Kristmas Wish Fulfilled for: sdk
From: roozetter

Title: It Started So Innocently
Characters/Pairings: Harry/Sirius, Harry/Draco, Harry/Teddy
Rating: NC-17
Kinks/Themes Included: Intercrural sex, frotting, hand jobs, underage is cool for the cross-gen (not younger than 15-16 though pls!), also if you want to go AU and make Draco younger than Harry if you choose that pairing, I will love you forever, dub-con
Other Warnings/Content: Tone: sexy, dirty, wrong Prompt: It started so innocently.
Word Count: 4,675
Summary/Description: Harry has always had a weakness for the men of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.
Author's Notes: I liked everything about your prompt, giftee, and tried to give you everything you asked for. Hope you like it, bb! Thanks you to my bb’s for looking this over for me <333




The thing is, aside from a hug or two, Sirius never touches him. Not once.

The summer before fifth year, Harry spends a lot of time in the bath off the third floor corridor. It’s grand to spend so much time with Hermione and Ron and all the Weasleys, but they don’t seem to realize that he is aware of every whisper, every furrowed brow and pitying glance in his direction. Preparing for the inquiry is hard enough without having to reassure others he isn’t going to be expelled from Hogwarts. Especially when he isn’t so sure of that himself. So he smiles at his friends and collects his bathing kit, escaping to the nearly deserted floor above to soak in the hot water and let his mind drift.

Only, the problem with letting his mind drift is that it’s so conflicted to begin with.

He keeps dreaming of a long corridor and a door, black and heavy and ornate. It excites him, this image. Makes his breathing speed up and his heart race, and he lays in the bath for hours touching himself and imagining he is through the door and... Well, he isn’t quite sure about the and yet.

Maybe Sirius is behind the door, waiting for him with that crooked smile that he loves so much. Sliding his hand behind Harry’s neck and pulling his face close so that their foreheads touch and Sirius’ breath, warm and smelling faintly of whiskey, puffs against Harry’s face and he can taste it if he opens his mouth and tilts his own head just a bit to the left.

“You’re coming home with me, Harry,” Sirius will say, voice rasping the way it gets when he’s particularly emotional. “Forever.” And Harry will be so happy, will fling his arms around Sirius’ neck and not be embarrassed about the tears on his face, will rut against him and it will feel so much better than simply rubbing himself off with his hand in the bath.

It’s probably bad to masturbate to the thought of your godfather. But no matter how he blushes just looking at Sirius anymore, how much he hates himself for the thoughts in his head, it’s always the corridor and the door and Sirius, and him biting his thumb and pulling himself off, spilling himself into the warm water and listening to his own gasping breaths echo in the bathroom.

The first time Harry -- flushed and breathing hard and thumb circling the head of his cock -- opens his eyes, and sees Sirius leaning against the wall watching him, all Harry can think is, “Well, this is new. Sirius doesn’t usually have his shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows.”

“Hey,” Sirius says simply, eyes following the way Harry’s fingers are caressing his cock. “It’ll feel better if you tighten your fist and twist your wrist at the end.”

It still seems like a dream as Harry obeys, the added stimulation making his hips arch helplessly in the tub. It’s such a different feeling that Harry can almost believe someone else is touching him while he gazes into Sirius’ eyes. “Thanks.” His voice sounds deeper than usual, and Harry is suddenly so, so glad his voice already broke and he is not squeaking his reply.

“No problem, kiddo.” Sirius adjusts his stance, spreading his legs a bit wider apart and drawing Harry’s attention to his groin. “Just a little friendly advice from godfather to godson.” He tilts his head to the side and smiles as Harry’s fingers clench under his gaze. “So long as I don’t touch you it’s innocent, really.”

“Yeah,” Harry echoes, his knees pressing against the sides of the tub as he spreads his thighs wider. “Perfectly innocent.” He watches the ways Sirius’ eyes travel over his pebbled nipples and linger on the short hairs moving under the rippling water. It’s exciting, and he wants Sirius to stay, wants him to do something other than stand in the doorway and watch him. “Do you have any other suggestions for me?”

It’s the right thing to say, Sirius’ eyes going wild and dangerous and one hand moving down to unfasten his trousers. “Swing your legs over the sides of the tub,” he says hoarsely, a slightly mad smile lighting up his face as he palms his cock.

The porcelain is cold against the inside of his knees, water dripping from his toes as his warm, wet skin steams in the cooler air. And though Sirius’ promise of this all being innocent is still ringing in his ears, there is nothing innocent in the way Harry slides two fingers into himself and fists his cock, mimicking the motions Sirius is using on his own cock until it feels like Sirius is the one touching him.

“Just like that,” Sirius says. His voice is more of a growl than anything as he steps closer, and Harry tears his eyes away from Sirius’ eyes to watch the way his penis, thicker and darker red than Harry’s, bobs with each step he takes. Sirius sinks to his knees by the side of the tub and reaches out. He flinches and pulls his hand back when his fingers touch the warm water, like it reminds him that he’s not supposed to touch. “Three fingers, Harry. Add one more.”

That takes a bit of maneuvering, Harry clenching his thighs and using the sides of the tub as a brace to lift his hips up enough. Sirius’ eyes track his movements, and he licks his lips as Harry winces but complies. “Fuck, that’s hot.”

“You can.” Harry’s breath hitches as he watches the way Sirius stares at his fingers moving in and out of his body. “You can touch me, if you want.”

Sirius’ eyes snap up to Harry’s, and it’s such an odd moment. Harry’s stomach clenches and his head falls back against the edge of the tub. Slowly, Sirius leans forward and licks Harry’s knee, closing his eyes and moaning as he yanks himself away and drops his head against the side of the tub.

“S’not right,” he says, the growl in his voice so pronounced that Harry shudders and watches goosebumps break out on his shoulders and legs. “Can’t touch you like that until you’re legal, Harry.” He looks up, and his eyes are so desperate and wild that Harry’s fist tightens convulsively around his cock and he hisses. “Don’t ask it of me.”

Here's Sirius, on his knees, and he's begging Harry not to go on. And Harry wouldn't, he wouldn't, except that Sirius is on his fucking knees and he's never seen anything like it before. And every time Harry thrusts his fingers deeper in his arse, Sirius' eyes widen that much more, his breath comes in shallower and shallower pants, and in that moment, Harry knows the power he has. He may be powerless against the bewildering magical world that wants everything from him, but he's in control here, and it's heady and he loves it. It's wicked and wrong, and it would only take a look, a touch, and Sirius would give in. Harry only needs to say the word... but he can't, he doesn't.

And then he comes, staring into Sirius’ eyes and pretending his thrusting fingers are really Sirius’ cock in his arse, and Harry stops trying to figure out what is innocent or not.

Maybe it’s not the best way to spend time together, but they only stop meeting in the upstairs bathroom once the trial is over and it is determined that Harry will be remaining at Hogwarts after all.

~*~*~

The war is over, Harry’s part is done. He feels no compunction to return to the Dursleys, so he divides his time between Grimmauld Place and Hogwarts, spending his days sweaty and filthy as he helps repair and clean the castle. And then on an unseasonably warm night in mid-June, when Hermione and Ron are still off in Australia searching for Hermione’s parents, Harry stumbles across Draco Malfoy sitting in a window sill and holding a shiny silver parcel.

For a moment they just stare blankly at each other. Draco looks softer in the moonlight, less like Lucius and more like the pictures of Regulus Harry found while clearing out the attic. It makes Harry feel warm, melts some of the anxiety that perpetually burns in his stomach, and calms the relentless urge to do something, do something, do something he’s been feeling since the Final Battle.

So his voice sounds merely tired and curious as he steps closer. “What’s with the present, Malfoy?”

It looks for a moment like he’s not going to answer, but then he presses his lips together in the same grim smile that Sirius used to give before reaching for the whiskey. “Today is my seventeenth birthday, Potter,” Draco says softly, looking down at the present in his lap. “And I am spending it at my school.” He snorts and looks up at Harry. “With the Saviour of the Wizarding World, no less.”

Cocking his head to the side, Harry studies Draco as he slides on the window sill next to him. “I’m eighteen next month. How are you just now coming of age?”

Dull color creeps up Draco’s face and he looks away, turning his face to the window. The moonlight softens his jawline even more, makes his eyes look strange and glittery. Harry remembers back before his fifth year, in the bathroom with steam rising around him while Sirius watched him with feverish gray eyes and a hungry, predatory expression, and he feels his mouth go dry.

“Had to get into class with The Boy Who Lived, didn’t I?” A trace of his familiar defiance creeps into his tone, and his chin juts up challengingly as he turns to face Harry. “Father spared no expense to ensure that became an actuality.”

He looks as lost as Harry usually feels, damaged in the best sort of way, and Harry leans forward and kisses him before he really thinks about it. Draco’s lips are chapped and soft, tasting of chocolate and surprise as Harry traces Draco’s bottom lip with his tongue. He has the same mouth as Sirius, and as Draco’s hand comes up to clutch at Harry’s robes and drag him closer, he wonders if it is a family trait.

“Happy birthday,” Harry says, smirking slightly as he pulls away. Draco’s face is flushed, eyes burning. He looks slightly insane and Harry just has to lean forward to kiss him again.

The present falls to the floor as Draco surges up, slides his other hand into Harry’s hair and pulls hard enough to make Harry hiss. Harry has no false assumptions about this. There’s no romance behind their kiss. They’re both lonely and at loose ends, wanting anything to make them feel.

“Wait,” Draco says as Harry presses him down to lay flat in the wide, stone window sill. “I can’t.” He sees the way Harry’s eyes darken, the instinctive retreat backwards, and tightens his hold on Harry’s robes. “I have to be pure for any future Pureblood Marriage Rites to hold, so we can’t –“ he blushes again, but shifts his hips enticingly against Harry’s. “No penetration, but we can do other stuff.”

It’s such a surprise to Harry that Draco isn’t pushing him away, demanding to know what he thinks he is doing or pulling a wand on him, that he stays in his frozen position of half-retreat while he processes the fact that he is going to do other things with Draco Malfoy.

Draco mistakes his silence for rejection and tears fill his eyes as he arches against Harry harder. “Please touch me,” he begs. “I don’t want—“ to be alone, Harry mentally finishes. And as it’s a thought he’s had for almost all of his birthdays, there’s no way he is going to reject Draco now.

Draco is desperate, and Harry is enough of a shit to take advantage of it. Kissing and stroking each other, they somehow get their robes off enough to be touching skin to skin. Draco’s skin is warm and smooth, textured under his arms and on his stomach. Harry has never touched another penis before, but Draco has the same prominent hip bones as Sirius. He leans down and sucks on them as he fists Draco’s cock, makes sure his grip is firm and twists his wrist at the end just like Sirius taught him, and Draco makes a noise perilously close to a squeak and grips Harry’s shoulders. “Wait,” he says breathlessly, sliding his hands against Harry’s shoulders, “let me try something.”

Harry eyes him warily. “Just because there’s no penetration for you, you’re not fucking me.”

“Have to be pure for marriage, remember? That goes both ways.” Draco gives Harry an impatient look as he pushes at his shoulders again. One more wary look and Harry lets himself be turned until he’s lying on his side with Draco spooned up behind him.

He tenses as he feels Draco’s cock pressing again his arse and hisses between his teeth. “Malfoy…” His tone is a warning, hand twitching as he debates whether or not to reach for his wand.

“I can’t fuck you,” Draco whispers in his ear, and it makes Harry go limp and shudder. It’s the same tone, gravelly and wanton, that Sirius used whenever Harry would spread himself wide open in the bathroom and finger himself.  “But there are other things we can do,” Draco continues, carefully sliding his hand between Harry’s legs. It’s wet, and Harry startles at the sensation even as he recognizes the scent of conjured lube. “And this is one that feels amazing.”

He’s trembling as he slides his cock between Harry’s thighs with awkward movements of his hips. “Ti-tighten your thigh muscles,” he says, in that hoarse, just-in-control voice that makes Harry moan. Harry’s complies, and then it’s Draco’s turn to moan as he slides against Harry.

Coarse hairs brush against Harry’s arse with each thrust, the feeling of smooth, hard heat stroking his balls and perineum before gliding against his own shaft. It’s indescribable, and Harry is afraid he making extremely unappealing noises as he pants and presses his forehead against the cool glass of the window. And then Draco reaches around his hip, thin, fumbling fingers grasping the head of his erection while Draco’s cock continues to slide against his shaft. Two strokes and Harry is coming, Draco shaking behind him and covering Harry like a blanket.

Panting, Draco rolls away from Harry and stares up at the ceiling. Harry’s thighs feel wet and sticky, and he starts to realize how exposed the two of them are in the hallway. But he feels so satisfied and at peace that he doesn’t bother to rush as he fumbles for his wand and cleans them both up.

Draco avoids his gaze as they dress. “We probably shouldn’t mention this to anyone,” he says at last, staring fixedly at his buttons as he straightens his robe. His face is still flushed and his hair is mussed, eyes glowing as he peeks up at Harry through his fringe.

“Fine with me,” Harry says with a shrug. He bends over and picks up the shiny silver package from the floor, brushing it off and straightening out the crumpled corner before handing it back.

Their fingers brush and Harry feels his stomach clench and his cock twitch. But then Malfoy turns back to the window with the gift clutched firmly in his hands, and the moment is over.

Life goes on as usual and they never discuss the moment again. Until Draco sends Harry a present on his twenty-fifth birthday, wrapped in shiny silver wrapping paper, and Harry invites him over for dinner.

~*~*~

Harry’s always had a soft spot for Teddy, a mutual love that goes just beyond the bounds of propriety

They stop hugging in public when Teddy’s thirteen, as every time Teddy presses himself against Harry and Harry wraps his arms around Teddy, Teddy walks away with an ill-timed erection.

Hugs that linger, wicked smiles, teasing that is more flirting that anything. Everything Harry learned from Sirius about being a godfather he passes on to Teddy.

“Looking good, Teddy,” he says teasingly, sweeping an appraising eye over broad shoulders and long limbs. “When I was your age I was all elbows and knees, but you,” he gestures, “you’re practically a man.”

“I’m fifteen next week, you know, Harry.” Teddy crosses his arms against his chest, stubs the toe of his trainers against the floor and attempts to smirk. “And you’re so--” he flushes and looks down. “It’s not nice to tease me like this. I don’t believe you were ever anything but handsome.”

“Things change, Teddy,” Harry says with a laugh. “Things change.” But he can’t stop his eyes from seeking out the coutours of Teddy’s pectoral muscles, the slim hips and long legs, and his words take on a different connotation that has Teddy swallowing and Harry feeling like he should cough and look away. But he doesn’t.

Between Harry’s work and Teddy’s school schedules, the next time Harry gets to spend longer than a day with Teddy is a week after Teddy’s sixteenth birthday. And it’s rough, because Teddy has grown comfortable in both his body and his metamorph abilities. He is no longer a chubby-cheeked boy, but a teenager on the cusp of manhood. This blindsides Harry, especially when he walks into the library to find a young Sirius doing sit ups in nothing but his sleeping pants.

“Black hair and gray eyes?” Harry asks, entering the room and keeping his hands strictly to himself by shoving them deep into his pockets. “What’s the occasion?”

“Trying something new,” Teddy replies breathlessly, grunting as he sits up in another crunch. “Figured you’d like this look, since I look like that picture you keep by your bedside table.”

“Looking good,” Harry says sincerely, eyes following the trail of hair, sweat dampened and surrounded by clenching muscles, that disappears into the band of his pants. “Keeping yourself in shape for a special someone?”

“Oh, the someone I like keeps insisting it wouldn’t be appropriate to touch me.” Teddy looks at Harry with half-lidded eyes as he continues his crunches.

Amused, Harry crosses the room and sits next to Teddy on the floor. “You’re sixteen, Teddy. Not even a little experimenting yet?”

“That depends,” Teddy says, stopping his exercise and simply laying on the floor. His body is flushed and shiny with sweat, something dark and predatory in his eyes as he looks at Harry. “Are you offering to be the one to provide me with some experience?”

“I can’t touch you like that yet,” Harry says softly. “It wouldn’t be appropriate.” He makes a mockery of his own words a second later, reaching out and running just the tip of his middle finger through the sweat on Teddy’s stomach.

“I’m no expert, mind,” Teddy’s pupils dilate as he watches Harry stick his finger in his mouth and suck, “but I think we stopped being appropriate so long ago I can’t even remember.” He shifts his hips, legs spreading and left knee bumping against Harry’s shoulder. “When are you going to fuck me?”

“Not until you’re legal,” Harry says, so mild and agreeable it takes Teddy a full minute to recognize the consent under the words. And by the time he does, Harry has his hand on Teddy’s stomach again, fingers inching under the damp cotton of his pants. “So long as I don’t really fuck you, this is all perfectly innocent, yeah?”

“Perfectly.” Teddy loses control of his metamorph abilities and his hair flares from black to bright turquoise blue in a heartbeat. “Are you actually going to touch me this time?”

“In for a penny, in for a pound,” Harry murmurs.

“Come here, Harry.” Teddy’s voice is calm and composed as he reaches out, but his hand is trembling and the most fascinating flush starts at his ears, traverses the length of his neck, and continues down to his nipples. Sparse hairs circling each areola. Pebbled nipples. Thin chest.

“You don’t know how tempting you are, do you, Teddy?” Harry’s voice is thick, his throat feels numb. He wants to lean over and suck on the thin rib cage, lave his tongue against those dusky nipples, bury himself so deep inside he -

No. So much no.

Not yet.

The smile that breaks across Teddy’s face at the words is nothing short of victorious. And Harry is pretty sure he is going to burn in hell as he murmurs the charms to block the Floo and set the wards around the house. Just in case.

“A little lesson in pleasure is acceptable, yeah?” Not waiting for an answer, Harry hooks his thumbs in the waistband of Teddy’s boxers and tugs. Teddy arches his hips and they slide away, and Harry is staring at Teddy, flushed and sweaty and naked, and it is better than any memory Harry has of Draco or Sirius.

Genetics are generous with the men from the House of Black, and Teddy has inherited the full lower lip and the sharp hip bones that Harry remembers so fondly. “So beautiful,” he murmurs, trailing his fingers through the coarse black curls at the base of Teddy’s cock. Teddy is deliciously responsive, already biting his lower lip and tensing the muscles in his stomach and thighs to keep from doing anything that might make Harry consider stopping.

“When I was just a bit younger than you,” Harry murmurs, pressing his thumbs into Teddy’s hipbones, “my godfather taught me a different way of pleasuring myself. Seems only right I should teach you, hmm?” He sees the way Teddy’s eyes dilate, the pulse beating in his neck, and smiles. “Touch yourself, Teddy. Show me what you like and I’ll show you what I like.”

Teddy is a lot bolder than Harry remembers being at that age, and he looks Harry in the eye as he trails his fingers over his nipples and down his chest. The muscles in his stomach quiver, sweat gleaming on his skin, and Harry dips his head and licks at his navel just to hear Teddy gasp and throw him off balance. Teddy’s other hand reaches up and fists in Harry’s hair and, oh yes, Harry likes that. Draco likes to pull at his hair, too. And Teddy has the same beautiful, long-fingered, skinny hands as Sirius and Draco, which excites Harry all the more.

When Teddy finally touches himself they’re both hard, and Teddy has to clench his teeth together and squeeze the base of his cock tightly while he tries to bring himself under control. His chest is heaving as he strokes up his shaft with quick, light movements that will bring him off quickly. Harry remembers how little self-control he had at that age and smirks as he nudges at Teddy’s hand with his nose.

“No, Teddy, not like that.” Teddy freezes in place. Harry keeps his face pressed against Teddy’s hand a moment longer, feels his thatch of curls tickling against his chin. He sticks his tongue out, sliding it between fingers to taste musky, damp skin, and forces himself to retreat as Teddy gasps and arches up, tries to press his groin into Harry’s face.

“Squeeze a bit harder,” Harry instructs, keeping his voice low and gravelly with lust. He knows what that rougher drawl does to the nerves and smirks as Teddy’s whole body seems to shiver. “And when you get to the head –“ he knows it’s cruel, but he brings his face close enough to the spongy purple head that he can flick his tongue and taste a drop of pre-come without touching Teddy’s flesh “—twist your wrist. Feels amazing, I promise.”

“Right.” Teddy’s eyes are glazed. He’s staring at Harry so intently as he slowly squeezes his cock, fingers brushing Harry’s chin as he twists his wrist at the head like Harry instructed, and it’s such a turn on that Harry abandons his plan to drag this out.

“Good?” He asks just to make sure, hands smoothing over Teddy’s hip bones.

“Amazing,” Teddy whispers. “Just like you said it would be.”

“Then let’s move on.” Gently removing Teddy’s hands, Harry licks his lips and stares up at Teddy from between his splayed legs. Teddy’s face is flushed, lower lip bitten and swollen, whole body trembling. But when he meets Harry’s eyes, Teddy spreads his legs wider. “Oh, please don’t stop, Harry. Please touch me.”

“I’ll do better than that,” Harry promises. “Because when I was just your age is when I first experienced this particular pleasure.” And then he opens his mouth and sucks the head of Teddy’s cock into his mouth.

He knows Teddy won’t last long; he’s too far gone and inexperienced. But Harry remembers the first time someone licked at his slit, pressed their thumb behind his balls, swallowed him all the way down. They’ve already agreed that, so long as he doesn’t fuck Teddy, this is perfectly innocent, so he tries to give Teddy as much pleasure as he can before he lets out a hoarse cry – and God, are all the men in the Black family capable of that gravelly, dangerous tone? –and pulses down Harry’s throat.

It takes nothing to slide up Teddy’s body and shift him onto his side. Teddy is nothing but heaving breaths and sweaty limp limbs as he comes down from his orgasm, and Harry curls up against his back and enjoys the feeling of warm skin as he nestles his cock in the crack of Teddy’s arse and waits for him to catch his breath.

“Thought you weren’t going to fuck me until I was legal?” Teddy sounds drowsy and sated, but there is nothing hesitant in the way he thrusts his hips back and rocks against Harry’s groin. “Not that I’m exactly complaining.”

“Mmm, no.” Harry can’t quite suppress his chuckle as he runs his hand down Teddy’s leg, positions Teddy’s body until his chest is almost flat to the ground and his thighs are crossed. “One last lesson in pleasure is all you’re getting from me today.”

“All right,” Teddy says agreeably. And then he looks over his shoulder and Harry knows he’s lost the minute he looks into laughing gray eyes. “What will I get from you tomorrow?”

Snorting, Harry grips Teddy’s thigh and rocks against him. He knows exactly how good it feels to feel a hard cock rubbing against his arse, and smiles as he positions himself between Teddy’s legs.

So soon after his orgasm, Teddy is still sensitive. He makes the most captivating gurgling noise deep in his throat and presses his face against the carpet, breathing deeply as Harry rocks slowly against him.

“Feels good, doesn’t it, Teddy?” Harry slowly circles his hips, sliding his hand over Teddy’s thigh, over his hips, up his chest to pinch one of his nipples. “When I was just a little bit older than you I discovered the joy of Intercrural sex. Not quite fucking, but I find I rather like it.” He presses himself tighter against Teddy’s back and smiles as Teddy reaches behind him to grab on to Harry’s shoulder.

He wants to drag this out, but Teddy is quivering and gasping, and his cock is sliding between Teddy’s thighs and being teased with the hairs at his groin. Teddy’s cock is half-hard now, the skin loose enough to provide a pleasant friction. And when Teddy’s breathing speeds up and he turns his face to press desperate, sloppy kisses on Harry’s cheek and whispers, “I love you,” Harry shatters.

The grip he has on Teddy’s hip is probably painful, but Teddy doesn’t complain as Harry breathes harshly into his neck and thrusts and thrusts and comes between them with a groan.

Teddy’s thighs are red and slightly chafed as Harry urges him to roll onto his back and spread his legs. Harry smiles ruefully as he rubs lotion into them, “Forgot to mention it’s better with lubrication.”

“Noted,” Teddy mumbles sleepily, eyes closed and breathing evening out as Harry soothes his skin and cleans them both up. “Thank you, Harry. Love you so much.”

Sighing, Harry caps the lotion and summons a blanket from the couch before lying next to Teddy on the floor and covering them both up. Teddy feels perfect in his arms. Harry smiles and closes his eyes. “You’re mine, you know.”