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There was a Christmas tree in the corner of the room. Tinsel and floating candles dizzied him as he stretched open his eyes. His glasses were gone, but if he squinted, he could see a fire crackling in the grand hearth. If he were cradling a pint of mulled mead instead of finding himself tied to a chair and his mouth stuffed, it might have been a cheerful, festive sort of moment. He felt a bit like the unwilling guest of a holiday party.
His chest was tight. He wore bandages instead of a shirt, and though it was quite warm in the room, he shivered. There’d been an explosion, he remembered; it took the Death Eaters and the Order members by surprise. James had gone flying as the ceiling exploded.
A quiet thud like a tumbler set down on a tabletop startled him.
“I was about to check if you were still breathing.”
James stiffened. He would have known that voice anywhere. Silken, quiet, deep. A muffled snarl pressed through the gag.
“Oh, don’t be angry,” said Sirius Black. “I’m the one who saved your life, you know.”
A warm hand touched his bare shoulder. James jerked, trying to shift away, but the touch drew across his skin, trailing gently to his spine.
“Cold?”
James growled at him, straining to fixate a glower, but he couldn’t turn so far. His heart was thundering against his ribcage as Black laughed.
“I understand,” he said, his breath hot on James’s ear. “It’s frustrating, isn’t it? Perhaps even a little terrifying to wake up bound to a chair. I suppose I’d be a bit alarmed if I found myself in your position…though if I were tied up in your house, I’m not sure I would mind.”
James tilted his head back until he could see Black smiling down at him. Black cupped his jaw to keep his neck craned.
“I think I like you this way. I can say anything I want, I can do anything I’d like. And I daresay, you look pretty all trussed up like a Christmas present. A little gift to me, aren’t you? Well,” said Black, chuckling, “not little, I suppose, if memory serves me right…”
James felt his glasses before he realized what they were as they slid over his ears. They were clean, too—he wasn’t sure if his glasses had ever been so clean.
Black stepped away to fetch a chair that he dragged across the room; he sat before James, their knees brushing. Fingers trailed down James’s abdominal muscles in gentle admiration. He tried to shift away, ignoring the rush of blood, glowering at Black to back off, but Black started peeling off the bandages. He unwound them carefully to reveal numerous spots smeared with a putrid, greenish paste. James recoiled—nearly a dozen marked his body.
“Healing nicely,” said Black. “You’re in fair shape for a man who eats poorly and hardly sleeps. Look at these abdominals. Quite impressive. Do you train as if you still play Quidditch? Or is it your Animagus form that keeps you so fit?”
As Black removed the last bandage, James huffed through his nose at a shock of pain.
“Yeah, I know,” said Black, amusement gone. “Nasty one—the worst of them, but the rest are almost healed.” He conjured a bowl of water and a towel that levitated beside them; he soaked the towel before wiping the remnants of the poultice from James’s chest and stomach. Warm water that smelled faintly of roses dribbled through the hair, trailing down to the waistband of his trousers.
James gazed with bleary eyes at the Christmas tree over Black’s shoulder. If he could simply ignore Black, he could avoid falling into his trap—whatever that trap was. Already he was bound and gagged in Black’s house, so he couldn’t imagine what other power Black could glean from him, but James wouldn’t allow himself to offer any sort of obedience. He would fight Black in any way he could.
Black redressed the wound. More ugly, foul-smelling paste went on it before Black cut a new bandage and taped it over the mess. What was Black putting on him? Perhaps Black saw James squinting at the jar with suspicion.
“My own recipe,” Black explained. “Bit foul, but effective. I find that the stuff they’ve got in apothecaries rarely does the trick. I’ve invented this one; it’s faster than anything else I’ve tried, and it’s rather good at preventing scars.” He paused, eyes flickering to where he was smoothing the bandage flat. “Though I don’t think we’ll be so lucky with this git here—you had a splinter that nearly split you in half. We’re just lucky it didn’t hit anything important, but I had a hell of a time staunching the bleeding. I had to give you a good amount of blood.”
James’s brows went up as if to ask, Whose?
Black read his look and smiled. “Do you really want to know? Well,” he said, admiring the new bandage, “that’s set. Are you thirsty?”
Without waiting for a nod, Black conjured a glass of water. Black pulled the gag out and helped him drink, carefully tipping the glass until James was sated. Immediately, Black reached to pull the gag up again but James snapped his mouth shut.
“Come on, open up.”
James growled at him. Black raised his brows.
“Shall I make you?”
“Don’t fucking gag me,” James said through gritted teeth, turning his head.
“I don’t want to.”
“Then don’t.”
“Either this or I use my wand, Potter.” Then, Black paused, his eyes flickering to the door. Slowly, the corners of his mouth pulled into a curious smile. “Unless,” he drawled, leaning in close, “you promise to be a very good boy and keep your voice down.”
“Fuck you.”
The smile widened, polished teeth gleaming. “No, that’s not how a good boy talks.” Black pulled on the gag as if it were a dog’s collar, drawing James forward as far as the ropes would allow as they dug into his wrists and arms. “Say, ‘I’ll be a good boy who does what he’s told.’”
James rolled his eyes. Black pinched his cheek with his other hand as he chuckled.
“I realize I’m asking too much of you,” said Black. “I’m sure you’re humiliated enough as it is. All right, I’ll keep it out if you assure me you won’t start screaming. Can you agree to that, Potter?”
“Fine,” James snapped. “Untie me.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Won’t.”
“Won’t, can’t.”
“Why did you bring me here?”
“I thought I might save your life. I’m still waiting for your thanks, you know.”
James’s stomach sank. So that was it. Saving James’s life was no merciful act—there was a new bond between them, one that would keep James tethered to Black until the debt was repaid.
“Clever,” said James dully.
Black blinked. “Clever? I’d say I’m a bit stupid.”
“A life debt. You’ve made it impossible for me to kill you.”
“Oh,” said Black, frowning, as if that hadn’t occurred to him. “I suppose that’s true. I’m a bit more concerned about tying an Auror to a chair and holding him prisoner.”
But that wasn’t entirely true: the moment that nearly killed James had caught him acting as a member of the Order of the Phoenix, not an Auror from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The James Potter bound to a chair in Sirius Black’s house was a vigilante—a wizard who had stepped outside of the law and was perfectly eligible for a stint in Azkaban for his involvement in Albus Dumbledore’s secret organization.
Black moved behind the chair. James’s stomach flipped as the chair tilted back. Black dragged him a few feet to rest the chair close to the sofa.
“Who knows I’m alive?” said James, ignoring the humiliating relocation. Black crossed back to the desk, exiting James’s line of sight, and returned with a glass of whisky before he dropped onto the sofa.
“Only me.”
“Were you hurt?”
Thick yet elegant black brows raised in bemusement.
“The explosion,” James clarified.
“Oh,” said Black. “Hardly. A small concussion. My wrist is a bit sore, I suppose, and I landed on my hip wrong. Otherwise, healthy as hippogriff.”
“Suppose you ought to be drinking with a concussion?”
“How touching, Potter! You needn’t worry—I’ve taken care of my injuries. I can drink as much as I’d like.”
“It’s rude not to offer your guest the same courtesy.”
Black’s lips were shining with whisky as he pushed them together in consideration. Pale eyes swept over the bandage of James’s torso, trailing down until the gaze lingered on the slight bulge of his trousers. James reddened.
“It might interfere with the efficacy of the potion I gave you earlier.”
James stiffened. “Potion?”
“When you were unconscious, I gave you something for your concussion. It was far worse than mine.”
Perhaps James should have thanked Black for treating him—perhaps Black was waiting for an expression of gratitude, but James was horrified that he’d been laid out, helpless and unconscious, his jaw hanging open for Black to pour whatever he wanted inside of him. What else had Black done to him?
A chuckle brought James back.
“You needn’t look so worried, darling,” chastised Black. “Have I ever done anything to harm you? I’ve always put your health and safety first, sometimes even ahead of my own.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Tell me a time when I’ve hurt you.”
Immediately, James opened his mouth to list every duel, every moment he was certain Black had been behind a mask and met him in battle, but nothing came to mind as Black waited.
Satisfied, Black leaned back and tipped his glass at James.
“See?”
“You’ve fucked with my memories.”
“How dare you?” Black asked mildly.
James wriggled. There had to be a weakness in the ropes somewhere—
“Really, now,” Black said impatiently. “Stop squirming, Potter. I’m not going to—would you sit still? You don’t need to fear me. Oh, come on, I won’t like to redress—”
James hissed as the wound in his belly twinged. Black was out of his seat again and kneeling in front of James, reaching for the bandage.
“Don’t touch me!”
Black pressed James’s hips to the chair, his thumbs digging into the pelvis. “Then stop moving around!”
There was a sharp pain from the way Black gripped him, but it was the sort of stab that made the blood rush from James’s heart to pool in his belly. The air went out of his lungs as James looked down to catch the dark look in those bright eyes. Hands tied, hips immobilized, and knees spread to accommodate Black’s broad shoulders, a misplaced swell of desire coursed through him.
Black let go of his hips and trailed his palms down James’s thighs. The room was suddenly too warm; silence drowned the room. Even Black seemed to be holding his breath as he traced the seam of the trousers with his thumbs.
Gritting his teeth, James could think of nothing to say that matched what he truly wanted from the man who knelt at his feet. He should have been filled with dread and disgust. Black was despicable; Black wanted James helpless, straining at the bonds, unable to stop Black from doing whatever he wanted. Black rested his cheek on James’s thigh and closed his eyes. Silken hair draped across the trousers. Warm breath sank through the cotton. James shifted as his cock grew unbearably hard.
“Not…this again,” he said, turning his gaze up to the illuminated Christmas tree. If only the floating candles would set the tree ablaze and distract Black.
Black hummed in acknowledgment as he pressed his lips to James’s leg. His nose drew a line to the aching bulge before he let his face fall against it. James was biting his lip, begging himself not to make a sound. He wanted to tell Black to take control, to let him do whatever he wanted. Let him be guilty—blame it on Black—
Black groaned and pulled away, gazing up at James with dizzied eyes.
“Suppose you’ll be wanting something for the pain,” he said. He was about to get up, James knew. He was about to move away, and something terrible would happen if Black stopped touching him—he didn’t know what, but he dreaded the cold that would flood him once Black stood up.
“Well—er—wait a minute,” James said hoarsely, fumbling for something to say.
“Hm?” said Black.
“How’s—er—how’s my prick?”
Black stared at him as if James had spoken gibberish.
“What?”
“My—er—my—you know. Could you check it? Er—for damage?”
James had never composed a worse excuse to expose himself to someone. He might have hung his head in embarrassment if Black wasn’t staring at him blankly, waiting for him to clarify the absurd request. Check it for damage? Was he to have sustained splinters in his cock now too?
“I could…” said Black, frowning.
James slid forward as far as the ropes would allow.
“Are you in pain?” Black asked.
“Oh,” James. “Yeah. I’m…there’s pain.”
A sterile, clinical expression schooled Black’s features as his gaze fell to the swell of James’s trousers. Black grunted as if he were a healer reading a patient’s chart. Firmly, he palmed James through the trousers, raising his brows to see if he had elicited a response. James choked.
“Does that hurt?”
Hands numb from straining, James could move no closer to Black who watched him very carefully, his cool eyes unblinking.
“Mr. Potter,” prompted Black. “Shall I investigate further?”
James nodded. “Yeah— yes. ”
“What sort of pain is it? Stabbing or throbbing?”
“I think,” said James, squeezing his eyes shut. “I think I might need stabbing to relieve the—er—throbbing.”
A musical sound filled the room—Black was laughing. When James opened his eyes, it was to a broad grin of appreciation. The boyish look was nearly James’s undoing. Dark locks of hair that had come loose from its neat, slicked-back style gave Black an artfully disheveled look as if he’d already been deliciously defiled; James longed to be free of his bonds to bury his hands in that hair and guide Black back to his lap.
The hands that flew to the fly of James’s trousers trembled despite Black’s cocksure smile, unhooking the button and struggling to release the zipper. James lifted his hips, allowing the waistband of trousers and underwear to pass over his backside, just enough to expose him. Black descended swiftly. There was no preamble before he had taken hold and trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses from base to tip that left James arching his back.
“Shh, shh, be careful,” said Black, gently pushing James back against the chair. “I worked hard on you. Don’t undo it all now.”
“You’re undoing me.”
Black winked. He gripped with little mercy as he swallowed all that his mouth would allow; startled by the rush of pleasure, James jerked and Black choked. Certain that Black would retreat with a curl of his lip from the shame of gagging on his cock, James froze. But then, Black was chuckling as tears streamed from the corners of his eyes.
“S-sorry,” James groaned. “I—”
Was he apologizing to Black?
The broad width of an experienced tongue glided up the shaft, and James clenched his thighs, unable to stop from thrusting into Black’s mouth. This time, Black caught him, murmuring something about keeping still.
“U-use more rope, then,” James hissed.
“I think you’ve got more self-control than that. Does this hurt?”
A pathetic moan slipped from his throat. The wet heat was unbearable, but even worse was Black lifting his head, pausing for a response, his eyes innocent and brows arched, the air nipping at James’s vulnerable prick.
“Is it so bad?”
“So…so bad.” James swore, throwing his head back, as Black swallowed him again and traced his tongue against the head of his cock. Black hummed his pity. The rhythm lulled James into a dizzying stupor, coaxing him closer to his peak, scrambling his thoughts.
Black withdrew again. “Is this helping?”
“Stop stopping, will you?”
“I don’t want you to get too excited, Mr. Potter,” said Black, leaning away, his smile too mocking to be boyish now.
James slumped against the chair, panting as Black stood and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Wait,” said James. “Wait—are you—don’t leave me like this—”
Black pouted with false pity. “You’d like to finish so soon? But I want to play a bit longer, don’t you?”
His cock throbbing painfully, James unleashed a frustrated yell. Black muffled the sound, shoving a palm against James’s mouth as he turned his head to the door. Distantly, there was the sound of music—James could hear “O Tannenbaum,” and he realized with horrifying clarity the strange hum emanating from beyond it.
“Naughty boy,” whispered Black, lowering his hand. “You promised you’d keep quiet.”
“There’s a party going on,” said James.
Black looked sheepish. “Er—yes. Something my wife puts on every year to show everyone she’s still relevant.”
“Why didn’t you cast a silencing charm on the room?”
James fought a smile as Black’s grin turned roguish, his eyes glinting.
“Where’s the fun in that?”
“Why aren’t you out there entertaining your guests?” asked James. “Don’t you think they might like to be wined and dined by the lord of the manor? Awfully spiffed up for a man who’s hiding a prisoner.”
Indeed, Black cut a splendid figure. At first, James hadn’t realized the black velvet robes were dress robes as Black had a habit of dressing immaculately, but now, the shock of waking in this particular house had worn off, and he could trace the silver embroidery that adorned the front panels of his dress robes.
“Ah,” said Black, smiling again, tilting James’s chin up. “I’m much more interested in entertaining this guest. Tell me what a good host I am, and I’ll wine and dine you .”
The strong hand beseeched James to sink into the warmth of the fond smile above him.
“This feels familiar,” James murmured. When had his eyes fallen closed? He opened them quickly to see that Black’s face was flushed.
“You seemed to like it last time.”
Heat flooded James’s cheeks too.
“You coerced me.”
A ringed thumb rubbed against James’s bottom lip.
“Yes, I suppose I did. Perhaps that was wrong of me. I still hope you can forgive me,” Black said, his voice low. “Yet I don’t know if I need forgiveness after what you did. You were a bit cruel in your departure. I’d say we left our little encounter in a draw.”
“And now we’re back to you taking advantage of me,” James muttered.
Black withdrew his touch and stepped away as if James had caught on fire. Smiling innocently, he clasped hands behind his back.
“Then I won’t. I’ll keep the score even and leave you as you are. You can get yourself off when I let you go.”
“Right,” said James, scoffing. “ Let me go. You’re not going to let me leave.”
It was Black’s turn to roll his eyes. He waved off James as he returned to the sofa, dropping heavily onto the cushions, his hair coming undone as he drew a hand through it.
“And what would I do with a pet Auror?”
“You want to keep me here as your—”
Black raised his brows. “My what?”
“Your—your plaything or something.”
“My plaything?” Black laughed, but something had changed. A bitterness had crept into his voice as his amusement slipped. “Are you saying I should keep you chained and collared in my bedroom?”
“As if it hadn’t crossed your mind.”
“That seems like far too much work. While it is fun knowing I can do whatever I’d like to you, it’s more fun to watch you lie to yourself and pretend you don’t want me to fuck you. Besides,” he added. “What makes you think you haven’t always been my plaything?”
“You blackmailed me—”
Black released a loud, forceful laugh.
“‘Check my cock for damage, Black,’” he mocked. “‘Please, don’t leave me like this.’”
James’s face grew hot.
“Yeah,” said James, sneering, “and you lapped it right up. Slobbered all over me, didn’t you? If you hadn’t tied me up, you would’ve begged me to shove my cock down your throat, wouldn’t you?”
“I was hardly the one begging, Potter.”
“Don’t bother denying it. It’s too pathetic,” said James, his heart thudding. “I think you’ve humiliated yourself quite enough tonight, Sirius.”
Black waved his hand. The ropes disappeared.
“Well, then,” said Black. “Go on and leave. Apparate if you can. Stumble out into the snow and make your way home. I won’t stop you. I wouldn’t want to humiliate you any further.”
Black must have known that James was too weak to stand—something that James himself hadn’t realized until the moment he rose and attempted to fasten his trousers. His legs wobbled, he overbalanced, and with a sharp yelp, he collapsed.
Black merely reached for the whisky he’d left on the table, watching with heavy lids as James struggled to push himself onto all fours.
There had been a spark of dignity that Black had allowed James by keeping him tied to the chair—a dignity that James hadn’t realized he still possessed until he collapsed on the floor in a pathetic heap. Perhaps Black had wanted to protect James’s ego—perhaps he had meant to keep James from realizing how pathetic and weak he was, unable to escape the house of his enemy.
“Well, get to it,” said Black curtly.
“Where’s my wand?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. I’ve got a spare if you want it.”
Black pulled a wand from his pocket and leaned forward to offer it to James. But James was no fool. If he tried to Apparate now, he would likely lose an entire leg or perhaps a vital organ. He glowered at the wand, blaming it silently for his predicament.
“What’s wrong, Potter? Wouldn’t you like to go home?”
James took it, but the wand felt strange as if it didn’t quite like James holding it. Most wands liked James—even ones that weren’t at all suited to him, but this one was almost spitting at him to let go of it. The beams on the ceiling wiggled ominously.
“Quite a rejection,” said Black. “It’s not fond of me, but I think it loathes you. Perhaps it knows a coward when it meets one.”
He stood, swept the wand from James, and slid it into his pocket. Then, he stooped, and with a grunt of effort, he hauled James from the floor to lay him on the sofa.
James breathed hard and tried to focus on the ceiling. It was stark white, devoid of interesting architectural features except for a ceiling medallion and the reflection of candlelight from the tree. James struggled to focus on it when Black knelt beside the sofa and absently traced his fingers over the hair on James’s chest.
“You didn’t finish,” said Black.
James rolled his eyes, still avoiding eye contact. “I thought that was on purpose.”
“Yeah, of course it was. But I can be merciful if you ask me nicely.”
Black was already sliding a hand down the waistband again when James snatched his wrist. With a burst of strength, James wrenched Black close to his face.
“Let’s make this very clear. You’re forcing me to do this,” said James angrily. “I’m too weak to fight back. Do you understand? I don’t want you to touch me. Anything that happens between us is because you want to humiliate me. Do you understand?”
Black’s lips pressed into a thin line. The fire in his eyes dwindled as if James had wounded him. If you want to fuck me, I won’t say I wanted it, James thought furiously. Because he couldn’t want it—he didn’t want Black. He didn’t. Anyone would shudder if someone as handsome as Sirius Black touched them—anyone would crave his mouth once he’d demonstrated what his tongue could do. James was just like anyone else.
“That’s what you’ll tell your wife, is it?” said Black. “That I took advantage of you?”
“It’s what happened.”
Black wrenched free. Perhaps it was the light of the tree, but his eyes were shining.
“You’d insult me like this?” said Black. “After all I’ve done for you?”
“A game you’ve been playing the whole time!” James snapped. “Tying me up, gagging me, sucking my prick. You’re pathetic—”
“ You’re pathetic, Potter. You were never a coward when we were in school, but now look at you—your hatred has made you spineless and weak.” He threw a leg over James and seized his wrists. He brought his lips close to James’s ear, his voice a deep growl.
“Blame me all you’d like for this, but we both know the truth. You’d like to choke on my cock if I’d let you, wouldn’t you?”
Thighs pressed in. James couldn’t move. His hands were numb and the heat of Black’s mouth next to his ear made him squirm. Everything was too hot—the fireplace, the candles on the tree, Black and his body. Teeth scraped against his throat. James craned his head back, exposing every inch of it. He wanted to rut against Black, to grind against the muscular thigh, to get off through his trousers. When Black pulled up and released his arms, James grunted with disappointment.
Thoughtfully, softly, Black studied James’s lips with the pads of his fingers.
“Do you want me to kiss you?” said Black.
He pinched the bottom lip softly, but James didn’t turn away. Black drew so close that all that separated their lips were his fingers. His knee shifted firmly between James’s legs, pressing and rubbing against him, the friction driving James mad. Black chuckled as a frustrated sigh escaped James.
“Poor thing,” he cooed. The smell of whisky lingered on his breath. “Suppose you’ll tell your wife all about this, won’t you? Tell her exactly what I’ve done. Tied you down, forced a kiss on you, fucked you with my mouth.”
James shut his eyes, waiting for the brush of lips against his, but instead, Black brought them to the corner of James’s mouth and nipped across his jaw, scraping against the stubble until he had found an earlobe and sucked hard. James made a strangled sound and pushed against the thigh between his legs.
“Will you tell her all about this?” Black murmured.
“Go to hell,” James hissed.
“That’s no way to speak to your host. It’s not too late to gag you again.” The wet heat against his ear turned cold as Black sat back and turned his gaze down at James. “Open your mouth.”
James couldn’t stop himself. Compelled by his greed, he parted his lips. A grunt of approval had James closing his eyes as he felt Black’s fingers with his tongue. The heat of the leg against his cock and sucking on the salt of Black’s fingers made his breath ragged; his control spinning out of his grasp, he couldn’t smother a crooked moan.
“‘He made me suck his fingers,’” Black mocked. “‘And I hated it. I hated when he shoved them down my throat. I hated when he rubbed his leg against my cock. I couldn’t stop it, Lily darling, I didn’t want it…’”
The fingers went too far—they scraped the back of his throat, and James gagged, turned his head, and tried to breathe, but Black grabbed a fistful of hair, keeping him still.
“You’ll have to get used to this,” said Black coolly, pumping his fingers. “You’re going to suck my cock, aren’t you? You’ll have to learn how to tolerate me in the back of your throat. Won’t you tell her I made you choke? Tell her you wanted to kill me for it.”
He wasn’t sure if he’d ever been more humiliated in his life, and the worst of it was that he couldn’t imagine himself anywhere else at that moment. If this ended too soon, something terrible would happen; if Black released him now, a part of James would die. He was on fire, and Black was throwing fuel on the flames, urging him to burn higher and faster, and James knew that Black was the only one who could save him from turning to ash.
He shut his eyes, knowing that if he saw even a spark of pleasure on Black’s face, he would burst. This did not please Black.
“Don’t want to look at me, do you? Then let me help you.”
A bolt of fear struck him as the glasses slid off his face. James opened his eyes to a blurry world. Mouth still full, he made a garbled plea for his glasses.
“I do love when you beg,” said Black. “But you’ll have to behave to earn them back. Show me what you’ll do to my cock, James. Show me how you’ll be a good boy.”
James shoved weakly at his chest.
“No? You won’t do as I say?” said Black.
The fingers left his mouth.
“Fuck you,” James spat.
“Soon enough,” said Black, patting his cheek hard before getting off the sofa.
James wanted to grip himself and pump hard and fast. His prick ached, his was throat sore, and his heart was hammering painfully in his ribcage. He lifted his head; if he squinted, he could see Black moving somewhere in the distance, but what he was doing, James had no idea. Then there was the clink of glass, and James knew Black was pouring himself another drink.
“Would you have saved me if our places were switched?” Black asked suddenly. “If I were the one who’d almost died, would you have left me?”
The answer came to him quickly—so quickly that he wanted to retch at his weakness. Imagining Black riddled with wounds, his breath pushing raggedly in his airway, his pale skin paling as blood trickled from his body, his hands turning cold and his eyes dull—James shuddered.
“Say something,” snapped Black. “And be honest for once in your life.”
A laugh spilled from James. Perhaps it was out of nervousness or maybe the words coming out of Black’s mouth were so hypocritical that the danger of poking the bear didn’t occur to him, but James couldn’t help it.
“Be honest,” said James. “You’re asking me to be honest.”
“Just answer the question.”
James was still chuckling as he turned his head to where he could see a black silhouette looming in front of the Christmas tree lights.
“Of course I’d save you,” said James. “Your death wouldn’t be half as satisfying as stuffing you in Azkaban, watching you beg for mercy as the door shuts. Reckon I’d give up an opportunity like that?”
“I told you to be honest.”
“Yeah, well,” said James, sneering, “what does honesty mean to a man who’s lived behind a mask his whole life?”
“You’re the one wearing a fucking mask,” Black said venomously, setting his glass down with a hard clunk. “Shall I pour Veritaserum down your throat and force you to hear the truth from your own mouth? Or do you suppose it’s funny letting me take the blame for all of this?”
“This is your fault!”
Black huffed in exasperation.
“You’re a coward!” he said. “You’re a fucking coward!”
“What do you want from me? Whatever you want, just take it. ”
“I don’t want to take it ,” Black snarled.
The blur of his silhouette came in too close.
“I won’t lie for you,” said Black. “You aren’t fucking helpless. I won’t let you pretend this isn’t exactly where you’d like to be. If you’re going to stay here, it’s because you want to be here. I’m not going to tie you down again and let you claim I humiliated you. Do you understand, Potter? Don’t you dare say you didn’t ask me to touch you.”
Wind crept from beneath the crack in the window, a cold breath that swept across James’s bare shoulders. Weak as he was, he could have broken free from Black, tackled him, and sprang for the door. He could have burst downstairs into the party and declared Sirius Black a Death Eater before a crowd of influential and popular wizards and witches.
Black grunted.
“Say something.”
Only lies came to him as he shuffled through every response he could think to offer Black, but there was no lie that Black would believe now. There was no answer Black would accept other than what they both knew to be true, and the words he wanted to use slipped from him. It was hard to breathe, hard to think. It was only by squinting that he could see Black’s face so near to his own, see the faint outline of those lips, and he found himself leaning closer, hoping that it would be answer enough—
“No,” said Black, shoving James back roughly. “Say something.”
“Sirius.”’
The sound of his name must have startled him because he didn’t stop James who snatched a handful of robes and heaved until the two of them were flush, their mouths colliding painfully, the wound in his belly wrenching miserably. James huffed a pained breath through his nose, but he didn’t stop—he gripped with all of the strength he had left, drawing Sirius’s weight on top of him.
Sirius growled and tried to move away, but James wrapped his legs around him, feeling the wound split open, the agony of it forcing a new determination to keep Sirius in his grasp. You want this, you want me, James thought.
James had never thought about what it would be like to kiss him. He replayed the memory of spilling out over his hand as he stroked Sirius, as he choked on ringed fingers and groaned helplessly as he came, but never did he imagine what it could feel like to kiss Sirius Black, a man who had made his life hell, who had bribed politicians, who had murdered countless people in the name of Lord Voldemort.
Those lips were hard on his now. They weren’t moving like James wanted. His strength slipped as his wound sent a wave of pain across the nerves in his legs. Sirius broke away, yanking his robes free.
“Get off me!” he hissed. “You don’t get it at all, do you? I won’t fuck you, Potter, not if you’re going to act like a coward. Tell me the truth, and maybe I’ll consider giving you what you want.”
“I don’t know what you want from me,” said James angrily, glowering up at the dark blur. “I hate you, and yeah, I’d like to fuck you just as much as you want to fuck me. What more do you want?”
“That’s not all of it.”
There was a lump in his throat. James swallowed hard. You’re wrong , he told Black silently. That is all of it. It was loathing, but James couldn’t deny that the man was beautiful, that James had often imagined swallowing all of him, holding those hips, and forcing Sirius to squirm and moan. But that was all. He felt nothing else.
What he hated most about Sirius Black was his ability to braid many truths around a singular lie. James, however, told the truth, or else he didn’t speak at all. But when it came to Black, James had learned to lie to himself so he could lie to Lily. After Black’s late-night visit to the Auror office last year, he told Lily there was nothing between him and Black. He told her they’d argued. Each time he had seen Black at the Ministry, he reminded himself that the thrill he felt was only a cold fury that he’d not yet caught his quarry. Each time he took an assignment with the Order of the Phoenix, he assured himself that he would be ready to kill Black if needed.
Compelled by a hand warm against his face, he turned his gaze up, just barely able to see the pale eyes above him.
“Tell me the truth,” Sirius said stiffly. “I’ll do anything you’d like as long as you’re honest with me.”
James leaned into the hand. “I won’t blame you,” he promised.
“I don’t believe you.”
James encircled his arms around the lean waist and pulled Sirius to him, drawing him back to the sofa, and leading Sirius to lie down beneath him. It didn’t matter then that James had disappointed him because James had won, and Sirius Black had lost.
The pulse beneath his hand quickened. James felt for the buttons on the front of the silk shirt, unhooking each one down to the navel, sliding his palm against hair and taut muscles. How did Black keep so fit? Starving to taste him, James sucked hard against a rib, pressing teeth into the flesh until he heard a sharp inhale. There were hands in his hair; nails scraped against his skull as James licked and bit his way down. The vibration of his own moan buzzed against his lips. When James reached the belt, he paused.
A gravelly voice spoke quietly.
“Please.”
The rasp in his voice spurred James. The belt came free; it clinked as James flung the buckle aside. Eagerly, like shredding open a present, James unfastened the black trousers and underwear and wriggled them down.
He wished he had his glasses back so he could watch those pale eyes watch him as he opened his mouth and swallowed as much as he could take. He let the soft moans guide him; he set his pace by the squirming of hips and the raking of nails through his hair, but there was no relief for the ache in his cock—it grew painfully hard again as he sucked and used his tongue to elicit the filthiest sounds from the man below him.
James lost himself. He wanted the man in his mouth to suffer—to whimper and beg, to lose control, to writhe as James overwhelmed him with everything his mouth could do. Clawing at the velvet robes, his fingers tore into silver embroidery.
“James—please—” the voice cracked.
The sound of his name made James grind against the sofa. As he arched forward, desperate for friction, agony split open his gut, ripping through his belly. He gagged, howling against the prick in his mouth, black spots dappling his poor vision—but he’d already brought Sirius too far to bring him back. The body beneath him jerked, and a hand roughly pulled James by the hair, lifting his mouth from the cock as a thick warmth sputtered down his neck and shoulder.
Black was cursing, apologizing, gasping as James tried to breathe. The pain was too much, and James slumped onto the warm mess he’d made of Black who still writhed, more of him spilling out against James’s chest.
“Oh, fuck , ” Sirius croaked. “Fuck, I shouldn’t’ve—didn’t mean to—”
James groaned. Clutching his belly, he curled into himself between Sirius’s legs.
“James? Oh, fuck. Hold on—”
James felt Sirius shift from underneath him to leave James on the sofa. Sirius coaxed him onto his back, prying the hand aside to peel away the bandage. He swore.
“Fuck, fuck, ” said Sirius. “It’s reopened. Stay there—don’t move. I’ll fix it.”
Grinding his teeth, James was overcome with the pain of his wound, but he couldn’t help marveling that Black had recovered so quickly, that he could moan and cry and writhe and release his pleasure, and then, in the next moment, possess the fortitude to address a gaping wound.
Black rolled back the bandage, murmuring to James that all would be fine, James would be all right, and James could only sink into the timbre of his voice. Nimble, yet sturdy, hands guided James onto his back; they stitched him back together, smeared the foul paste back on, re-bandaged the wound, eased James to relax, smoothed through his damp hair—all while Black rambled apologies.
“I’m sorry…” he said. “I really am… I meant to stop…”
“Shut the fuck up,” James hissed. “Shut up and finish me.”
The hand on his hair halted.
“I mean it,” said James. “Do it.”
Sirius grunted. “As the man who’s dressed the same wound thrice,” he said, “I must decline.” His lips were close to James, nearly brushing his temple. “You’ve got to be in pain, darling.”
“You can’t leave me like this. Fuck you—return the favor, you fucking twat.”
The kiss against his brow made James growl. It was too much, too soft. He wanted to throttle Black—he wanted Black to throttle him— but the bastard was petting him lovingly, trailing the back of a hand down his face. That mouth should have been on his cock, that hand should gripped him and brought him to a swift closure, but instead, James was pulsing with need.
With a wave of his wand, Black cleared evidence of his own release which had grown cold on James’s flushed skin.
“Give me my glasses,” James snapped at him.
“I should’ve kept you asleep,” Black muttered.
James was too late to catch a handful of velvet robes before Black moved away swiftly. There was a clink of glass, the soft pour of liquid in a glass, and then footsteps across the rug. Clenching his belly, James tried to sit up but Black pressed him down, pushing the rim of a glass to his lips.
“Take this,” said Black. “For the pain.”
James tried to refuse. A hand held his head as a sickly sweet potion met his lips.
“Take it, please,” Black insisted. “Be good for me, James. Go on.”
It was foul and viscous, coating his tongue, but Black was gently tipping it into his mouth, and as it pooled in his stomach, the pain eased.
“There, not so bad,” said Black. “Lie down, now. Don’t fight it.”
“Don’t fight it?” murmured James as a heavy, drunken laziness spread through his muscles, unable to resist the hands that were lowering him to the cushions. “Wait…wait… I don’t want…don’t want to…”
He could hardly raise his hands and they were weak when they found the velvet robes, groping for Sirius, trying to hold on as the potion drank the rest of his strength, desperate not to succumb to sleep.
A voice was shushing him. It was close to his ear. Then there were lips kissing his cheek, his temple, his hair, and Black promised to look after him, swore that he was safe, that he would feel better very soon, and James’s hand slipped and fell hard to the sofa.