Changes
Chapter 8: Changes
10/12/1979
S.B.
Midnight had settled over the flat, and the charged silence in the room was almost tangible. Sirius didn't hesitate any longer. He closed the distance between them, his fingers brushing Severus's wrist before he leaned in and pressed their lips together. It wasn't a desperate collision—it was tentative, a gentle nudge that sought to erase the space that had long suffocated them both.
It was... stiff.
Under Sirius's kiss, Severus went rigid—frozen like an ancient door hinge, rusted and immovable. His lips barely moved, his eyes wide in silent shock. Sirius's heart pounded, but he didn't pull back immediately. Instead, he slowly separated his lips just enough to glimpse Severus's face, searching for any sign—a flicker of warmth or a hint of response. Severus's expression remained unreadable, as though the world had suddenly tilted off its axis.
Sirius licked his lips, attempting to dispel the tension with his usual irreverent humor. "You taste like toothpaste," he teased softly, his voice low, almost apologetic, as if his words might coax Severus into movement.
Still, Severus remained motionless.
"Relax, Snape. You're kissing me, not preparing for execution," Sirius urged, his tone firm yet tender.
Then, just as hope began to fade, Sirius noticed it—the tiniest twitch of Severus's fingers against the sheets, a subtle swallow betraying reluctant willingness. That was all the encouragement he needed.
Gently, he placed a hand at the nape of Severus's neck. His thumb brushed over the sensitive skin, sending a shiver through him. With a low, coaxing whisper, Sirius murmured, "Just follow me," and kissed him again.
This time, Severus's response was tentative but real. His lips parted slowly, allowing the kiss to deepen—hesitant, uncertain, yet unmistakably present. As Sirius guided him through the uncharted intimacy, his inner thoughts roiled.
This is what I've wanted—this is what I need.
Every touch, every trembling response, made him crave more, even as he marveled at Severus's raw vulnerability. His thumb drifted to the hem of Severus's borrowed t-shirt, tracing absentminded circles over the edge of his hip. He longed to pull Severus closer, to capture every fragile detail of this newfound intimacy, but he knew better than to rush what was so delicate and tentative.
After what felt both like an eternity and a single breath, Sirius slowly pulled away. His lips tingled, his heart pounded as he studied Severus's face. Those dark eyes remained wide, his breathing uneven, his body caught between tension and a fragile openness.
A nervous chuckle escaped Severus—a sound that made Sirius's heart skip. "You just did that," Sirius teased, his tone blending amusement with tenderness. "That nervous laugh… it's kind of adorable, Snape."
Severus's expression wavered between irritation and a surprising warmth he struggled to conceal. For a long moment, the only sound was the soft hum of a distant fan and the gentle rustle of pillows. Finally, as if burdened by the weight of the moment, Severus cleared his throat.
His voice balanced on the edge of defiance and vulnerability as he said, "Seems like you've been eager to do that."
A low chuckle escaped Sirius as he ran his fingers through his hair, mischief and sincerity lighting his eyes. "You know," he began, voice carrying a playful edge, "I didn't realize I wanted to do that until after I left your place… after we fixed your piano."
Sirius's mind whirled with memories—those long, solitary hours when he'd secretly watch Severus in school, always the quiet observer, the brilliant thinker who caught every detail. Now, in the soft glow of the room, the past mingled with the present, and Sirius found himself compelled to share it. He leaned forward, his thumb still tracing along Severus's hip as if daring him to meet his gaze.
"I used to watch you in school," Sirius confessed, his voice barely above a whisper, heavy with honesty.
Severus interrupted dryly, shifting on the pillows. "Oh, I know that."
"Shut it, I'm trying to be honest," Sirius retorted playfully, though genuine warmth underlay his teasing. "I realized it wasn't because I hated you. I found you remarkable… intelligent. I was fascinated by how you controlled your emotions, the way you always found a solution to everything."
A scoff escaped Severus as he shook his head, dismissing the praise with characteristic irony. "You speak as if I am some grand thinker."
Sirius's heart pounded with exasperation and admiration. He wanted to shake Severus, to make him understand how wrong it was to dismiss his own brilliance.
"Severus," Sirius said, his tone earnest and slightly pleading as he sat up to meet his gaze, "I hate when you dismiss yourself. Gods, you created spells, reworked Slughorn's textbook, and—mate—you were the first in our year to master non-verbal spells."
Severus sighed deeply, deliberately avoiding Sirius's eyes. A tense pause stretched between them before he shrugged and sank further into the mattress, as if willing himself to disappear into it.
Oh great… Why does he need to do that?
Sirius felt frustration simmer beneath his skin, but not the usual kind—not the kind that came from their school conflicts, that made him want to throw a hex just to provoke a reaction. No, this was different. Heavier.
"Severus, c'mon, look at me." Sirius's voice softened, missing its usual bravado. He moved closer, fingers gripping Severus's shoulder with quiet insistence. "I know—I know you don't believe me. Hell, I wouldn't trust half the things I say either." A dry laugh escaped him, quickly fading. His grip tightened slightly. "Please, just… trust me."
Severus exhaled sharply, shoulders stiffening beneath Sirius's touch, still avoiding his gaze. "How do I know this isn't some elaborate prank…" His voice quieted, raw in a way Sirius hadn't heard before. "Some scheme you and James concocted?"
The words hit Sirius like a physical blow.
It shouldn't have surprised him. Of course Severus would think that. Why wouldn't he? Years of enduring Sirius's worst impulses, cruel taunts and hexes in the corridors, being outnumbered and outmatched—such history doesn't simply vanish overnight.
Sirius swallowed hard, shaking his head. "James doesn't even know I'm here, Severus." His voice was firm but careful, measured. "This isn't a joke. Not a prank, or a game, or some attempt to humiliate you." He paused, searching Severus's face for any sign his words were penetrating.
Nothing.
Sirius sighed, dragging a hand through his hair before rubbing his face. He forced himself to breathe through the threatening frustration.
This isn't about you, Sirius. He has every reason to doubt you.
His hand dropped, and he let out a short, humorless laugh. "If I wanted to humiliate you—for my own amusement—I would have given you a thong instead of pajamas." He shook his head. "I wouldn't have kissed you, asked you to stay, let you hold me while I cried about my brother…" His voice softened momentarily. Sirius straightened, fixing Severus with a look devoid of teasing. "If humiliation was my goal, I would've taken you to James's favorite bar."
He let that sink in before adding quietly, "But I don't want that. I don't want to remain trapped in that life. You've obviously changed, so…" He exhaled, running his thumb absently over Severus's sleeve. "Why can't I?"
Finally, Severus looked at him. Properly.
There was no immediate answer, no sharp retort or sneering comeback. Just silence—a long moment where Severus simply studied him, as if searching for deception in Sirius's words.
He wouldn't find any.
Because for once, Sirius Black wasn't hiding behind humor, a grin, or a carefully crafted lie.
Severus truly looked at him—really looked—and for a breathless moment, Sirius couldn't decipher what swirled behind those dark, searching eyes. Hesitation lingered there, traces of doubt at the edges, but something else too—a deep, fragile vulnerability that Severus seemed almost ashamed to reveal. Every guarded secret seemed laid bare in that silent exchange.
Sirius remained perfectly still, heart thundering as he gave Severus all the time he needed. He refused to interrupt or rush, wanting Severus to see there was no trick, no hidden agenda—only raw, unfiltered truth.
Then, barely above a whisper, as if gathering every ounce of courage, Severus spoke, "Kiss me again, Sirius."
For a heartbeat, Sirius blinked, questioning whether he'd truly heard it or if it was just another cruel tease. But Severus's tone held no sneer, no scowl, and certainly no anger; he was simply there, his face transformed—more open, more human—than Sirius had ever witnessed before.
A slow, lopsided grin crept across Sirius's face, relief and mischief dancing in his eyes. "Thought you'd never ask," he murmured.
This time, Sirius leaned over Severus deliberately, every movement careful and unhurried. His hand reached up, cupping Severus's jaw gently, thumb trailing over the sharp edge of his cheekbone, as if memorizing every line, every imperfection. The closeness was electric, charged with a promise and vulnerability that made Sirius's heart flutter wildly.
And then, as if the world had shifted on its axis, Severus met him halfway. His lips, soft and warm, pressed against Sirius's with quiet determination, the kiss deepening slowly. Though traces of hesitation remained in Severus's movements—a delicate uncertainty in his responses—Sirius could feel the desire, the quiet longing that had finally broken through cold defenses.
Sirius hadn't intended such intimacy. Really, he hadn't. He just wanted to feel close to Severus, feel his warmth beneath hands and lips. But the moment his mouth found Severus's neck, everything shifted.
The skin was warm against his lips. The scent of soap still clung to Severus's damp hair, intoxicating in its simplicity. Sirius's breath quickened as he traced the curve of Severus's jaw, pressing light kisses down the line of his neck.
For a moment, it felt effortless. Sirius floated, lost in the softness of Severus's skin and quiet sighs. Severus's body had relaxed, no longer stiffening under his touch, chest rising and falling in steady rhythm. It was as if he was finally surrendering to the moment, to him.
Then, Sirius's lips brushed something unexpected.
He paused mid-kiss, mouth barely hovering over Severus's skin as his eyes caught it—an old scar, pale against the otherwise smooth skin of Severus's neck.
Sirius's heart skipped.
A scar? It was thin, jagged, and looked ancient. How had he never noticed this before?
For a moment, he simply stared, thumb absently tracing the line as he pulled back slightly for a better view. The skin was faintly raised, as if something had cut deep before healing—something Severus had never mentioned. A well-kept secret Sirius wasn't certain he was meant to discover.
Severus tensed beneath him, eyes snapping open with a flicker of alarm. His breath hitched, caught between retreating into his shell and allowing himself to be seen.
Sirius's thumb hovered over the mark, his voice emerging softer than intended. "What's this?"
The question sounded different in the quiet room. There was no judgment, no teasing. Just curiosity.
Severus swallowed, gaze flitting away, eyes downcast. His shoulders tightened, as if trying to withdraw from the very question. But Sirius wouldn't allow retreat this time.
"It's nothing," Severus muttered, tone almost dismissive. "Something from years ago."
Sirius could tell he was evading. Something in the way Severus avoided his eyes, the way his jaw clenched, revealed more than words.
"Doesn't look like nothing," Sirius pressed gently.
Severus's eyes flicked to his, dark and unreadable. For a moment, silence hung between them—only the quiet hum of the room surrounding them.
Sirius shifted back slightly, lips still tingling from the kiss, focused now entirely on the revealed scar. The atmosphere had thickened, uncomfortable tension palpable in Severus's changed demeanor.
"What do you think it's from?" Severus finally asked, voice low and bitter.
At first, Sirius felt confused, mind scrambling for answers. His brow furrowed as he examined the scar, frustration rising. He felt the impulse to make light of it, to tease, but recognized the gravity of the moment. Joking would be inappropriate now.
Sirius sighed, giving Severus an exasperated look. "How should I know?" he responded, tone mixing irritation with disbelief. Their usual playful banter seemed out of place here.
Severus's gaze met his, defiance flashing briefly before darkening. The expression reminded Sirius of something long unseen—a look from their Hogwarts days, directed at James, at the world, full of resentment and unspoken pain. The same expression Severus wore when shutting everyone out.
"Your dad?" Sirius asked quietly, words escaping before he could stop them.
Severus stiffened as if physically struck. His sneer deepened, but unlike the familiar expression Sirius knew, this was far more raw.
"I hope he's dead somewhere... laying in a ditch," Severus whispered darkly, almost speaking to himself rather than Sirius.
The statement hit harder than expected. Sirius's chest tightened as he processed it. This wasn't mere anger toward a parent. This was a man carrying something profound, something that had become his truth. Severus had never shared this before, and hearing it spoken aloud felt like witnessing something sacred and terrible.
Sirius swallowed hard. This wasn't the Severus he'd known. The sharp, defensive exterior remained, but momentarily cracked, revealing how much Severus had buried, how much he'd endured in silence.
Rather than let the moment fade, Sirius leaned closer, eyes twinkling with playful mischief as he murmured, "That's enticing." His assured tone sent a shiver through the charged space between them.
Severus's eyes widened, body tensing as if paralyzed. "What?" he managed, voice wavering between indignation and something unspoken.
A soft laugh escaped Sirius as his fingers glided over Severus's forearm, savoring the contrast of soft flesh against taut muscle. He observed every reaction—the slight twitch of Severus's grip, the hesitation in his hand—yet Severus didn't withdraw. Sirius leaned nearer, warm breath grazing across skin.
"You—this raw venom when you talk about your past," Sirius explained in hushed tones, his smile both teasing and sincere. "I find it incredibly attractive."
Severus scoffed, though something softer flickered in his dark eyes—an unexpected vulnerability betraying his carefully constructed detachment.
"You're utterly deranged," he muttered, the usual harshness diminished.
Sirius's grin widened. "The strength a Slytherin possesses is not something to be taken lightly," he whispered, as if sharing a closely guarded secret.
The space between them pulsed with unspoken confessions until, decisively, Sirius broke the silence.
"Enough chatter," he declared, voice low and insistent. Before Severus could respond, Sirius leaned in again, directing soft kisses along his neck.
His lips moved in delicate, exploratory patterns, leaving warmth over sensitive skin. Each tender press offered both reassurance and a plea for Severus to surrender to feeling. In that intimate moment, with faint light casting gentle shadows around them, Sirius's heart roared with desire and the quiet joy of knowing that sometimes actions—soft and sincere—spoke louder than any words.
S.S.
Just when Severus started to get used to Sirius's lips on his neck, Sirius scraped his teeth against his pulse. A sharp, involuntary shiver ran down Severus's spine. Without meaning to, he let out a sigh mingling with a curse.
"Shit."
A low, pleased hum vibrated against his throat as Sirius's breath fanned across his skin. "You like that?"
"Don't be ridiculous." Severus clenched his jaw, fingers curling into the sheets. He attempted to sound clipped and controlled, but his voice betrayed him.
"Liar," Sirius smirked against his neck. "Never thought I'd hear you sound like that."
The word sent heat coiling low in Severus's stomach. His heart pounded traitorously against his ribs, an irritating reminder that his body had surrendered first.
Sirius continued unhurried, pressing slow, deliberate kisses along his throat, pausing just long enough for Severus to register each sensation before moving again. It was measured—too measured—as if Sirius were savoring this, waiting for rejection. Yet Severus remained.
This is reckless. This is absurd.
Before Severus's brain could process the trail of kisses, Sirius returned to his lips. This time, his mouth was coaxing. When Severus tried to catch his breath, Sirius pressed his thumb into Severus's neck, pushing him deeper into the mattress.
The Black Heir seems to enjoy getting his way. He's brilliant at that.
Severus struggled to think clearly. His mind raced, wondering where to put his hands, if his head was tilted too far, if—
"Stop thinking," Sirius murmured against his lips. Somehow, that helped.
Was it supposed to be like this? Someone dominating the kiss and the other following? Surely, not.
This thought prompted Severus to place his hands on Sirius's bare chest, nails digging slightly into skin. His touch remained hesitant and awkward, but at least he was participating.
When they finally parted, Severus barely had time to process the rush of air filling his lungs before Sirius grinned, looking entirely too pleased. His thumb traced along Severus's jaw, warm and grounding.
"That," Sirius murmured in a gravelly voice, "was much better."
Severus scoffed, shifting against the pillows as if to disguise his quickened pulse. "I don't recall asking for your critique."
Sirius's grin widened. "No, but I know you like being graded."
A sharp exhale escaped Severus, something between exasperation and reluctant amusement. "You're insufferable."
Sirius only smirked.
This was the moment Severus should end it. He should push Sirius away, deliver something biting, create distance before this unraveled into something dangerous, irreversible.
Instead—he kissed him. Not carefully or calculatingly, but suddenly, almost desperately, as if something inside had finally snapped. His fingers gripped Sirius's shoulders, pulling him forward, swallowing the surprised sound Sirius barely made before melting into it. Sirius recovered quickly—too quickly. His hands found Severus's waist, gripping firmly, his body pressing closer, head tilting just enough to deepen the kiss. Severus gasped softly at the shift, and Sirius groaned into his mouth, the sound deep and shuddering. His grip tightened, and for the first time, Severus felt the full weight of it—the way Sirius wanted him.
Oh, this is how it's supposed to be.
Severus began losing himself. The careful grip of Sirius's hands, the warmth against him, the way Sirius moved with such confidence—it was overwhelming and maddening. Sirius seemed so comfortable while Severus felt like he was teetering on unstable ground.
Just as Sirius leaned in deeper, their noses collided with sudden, awkward impact. Severus jerked away with a sharp gasp.
"Ow!" He instinctively brought a hand to his face, eyes momentarily blazing with shock and irritation.
Sirius, equally startled, groaned. "For fuck's sake, Snape."
Severus glowered, still wincing as he tried to regain composure. "You leaned in too fast," he muttered, voice tight with exasperation.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize kissing required a bloody strategy," Sirius retorted, rubbing his nose with a half-amused smirk. "Is this why you haven't done this before? Because you're clunky?"
Severus's eyes narrowed dangerously, his temper flaring. "If you're going to whine—"
"Oh, shut up," Sirius snapped dramatically, rolling onto his back in an exaggerated display of offense. "I think you actually broke something."
Severus huffed and rolled his eyes, though his heart still pounded fiercely. His lips tingled, his breathing remained erratic—he wasn't supposed to be this affected. This wasn't in his plans.
Then, unexpectedly, Sirius laughed—a real, unguarded sound echoing softly in the quiet room. Severus turned sharply to him, irritation mixing with reluctant curiosity. "What could possibly be funny right now?"
Sirius's chuckle deepened, his grin broadening. "Just—us. This. You. We sound like ourselves. One second we're making out and the next we're fighting again."
Severus stared, feeling absurdly off-balance. What had started as something dangerously intimate now teetered on the edge of absurdity. Yet despite the chaos of conflicting emotions, something in that collision felt... right.
He could still sense the phantom press of Sirius's lips, still hear the warm sigh that had slipped into their kiss. The relentless tension that had weighed on him earlier had softened—just a fraction—and Severus found himself thinking, albeit with trepidation, that perhaps he wasn't entirely disappointed.
Sirius stretched beside him with casual ease, running a hand through his unruly hair. Then, with quiet determination, he exhaled, "Alright. We should actually get some sleep."
Severus blinked, half-expecting Sirius to try something else, to pull him back into that fevered moment. But Sirius simply lay there, his back slightly turned, his expression no longer hungry or teasing. Instead, there was a tired, contemplative softness in his gaze.
A slow nod was all Severus managed before rolling onto his side, distancing himself—a futile attempt to reclaim control, to process the whirlwind of sensations and memories.
Then Sirius called out, "Oh, and Severus?"
Severus tensed, his voice wary, "What?"
Sirius, with a tone mingling lazy satisfaction and gentle certainty, said, "We will be revisiting this."
A dark chuckle escaped Severus as he closed his eyes. "Go to sleep, Black."
Sirius laughed and flicked the bedside lamp off, plunging the room into soft darkness.
For a while, only their slow breaths and the gentle rustle of sheets broke the silence. The warmth of the blankets felt almost oppressive as Severus lay there, mind racing through the day's bewildering events. He recalled how Sirius had first arrived—grief-stricken and raw, cursing Regulus's decision in a tone that had cut through his defenses. He remembered their struggle with the bedding, Sirius's ridiculous Animagus antics, even cooking for him. It had seemed harmless in parts.
But then—
Severus clenched his jaw.
How the hell did it get this far? His first kiss—his first kiss—had been with Sirius Black.
A slow, mortifying heat crept up his neck as the realization struck. He had let it happen. No, worse—he had wanted it.
The memory replayed with brutal clarity: Sirius's confident approach, Severus's momentary freeze before yielding, and the way his own lips had trembled in response. Every long-suppressed feeling, every carefully guarded secret had burst free in that charged moment.
Severus turned slightly, just enough to glimpse the man beside him. Sirius lay with his back turned, comfortably sprawled, one arm lazily draped over the blankets. His breathing steady, body relaxed—as if kissing Severus had been the most natural thing in the world.
Severus scowled and looked back at the ceiling, mind swirling with conflicting emotions. How did Sirius fall asleep so easily after something so monumental? Meanwhile, his own body still burned with the memory—Sirius's kiss lingering on his lips, his skin, his very being.
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying desperately to quiet the storm in his head, to force the memories into submission. But it wasn't just the kiss that haunted him—it was everything leading up to it. Sirius's tears, his gentle insistence for Severus to stay, the way he'd held him when he'd seemed on the verge of collapse. That was the most dangerous thought of all.
Severus took a measured breath, resolving to push everything aside until morning—if sleep would even come. Slowly, the turmoil receded, replaced by their breathing in the dim, quiet room.
The darkness coiled around him like a living thing, thick and suffocating, as Severus found himself trapped in a nightmare. In his vision, he stood motionless in a vast, empty void where shadows writhed at the edges of his sight like living smoke. The air was damp and heavy, carrying the stench of burnt flesh and the metallic tang of blood. Every breath was a struggle, as if the darkness itself sought to crush him.
He couldn’t move—his feet were cemented to the ground. Then a cold, piercing voice sliced through the silence: “You have chosen well, Severus.”
The Dark Lord emerged from the gloom, his features contorted into a cruel, predatory smile that held no warmth, only insatiable hunger. Severus’s heart pounded in his ears as a burning pain flared in his arm. His eyes dropped to the seared mark on his forearm—the Dark Mark, inked deeply and pulsing like a curse. The mark burned, the pain radiating like fire through his veins as he clutched his fist. Around him, cruel laughter echoed—a chorus of masked Death Eaters, their voices mocking, triumphant, and unyielding. They formed an unbroken circle, eyes glittering in the eerie light as they watched him suffer. Then, as if on cue, a faceless figure was shoved forward, collapsing at his feet. Severus’s wand materialized in his grasp, though he couldn’t recall drawing it, while a serpent-like whisper slithered in his ear: Avada Kedavra.
Green light burst forth, a scream cut short, and a body crumpled lifelessly at his feet. Dread crashed over him like ice water. The ground beneath him became a quagmire, dragging him down as the taunting laughter grew louder, more insistent.
This is what you wanted, isn’t it? The voices seemed to hiss.
Severus’s chest tightened; his breaths came in ragged, desperate gasps. He couldn’t escape the nightmare’s grip—until a pair of warm hands shook him violently. The world wavered, splintering the darkness.
“Severus. Wake up.”
A jolt, a sharp shake, and his eyes flew open to the soft glow of Sirius’s flat. The oppressive void was gone—replaced by the gentle rustle of sheets and the distant murmur of the city. For a moment, all he could do was breathe. His heart still hammered wildly against his ribs, and beads of sweat clung to his skin.
He tried to sit up, disoriented, when a familiar voice, rough with sleep yet undeniably caring, came from beside him.
“Hey, you with me?” Sirius’s tone was low and steady, the concern in his eyes piercing through Severus’s lingering haze. The touch of Sirius’s hand on his shoulder was unexpectedly soothing, grounding him back in reality.
“You were… thrashing in your sleep,” Sirius murmured, brow furrowed as he studied Severus’s face. “It sounded awful.”
Severus’s throat tightened further, and he couldn’t manage more than a hoarse, “It was… nothing.”
His mind was still wrestling with the remnants of the nightmare—images of cloaked figures and burning marks that refused to be erased.
Sirius didn’t push him for details. Instead, he kept his hand there for a moment longer before gently releasing him.
“It was just a dream, Snape.” His voice was soft now, laden with a tenderness that Severus wasn’t used to.
The dark remnants of the nightmare still curled around Severus’s ribs, but he forced a slow breath in. “I know,” he managed.
After a long, weighted pause, Sirius shifted and sat back down, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “Do you want to talk about it?” He offered quietly, as if he were afraid of breaking the fragile peace that now held them.
Severus’s eyes flickered, and he responded with a curt, “No,” his voice too sharp, too immediate.
Sirius didn’t press further. Instead, he exhaled and settled back against the pillows, though his gaze remained fixed on Severus.
“Alright. But you should try to sleep,” he said gently.
Severus let out a short, humorless breath. Sleep—if only that were simple. He would lay there, the room still heavy with the aftertaste of nightmares, the gentle hum of the city outside a stark contrast to the dark visions that had haunted him moments ago.
Time passed slowly in that fragile cocoon of half-waking and half-dreaming. Finally, Sirius spoke again, his voice playfully tired yet tender as he whispered, “Want me to kiss you goodnight?”
Severus scoffed, a dismissive sound that betrayed nothing more than habitual reticence, and simply turned away. Yet in that small act of turning away—of trying to maintain a wall—Sirius sensed a crack, a glimmer of vulnerability he hadn’t seen before. It was a quiet, unspoken promise that perhaps the monsters in their past were fading, if only for a little while.
The first thing Severus noticed was the warmth, followed immediately by the weight.
His mind, still heavy with sleep, registered something solid and very much alive pressed against him—an arm slung firmly over his waist, the steady rise and fall of a chest against his back, and breath ghosting against his neck.
His stomach dropped. No. Absolutely not.
His eyes snapped open, sleep clearing in an instant. Dim morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a muted glow over the room. Sirius's bed wasn't large to begin with, yet somehow Black had managed to take up even more space than necessary, his body practically enveloping him.
Severus suppressed a noise of disbelief. Sirius's arm lay heavy across his waist, leg hooked lazily over his own, effectively anchoring him in place. Completely caged in.
He took a careful breath, assessing his options. Slipping out risked waking Sirius to find him trapped beneath like some sort of lover.
"Black," he hissed.
Nothing. Not even a stir.
To make matters worse, Sirius shifted in his sleep, his grip unconsciously tightening as if adjusting to Severus's presence rather than recoiling from it.
Severus's eye twitched as the rhythmic rise and fall of Sirius's chest became impossible to ignore—too warm, too solid, too comfortable in a way that made his skin prickle with unease.
"Black," he tried again, sharper.
Still nothing. Sirius let out a quiet breath and—was he nuzzling closer?
That was it.
Severus drove his elbow straight into Sirius's sternum.
The impact was swift and effective. Sirius let out a sharp, choked noise before Severus gave a calculated shove, sending him toppling off the bed with a graceless thud and an indignant oof.
A moment of silence, then a muffled groan.
Severus sat up, rubbing the lingering warmth from his arms as if to erase the evidence of what had just occurred.
From the floor, a tangled mess of dark hair and limbs shifted before a thoroughly disheveled Sirius Black popped up over the edge of the bed. His gray eyes, hazy from sleep, locked onto Severus with dawning betrayal.
"Fuck you, mate!" Sirius rasped, voice rough.
Severus smirked, enjoying Sirius's bewilderment. "You were breathing on me."
Sirius scoffed in disbelief, running a hand over his face. "We made out last night, you bastard—breathing on you is the least of your problems!"
Before Sirius could continue, Severus grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it at his face.
A muffled oomph sounded as Sirius took the full force of it.
"Wanker," he grumbled, voice thick with sleep as he stood up.
Severus sat back against the headboard, arms crossed. "Charming."
Sirius scowled, though the effect was ruined by his hair sticking out in five different directions. "You do realize this means war?"
"I fail to see how removing an unwanted parasite constitutes war."
Sirius narrowed his eyes and lunged.
Severus barely had time to react before Sirius was back on the bed, tackling him. "What the—get off, you absolute—"
Sirius grinned, ruthlessly mussing Severus's hair with one hand while jabbing him in the ribs with the other. "See how you like it, you miserable bastard!"
Despite his violent struggles, Severus was at a disadvantage—Sirius had both weight and strength, plus the insufferable audacity to treat this as fun.
Another jab to the ribs and a surprised noise escaped Severus's throat.
Sirius froze, eyes widening. "Wait. Are you—"
"Don't," Severus warned, voice dropping dangerously.
A predatory grin spread across Sirius's face. "You're ticklish."
"If you value your fingers, remove them immediately," Severus snarled, but too late.
Sirius attacked with practiced precision, fingers dancing along Severus's sides, forcing him into an undignified struggle against both his attacker and his own traitorous body.
"I will end you," Severus gasped between sounds that were absolutely not laughter.
"Worth it," Sirius replied, dodging an elbow aimed at his face.
The struggle intensified, sheets tangling as they fought. A sharp twist sent them both tumbling over the edge. They hit the floor with a heavy thud, Sirius landing on his back with Severus sprawled atop him. For a moment, they lay stunned and breathless.
Severus recovered first, pushing up on his elbows to find himself staring directly down at Sirius. Their faces were inches apart. Sirius's hair formed a dark halo against the floorboards, his gray eyes wide with surprise—and something else that quickened Severus's pulse.
Sweet Circe
"I hate you," Severus said, the words lacking their usual venom.
Sirius's mouth curved into a different sort of smile. "No, you don't."
Before Severus could retort, Sirius's hand slid to the back of his neck, fingers threading through his hair, and pulled him down.
This kiss was nothing like the hesitant exploration of the night before. It was deliberate, challenging—a point made through action rather than words. Severus found himself yielding to it despite himself, contradicting years of carefully cultivated animosity in a single reckless moment.
When they broke apart, Severus found his heart pounding for reasons entirely unrelated to their scuffle.
"I still hate you," he murmured, but remained exactly where he was.
Sirius's laugh was quiet, almost tender. "I can live with that."
Outside, the sun continued its slow ascent, casting long shadows across the floor where they lay, tangled and breathless, neither willing to be the first to move away.
The quiet crackle of the Floo activating in the next room cut through the moment like a blade.
Severus stiffened, awareness crashing back. "Who—"
"Padfoot! Where are you hiding?" James Potter's voice called from the living room, casual and familiar. "I've got news that'll make your day!"
The color drained from Severus's face. He shoved himself off Sirius with sudden force.
"Tell me you warded your bedroom door," he hissed, scrambling to his feet in undignified panic.
Sirius winced. "Prongs doesn't exactly wait for invitations—"
"Black!" Severus's voice was barely above a whisper but filled with murderous intent.
They heard James's comfortable stride approaching down the hallway, already helping himself to what sounded like an apple from the fruit bowl.
"Your clothes," Sirius whispered urgently, shoving a bundle of robes toward him. "Just get in the closet."
The bedroom door swung open without even a courtesy knock.