traintracks (train_tracks) wrote in adventdrabbles, @ 2012-12-05 12:13:00 |
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Entry tags: | contributor: train_tracks, dec05, fandom: harry potter, prompt05, year: 2012 |
Dec05, Harry Potter, Sirius/Harry, "Missing Sirius"
Title: Missing Sirius
Author: train_tracks
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Sirius/Harry
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 725
Warnings: chan (14), angst
Disclaimer: I don't own much of anything, least of all anything having to do with Harry Potter.
A/N: This is for adventdrabbles, Dec05, and elrhiarhodan's prompt "Harry -- missing Sirius".
He misses him most when he's in the shower. Because that's the one time it happened:
When Sirius stank of the cave, and Harry was the only one to care enough to hold him.
When he'd snuck Sirius into the Hog's Head…upstairs…into a vacant room and made him sit on the bed while he got the water hot.
When he'd drawn Sirius into the bathroom, into the steam, and his godfather had been too exhausted to undress himself, and Harry had gone down on his knees to pull filthy trousers free of calloused feet.
When he'd gotten Sirius – naked, shivering Sirius – under the spray and then he just stood there, arms around himself, watching the water run down the drain.
That's when it had happened.
When Harry took his clothes off and stepped into the deluge with him. When Harry ran the bar of soap over his godfather's chest, distinguishing tattoo from filth, rinsing suds through the sparse hair, watching it cascade down ribs, stomach…
Over his mostly soft cock.
Until it wasn't soft anymore.
And then before Sirius was even clean, Harry touched it – wrapped his hand around it, stroked it inexpertly, too scared to breathe.
"Harry, no…" Sirius had murmured, eyes drifting closed.
The thing grew in his hand to an impossible length. Harry soaped it, ran his hands through the dark brown curls, enthralled, gaining confidence, and then tugged at his bollocks until Sirius groaned. His own prick was standing straight up.
He'd made Sirius raise his arms and washed under them, leaving off the cock that bobbed free, still wanting him. Sirius had propped his hands on the shower wall behind his godson's head and stared down at him while Harry got him clean.
Harry touched his face – tender fingers over the growth of beard, soothing the frown off the forehead.
"Harry…" This time without the no.
So Harry had slipped to his knees. He had nuzzled the clean cock, taken it between his lips and licked the slit. Water had run over Sirius' head, off the dark strands of his hair, over Harry, while Harry sucked his heavy prick.
Sirius had left his hands braced on the wall and fucked lazy and slow into his mouth. He'd tasted like lavender and sweat. Harry found himself unable to stop touching – strong hairy legs, tender bollocks hanging there as though for his hands, the soft space behind…before the tight whorl which, when Harry touched it, made Sirius start to come in his mouth.
He tried to swallow it, though it tasted bitter and strange. It dribbled out of his mouth, and as it did, Sirius touched his knuckle under his chin, lifting Harry's face so he could see. Harry looked up at his godfather, still sucking. There were tears in Sirius' eyes, on his face, before the water washed them away. Sirius had cast a hand through Harry's wet hair, and it felt like permission, so Harry wanked himself – five hasty tugs and then he came with Sirius' softening cock still in his mouth, moaning helplessly.
Harry stands under the spray now, a man, alone. He soaps himself, thinks about tossing one off, decides against it, his heart heavy. But he always remembers. He remembers the taste and the heat and how his knees hurt. He remembers Sirius pulling him up afterward and the chaste kiss he'd sealed on Harry's lips.
Harry remembers toweling Sirius dry, the man barely awake. Getting him to the bed, under the blankets, starting a fire in the hearth.
As Harry shuts the water off and rubs a clear spot on the mirror, looking at his own reflection, the greying beard, he remembers lying with Sirius, both naked in the bed and just sleeping pressed against one another.
He remembers no words spoken. He remembers how Sirius snored…how he reached for Harry in the night and pulled him close, a manly thigh between his own, so skinny.
He sees the face of a man in the mirror while he stares now. But the scent of lavender on the steam and the feel of the last drops slipping down his legs make Harry remember that night when he was way too young – but there was no one else. No one with as much love in his heart. No one else in the world. And they'd both known it.