Title: Keeping Him Out Of Trouble
Author: HogwartsHoney
Characters/Pairings: Kingsley Shacklebolt/Sirius Black
Rating: NC-17
Themes/kinks chosen: bathing/washing: arousal from bathing a partner or washing any part of a partner's body, or from being bathed/washed
Other Content/Warnings: fingering (a little bit)
Word Count: ~2390
Beta: islandsmoke
Summary: Although Kingsley was supposed to be the Auror in charge of the search for Sirius Black, his search was a sham. Among other things, he reported that Sirius was in Tibet (OP5); Shacklebolt was so successful at protecting Sirius that the Ministry never found him.

Anyone wonder why that was?


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There it is again!

You've had a long day, and you're tired. The Order meeting seems to stretch for an eternity; everyone has their bit to say, dragging out the points and counter-points and then countering the counter-points in a ridiculous game of one-upmanship, and Sirius Black is flirting with you.

At first, you think it’s a trick of the light, a flicker of something just in your periphery as you survey the table, trying to contain your annoyance, but now, you look directly at him, sitting next to Remus who - you're sure - is making an excellent point, and Sirius… winks at you.

You feel a heat in your pocket, and for a moment you wonder whether he's affecting you a bit more than you thought, but a surreptitious check reveals the smallest bit of parchment with the words 'after the meeting, upstairs' that glow softly for a moment and then - nothing.

Damn, you think, wishing once more that Sirius wasn't a fugitive, for skills like his are wasted hiding away in this old house. He'd be a huge asset to the Aurors with abilities like that.

You give him A Look, half exasperation, half amusement, but you try to keep the amusement bit out of it because that will only encourage the bastard to do it again. He’s unrepentant, that one, and he keeps all his pent-up energy holding just for you.

He knows you don’t mind.

Mind? Hell, you look forward to it. He’s a creative one, you give him that, and even though you’re tired, and the meeting with Scrimgeour is scheduled for entirely too early tomorrow morning, you know you’ll stay and give him what he wants.

Thirty minutes later, you stand in his bedroom, leaning against the door to the bathroom. You try to forget that this is his childhood room; it’s his ancestral home, for Merlin’s sake. The weight of history is heavy in the house, but you’d felt the thickness and complexity of Sirius’ wards when you entered his room, and you know you won’t be disturbed tonight.

The sound of running water draws you to the bathroom door, your curiosity peaked as you wonder just what he has planned. You might admit that the excitement is what gets you, the way it sharpens nights like these. You’ve been called a thrill-seeker and a lover of danger, but it’s not that. Dangerous situations keep you sharp, and these days, you can’t afford to be off your game. You cautiously steal a glance around the doorframe. Sirius Black and his multitude of ideas and scenarios, well, those keep you pretty sharp too.

Finally, Sirius hears you and turns, his lean body bathed in the light of wall sconces, the towel slung entirely too low on his hips. Ordinarily, that sight alone is enough to have you pretty damn hard and wanting, but tonight, although you and your cock definitely appreciate the excellent view, the weight of the day- the week, hell, two weeks of relentless pressure, training and organization; it all lies heavily on your shoulders.

You really don’t want to refuse him though, after all, a spot of something might take the edge off and make you sleep well tonight, and there’s a predatory look in Sirius’ eyes that belies all that animalistic hunger. You shiver because, you know, fuck!, he’s an eyeful of flesh, all right.

He motions to the old bathtub, obviously magically enlarged, steam rising from the surface of the water and swirling slowly around him like a gossamer veil. Perhaps he’ll be patient tonight, you think as you shed your robes and clothing, but before you so much as take a step towards the tub, his eyes narrow, and you realize what he’s seen a moment after it becomes too late to do anything about it.

“What’s all this?” he says, dragging the words slowly and feigning nonchalance.

You play it cool. “Just a spot of Duelling.”

His eyes flash, and you know what he’s thinking. He wants to be out, fighting, doing something, anything to feel useful. You don’t pity him; he’d hate that and hate you for it, but you do feel sorry for him, and you tell yourself it’s not pity. And it’s not.

“Kings…” and from the warning of his tone, you can see the entire argument/discussion ahead of you, and you’re too damn tired to rehash the same points.

“Don’t, Sirius. It’s just a bruise, and I didn’t have time to heal it before the meeting.”

You know he hates to see your wounds, not because he’s soft, never that, but because, well, because he actually cares. It still surprises you that a man like Sirius Black can show measures of tenderness, especially after his ordeal in Azkaban, but you surmise that his Animagus isn’t a dog for nothing.

The palm of his hand is warm and firm against your ribs, and the healing spell seeps through your body without an uttered word. The injury was deeper than you’d let on, but he must have known that because all traces of the pain have disappeared. Once again, you marvel at the man’s innate magical power and you wish, impractical as it is - you two couldn’t work together - but you wish that he could be given the opportunity to flourish.

He’s standing very close now, his body heat radiating against your skin. You want to say something, to thank him for giving a damn, but there’s a wild glint of hunger in his eyes that’s all for you, and how do you tell him no?

Luckily for you, he simply gestures to the bathtub, and you nod gratefully. Damn your weak flesh, Merlin knows the mind could be willing with very little encouragement. The water is a perfect temperature, just a little too hot, enough that you tighten instinctively as you first step inside, but once you settle in the tub, it’s all kinds of wonderful. You feel the heat seeping through your body, the combination of peppermint and jasmine fragrant to your nose.

“Let me…”

The low soothing voice gets right down inside of you, past the physical and the mental, to a place you didn’t even know needed soothing, and you simply nod, too tired to do anything but exhale loudly and sink lower in the water.

He kneels at the far end of the tub and just looks at you for a moment, and it‘s the same every time you’re together, almost as though he needs to fix an image of you in his mind, something to imprint on. He starts at your feet with a warm soapy cloth, and that alone could make you come just from the sheer bliss of it. You’ve never understood his particular fascination with feet, and at this point, you couldn’t care as long as he keeps doing more of that!. The cloth is both rough and soft against the soles of your feet, along your instep, along each toe. He pays particular attention here and your head falls back as he massages the balls of your feet.

More lather, and his hands duck beneath the surface of the water again to work on your lower legs. You close your eyes and perhaps you drift for a while, because when you become aware of yourself, he’s at the side of the tub, and you crack an eye open to see him sitting on a stool. There are bubbles in the water, perhaps conjured? You don’t even care, you just. Feel. So. Good. He runs the cloth along your chest, shoulders and arms, your torso, down along the outside of your thighs and back up the inside, teasingly close to your cock which gives a half-hearted twitch. Randy bastard, that. There’s a fresh burst of fragrance as he lathers up the cloth once more before following the same path as before, slower though and more… deliberate.

The thing is, you don’t mind. The thing is, you REALLY don’t mind, especially the way the cloth follows the contours of your body, rubbing in circles along your inner thigh and under your bollocks, slowly, carefully, and you shift, whether it’s to get away from the sensation or to get closer to it, you’re not sure, but you want…. You just want.

Oh, yes, and Sirius’ hands.

The cloth disappears and you groan at the loss. Soap-laden hands start on your chest, moving firmly to your shoulders, slowly up your neck and over your head. And, fuck, you wish you had hair so that he could grab it and pull, not hard, but just possessively enough that you’d both moan from the deliciousness of it. He kneels behind you, your head cradled against his chest as he lathers your skull, his fingers digging into the muscles on the back and sides of your neck, down to your shoulders and back up again, circling your head, and you almost can’t decide whether to succumb to the sensations and drift until you fall asleep or succumb to different sensations and fuck him.

You’d really rather fuck him.

He kneels up to rinse the soap from your body, and his cock nudges the back of your neck. He’s fucking hard just from doing this, and you’re fucking hard just having him do this. What a pair you make, but Merlin, you’ve been on edge for minutes now and you can’t contain yourself - you know the two of you will make entirely too much noise, and you throw several layers of wards and silencing spells on the room, doors, floors, windows, ceiling. You’re nothing if not careful, after all, and you want to see him riding your cock.

Almost as soon as you’ve thought it, Sirius moves, stepping into the tub and lowering himself onto your groin. He’s flushed, his skin glowing with the reflected light of the sconces and there’s that crazy intensity in his eyes that he gets when he’s aroused.

“You make me so fucking hard,” he growls against your throat as he sucks at the skin there and arches his back for your questing fingers. You reach around the globes of his arse to finger his hole, but the bastard’s already stretched and slick and waiting, was probably doing that while he worked on you, and he moans deliciously as you easily slide two fingers from each hand inside him. Ohhh, yes, he’s more than ready for you, and how that can make you even harder when you’re already impossibly hard you just don’t know.

He’s stretched and loose with good reason; the first few times you’d shagged he’d been hard pressed to take all of your girth inside him. He knows better now.

You can’t do anything more than groan as you steady your cock with one hand while you fist the other hand in his hair and pull him down onto you. The water is still hot, but inside him it’s an inferno, a tight, sucking, squeezing heat, and it’s all you can do to not come as he cants his hips, settling even further down around you. And then, he starts to move.

Peripherally you wonder why the bath water isn’t sloshing all over the place, but there must be some sort of spell or charm in place for that too, and then you rapidly lose focus on anything except your cock inside Sirius and the undulating, grinding, sinful movements he makes. He’s fisting himself too; just as well because you’re barely coherent, and all you can do is just watch the point where his cock disappears inside his closed fist again and again.

You’re glutted with images and sensations; his hand flying on his reddened prick, his arse squeezing your cock so tightly, the friction, the water sloshing against your body, your moans, his moans, the sight of him fucking himself so completely on your cock, and it builds and builds until you’re coming, explosively, seemingly from everywhere at once, shuddering and shuddering as you empty yourself deep inside Sirius, his hoarse shout of joy cut off as he shatters in orgasm, his handsome face a rictus of pleasure.

He falters after a while, his wild rhythm slowing as he milks your cock with his body and his own cock with his hand, slowly, slowly, rolling his palm over the tip of his cock before raising it to his lips and licking a broad stripe with the flat of his tongue. You feel your heart stutter - he knows you get aroused watching him do that - and the fact that he’d do it now, when you’re both replete and sated… your cock wishes it could respond in some way, even a twitch, but there’s no way, so you pull him down on top of you and kiss him, deeply, thoroughly, learning the taste of him anew. He responds with characteristic enthusiasm, as inventive in kissing as he is with sex. Your cock tries its best to respond, but you’re no longer in your twenties and, really, tonight‘s orgasm should last you until next week.

When you both finally clamber out of the bathtub, Sirius sets the thing back to it’s regular size while you dry off and don your robes. Settling your cloak firmly around your shoulders, you turn to see Sirius leaning against the sink, arms crossed over his still-bare chest, head cocked to one side and that devious grin on his lips.

“That’s not really a good way to get clean, Auror Shacklebolt.”

You fix him with your Auror Stare ™ and he shifts his stance ever so slightly from teasing to almost rebellious, and that’s the way you like him to look.

“Well, you’ll just have to do a more thorough job next time, Black.”

There’s a long moment of silence, and then he grins because you both know you mean it.

-fin-