Posted: 9 Dec, 2013
Disclaimer: I do not own anything in this story that is recognisable from the Harry Potter books, movies, etc. Everything else however (eg. story plot, original characters, etc.) stems from my own imagination and belongs to me. No copyright infringement is intended and I am not profiting financially from this story in any way.
Author's Note: Presenting a much-requested follow-up to what was formerly a oneshot. No promises for more than this. On the other hand, no promises there won't be more. We'll see what happens. Hope you enjoy this short but equally-porny sequel, as Harry and Sirius settle into married life.
Warnings: Same as in chapter one—slash, adult content, magical coercion, questionable morality.
"This is your house?"
"Our house now," Harry reminded in a gently chiding tone, leading the way up to the door of an upscale London townhouse. "There's an ancestral home somewhere, Peverell Palace it's called. I think they were going for alliteration there though, because aren't palaces for royalty?" He shrugged then, before withdrawing a key from his pocket and putting it in the lock. "Not that it matters. But anyway, it's a huge mansion, this big gothic monstrosity actually, and really far too big and pretentions and spooky to want to live in. So, I bought this place."
And with that, Harry opened the door and ushered the younger wizard inside. He hung his cloak up on the rack by the door, then took it upon himself to help Sirius out of his leather jacket, purposefully letting his hands wander and linger as he did so. He pretended not to notice the boy's confliction at his actions, automatically leaning into the touch at first, then straightening stiffly and avoiding his gaze.
"So," Sirius said with brash confidence, "who do I have to prank to get a tour of the place?"
"Come on then, and I'll show you around."
He slid a hand across Sirius's back, bringing it to rest near his opposite hip, and used it to guide the boy forward. He smiled as the boy blushed, ever so faintly, and did his best to take the possessive action in stride.
He showed Sirius around the house, pleased to see he approved of the classy-yet-homey décor. That was not surprising though, since it was surely an improvement on Grimmauld Place. Speaking of… Harry smirked in memory of their exit from the house. Orion and Walburga Black had been quite put out to find that his private audience with their eldest had led to a full consummation and finalisation of the marriage contract. Doubtless they'd been hoping to make a grand and showy affair of the betrothal and eventual wedding. Reputation counted for a lot in their circles, and Harry wasn't ignorant that they'd been hoping to boost their own by marrying Sirius off to 'The Mysterious Peverell', defeater of Voldemort. Harry was not one for pomp and ceremony and ego boosting however. Nor had he been willing to wait a moment longer than necessary to claim Sirius as his own, possessive bastard that he was these days. And on the subject of Sirius being his…
"And this," Harry said, "is the master bedroom. That door over there's to the wardrobe, it's a walk-in, and there's room for all your clothes and such too. Anything else of yours, find a home for it wherever, in here or about the house. I'm not too fussy about my space."
"Right," Sirius said a touch nervously, staring at the decadent and, frankly, hedonistic bed that was the centre-piece of the room. After a long moment his eyes jerked away. "I'll just start unpacking then shall I?"
The teen looked eager escape, doubtless to distract himself from thoughts of the shared room, large bed, and just what that implied. Harry was having none of that though. The boy had been avoiding his touch where possible, or else pretending to be unaffected by it, ever since they re-dressed and left the drawing room at Grimmauld. Harry though, had no intention of letting that behaviour escalate. Sirius was his husband, and not one of mere convenience, and he wouldn't be allowed to forget that.
And so, Harry caught his hand as he turned away towards the wardrobe and gently tugged him back around. He stepped close, feeling a strange, amused affection at the way Sirius's eyes grew a bit wide and he seemed to be holding his breath. He took the teen's face in his hands then and kissed him, slowly and softly, but not at all chastely. No magic this time though. No, he just let lips and tongue do all the influencing and was pleased to find, when he pulled back, that just the physical was still enough to make his boy want.
"I, ah, I'll just go unpack now," Sirius muttered and, flushed, fled to the 'safety' of the wardrobe room.
Harry just smiled at the retreating figure, called out that he was going to get dinner ready and could be found in the kitchen, and left the room. Yes, Sirius definitely wanted him, even without magic urging his feelings higher. Sure, he'd not been able to make him desperate and mindless just from a kiss, but it had definitely aroused nonetheless, if the hardness he'd felt grow against his own was any indication. Still smiling, he entered the kitchen to start dinner.
The rest of the evening passed quietly and held much amusement for Harry. It was all a bit cat-and-mouse really, the way Sirius tried to avoid him without actually appearing to be avoiding him, hiding about the house with the excuse of 'getting to know the place'. Harry of course kept seeking him out, whereupon there would be suggestive touches and the occasional kiss until Sirius could reasonably excuse himself and run away again, flushed and dark-eyed.
The poor boy was confused of course. It didn't take a genius to work it out. His whole life had changed in the course of an afternoon, to say nothing of the bisexuality revelation. Harry knew, from one rather frank chat with his godfather before he'd died, that the man had been very much a lady's man in his youth, and only really discovered he was attracted to men as well after leaving Hogwarts. So yes, Sirius was no doubt very confused and uncertain. Unfortunately for him though, patience had never been one of Harry's strong suits.
Later that night, he pretended not to notice Sirius making a choking sound as he emerged from their en suite after showering for bed, dried but entirely naked. He blew out the candles, leaving only the moonlight through the windows to light the room, then slipped into the free side of the bed. Without pause he slid across the space between them and pulled Sirius closer, huffing laughter at the undignified sound he made.
Sirius lay still and tense, heart thudding loudly in his ears, and throat feeling dry. It was awkward enough that Peverell or Harry or however he should call him, who was his husband of all things, had stepped out of the bathroom completely starkers, and not bothered to dress before getting into the bed. Their huge shared bed, which practically screamed 'place for shagging and other naughty stuff'. Then Peverell, or Harry or whatever, had rather presumptuously grabbed him and yanked him over so that he lay sprawled across his chest. His broad, muscular, naked, sexy—no! No, he wasn't thinking that. He wasn't thinking that, because that way lay madness and questions about his sexual identity that he really couldn't be arsed to dwell on just yet, and plus, he was trying not to die of embarrassment. Said embarrassment was not even because of all the nakedness, or the sprawled across the chest thing, but rather for the completely ridiculous squawking-squeaking sound he'd just made. He was Sirius Black dammit, and he was cool and suave. He did not squawk or squeak, and he certainly didn't utter some bastardisation of the two.
A hand tilted his chin up and lips abruptly descended onto his, even as another slid down his back and slipped under his pyjamas to grip his rear without so much as a by-your-leave.
Peverell, or Harry—he really needed to decide on a name before that got any more confusing—chuckled at his reaction. The bastard. The confusing, presumptuous, naked, sexy—dammit, he was doing it again! Angry at himself and the situation in general, he considered jerking away and leaving the room. But then the man's thigh, which was rather conveniently located between his own two, pressed up against his groin. Sirius groaned despite himself and decided that perhaps rather than run away like a coward he should be taking control of the situation, showing Peverell, or Harry or whatever, who was boss. Choosing this idea over the leaving of course had nothing to do with the wonderful sensation of the thigh pressing rhythmically against him. Nope, not a thing.
Decided, Sirius surged upward, straddling the body he'd been sprawled across, and turning the kiss around. Now it was him ravaging… He supposed 'Harry' was best, given the intimacy of the situation. Either way, he was now the ravish-er in the scenario, rather than the ravish-ee. Not that Harry seemed to mind, appearing quite willing to let Sirius have his way with him. Sirius took the opportunity to assess the situation a bit. The whole 'guy' thing, that is to say. The kissing was a bit different than with a girl, with the slightest scratch of stubble. The body under his was firm rather than soft, less curved and more toned. And the hands that gripped him were stronger, the movements of the body more powerful. It was strange… and exceedingly hot, actually. He wondered why he'd never tried out guys before. Clearly he'd been doing no more than limiting his options, by sticking strictly to the witches. And imagine, all those poor gay wizards who had been deprived of Sirius Black!
His musing thoughts were cut off then as he experimentally licked at a nipple and rocked his hips downward, only for Harry to groan deeply and flip them over. Sirius blinked a bit in surprise at finding himself suddenly on his back, Harry settled between his thighs with one hand threaded into Sirius's hair to angle his head for deep kisses, and the both of them utterly naked in the wake of a tingling sweep of Harry's delightful magic. Wait, Sirius thought, this wasn't right. He was supposed to be the ravisher this time, wasn't he? Assert his reputation, take control, and all that stuff.
He tried to make an objecting sound, but it was half-hearted even to start with. The moment a large, warm hand closed around him, working up and down, the sound became nothing more than a moan. He felt a tingling of magic inside him which he'd only felt once before, earlier that day, and his breath caught as he then felt Harry push into him. Against his will he made a vulnerable sort of whining sound, that was more Padfoot-like than his human form usually uttered, and fisted the sheets in his hand. There was just something so utterly overwhelming about being filled like this. It felt like he was hyperventilating, unable to get enough air no matter how hard he tried.
Then Harry began moving and all coherent thought was lost. Before Sirius knew it he was gasping and groaning and clutching tightly to broad shoulders, and his legs had somehow come up to wrap around those hips. Their movements became faster and more frenzied, and their kisses more desperate and wet and inelegant. And then he was coming with a hoarse cry he heard echoed a moment later as Harry tensed and then collapsed atop him. Sirius shuddered as the man pulled out, then found himself drifting off as he was gathered into a surprisingly tender embrace.
Harry woke the next morning with a warm body pressed against his side. He looked down and smiled. He wasn't sure he'd ever get used to Sirius being alive again. To being with him again. And to being with him, which was something new entirely. New, but immeasurably satisfying, and not just in a physical way. Not that the physical was anything to scoff at. No, not at all. In fact…
He carefully drew back the sheets and shuffled down the bed, giving his husband an awakening he was sure to enjoy, and bringing him to release with both his mouth and skilful use of probing fingers. He then led the still-dazed boy to the en suite and directed him to brace against the shower wall, taking him for the third time under the hot, falling spray. For the first time since Grimmauld he brought his magic into play again, driving Sirius's passion higher so that he could come with him, despite so little recovery time. Not that much encouragement was needed. Sirius was a teenage boy after all, with the overabundant hormones one would expect from such a one.
The rest of the week passed much the same as the first day had, with Sirius disappearing to be alone and Harry seeking him out. Only he often escalated the touches and kisses far beyond mere teasing. To his delight, Sirius grew more comfortable around him and with all his attentions. In fact, he suspected the younger wizard had begun finding their little cat-and-mouse game as much of a thrill as Harry did, for he barely tried to resist whenever caught, and in fact became quite enthusiastic in his participation. Harry had thus far taken him in not only several times in their bedroom and en suite, but also on the living room couch, pressed up against the wall in the hallway, on the kitchen counter, bent over the dining room table, and in a display of near acrobatic proportions, halfway up the book-ladder in the library.
Of course regular sex was regular sex, and Sirius was a teenage boy, as previously pointed out. It wasn't surprising he'd adjust so quickly to that sort of thing. Harry wasn't dim enough to mistake physical intimacy for emotional intimacy. He wanted it all though, wanted to possess everything that Sirius was, so he had taken to, in the afterglow when the teen's defences were down, initiating conversations about any and every subject available. Occasionally, when his questions and comments veered into very personal areas, Sirius would clam up. Harry, unwilling to allow such distance between them, always gently urged with his magic till Sirius would open up to him and talk.
He supposed he ought to feel ashamed for this blatant abuse of Sirius's trust. What was that quote? With great power comes great responsibility. Of course, there was another quote that said power corrupts. Hermione had certainly believed in that one. In those last months before he managed to send himself back, his bushy-haired friend had been watching him with more and more concern and suspicion, calling him out often on the morality of his actions and 'misuse' of his magic.
Hmm, perhaps power really did corrupt. He was sure if his younger self could see him now he'd be horrified. Harry though, hadn't let Hermione's words bother him much then, and still didn't now. He continued using his magic in any way he felt necessary, and to keep Sirius close to him, making the boy open up to him, was something he felt justifiable. Sirius was his now, and Harry intended it to be in every way possible. He wouldn't let his husband distance himself from him in any way.
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