There’s one horrible moment when he thinks Sirius is going to laugh at him, when Sirius breaks their kiss to look down between them to where his hand is slipped into the front of Harry’s jeans. He can feel Sirius’ fingers flexing, rubbing over the soft material stretched over Harry’s cock, and he’s treated to an up-close view of his godfather’s eyes darkening. He relaxes slightly.
He’d been stuck on what to get Sirius for Christmas. Harry’s the first to admit that he’s shite at buying presents for people – another wonderful side-effect of growing up in the Dursleys’ boot cupboard – but he’d wanted something special this year. It’s their first Christmas as a couple. But Sirius is impossible to buy for, and increasingly desperate searches for anything he’d like had proved fruitless. He’d driven Ron to distraction more than once, dragging his best friend into the search for the perfect gift only to give up out of frustration because Ron’s ideas for ‘suitable gifts for older male love interests’ ran to socks and Firewhiskey.
It had been Remus who’d given Harry the idea. Quite unintentionally – he’d wrinkled his nose when they’d told him they were together, clearly struggling with the idea of it, but had congratulated them all the same. “You always were a kinky bugger,” he’d murmured in Sirius’ ear, and Harry – blushing furiously at the time – hadn’t thought anything of it. At least, not until mid-December when the panic had truly started to set in.
He’d gone to a Muggle sex shop. The woman behind the counter had grinned at his obvious embarrassment, but she’d had ideas. Ideas that were better than socks. Some of them, Harry hadn’t been up to thinking about at the time; there was a corner of the store filled with black leather straps and silver studs that had been terrifying to look at, but which has featured in some of his fantasies since. The shop assistant had been the one to suggest lingerie as a starting point, and had guided him to racks filled with lace and satin in a rainbow of colours.
For all that they’re incredibly soft, the pale green panties he picked out aren’t that comfortable. They’re satin at the front and lace in the back, delicately trimmed with white ribbon. They aren’t really designed for men, so they stretch and dig in odd ways. He’d squirmed his way through Christmas Eve celebrations at the Weasleys’, half aroused and half terrified that someone would notice his discomfort and ask why. He likes them, though. He likes the way they feel on his skin; likes the way they make him look soft and pretty and almost fragile. He has plans, if Sirius likes them as much as he does – plans for garter belts and stockings and ribbons.
“Merry Christmas,” he says quietly.
He lets Sirius unwrap him. Strip him completely, right in the middle of the living room. He’s nervous, still, but excited – half hard in anticipation as Sirius slides his jeans down his thighs and lets them fall. Harry steps out of them obediently, bare to his godfather’s gaze except for a scrap of green satin and lace that leaves nothing to the imagination.
“Such a pretty, perfect present,” Sirius says. It comes out as more of a growl, and Harry’s breath hitches as Sirius drops to his knees in from of him. Long fingers slide between soft satin and his skin. Sirius leans in to press an open-mouthed kiss to Harry’s cock. The panties are thin enough that he can feel the heat of Sirius’ breath through the cloth, and he feels his knees tremble.
Sirius looks up at him and Harry shudders at the expression on his face. So much want. His cock fills, straining at the cloth, and he gasps as Sirius presses his face against him, breathing in. Sirius noses along the length of him, kissing and licking until the panties are clinging to Harry’s prick from the moisture. Harry tangles his fingers in Sirius’ hair, tugging him closer. He’s panting; he can hear the tiny, keening noises he makes at every touch. It should be embarrassing. It isn’t; Sirius wants him – likes him to be loud – so nothing else matters.
He’d been stuck on what to get Sirius for Christmas. Harry’s the first to admit that he’s shite at buying presents for people – another wonderful side-effect of growing up in the Dursleys’ boot cupboard – but he’d wanted something special this year. It’s their first Christmas as a couple. But Sirius is impossible to buy for, and increasingly desperate searches for anything he’d like had proved fruitless. He’d driven Ron to distraction more than once, dragging his best friend into the search for the perfect gift only to give up out of frustration because Ron’s ideas for ‘suitable gifts for older male love interests’ ran to socks and Firewhiskey.
It had been Remus who’d given Harry the idea. Quite unintentionally – he’d wrinkled his nose when they’d told him they were together, clearly struggling with the idea of it, but had congratulated them all the same. “You always were a kinky bugger,” he’d murmured in Sirius’ ear, and Harry – blushing furiously at the time – hadn’t thought anything of it. At least, not until mid-December when the panic had truly started to set in.
He’d gone to a Muggle sex shop. The woman behind the counter had grinned at his obvious embarrassment, but she’d had ideas. Ideas that were better than socks. Some of them, Harry hadn’t been up to thinking about at the time; there was a corner of the store filled with black leather straps and silver studs that had been terrifying to look at, but which has featured in some of his fantasies since. The shop assistant had been the one to suggest lingerie as a starting point, and had guided him to racks filled with lace and satin in a rainbow of colours.
For all that they’re incredibly soft, the pale green panties he picked out aren’t that comfortable. They’re satin at the front and lace in the back, delicately trimmed with white ribbon. They aren’t really designed for men, so they stretch and dig in odd ways. He’d squirmed his way through Christmas Eve celebrations at the Weasleys’, half aroused and half terrified that someone would notice his discomfort and ask why. He likes them, though. He likes the way they feel on his skin; likes the way they make him look soft and pretty and almost fragile. He has plans, if Sirius likes them as much as he does – plans for garter belts and stockings and ribbons.
“Merry Christmas,” he says quietly.
He lets Sirius unwrap him. Strip him completely, right in the middle of the living room. He’s nervous, still, but excited – half hard in anticipation as Sirius slides his jeans down his thighs and lets them fall. Harry steps out of them obediently, bare to his godfather’s gaze except for a scrap of green satin and lace that leaves nothing to the imagination.
“Such a pretty, perfect present,” Sirius says. It comes out as more of a growl, and Harry’s breath hitches as Sirius drops to his knees in from of him. Long fingers slide between soft satin and his skin. Sirius leans in to press an open-mouthed kiss to Harry’s cock. The panties are thin enough that he can feel the heat of Sirius’ breath through the cloth, and he feels his knees tremble.
Sirius looks up at him and Harry shudders at the expression on his face. So much want. His cock fills, straining at the cloth, and he gasps as Sirius presses his face against him, breathing in. Sirius noses along the length of him, kissing and licking until the panties are clinging to Harry’s prick from the moisture. Harry tangles his fingers in Sirius’ hair, tugging him closer. He’s panting; he can hear the tiny, keening noises he makes at every touch. It should be embarrassing. It isn’t; Sirius wants him – likes him to be loud – so nothing else matters.