Mein Herz

Chapter 10: A Name for This

12/20/1979

S.B.

Sirius dipped his head to the crook of Severus's neck, leaving a trail of heated kisses along his jaw. His breath warm against pale skin, he murmured, “These robes make you look irresistible.” His hands traced a path up Severus's slender waist before settling on his hips. Beneath his fingertips, he felt the sharp angles of bone, heard the catch of breath as the nineteen-year-old's body tensed, then cautiously leaned into his.

“I forget how you sound,” Sirius whispered, dragging his tongue along Severus's throat. There was no biting remark this time; instead, Severus's long fingers clutched at Sirius's robes, betraying his nervousness.

Sirius began to unfasten Severus's robes—each button a revelation. He moved slowly, carefully, showing a gentleness that felt foreign to his twenty-year-old self. The methodical pace was deliberate; he wanted Severus to feel safe, not pressured.

“We don't have to go further,” Sirius murmured, even as his fingers continued their patient work. “Not if you're not ready.”

“I've never…” Severus began, his voice barely audible, a tremor running through his thin frame when Sirius's teeth grazed his ear. He swallowed hard, dark eyes darting away in embarrassment. “I don't know what I'm supposed to do.”

Sirius pulled back slightly, noting how Severus immediately crossed his arms over his chest, as if trying to make himself smaller. The gesture tugged at something in Sirius's chest—this wasn't the sharp-tongued, defensive Severus from their school days. Here, in private, he was just a young man confronting his inexperience.

“I can teach you,” Sirius offered softly, reaching to gently uncross Severus's arms. “Or I could show you.” Noting the flash of panic in those dark eyes, he quickly added, “If that's too much, I can just run you a bath and leave you be. Whatever you want.”

Severus bit his lower lip, gaze fixed on the floor. “You'll think me foolish,” he muttered, a blush creeping up his sallow cheeks. “Everyone else has already—”

“I don't care about everyone else,” Sirius interrupted, surprising even himself with his sincerity. He tilted Severus's chin up, forcing eye contact. “And I won't think you foolish. Not for this.”

The silence between them felt electric. Sirius could practically see the battle waging behind Severus's eyes—desire warring with insecurity, curiosity fighting against the fear of humiliation.

When Severus's body finally arched against his—a tentative, almost experimental movement—Sirius remained perfectly still, allowing him to set the pace. The contact was hesitant, uncertain, but unmistakably deliberate, and Sirius understood it for the monumental step it was.

“Are you certain?” Sirius whispered, needing to hear it.

Severus nodded once, sharply, his expression a vulnerable mix of terror and determination. “Just... don't laugh at me.”

Sirius felt his heart constrict at the request. “Never,” he promised, and for once in his young life, he meant it completely.

Sirius kept his eyes locked on Severus’s, even as his hands slid the outer robe from those narrow shoulders. The fabric fell soundlessly to the floor, pooling at their feet like shadows. The remaining layer—plain, soft cotton beneath the formality—suddenly felt more intimate than anything they’d done before.

He reached for Severus’s hand, guiding him wordlessly toward the bedroom. The moment Severus followed without resistance—eyes downcast, jaw tense—Sirius felt something shift in his chest. Power, yes, but not the kind he was used to wielding. This wasn’t about conquest or indulgence. It was about being trusted.

The bedroom was dim. Only the streetlight outside filtered in, casting thin gold lines across the duvet. Sirius turned, letting his hands frame Severus’s face. “You don’t have to pretend with me,” he said, voice low. “I know you feel this.”

He leaned in, brushing their mouths together—one soft press, then another, until Severus tilted his head into it. The kiss deepened slowly, wet and searching, all tongue and nerves and want. Severus’s hands found Sirius’s shoulders, holding tight—not to pull him closer, but to steady himself.

Sirius guided them back until Severus’s knees hit the edge of the mattress. “Lie down,” he said gently, not an order, but it came with weight. Severus hesitated, then obeyed.

His eyes never left Sirius.

Sirius undressed slowly in front of him, not out of arrogance, but to give Severus time. Let him see. Let him process. Let him want.

When Sirius finally joined him on the bed, he didn’t climb over him, didn’t rush. He reached for Severus’s collar, fingers slipping under the buttons of the inner shirt, working it open one by one. With each exposed inch of pale skin, Sirius pressed a kiss to it—delicate, reverent. He paused at the hollow of Severus’s throat, letting his lips linger there. He felt the rapid flutter of a heartbeat beneath them.

“You’re shaking,” Sirius murmured.

“I know.” Severus’s voice was dry. “I’m not sure I can stop.”

Sirius exhaled through his nose, brushing a hand over Severus’s hair, gently pushing it from his face. “Then let me help you. Let me take care of you tonight.”

Severus swallowed hard. His legs shifted under the covers. His eyes were dark, dilated. Wanting.

“If you think this is real…” Sirius whispered against his temple, the words nearly swallowed by the room’s silence. “Let me show you how much I want it.”

Severus turned his face then, slowly. Their mouths met again. And this time, Severus kissed him like he meant it—not with experience, but with intent. Awkward and uneven, but urgent. Hungry. A sound escaped from Severus’s throat, half a gasp, half a moan, and Sirius had to fight to keep from losing control.

He broke the kiss just enough to press their foreheads together. “Tell me when to stop.”

Severus looked at him, chest rising and falling fast. “I’m willing to try.”

The words hit Sirius like gravity—quiet but anchoring. Final.

Sirius kissed him again, deeper this time, his body moving closer. “Alright,” he murmured. “Then I’ll be gentle… but I’m not going to pretend I don’t want you.”

His eyes raked over Severus’s bare chest. There were white, pale scars tracing down his skin. Oh, how his dreams were scarily accurate. He could see Seveurs’s ribs poking out while his chest rose and fell. 

“Merlin. I have imagined kissing your chest for quite some time now.” He said, leaning down and kissing the skin. “I dream about you more often than I should.”

Sirius's hands moved with deliberate slowness, tracing the contours of Severus's ribs, feeling each ridge beneath his fingertips. The vulnerability of the moment struck him—how many years had they spent as adversaries, and now here was Severus, allowing himself to be seen, to be touched.

“You’re beautiful,” Sirius murmured, continuing his exploration of Severus's scarred chest. His fingers traced a particularly jagged line near his collarbone. “These scars... did your father...?”

Severus tensed beneath him. “Not now,” he whispered, eyes shuttering briefly. “Please.”

Sirius nodded, understanding. Some wounds were too fresh to examine, even in moments of intimacy. Instead, he lowered his mouth to a particularly prominent scar, pressing his lips against it as if he could heal old hurts through touch alone.

“Your dreams,” Severus said suddenly, his voice hesitant. “What else happens in them?”

Sirius looked up, a slow smile spreading across his face. He shifted his weight, moving to lie beside Severus rather than hovering over him—giving him space while maintaining contact.

“In my dreams,” he began, his voice dropping to something hushed and intimate, “you let me worship every inch of you. You let yourself be vulnerable. You stop thinking, stop analyzing, and just feel.” His hand traced idle patterns on Severus's stomach, feeling the muscles jump beneath his touch. “And you say my name. Not ‘Black’. Sirius.”

Severus's breath caught. “That seems... unlikely.”

“Try it,” Sirius challenged softly, his eyes never leaving Severus's face. “See how it feels.”

Severus swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly. The moment stretched between them, taut with anticipation.

“Sirius,” he finally whispered, the name foreign and intimate on his tongue.

The sound of his name spoken in that voice—hesitant, without its usual venom—sent a shiver down Sirius's spine. He leaned forward, claiming Severus's mouth in a kiss that was more urgent than before.

“Again,” he demanded against Severus's lips, his hand sliding down to rest possessively on his hip.

“Sirius,” Severus repeated, more confident this time. His hands, which had been gripping the sheets, cautiously moved to Sirius's shoulders.

Emboldened, Sirius shifted his weight, his body half-covering Severus's now. He could feel the rapid rise and fall of Severus's chest against his own, the evidence of his nervousness and desire.

“I want to see all of you,” Sirius murmured, his hand hovering at the waistband of Severus's trousers. “May I?”

Severus hesitated, his eyes darting away. “I'm not... I don't look like you.”

The admission, so simple yet revealing such deep insecurity, made Sirius's heart ache. He brought his hand up to cup Severus's face, turning it gently until their eyes met again.

“I don't want you to look like me,” he said firmly. “I want you exactly as you are.”

Severus searched his face, looking for any hint of mockery or deception. Finding none, he gave a small nod.

With reverent care, Sirius began to undo the fastenings of Severus's trousers. He moved slowly, giving Severus time to change his mind. When no objection came, he eased the fabric down, revealing more of that pale skin.

“Lift your hips,” he instructed gently, and Severus complied, allowing Sirius to pull the trousers down his legs and discard them.

Sirius sat back on his heels, taking in the sight before him. Severus lay exposed, wearing only his undergarments, his body all sharp angles and pale lines. Beautiful in its starkness, its honesty.

"Now you know why the Slytherin showers were hell," Severus muttered, attempting to cover himself with his arms.

Sirius caught his wrists, gently but firmly moving them away. “Don't hide from me,” he said. “Not tonight.” He released Severus's hands and stood from the bed, his fingers moving to the fastening of his own trousers. “Let me even the scales.”

Severus watched, unable to look away as Sirius undid his belt with practiced ease. The soft clink of metal filled the quiet room. Though he'd seen Sirius shirtless countless times before—in Quidditch practices, during scorching summer days—this was different. The lean muscles of his torso were familiar, but the context transformed everything.

Sirius let his trousers fall and stepped out of them with effortless grace, now clad only in his boxer shorts. The dim light cast shadows across the contours of his body as he returned to the bed. Severus's eyes traced over the tattoos that marked Sirius's skin—familiar patterns except for one new addition over his heart, a small celestial design.

“That's new,” he observed quietly.

“Got it after fixing your piano,” Sirius confirmed, guiding one of Severus's hands to trace the outline. “Does it meet with your approval?”

The corner of Severus's mouth twitched—almost a smile. “It's tolerable.”

Sirius laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “High praise indeed,” he teased, leaning down to kiss Severus again. Against his lips, he murmured, “Tell me what you want, Severus. Tell me what you need.”

Severus tensed again, uncertainty flashing across his features. “I don't... I don't know the words for it.”

“Then show me,” Sirius suggested, his voice gentle despite the desire coursing through him. “Guide my hands. Let your body speak.”

With trembling fingers, Severus reached for Sirius's hand. Slowly, deliberately, he guided it down his chest, past his stomach, to rest at the waistband of his undergarments. 

The gesture, so simple yet so brave, made Sirius's breath catch. “Are you sure?”

Severus nodded, his dark eyes fixed on Sirius's face. "I trust you," he whispered, the words clearly costing him. “For tonight, I trust you.”

Sirius felt the weight of those words, understood their significance. “I won't break that trust,” he promised, and for once in his reckless life, he meant it with every fiber of his being.

Sirius traced his fingers along the elastic waistband, watching Severus's face carefully for any sign of discomfort. Sirius’s eyes flicked from Severus’s chest and then down to the hardening arousal in Severus’s underwear. The trust between them was fragile, newly formed, and he was determined not to shatter it.

“We can go as slow as you need,” Sirius whispered, his thumb making small circles against Severus's hip bone. “There's no rush.”

Severus exhaled shakily, his dark eyes fixed on the ceiling. “It's not that I haven't... it's just been…”

“A long time?” Sirius offered gently.

“Never like this,” Severus admitted, the words barely audible. “Never with... care.”

The confession struck Sirius like a physical blow. He leaned down to press his forehead against Severus's, their breaths mingling in the narrow space between them. 

I don’t even want to know what he’s implying. Sirius thought sadly.

“Then we'll rewrite everything you know,” he promised. “Starting now.”

With deliberate slowness, Sirius ran his palm over the thin fabric of Severus's underwear, feeling the hardness beneath. Severus's breath hitched, his body tense with anticipation and nervousness. 

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” Sirius murmured, maintaining a gentle pressure with his hand.

Severus shook his head slightly, eyes closing as he focused on the sensation. His fingers gripped the sheets tightly, knuckles whitening with the strain.

“Breathe,” Sirius reminded him softly, his hand stilling on Severus’s clothed cock. “You're thinking too much. Just feel.”

After receiving a stiff nod, Sirius resumed his movements. Gradually, Severus's grip on the sheets loosened. His breathing slowed, becoming more measured. The tension in his shoulders began to ease as Sirius continued his gentle ministrations, never pushing beyond the barrier of fabric, respecting the unspoken boundary between them.

“That's it,” Sirius encouraged, his free hand coming up to stroke Severus's hair, tucking a strand behind his ear. “You're doing wonderfully.”

A soft sound escaped Severus's throat—something between a sigh and a moan—and Sirius felt a surge of triumph. Severus was allowing himself to be present in the moment, to experience pleasure without overthinking it.

“I never thought…” Severus began, then stopped, his eyes opening to find Sirius watching him with unmistakable desire.

“What?” Sirius prompted, his movements never ceasing as the fabric of Severus’s underwear began to dampen

“I never thought you, of all people, would be... patient.”

Sirius smiled, a genuine smile that reached his eyes and softened his aristocratic features. “I can be patient for things that matter,” he responded simply.

Severus's expression shifted, vulnerability flashing across his face before he could mask it. Sirius could feel Severus’s body stiffen suddenly. “And this matters?”

“You matter,” Sirius corrected, his voice firm. “This—” he gestured between them with his free hand “—whatever it is, whatever it becomes, matters because it's you and me.”

Severus reached up hesitantly, his fingers tracing the line of Sirius's jaw as if memorizing its contours. “Sirius,” he said again, the name no longer foreign on his tongue.

Sirius turned his head to press a kiss against Severus's palm. “I'm here.”

Something shifted in Severus's eyes then—a decision being made. He guided Sirius's hand to press more firmly against him, a silent request for more.

“Are you sure?” Sirius asked, wanting verbal confirmation.

“I'm sure,” Severus replied, voice steadier now. “But keep my underwear on. For now.”

Sirius nodded, understanding. It was a compromise—allowing greater intimacy while maintaining a thin barrier, a small measure of control. He adjusted his position, lying beside Severus, his hand never leaving its place.

"Like this?" he asked, changing the rhythm slightly. It was faster now, following the rhythm of Severus’s hips.

Severus's eyes fluttered shut again. “Merlin,” he breathed. “Just like that.”

Sirius watched in fascination as Severus gradually surrendered to sensation. The perpetual furrow between his brows smoothed out, his lips parted slightly, and the harsh lines of his face softened. It was like witnessing a transformation—the stern, guarded potioneer giving way to something more raw, more real.

“You're so beautiful like this,” Sirius murmured, pressing kisses along Severus's neck. “When you let yourself feel. When you stop fighting everything, including pleasure.”

A soft, broken sound escaped Severus's lips as his hips moved involuntarily, seeking more contact. His hand came up to grip Sirius's shoulder, fingers digging into muscle.

“Stay with me,” Sirius whispered against his skin. “Stay present. Stay here with me, Severus.”

“Sirius,” Severus moaned, the name becoming a mantra, an anchor. “Sirius.”

The sound of his name, spoken with such raw emotion, sent heat coursing through Sirius's veins. But tonight wasn't about his desires. Tonight was about showing Severus that he deserved tenderness, that vulnerability wasn't weakness.

“I've got you," Sirius promised, increasing the pressure slightly. “Keep making those sounds for me, Severus.”

Severus turned his head, seeking out Sirius’s mouth with urgency. The kiss transformed into something raw and desperate as Sirius reciprocated, channeling all his unexpressed emotions into their lips. After a breathless moment, they broke apart, foreheads touching, with Sirius quickening his movements until Severus grasped his wrist. 

“Hold on,” Severus gasped, his hips instinctively bucking. Sirius smirked playfully, probing the limits as he maintained a deliberate pace. 

“Don’t tell me you’re on the edge already. Should we pause?” 

“No,” Severus replied urgently, squirming on the bed. “Take them off.” 

“Be more specific, Severus,” Sirius teased, his breath warm against Severus’s ear while his thumb brushed tantalizingly over the tip. 

Severus cursed, pushing his hips forward, “Stop that.” 

“Where's that bold Slytherin spirit I admire? Use your words.” 

A desperate whimper escaped Severus, a sound that ignited a fire in Sirius’s core. “Severus, come on. Just tell me.” 

Driven by desire, Severus finally conceded when Sirius teased him again: “Take my— fuck— take my underwear off. Please.” 

“See, that wasn’t so difficult,” Sirius grinned, withdrawing his hand.

Sirius grinned wider, the playful challenge in his eyes igniting something fierce within Severus. With a teasing slowness, he pulled down the waistband of Severus's underwear, revealing his hardened cock beneath. Severus inhaled sharply at the sensation of cool air against his exposed body. 

“Is this what you wanted?” Sirius murmured, his fingers lightly tracing the curve of Severus's hip, drawing shivers from him.

“Yes,” Severus breathed, his voice a mix of frustration and eagerness, his body arching toward Sirius's touch.

Instead of resuming, Sirius leaned over Severus and began leaving a trail of kisses down his chest. He murmured against Severus's skin.

“I'll give you what you want… you just need to touch me first.”

Severus froze, uncertainty flashing across his features. His hands, which had been resting tentatively on Sirius's shoulders, tensed.

"I don't..." he began, voice catching. "I'm not sure I know how."

Sirius paused, lifting his head to look at Severus. The vulnerability in those dark eyes was so raw, so honest, that it made his chest ache. Gone was the sharp-tongued Slytherin, replaced by a man who had rarely known gentle touch.

“There's no wrong way,” Sirius assured him softly. He took one of Severus's hands in his own and guided it to his chest, pressing the pale fingers against his skin. “Just do what feels right. What you want to explore.”

Hesitantly, Severus allowed his fingers to move, tracing the contours of Sirius's chest, pausing at the celestial tattoo over his heart. The design seemed to pulse beneath his fingertips, alive with the steady beating of Sirius's heart.

“Your skin is warm,” Severus observed quietly, his touch becoming more confident as he explored the planes of Sirius's torso.

“Yours is too,” Sirius replied, carefully watching Severus's face. “Though you try so hard to make the world think you're cold.”

Something shifted in Severus's expression—a flash of vulnerability quickly hidden behind determination. Without warning, he sat up, bringing them chest to chest, his hands moving to Sirius's back.

“Perhaps I've been cold for too long,” he murmured, his breath warm against Sirius's ear.

Sirius shivered at the unexpected boldness, at the feel of those long, elegant fingers mapping the muscles of his back. “Severus,” he breathed, the name reverent on his lips.

With newfound courage, Severus let his hands wander lower, tracing the waistband of Sirius's boxers just as Sirius had done to him. His touch was tentative but deliberate, exploring the dip of Sirius's spine, the curve where back met hip.

“Is this what you meant?” he asked, voice low and uncertain despite his actions.

Sirius nodded, not trusting his voice. He hadn't expected this—hadn't expected Severus to take such initiative. It sent heat coursing through his veins, desire pooling low in his stomach.

Emboldened by Sirius's reaction, Severus let his hands continue their exploration, moving around to Sirius's hips and then cautiously down his thighs. He watched Sirius's face intently, noting each quickened breath, each flicker of pleasure in those gray eyes.

“You make it so easy,” Severus murmured, more to himself than to Sirius. “To want this. To want you.”

“It is easy,” Sirius replied, bringing his hand up to cup Severus's face. “When you stop fighting it.”

Their eyes locked, the air between them charged with unspoken words and desires. Then, with deliberate slowness, Severus moved his hand to the front of Sirius's boxers, his touch feather-light but unmistakable in its intent.

Sirius's breath caught. “Severus,” he whispered, the name half warning, half plea.

“You said I needed to touch you first,” Severus reminded him, a hint of his usual sardonic tone returning, though softened by the heat in his eyes. “I'm merely following instructions.”

A surprised laugh escaped Sirius. “Since when do you follow my instructions?”

The corner of Severus's mouth quirked upward—almost a smile. “When they align with my own desires.”

And with that, his hand became more confident, applying gentle pressure through the thin fabric of Sirius's boxers. The sensation drew a low groan from Sirius, his head falling back slightly. His hardened arousal ached against Severus’s fingers, finally feeling some relief. 

“Is this acceptable?” Severus asked, his voice a mixture of nervousness and newfound confidence.

“More than,” Sirius managed, his hips shifting slightly, seeking more contact. “God, Severus.”

Something like triumph flashed in Severus's eyes—the realization that he held power in this moment, that he could draw such reactions from Sirius Black of all people. It was intoxicating. 

Severus kept a steady pace, his tempo was faster than Sirius’s, but he didn’t actually mind. He could feel himself leaking in his underwear as Severus let his hand move towards the tip. 

“There, stay there.” Sirius moaned deeply. He let out another groan when Severus increased the pressure. It was almost too much to take. 

“Now,” Severus said, his voice steadier than it had been all night, “I believe you made a promise.”

Sirius's eyes, which had drifted closed, opened to meet Severus's gaze. The desire he saw there matched his own, burning away the last of his restraint.

“So I did,” he agreed, reaching for Severus once more, intent on keeping his word.

As they moved together in the dimly lit room, barriers both physical and emotional continued to fall away, neither spoke of what tomorrow might bring. Tonight, they existed in a world of their own making—a world where old wounds began to heal under gentle touches, where years of animosity dissolved in shared breaths and whispered names.

“Keep going, Severus. Faster.” Sirius demanded between groans. His free hand was tangled in Severus’s raven hair. With his body helping Severus lie back down, Sirius now slightly hovered over him, supporting his weight with his side. 

Severus didn’t respond in words. His head was buried in Sirius’s neck. Soft moans escaped him as Sirius’s hand returned to a steady rhythm. Both of their bodies moved in synchronized pleasure. 

“You’re doing beautifully, Severus. God… I could fuck you.”

A shuddering breath escaped Severus’s lips. His hand matched the movements of Sirius’s hips. Sirius was getting close, faster than he anticipated. The hand holding Severus’s hair pulled, causing Severus’s head to move back, exposing his pale neck. 

“I need you to let go, Severus.” Sirius bit the other man’s neck, his tongue tracing over the reddened skin. “I can’t— Merlin— I’m close. This feels so good. You feel so good.” 

Severus moaned as Sirius’s teeth sank in again. “Keep talking.” 

“You like when I praise you, huh?” Sirius responded, his hand moving faster. His grip tightened around Severus’s hair. “Course you do. I can see the way you look at me, Severus. I think I could finish just by watching you work. You’re doing so wonderfully. So— ah— fucking beautiful, you are. Intelligent. God, your hands feel so good.”

Sirius was speaking hastily, his release nearing faster than he’d like. Severus needed to finish first, Sirius needed him to. However, the words were working. Severus’s whimpers had turned into trembling gasps and moans. He was close, too. 

“Sirius…” Severus moaned. His body stilled, tensing for a second. Then, Severus came with a moan, his release spilling over Sirius’s hand. 

“Good… God, you’re so good for me,” Sirius managed to say, his hand slowing. “Keep moving your hand for me.”

Surely, Severus’s release caused Sirius to follow suit. He groaned and let his head fall against Severus’s shoulder. His release spilled in his underwear, leaving the fabric soaking. 

Sirius exhaled slowly as his fingers finally loosened their gentle grip in Severus’s hair, letting the strands fall free. The silence between them was warm, not heavy—a delicate stillness wrapped in breath and skin and the soft thud of two hearts slowly steadying.

Severus didn’t pull away. Instead, he shifted, barely lifting his head to press a kiss—featherlight—just below Sirius’s ear. Then another. Lazy, aimless, but deeply affectionate. His lips trailed slowly down to the curve of Sirius’s neck, pausing there, resting. His breath was warm against damp skin, and he seemed in no rush to move. It wasn’t desire anymore—it was something gentler. A quiet need to stay close.

Sirius closed his eyes, fingers brushing up and down Severus’s spine. There was a fragility in how still Severus was now, and something in Sirius’s chest clenched at the realization that the guarded, sharp-edged boy he’d once known was allowing himself to be soft. With him.

“We should wash up,” Sirius murmured eventually, though he didn’t shift. His voice was low, careful not to startle whatever fragile peace they’d stumbled into.

Severus didn’t respond right away. His hand curled loosely against Sirius’s chest, the pads of his fingers brushing just over his heart as if trying to memorize its rhythm. Then, in a voice so quiet Sirius almost thought he’d imagined it:

“I want to stay with you.”

Sirius felt his breath catch.

It wasn’t the words themselves—it was the way Severus said them. As though he hadn’t meant to. As though they’d slipped free without permission. But he didn’t take them back.

Sirius tilted his head, brushing Severus’s hair away from his face. Their eyes met for just a moment. Something open flickered in Severus’s gaze. Vulnerability. Hope. Fear.

“You can,” Sirius said softly, almost fiercely. He tightened his hold. “You always can.”

Severus closed his eyes at that. Not to hide, but to breathe it in.

They stayed like that, tangled in sheets and silence, until the weight of the moment gave way to something lighter—something familiar. Sirius gently kissed Severus’s temple, and after a long pause, Severus muttered, “If you make some ridiculous joke now, I will hex you.”

Sirius huffed a quiet laugh, his grin crooked against Severus’s skin. “No joke. Not this time.”

A long pause.

Then Severus said, “Your shampoo smells ridiculous.”

That made Sirius laugh out loud. “You’re ridiculous.”

Severus didn’t argue. Instead, he finally let his body relax, letting himself fully lean into Sirius. Not just physically. Emotionally. And that, Sirius knew, was the real milestone.

S.S.

The kitchen’s lingering scent of clove and rosemary settled around Severus as he stirred his spoon through the reheated stew. It reminded him of the potions he excelled at brewing—complex, intentional, purposeful. He was acutely aware of Sirius leaning against the counter, watching him. The borrowed pajama trousers were too long—yet another reminder of their different builds—but the soft fabric felt comfortable against his skin.

Severus adjusted his posture, letting his shoulders relax slightly. The silence between them felt strangely comfortable, allowing his thoughts to drift to places he rarely permitted.

“What you said earlier... about not doing it in a caring way,” Sirius's cautious voice broke through his thoughts. “What did you mean?”

Severus’s hand paused on the spoon. He set his spoon down deliberately, feeling Sirius’s eyes on him but not threatened by the attention.

“My father was drunk. A lot.” The admission was straightforward—a fact, not a confession. Severus kept his voice steady, in control—a skill he'd honed over years.

“He wasn't the affectionate type.” An understatement, but precision matters. “I guess I reminded him of my mother—of her mistakes. He'd always say she ‘looked like trouble.’” His mouth twisted. “Guess I inherited that.”

Sirius said nothing, and Severus appreciated the restraint. Empty comfort would have felt patronizing.

“I don't want to talk about him,” he said decisively, reclaiming the conversation.

“You don't have to,” Sirius replied. “I get it.”

Severus nodded, acknowledging the respect in Sirius's response. He reached for his tea, savoring its warmth as he gathered his thoughts. The mug became an anchor as he contemplated words he'd been turning over in his mind for months.

“I used to think I liked women.” The words emerged clearer than he'd expected. “I thought what I felt for Lily was love. But it wasn't. Not really.”

His heart beat steadily as he continued. This revelation is not weakness—it was clarity he’d earned.

“I think…” He chose his words with the same precision he applied to his potions. “I just wanted to be her. To be in her place. To know what it felt like to be seen that way. To be wanted.”

Sirius moved, setting his bowl aside, his hand nudging Severus’s gently. “You are wanted,” he said softly. “Not because you're like anyone else. But because you're you.”

The words resonated in Severus’s chest. Perhaps he means it. Perhaps I deserve to hear it. His fingers remained steady around his mug as he absorbed the impact of Sirius's words. Something shifted inside him—not breaking, but realigning, like pieces falling into place.

“I don't even know what this is supposed to look like,” Severus admitted honestly. “Us. This. I never thought it was even something I was allowed to have.”

Sirius smiled—genuinely, without mockery. “We don't have to know what it looks like," he said.  

“We just have to want it.”

Severus looked up then, meeting Sirius's eyes. A sense of possibility expanded in his chest.

I want this.

They sat in comfortable silence, something having shifted between them. Severus watched as Sirius eventually stood and cleared the table with easy movements. When Sirius's hand drifted across his shoulder—a brief, wordless touch—Severus welcomed it. The ease of the contact felt like progress.

The stew had grown lukewarm, but Severus finished it anyway. He made this for me. A shared experience. Each bite was a small acknowledgment of their developing connection.

He watched Sirius scrape his bowl clean and stand, the sound of dishes clinking in the sink creating a pleasant domestic rhythm. Sirius dropped back into his seat, nudging Severus with his elbow as he held out the cigarette, two fingers extended in offering.

“You're a terrible influence,” Severus said, raising an eyebrow even as warmth spread through him at the casual intimacy.

Sirius grinned, eyes sparkling with that familiar mischief that now stirred something pleasant in Severus’s chest. “You've known that for years.”

I have. And still, here we are. Severus took the cigarette, appreciating the exchange. The burn in his throat was familiar, grounding. He hadn’t smoked since Yorkshire. Things have changed for the better.

They sat with knees almost touching beneath the table. The radio played softly—a jazz tune that complemented the moment perfectly. Severus found himself observing Sirius—the line of his jaw, the relaxed set of his shoulders. This feels right in a way I wouldn't have anticipated.

“You're quiet,” Sirius said softly, teasing.

“I'm thinking.” About possibilities. About what we might become.

“Dangerous habit.”

Severus smirked, enjoying their verbal sparring. “You'd combust if you ever tried it.”

Sirius chuckled, handing back the cigarette. He laughs differently now—with me, not at me. The observation brought satisfaction.

Taking the cigarette, Severus inhaled deeply, aware of the pleasant warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with tobacco and everything to do with the man beside him.

“You know,” Sirius said casually, “your hair looks better since we started... this.”

Severus felt warmth rise to his face, not entirely unpleasant. “Does it?” he asked, genuinely curious.

Sirius's grin widened; Severus could hear the playfulness in his voice. “Oh, definitely. Looks better when you use my shampoo.”

Severus shot him a skeptical look, amused despite himself. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“If your hair's looking better, that means we're dating. Simple logic.”

Severus paused, surprised by the sudden declaration. Dating? Us? “Does it?” He asked again, his voice steady despite the flutter in his chest.

Sirius snorted, taking another drag. “If we were just friends with benefits, I would've fucked you already.”

The bluntness caught Severus off guard. He inhaled sharply, smoke burning his lungs as he coughed, heat rising to his face. Direct as always. No room for misinterpretation.

“I—I—what?” He managed, momentarily thrown by Sirius’s frankness.

Sirius watched him, eyes dancing with amusement. "Come on, Snape. Don't act so shocked. It's the natural progression of these things.”

He sees this as something developing, evolving. Severus cleared his throat, regaining his composure. “You're—Merlin, you're insufferable.”

“I know,” Sirius replied with evident satisfaction. “But you haven't run away yet, so I'll take that as a good sign.”

“I—I'm not running anywhere,” Severus stated firmly. “I just didn't expect you to be so... blunt.”

Sirius leaned in, his eyes bright with mischief that now seemed inviting rather than threatening. “If we're going to make this whole ‘relationship’ thing official, we have to talk about these things. Plus,” he added with a wink, “you're not getting out of this now.”

Relationship…official. The words echoed in Severus's mind, exciting and new. He considered Sirius thoughtfully, feeling something settle within him. This could be good. This could be mine.

“Fine,” he said, his voice softened by genuine emotion. “But I'm still not certain this is real.”

Because it's better than I imagined.

Sirius reached out, nudging Severus's shoulder with his own, playful but gentle. "It's real enough for me."

Severus sighed, feeling a smile form as he met Sirius's gaze. In those grey eyes, he saw desire, respect, and certainty.

"I suppose it is," he agreed, allowing himself to embrace this unexpected gift—a connection he hadn't sought but now found himself treasuring.