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Harry has just completed a half-roll, dodging the stunner his duelling partner just sent his way, when the air is knocked out of him. It isn't from a follow-up spell, Jenners is too busy dealing with the Jelly-Legs Jinx Harry managed to land before diving to the ground, but instead from a glimpse of a figure standing at the edge of the room, whispering conspiratorially into Kingsley's ear.
Sirius.
The sight of him--it's been weeks since they've been in the same room, face to face--sends Harry's body into a tizzy. He can't catch his breath, and when he attempts to jump to his feet, his legs wobble as if his own curse had backfired. Their eyes meet across the room, across a half-dozen other duelling pairs, all hoping they've learned enough to pass this last test and be hired on as Junior Aurors. It is what he himself is meant to be doing--impress Kingsley with the skills he's learned. They've gone through concealment exercises, research tasks designed to test their abilities to ferret out clues, a potions lab where they had to brew and apply first aid potions. The latter of which Harry was most worried about. And finally this duel, which moments earlier, Harry felt like he'd had in the bag.
Sirius' eyes sparkle. He waves his hand in a sweeping motion as if to say, "Go on, Harry" and somehow that gets Harry's heart pumping more than any duel can manage. Harry meant to draw this out, really show off his moves, but he knows now his concentration is shot. So Harry does what he does best.
"Expelliarmus!" he cries. Jenners' wand sails through the air right into Harry's waiting hand. It was never any contest at all.
"Bollocks," Jenners grumbles under his breath, but he shakes Harry's hand anyway when Harry returns his wand. "You could've given me a bit more time before you whipped that one out."
Harry shrugs good-naturedly. "You looked tired. Thought I'd wrap things up."
Jenners rolls his eyes and cuffs Harry on the shoulder in a way that's just on the side of too rough. Jenners is narked, but he'll get over it. Besides, Harry doesn't have the space to worry about it. His body thrums as the rest of the duels wind down, but as he looks towards Kingsley, Sirius is gone. Harry searches the room while Kingsley talks about test results and when they can expect official job offers if they've passed. Important things. Things to which Harry should rightly be paying attention. Things that should get him excited.
But nervous energy buzzes up and down his skin and all Harry can think about is where has Sirius gone?
Harry realises they've been dismissed when the room starts emptying out. He goes to pick up his changing bag on the side of the room and spies a piece of parchment shoved just inside the open zip. Harry slips it out and tries to be casual as he unfolds it.
Take your time in the showers.
-S
His entire body flashes with heat; blood rushes down through him so fast, he gets dizzy.
"Fuck," Harry whimpers under his breath, eyes dragging over the parchment, rereading Sirius' note. Six simple words and he's already gagging.
Harry likes to break the rules but he's very good at obeying when he wants to. He lingers by the storage lockers while the rest of the men in his class take to the showers. He carefully stows his bag, takes his time stripping off his training gear, and, once nude, careful to keep a towel held just so to hide his erection from anyone who might be looking. He's throbbing hard by the time he makes his way into a shower stall as, one by one, the rest of his classmates finish up and head off to dress. He ducks his head under the hot spray and lets the water fall over him, but doesn't make any move to wash up.
Sirius likes him a little sweaty. A little dirty. Harry closes his eyes and waits, anticipation thrumming through him.
This is what they do. It's never at home, though Harry has tried. He'll slip into Sirius’ bed, but wake up with Padfoot by his feet instead of Sirius curled around him. Sometimes Sirius will leave the bedroom completely and Harry finds him the next morning on the sofa in the lounge under a threadbare blanket. But Harry can't help himself. He gives it up for a while, but the urge will stir and he'll once again pad down the dark hallway in his low-slung pajama bottoms, debate whether or not to take them off before he creeps into Sirius' bed. Either way, he'll lie under the blankets, a respectful distance away from Sirius, and wait, cock swelling, nerves dancing in his stomach. The desire to touch himself nearly overwhelming, but Harry knows if he gives in, that'll guarantee Sirius won't this time. And so he waits until sleep drags him under. If he wakes alone, sometimes he'll toss one off, wishing violently that it was Sirius' hand wrapped around his cock, Sirius pressed up behind him, biting his neck until he comes, spraying Sirius' bedsheets white.
He always leaves the evidence of what he's done for Sirius to find. Sirius has never said a word about it.
But Sirius will pop in while Harry's broom shopping or having a drink or two with mates at the Leaky. He'll slip by Harry covertly; they'll share a look. And then sometimes minutes, sometimes achingly longer, Sirius will find him in the loo, or snatch him down a shadowed alley. He'll turn Harry around and shove his hand down Harry's pants and finally finally coax Harry to bliss.
The showers are quiet now, maybe a couple lingering blokes in the changing area, but all Harry hears is the spray of the shower, steam from the just-shy-of-too-hot water filling the stall. All at once there's a draft of cold air at his back, the slide of a curtain, open then shut. Harry shuffles forward, making room. The heat at his back, the heavy, hot breath at his neck. Harry closes his eyes as Sirius buries his nose into the crook of Harry's neck and inhales deeply. Then the warmth length of Sirius' tongue traces along Harry's skin.
His touch is electric; it makes Harry's breath catch. Makes his arms weak and his muscles shudder. Just Sirius' hands on his hips, slippery from the water and still rough with callouses from working on his motorbike, digging in the flowerbeds in their back garden.
Sirius' hands coast up the planes of Harry's chest. His body aligns, and Harry can feel the thickness of him against his buttocks, the silky smooth hardness against his taut muscles. His thumbs slide roughly over Harry's nipples coaxing a groan from between his lips.
"Did you touch yourself, Harry?" Sirius whispers, the rough edge of his stubble against Harry's jaw. Words whispered between kisses along Harry's skin. Between little nips of his teeth, flicks of his tongue.
"No," Harry answers. He presses into Sirius' cock, trying to angle it where he needs; he'd like to shove Sirius' hands down, but there's only so much Sirius lets him get away with. Sirius remains pressed against the roundness of one butt cheek and pumps his hips once, teasingly. His hands stay frustratingly at Harry's chest, fingertips gripping as well as they can against slick skin.
"Such a good boy," Sirius says. He tugs and pinches Harry's nipples, pads of his fingers smoothing over them after, little shocks of pain that make Harry throb and keen.
But then his hands slip down. One to Harry's hip, gripping tight. A brush of knuckles along his backside. Then the smooth slide of Sirius' length between his thighs.
"Squeeze your legs together for me, Harry," Sirius says roughly. Harry obeys, trapping Sirius' erection between his wet thighs. Sirius starts to thrust, brushing against his balls, both hands gripping Harry's hips, heaving breaths hot against Harry's neck. Harry braces himself against the shower wall, looking down, watching his own dick bounce and hit his stomach with every thrust. Watching the tip of Sirius' dick slide through his legs, and aching, ever so much aching.
Sirius pants a breathy stream of words. Harry catches snatches of them--Good boy. Such a--fuck--so good. Doing so good, Harry.--and he flushes with pride, with need, squeezing his thighs tighter, aching desire rippling through his body. Then Sirius pulls free. Presses a wet palm to the middle of Harry's back and Harry bends over, just a little, just enough. Harry hears the squelching of a flying fist over the din of the shower.
And then he feels it. Sirius strokes himself against Harry's back. Once, twice, and then… Yes. Harry's ache flares and yet the shooting splash of Sirius' orgasm against him brings the greatest contentment Harry has ever known.
Sirius sags against Harry's back. His breath comes fast, but slows, bit by bit. Harry leans against the shower wall and feels each and every one. His dick throbs, but Harry ignores it. Sirius will take care of him in time.
And he does. Moments later, the pressure leaves Harry's back. "Turn around," Sirius commands and Harry's breath hitches. He doesn't dare disobey, but this isn't how these things usually go. Sirius likes to be at his back, likes to wrap himself around Harry, bring him off with his fist, with his head buried into the back of Harry's neck or the crook of it. Teeth playing at skin. Sometimes Sirius will even swell again, bring himself off again, against the cleft of Harry's ass, or sliding against Harry's hole, never breaching, just teasing. It's rare, and the pride Harry feels when it happens is indescribable. But this? Face to face? This never happens.
Harry turns. Sirius' eyes pin him in place. The desire Harry's never been able to see is so clear in the grey of his eyes, darkened with want. Sirius' gaze rakes down Harry's body, then he drops to his knees, eye level with Harry's cock. It twitches, flushed so red, so unapologetic in its need. The tip curves to Sirius' lips. Sirius takes Harry in one hand, opens his mouth, and swallows Harry down.
"God," Harry moans; if anyone's left in the changing rooms, they can surely hear him, but Harry can't bring himself to care. Doesn't have the space to care. He's not going to last and he desperately wants to touch Sirius. He's out of his mind. Can't think straight. He tangles his fingers in Sirius' wet hair and pulls his head even closer. Pumps his hips wildly, but Sirius just takes him, takes all of him, his eyes a glittery blackness that Harry can't escape. Sirius grips his hips, supporting Harry's cock with just his mouth now, taking every inch of him. His eyes water, but when Harry tries to pull out, Sirius tugs him closer and won't let him. One hand sneaks around Harry's backside and with just one slippery wet finger, Sirius presses against Harry's hole, against the puckered rim. Heat flashes over his thighs and his entire body goes taut. Harry tugs Sirius hair, trying to warn him, but his orgasm tears through him at the same time, and he spills himself into Sirius' greedy, hot mouth. Sirius swallows him, all of him, pumping every last drop. He slides his mouth down the shaft, then his tongue comes out, licking and swiping over the tip until it's too painful and Harry has to beg for him to stop.
Harry collapses against the shower wall. The roaring in his ears dulls and he can hear the water again, feel the spray of the shower hitting his stomach and his heaving chest as he slowly gets his breath back under control. Sirius gingerly gets up off his knees. "Getting a bit old for that," he jokes, like this is a normal, everyday thing. Like he didn't just blow Harry's mind. Like something hasn't just shifted between them; Harry feels it, a change so fundamental, but nothing he can articulate. Nothing he can name.
"See you at home later?" Sirius asks. Harry nods, mutely, incapable of words at the moment. Sirius smiles; it's sly, like all of his smiles, but there's a lightness to his eyes that Harry hasn't seen before. He slaps Harry's shoulder like he used to, back when he was just Harry's godfather, back before…this. As if he didn't just have Harry's cock shoved down his throat. Sirius slips out of the shower, the curtain fluttering open then closed, bringing a draft of cold air in its wake.
Two weeks later, Harry gets the offer. "Of course you're accepted. They'd be daft not to," Sirius says when Harry tells him after dinner. They're having a drink in the lounge. Scotch for Sirius, bourbon for Harry.
"Even if my best spell is Expelliarmus?"
Sirius snorts. "Disarming before a wizard can curse you? Can't imagine Aurors finding that useful." He downs the rest of his scotch, wincing just a bit as he swallows. It's the cheap stuff, but Sirius has often said alcohol that doesn't hurt a bit isn't worth drinking. He waits for Harry to finish his. Harry, not sharing the same belief, likes to take his time, but with the way Sirius' grey eyes glitter at him, Harry swallows the remains of his bourbon in one go as well.
Sirius stands. He extends a hand to Harry and, when Harry takes it, tugs him up from the armchair, pulling him close.
"Come to bed?" He asks; it isn't a command. Sirius doesn't command him anymore unless Harry asks for it. He asks in such a way that allows space for Harry to say no.
Harry hasn't yet.
He nods and Sirius smiles, sly with light in his eyes. He tips Harry's chin and kisses him, the rough stubble of his jaw the perfect amount of bite with the surprising softness of his lips.
The kissing thing. That's new too.
Sirius leads him down the darkened hallway to his bedroom and Harry remembers keenly all the nights he walked this path alone. Desperate. Needy. The nervous play of desire and hope.
But now, Sirius never makes him wait. Harry tangles his fingers into Sirius' messy black hair. Sirius yanks on Harry's hips, drawing him close. They kiss, and in a practiced move, Sirius kicks the bedroom door closed behind them.