I am meant to be asleep, but this was too good to not do. I hope you like it <3 [400 words. I’m a watcher].
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There’s a loud slap as Sirius’ hand meets with Harry’s arse, the skin red hot and burning beneath his palm. Harry is sniffling; soft, little sounds muffled by the bed’s pillows, and the noises are going straight to Sirius’ cock, are making his trousers impossibly tight.
He shushes Harry softly, the ball of his palm massaging the curve of his arse, his fingertips trailing over the blotched flesh. He loves this, loves how hot Harry looks like this, loves how his arse is just begging to be fucked. Best of all, he knows Harry loves it, too. Why else would he act out?
He raises his hand again, slaps it across Harry’s left cheek with all the force he can muster. There’s a yelp as the flesh jiggles, the sniffling louder now than it had been a minute ago. Again, Sirius shushes him, his voice a low, soothing murmur as he tells Harry how good he’s going, how proud he is, just a little more, baby. You’re taking it to well.
The next three come in quick succession, a deep, beautiful red blossoming under Sirius’ touch. Harry cries freely, now, no longer trying to muffle it. Even as he sniffles, though, Sirius can feel the length of his cock pressed against his lap; hard and long and leaking. He bites back a grin, finally takes pity on him.
There’s oil to the side, and he grabs it, flicks the lid open and pours a generous amount into his palm, watching as it drips down to Harry’s arse. There’s a soft, needy sigh in answer, the noise growing to a loud moan as Sirius touches him again, skilled hands massaging the oil in, easing the ache. Harry's arse shines under the light now, too, the sight delectable, irresistible.
Sirius can feel a groan itching its way up the back of his throat, can feel the desire to take consuming his body. He spreads Harry open, trails an oiled finger down Harry’s crevice, across his opening; the pressure a light tease. Harry arches up into it, and Sirius leans forward, blows softly, the warm air ghosting across the assaulted skin. There’s a wriggle from the body in his lap, a poor attempt to grind down on Sirius’ thigh, to create friction.
“Please,” Harry begs, and Sirius grins again, his finger finally slipping inside.
[400 words. I’m a watcher].
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There’s a loud slap as Sirius’ hand meets with Harry’s arse, the skin red hot and burning beneath his palm. Harry is sniffling; soft, little sounds muffled by the bed’s pillows, and the noises are going straight to Sirius’ cock, are making his trousers impossibly tight.
He shushes Harry softly, the ball of his palm massaging the curve of his arse, his fingertips trailing over the blotched flesh. He loves this, loves how hot Harry looks like this, loves how his arse is just begging to be fucked. Best of all, he knows Harry loves it, too. Why else would he act out?
He raises his hand again, slaps it across Harry’s left cheek with all the force he can muster. There’s a yelp as the flesh jiggles, the sniffling louder now than it had been a minute ago. Again, Sirius shushes him, his voice a low, soothing murmur as he tells Harry how good he’s going, how proud he is, just a little more, baby. You’re taking it to well.
The next three come in quick succession, a deep, beautiful red blossoming under Sirius’ touch. Harry cries freely, now, no longer trying to muffle it. Even as he sniffles, though, Sirius can feel the length of his cock pressed against his lap; hard and long and leaking. He bites back a grin, finally takes pity on him.
There’s oil to the side, and he grabs it, flicks the lid open and pours a generous amount into his palm, watching as it drips down to Harry’s arse. There’s a soft, needy sigh in answer, the noise growing to a loud moan as Sirius touches him again, skilled hands massaging the oil in, easing the ache. Harry's arse shines under the light now, too, the sight delectable, irresistible.
Sirius can feel a groan itching its way up the back of his throat, can feel the desire to take consuming his body. He spreads Harry open, trails an oiled finger down Harry’s crevice, across his opening; the pressure a light tease. Harry arches up into it, and Sirius leans forward, blows softly, the warm air ghosting across the assaulted skin. There’s a wriggle from the body in his lap, a poor attempt to grind down on Sirius’ thigh, to create friction.
“Please,” Harry begs, and Sirius grins again, his finger finally slipping inside.
Who was he to deny such a sweet request?