James Potter was trying to focus on his homework, but the soft, mocking drawl of his best friend kept getting in the way.
Sirius Black had a way of saying nothing in such a way that it sounded like everything. Right now, he was lounging on the couch in the Gryffindor common room, hair perfectly tousled, smirk playing on his lips as he watched James furiously scribble at his Transfiguration essay.
James felt a tug at the corner of his mouth but fought it back. He had an essay to finish—an essay about Animagi, of all things. And somehow, despite being an actual Animagus, he still found it bloody hard to get his thoughts down on paper.
"James," Sirius said lazily, tossing an arm across the back of the couch. "You're furrowing your brow again."
James sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I’m fine, Pads. Just trying to get this bloody thing done."
"You say that every time," Sirius teased, his voice warm, the edge of humor in it as usual. "But you're getting more frustrated by the minute."
James muttered something under his breath, his frustration mounting. He hated how right Sirius always was. Every time he tried to ignore it, to focus on something else, Sirius would find a way to break through.
Sirius leaned forward slightly, catching James’ attention. His eyes, always so intensely focused when he wanted them to be, were locked on him now. "I think I know what you need, Prongs."
James looked up, caught in the smolder of Sirius's gaze. "What's that?" he asked, trying to sound exasperated, but it came out more curious than he intended.
Sirius stood up, effortlessly sliding off the couch and crossing the room toward him. The way he moved was always fluid, graceful—like he was always the center of attention, whether he wanted it or not.
"Do you want to finish your essay, or do you want to stop pretending that you can concentrate when I’m here?" Sirius’s voice was low, teasing, but there was something else in it too—something a little more intense, a little more... commanding?
James felt his pulse quicken. He opened his mouth to retort, but before he could, Sirius dropped down beside him, his presence suddenly overwhelming.
"Pads," James began, his voice strained, trying to pull himself together. "I’m not in the mood for whatever game you’re playing right now—"
Sirius leaned closer, his breath warm against James’s ear. "You’re always in the mood for me, Prongs," he said, with that signature smirk that made James's chest tighten in ways he didn’t want to acknowledge.
James swallowed hard, his fingers trembling slightly as he tried to steady the quill in his hand. "I—" he stopped himself, unsure how to finish the sentence.
"Don’t try to deny it," Sirius whispered, his lips brushing James’s ear now, just close enough to make him shiver. "You like it when I call you mine."
James froze. That word, so simple, so possessive, yet it wrapped itself around him like fire. His heart skipped, then thudded harder. Mine. It felt like a statement, not a question, and something about the way Sirius said it made him want to say, yes. But he couldn’t—he wouldn’t. Not yet.
He exhaled shakily, blinking at the parchment in front of him, desperately trying to ignore the fact that he could feel the heat of Sirius’s body just inches away. "That’s... that’s not funny, Pads," James said, his voice hoarse.
Sirius chuckled softly, the sound rich with amusement and something darker, something James couldn’t quite place. "I think it’s very funny," Sirius replied, his tone shifting just enough that it made James’s breath catch. He placed his hand on James's knee, fingers just brushing the fabric of his trousers.
The warmth of it sent a jolt through James, and for a moment, his words escaped him.
Sirius’s smirk softened, but only slightly. "You don’t have to hide it, Prongs. You like it when I claim you. You like it when I say you're mine. Don’t you?"
James’s mind was spinning. He didn’t know how to answer, didn’t know if he even wanted to. But his heart was racing in his chest, a combination of excitement and fear curling inside of him. He was afraid of how much he wanted it.
He swallowed. "I—"
Sirius didn’t give him time to finish. Instead, he moved in even closer, tilting his head until their faces were inches apart. His eyes burned with something James couldn't name, but it was intense enough to make his pulse stutter.
"Mine," Sirius repeated softly, his voice low and husky this time. "You are, James. You just don’t know it yet."
James shuddered. His mind screamed at him to stop, to push Sirius away, but his body betrayed him. Every part of him ached to be closer. Every cell screamed for that word—mine. And maybe, just maybe, he liked the idea of it being true.
Sirius’s hand was still on his knee, his thumb tracing small circles against the fabric, and James realized that for all the times he’d heard that word before—mocking, teasing, possessive—he’d never truly let it sink in. Not until now.
And then, in that quiet moment, with the fire crackling softly in the background, James let go of his restraint. He closed the distance between them, his lips finding Sirius’s in a kiss that was all heat and urgency, the tension breaking in an instant.
Sirius responded instantly, his hands gripping James’s shoulders, pulling him closer, deeper. For a long moment, neither of them said anything—just kissed, the world outside of them disappearing. When they finally pulled apart, breathless, James’s hand found Sirius’s, squeezing it tightly.
The common room had grown quiet, save for the soft crackling of the fire and the distant sounds of other students laughing and chatting from the hallway. But James wasn’t aware of any of that now. His pulse still raced from the kiss, the burn of it lingering on his lips, the warmth of Sirius’s hand still burning on his knee.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. James’s heart was pounding so loudly in his chest that he could barely hear his own thoughts. His fingers were tangled in Sirius’s black curls, the wild, untamed softness of them grounding him in the present, and that one word still echoed in his mind.
Mine.
Sirius’s eyes were darker now, intense and filled with something that was both familiar and foreign to James. He could see the confidence, the teasing glint still there, but there was something else too—something that pulled at the edges of James’s defenses. It was vulnerability, raw and unspoken, and it made his chest tighten.
Sirius was watching him carefully, as if waiting for a reaction. His thumb traced small, deliberate circles on the back of James's hand, the touch light but constant.
“So,” Sirius said, his voice teasing, but with an undercurrent of something more serious. “How do you feel about this whole thing, Prongs?”
James shifted, running a hand through his messy hair, unsure how to respond. His mind was still reeling, and his usual quick wit seemed to have abandoned him. But the question, casual as it was, left a mark.
He took a deep breath, forcing himself to meet Sirius’s eyes, trying to find his footing. “You always know how to catch me off guard, don’t you?”
Sirius smirked, a playful glint dancing in his eyes. “You make it so easy.” Then, his voice dropped, becoming lower, almost serious. “But really, James, tell me. How does it feel?”
James’s stomach did a little flip. The sincerity behind Sirius’s question disarmed him completely. There was no sarcasm, no teasing—just Sirius, and that was something James hadn’t been prepared for. Not now, not after all this time.
“I—” James paused, trying to gather his thoughts, but they scattered like leaves in the wind. "I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it like that. I’ve never thought about you like that." He swallowed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Not like that, I mean."
Sirius’s expression softened, and for a moment, James could have sworn he saw a flicker of something vulnerable behind his usual bravado. But before he could make sense of it, Sirius leaned in closer again, his lips hovering just above James’s ear.
"Well, maybe it’s time you start thinking about it," Sirius said quietly, his breath warm against James’s skin. "Because I’m not letting you off the hook now."
James felt his heart skip a beat. It was the way Sirius said it—so matter-of-fact, so sure. Like he already knew what James felt, before James could even admit it to himself.
"Pads—" James began, but Sirius cut him off, his lips brushing the side of his jaw, light and teasing, as if daring James to pull away.
“Stop denying it, Prongs,” Sirius murmured. “You like it.” He pulled back just enough to meet James’s gaze. “I can see it in your eyes.”
James’s breath caught in his throat. The intensity in Sirius’s stare left him speechless. There was no teasing now, no mask of humor to hide behind. Just Sirius—his Sirius—looking at him like he was the most important thing in the world.
James swallowed again, the weight of Sirius’s words settling in. His heart pounded, blood rushing in his ears, and for the first time, he wondered if he was finally ready to stop hiding.
“I—” James began, his voice cracking slightly. “I don’t know if I can do this, Pads. What if—”
Sirius tilted his head, interrupting him again, this time with a soft chuckle. “What if what? You think I’d let you go? You think I’d leave you hanging, Potter?” He raised an eyebrow, leaning in even closer, until their noses were nearly touching. “I’m not the one who’s running away, mate. You are.”
James flinched, but there was no malice in Sirius’s tone—just the same honesty that had always been there, hiding beneath his usual cocky facade. It was startling, how much Sirius could cut through the noise of James’s racing thoughts.
“You don’t have to run, James.” Sirius’s voice softened again, but this time, it wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t playful. It was something far more serious. “Not from me. Not anymore.”
James felt his breath hitch, the weight of Sirius’s words crashing over him like a wave. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat.
Sirius, seeing the turmoil in his eyes, reached up to brush his thumb over James’s cheek, gently, almost reverently. His touch was soothing, as if offering a silent promise. “You don’t have to have all the answers now. But I need you to know one thing.”
James’s chest tightened, every nerve alive with the intensity of the moment. He nodded, willing himself to breathe.
Sirius smiled softly, a warmth in his eyes that James hadn’t seen in a long time—maybe ever. “You’re mine, James. And I’m not going anywhere.”
The words settled around them, like the most natural thing in the world. And for once, James didn’t feel afraid. Instead, something inside of him unfurled—a warmth, a quiet certainty that had been buried beneath layers of doubt and fear.
He leaned forward, his lips meeting Sirius’s in a kiss that was slow, tender, and full of something neither of them had fully understood until now.
When they finally pulled apart, James was breathless, his hands gripping the sides of Sirius’s shirt like it was the only thing holding him together.
“You’re right,” James whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m yours.”
Sirius’s grin widened, but this time it wasn’t just cocky—it was full of affection. He kissed James again, once more, before pulling back to look into his eyes.
“Good. Because I’ve been waiting for you to figure that out, Prongs.”
James chuckled softly, a mix of relief and something else—something he wasn’t sure he was ready to name just yet. But that didn’t matter. Not now. Not when the only thing that mattered was that for the first time in ages, he wasn’t running from this.
“Mine,” Sirius whispered again, this time not as a tease, but as a promise.
And James, with a grin that could rival the sun’s brightness, whispered back, “Yours.”
He was exactly where he was supposed to be.