Kristmas Wish Fulfilled for: ariadneeldaFrom: sabetheaTitle:
Blurring The LinesCharacters/Pairings:
Sirius/Harry (implied Sirius/James)Rating:
desperate!filthy!wrong!sex, angst, rimming, first time for HarryOther Warnings/Content:
The Christmas Harry was fifteen was memorable for many things. It was the first time he was really aware of being possessed (or possibly not) by Lord Voldemort. It was the first time he drank firewhiskey. It was the first time... well, those two were firsts enough for anyone...Author's Notes:
Many thanks to my beta, who always – but always
– rocks. Giftee, this was a wonderful prompt to work with: I only hope I've done it something near justice.
Harry had his first firewhiskey the Christmas he was 15. Later, that was the way he preferred to remember it: the Christmas he had his first proper alcoholic drink. Not the Christmas he almost killed Arthur Weasley, not the Christmas they spent at Grimmauld Place, not the Christmas Sirius had…
The Christmas he had his first firewhiskey. That was stepping stone enough.
Harry had grown during the Christmas term. Sirius, looking at him, saw the boy that he was being subsumed under the man Sirius knew he would become. Tall and slender, without being lanky. Messy dark hair, the same colour as Sirius's own. Eyes of green. Dear Merlin, Lily's eyes. Sirius didn't like to look at Lily's eyes in her son's face. If he just - didn't look; if he just – concentrated on the hair, on the frame of the body... Sirius saw James. James as he had been, before Lily. James as he had been, when he and Sirius...
Most of the time, Sirius could ignore that nagging feeling. With Molly Weasley spreading maternal blessings over all in sight, it was easy just to treat Harry as another one of the kids in the house. A kid. Just a kid.
Trouble was, Harry wasn't a kid any more. When Sirius had been fifteen, he'd done pretty much everything. Potions, drugs, sex, hexes, alcohol. Sirius's innocence had been long gone at fifteen. And James's son... Sirius's mouth curled in an unconscious smile... James's son could not possibly be the naïve youngster Molly saw him as. Molly Weasley, so certain she was right, and so unaware of what was just in front of her eyes.
Sirius watched and listened as Harry made excuses each night to stay a little longer with his godfather. Smiled encouragement, knowing that Molly's indebtedness to him for the houseroom meant that she could not complain too bitterly, too much. The evenings, when the others had gone to bed, grew steadily longer. Usually Harry would talk, and Sirius would listen. Would put a comforting arm around the boy – just to reassure him.
An arm around the shoulder became two, became a hug. Became a closer hug.
“I've got to go to bed, Sirius,” Harry said, uncomfortably.
“Tomorrow.” Sirius smiled at his godson. “Maybe you can have a firewhiskey with me, yeah?”
“Really?” Harry looked thrilled and anxious at the same time.
“Why not?” The smile became a bit wry. “Don't tell Molly, though.”
“You know I wouldn't.”
Yes, Sirius knew. His godson had a great sense of loyalty. Harry would never give Sirius away.
There was something, Harry didn't know what, about his relationship with Sirius. They were being drawn closer together, and it should've been a brilliant thing... no, it was
a brilliant thing. Sirius was fantastic – the sort of person Harry hoped that he'd be when he was grown up. Someone who knew stuff, who wasn't scared of anything. No one else had a godfather like Sirius – no one. He could trust Sirius with his life, with his... with everything.
Young, courageous and so, so sexy. Sirius sometimes found it hard to look at Harry. Or, rather, found himself hard when he looked at Harry. That hair, ruffling over his neck, rubbing against the collar of his robes. What would he look like with his dark hair falling around his pale neck, his head thrown back in ecstasy? It was a question Sirius knew he shouldn't ask himself – but asked anyway.
And the boy was old enough. Not a kid. Old enough that he had to have done it with someone... hell
, Sirius corrected himself, his eyes raking over his godson, with several someones.
Why not with him?
It was drawing towards evening, and Harry found he was thinking of this as 'their' time – his and Sirius's, when he didn't have to share his godfather with anyone. When they sat alone and Harry knew that all Sirius's attention, all of it, was focused on him. When Sirius made him feel like the most important person in the world, and not like Dumbledore did, not like those other people who thought he was great because he was Harry Potter, the
Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived. Because of who he, Harry, actually was.
“So,” drawled Sirius, picking up a bottle. “Are you ready for a drink?” He saw that Harry was eyeing the firewhiskey with a mixture of nerves and excitement. “You can't tell me you've never had it before.” He poured his godson a tumblerful and passed it over.
“Not really,” Harry admitted.
Sirius grinned. “The first sip's the worst. Swig it down quickly, and then you'll remember it for life.”
He watched as Harry picked up the glass, swishing the liquid around inside it before lifting it to his lips and gulping it down. The gulp inevitably turned to coughing as the firewhiskey burnt Harry's oesophagus on its way to his stomach. He was bent over forwards, and Sirius caught him, pressing Harry's head into his lap as he patted him on the back.
Warm breath against Sirius's cock. Harry's fingers opened and closed around Sirius's robes as he tried to recover his breath, his nails scratching through the thin material against Sirius's skin. Too close, and not close enough.
“Okay?” asked Sirius, lifting Harry's head.
“Yeah.” Harry choked again. “Yeah,” he said, breathlessly. Then, as the alcohol burned a path through his body, “Yeah
.” He smiled. “Great, actually. Does it always feel like that?”
“Pretty much. Another?”
“You 'shouldn't' have had the first. Another?”
The world was slightly fuzzy, but Harry didn't mind. He was with Sirius. That was what mattered. Sirius would keep him safe.
“All right?” Sirius asked.
“Yeah... No... Sirius
.” And Harry sounded needy and desperate, and no one could be expected to ignore that plea, no one.
“I'm here,” Sirius said, his voice almost a growl. “Here.”
“I dream about him. Every night. The Dark Lord. Take it away, Sirius. Please. Find some way. Take it away.”
“Shhh,” Sirius soothed.
Harry flung himself against his godfather. “Please. Help me.”
Harry was flush against Sirius. Sirius could feel his godson's heart beat resonate in his own body. He was young, and in trouble, and if Sirius could make him forget - just for a moment or two - wouldn't that be a good thing to do?
“I'll help you,” he promised.
His arms tightened around Harry, pulling the boy even closer, so that their bodies did not just touch but pressed against each other. Sirius felt himself growing hard; but it was not just him. Harry's cock was filling, stiffening. Harry wanted this as much as he did.
Sirius pushed the boy down with gentle, firm, hands, unbuttoning his robes slowly, steadily – giving Harry all the time in the world to pull away, to say no. Harry was silent, save for the occasional gasping breath he took.
“I can make you forget it all,” Sirius whispered, his eyes feasting on naked skin.
“Sirius?” Harry was woozy, but his voice held trust.
“Yes.” Sirius removed Harry's pants, pushing his legs apart. “Trust me, Harry.”
His tongue licked a path into the crevice between Harry's buttocks. Gently, slowly, as if there were all the time in the world. Harry gasped as Sirius's tongue lingered on the puckering of skin at his anus.
“Is that good?” Sirius asked softly.
“Good,” murmured Harry.
Sirius's tongue ran over and over that pucker. Over and over, before he penetrated – just a little. Harry cried out, his hips bucking up; his cock so hard that Sirius wondered if the boy might come now, before he had done half the things he'd thought about – dreamt about. But Harry was young. He could come time and time again before the late-dawning sun rose on the morrow. Sirius pressed his tongue in further; slipping into the ring of muscle, which gave a little under his ministrations.
“Yes!” And the word was Harry's; almost tearful in its neediness.
Sirius reached a hand up to grasp his godson's cock, holding it firmly for a second before running his fist up and down, up and down, his tongue still probing further back.
Harry came. Tears and come, eyes and cock spurting simultaneously. Sirius felt the warm splashes against his fingers and imagined the salty-sweaty taste in his mouth. The taste of James... no, of Harry
“Shhh,” he said again, sliding up to hold Harry close against his body. It seemed ridiculous, really, that Sirius was still dressed; he shrugged his robes from his shoulders and pulled the boy close again. Harry gasped and cried against his neck, their legs tangling together, just as when...
Their legs tangled together. This was Harry, and Sirius needed to comfort him, to help him, to make him forget. His own cock was still aching-hard, and he guided Harry's hand down to it. Harry grasped it, his fingers warm and tentative.
“Like this?” he asked.
Sirius shut his eyes for a second, gave in to the sensation he had been dreaming of. “Oh yes.”
Perhaps Harry's grip was gentler than Sirius would like (gentler than James had been); perhaps his movements were almost too slow, too deliberate. But he had chosen, he had wanted this; it had not just been Sirius – Harry, too, had shown he wanted Sirius.
“Shall I tell you what I'm going to do next, Harry?” Sirius heard Harry's breathing hitch as he spoke. “I'm going to turn you onto your back, and then I'm going to fuck you. Have you ever been fucked before, Harry?”
Harry's green eyes seemed to glow in the darkness. Lily... ah, fuck, Lily would've killed him for this. But she wasn't here, and Sirius was, and Harry needed forgetfulness. And Sirius knew how to bring it to him. Sirius murmured a well-known spell and felt his fingers slick up.
“Sirius?” Harry's voice was just a breath, a whisper.
“Yes. I'm here.”
Sirius was there. Sirius always looked after him... even when he was slipping in and out of focus, as he was doing now. Blurry Sirius, blurry. But what he was doing felt good. It felt very good.
Harry smiled at his godfather.
One finger. Two. Harry groaned, and Sirius felt the sound shiver through his own body. Harry. Merlin, Harry. So young, so gorgeous. So trusting. Sirius took his time, opening Harry up, gently working towards the final stage. He would make it good for the boy – so good. And then Harry would sleep, forgetting all his fears, his bad dreams. Yes. This was right.
Harry's cock was hard again. Sirius had been right to think it wouldn't take long. Out of practice after years in Azkaban, Sirius yet was confident of his skill in this particular area. Harry would be happy. He, Sirius, would make Harry happy. Harry bucked his hips again as Sirius put his free hand on Harry's cock. The boy was willing – more than willing – doing everything in his power to encourage Sirius to continue; as if Sirius needed any encouragement.
Slowly. Slowly. Sirius's cock was aching beyond ache as he took his time with Harry. If he hadn't known James... Harry... as he did, he might have thought the boy a virgin. But that wasn't possible. There was no chance that no one else had touched Harry. They wouldn't've been able to help themselves.
Of course, it might have been girls. Sirius had fucked many a girl at Hogwarts in his time. They'd probably go for Harry, too – not only was he gorgeous, but he was Famous Harry Potter. Funny, that. To Sirius, his fame meant nothing.
“Sirius,” Harry whispered again, his eyes flickering open and closed.
“Do you want this, Harry? It will help you.”
“Yes.” The green eyes flicked shut, and Sirius did not feel glad of it, he did not.
For a second, Harry slid back into awareness. He was naked, on the floor in the sitting room at Grimmauld Place. Cold air against his skin; a coarse rug underneath his back. And so was Sirius. On the floor, in the sitting room, naked. His slick fingers opening Harry's anus, while there were marks of Harry's come on his hand and Harry's chest.
“Sirius,” Harry murmured.
“Do you want this, Harry? It will help you.”
Harry wanted this. He had said so. His cock was stiff and red under Sirius's grip – and wanting
. Sirius could help him, could make him feel better.
Sirius stretched Harry that little bit further, slicked his own cock with lubrication, and rested it close to Harry's anus, pressing against it a little. There.
“Mmm.” Harry's head arched back, exposing a long, pale neck. Sirius found himself wanting to sink his teeth into it, to mark Harry as his own; and the thought was uncomfortable.
“Turn over, Harry,” he said softly, helping the boy to move onto all fours. “It will be easier.”
It couldn't be Harry's first time, of course. It couldn't be. But if it were... Sirius wanted this to be good, to be more than good – perhaps to be the start of something incredible. He was doing this for Harry; no matter how hard, how painfully hard, Sirius's own cock was, this was for Harry, to make him happy, to make him forget the bad things. To help him.
Sirius's cock pressed the first inch into Harry, and the boy cried out. But that feeling - that feeling
- of Harry's muscles closing around Sirius's cock... Sirius's good intentions fled in the desperation of his own body. He pushed harder, harder, deeper; and Harry's cry was less pleasure, more pain - but it was too late to worry about that now. Too late to do anything but fuck him, hard, over and again, his hand sliding round to wank Harry with the same firm, unyielding grip that Harry's arse was giving to Sirius.
And Harry came first. Despite everything, Harry came first. Sirius felt the spasms and squeezed his eyes shut, so that nothing would get in the way of that feeling. When Harry's pulsings stopped, Sirius raised the hand to his mouth, tasting Harry for the first time.
It was enough. It was more than enough. Sirius's senses exploded; for several minutes he was aware of nothing but himself, and the vessel which had taken his explosion. He collapsed, shaking, onto the floor beside his partner. Harry. Not 'his partner', but Harry. Merlin, it was Harry. He'd just fucked his virgin godson.
Christmas when he was fifteen was when Harry drank his first firewhiskey. That
was something he would never forget.