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fingers whispering sound

sirius/harry and other perversions

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"Stubborn", Sirius/Harry, NC-17
Title: Stubborn
Author: [personal profile] phoenixtears
Pairing: Sirius/Harry
Rating: NC-17
Words 100x8 (for the prompt, "Stubborn", at [community profile] harry100!)
Summary: Harry pursues; Sirius can't hold out.
Warning/Enticement: (Hot) sex with an (assertive) underage character.

Harry was following him around Grimmauld Place. Wherever Sirius was, there was Harry. He didn’t fit the profile of what Sirius thought a teen-ager with a crush should. No puppy dog eyes. His gaze wasn’t adoring or star-filled. But a crush it was; Sirius knew enough to recognize trouble when he saw it. And he saw it lurking in a doorway or striding confidently into Sirius’s personal space, their arms brushing, Harry toeing at Sirius’s foot with his scrappy tennis shoe like maybe Sirius’s resolve was a mountain of rocks that could come tumbling down with the right annoying provocation.


Not annoying. Tenacious. Stubborn. But not annoying. Sirius was not annoyed. That was the biggest problem of all. Harry was stuck to him like a bad hex, and all Sirius could feel was…good. They had long conversations about history and magic and Quidditch (which Sirius had been utter rubbish at but James, golden). Harry brushed non-existent lint off Sirius’s shoulder, moving minutely closer, and Sirius let him. Sirius didn’t back away. He felt his body respond, saw the same reflected in Harry’s eyes. He let the conversation die into the thick silence. He let them both realize it could happen.


Two weeks like that – stalking around his own house with Harry quick at his heels. Two weeks of being half-hard and all-guilty. The Order conducted its business, and Harry was right there, distracting him, being brilliant, dazzling the adults with his ideas and his passion.

“Some godson you’ve got here, Sirius,” Moody remarked.

Feeling slightly sick, all Sirius could do was agree whole-heartedly, if a bit green. Harry, though, seemed to glow. He caught Sirius’s eye, and he grinned perversely. He winked. Harry winked at him. Undone, Sirius apparated back to his room after the meeting, his resolve nearly dust.


Harry found him. He came into Sirius’s room quietly, shutting the door.

“Don’t.” Sirius waited for him, his back turned, his hands shaking, a great wizard reduced to ruin by a boy.

Harry said nothing, and Sirius could only stand there, the fire searing through him unchecked, as Harry approached. Each footfall was mindful. And then he was behind Sirius, his young body brushing Sirius’s own, his hands reaching out to touch…

“Don’t,” Sirius whispered.

But Harry just wrapped his arms around him from behind, pressed himself impossibly close so that Sirius could feel his erection, proud and defiant. Stubborn.


It was horrible – this swan dive from grace. Harry’s hands over his body, touching tattoos with reverence, breathing on Sirius’s skin as he revealed it. And Sirius just standing there, a coward, tears in his eyes. Letting him.

When Harry knelt and began working on Sirius’s buckle, Sirius meant to shove him away – to hurt him if necessary – anything to stop this – but his hand found Harry’s hair, and it was soft, threading through his fingers effortlessly.

“Harry…” It was a whisper of pain and fury and loss.

Harry fished his cock out, his eyes cast up at him, unmovable.


Then Sirius was in his mouth – this angelic mouth – and Harry was on his knees and bobbing his head and Sirius was dying. He watched his godson giving him a blow job, and some part of himself he’d always hoped was good was shown to be as hollow as he’d feared. As black.

The worst part was the joy. That he could look down on this, his tears falling, dripping down his chest like blood, and the love he felt was enormous; it overtook him. He slid through Harry’s lips, and Harry cast him a glance, wry with amusement, with…joy.


He said the words in the vain hope that they would make this less of a sin; he said them because they were true: “Adore you…” He said them, because Harry should know: “Don’t…want…to hurt—“ He was going to say ‘you’, but Harry suckled on the head and made him come.

He was coming in Harry’s mouth and petting his hair, and Harry closed his eyes.

When it was done, Sirius hauled the boy to his feet by his scrawny shoulders. “Why?” he cried, anguished.

“Because it’s what we both need,” Harry said. He touched Sirius’s face in sympathy.


Sirius wanted to tell him to get out. To get out and never come back. But Harry’s gaze wasn’t soft with sticky love. It was hard, undeniable. It wasn’t taking anything back or giving anything in. Harry was already, so much, a warrior.

And so Sirius kissed his come from Harry’s lips – slowly, intently; he savored it. And then he sank down in front of Harry, unfastened his jeans, and took him out. He held the boy’s perfect ass in his hands and chased down the eager, twitching cock with his mouth. They both laughed. They laughed.

Ruined. Happy. Stubborn.