"So, James, what do you want to know?"

Harry finally smiled.