The knock at your door was unexpected, to say the least. Even with the lamp you flicked on, it was too dark to read the clock hanging on your wall, though you were certain it was much past an hour that was decent.
You (ungracefully) stood from your bed, wrapping the thin blanket at the foot around your shoulders. You had been drifting in and out of consciousness for a while now, insomnia striking you at the worst of times, and it seemed fate had planned it that way. For the moment you opened the door, any dregs of fatigue dissipated.
“What time is it?” you mumbled when you took in the boy in front of you, hair nearly as rumpled as his button-down.
“Doesn’t matter,” Sirius said, voice hoarse. He pushed himself into the room, one hand gliding over your waist, and promptly locked the door behind him. He didn’t even give you the chance to protest.
It had been weeks since the last time you saw him. But the nature of your relationship was not conventional by any means, and the gaps were not unfamiliar. You weren’t surprised to find him inhabiting your prefect dorm in the middle of the night, and the mattress he pulled you onto was one he frequented.
His hands held an unmistakable quiver, and he attempted to conceal it by divesting himself of his clothing. The shirt came first, lazily thrown to a shadowed corner of the room, and you had only grasped the hem of your own when his pants joined the predecessor.
Your mouth opened, a question lingering on the tip of your tongue, but Sirius beat you to it, his lips a swift silencer. Every one of his actions was desperate, a craving that needed to be satisfied. He didn’t talk, and he didn’t equivocate, and his movements were crystal clear in their urgency.
You could taste blood, edged with firewhisky, and it was a combination quite so enticing that you gave in. Weeks, he had ignored you, but none of it mattered now. Your claims of hate, of disgust, were true, but times like these turned you into the worst kind of liar. Because try as you might, Sirius Black was the one person you could never deny.
He drank you in, like the alcohol that already flavored his tongue; his fingers dug into the small of your back, his teeth nipped at your bottom lip, his soft groans filled your conscience. He was the one who pulled off those thin cotton shorts, the one who practically ripped the shirt from your skin. Like you were both salvation and damnation, and like Sirius had never been more caught between heaven and hell.
You broke away when oxygen began to dwindle, and it was only because you were so close that you could see how bloodshot his eyes were. You were not made to care for each other, but when it was just you, just him, just tangled bed sheets and swollen lips, things shifted. “What happened?” you breathed.
Sirius shook his head, though his expression betrayed him. There were tearstains tracing down his face.
“Sirius.” You grabbed the hands curling over your thighs. “You can’t just leave for God-knows-how long and then come back for a quick fuck.”
“That’s not—”
“I told you we were done.”
The light, while dim, showed the glint in his eyes. And if you were in any other position, you would have told him just how pathetic it was. “But you want me. You need me.”
Your jaw clamped shut, not bothering to point out his hypocrisy. He took the silence as enough, and was quickly pushing you down onto the bed, both your bodies bare and buzzing, then making his path to your legs.
“You can tell me to stop,” he whispered, knowing you wouldn’t. You couldn’t. Not when he was perched the way he was, gazing at you with such hunger.
Sirius was a lot of things, but he was not inconsiderate.
His mouth was on you before you could blink, rough and aggressive and still drinking, drinking, drinking. It was sloppy, as it always was with him, but that raw, unabridged desire was what drained you of all you were worth. His tongue drew through the folds, a strong stripe, then he repeated the action. He twisted and curved, digging out nerves and making sure you were entirely ready for him.
It was second nature that had your fingers tangling in his hair. He found your clit, swirled it, closed his lips over the throbbing knot. You gasped, loud enough that Sirius paused to cast a Silencing Charm, then he returned to his work.
He hollowed his cheeks, suctioning, and the time of night, the divides between you, everything crumbled. When your housemates had mentioned what it was like to receive, to have someone go down on you, there was always hesitance. Like the action was delicate, requiring precision.
He treated it like no such thing.
This was heavy, and hot, and you were moaning as he uncovered endings, sensations that were previously foreign to you. That was his gift. He circled your entrance with the tip of his tongue, lightly probing, then slid in.
If you were in the right state of mind, if the room weren’t composed of just racing hearts and concealing shadows, maybe you would have pushed him away. Maybe you would have seen that this relationship was nothing more than sex. Maybe you would have remembered your promise for the last time being the last time.
But his touch was everywhere and nowhere, and your hips were being held down, and that familiar coil was winding in your stomach, begging for release. You whimpered as two fingers replaced his tongue, which took to slower movements, prolonging the feeling.
And you could blame it on the fog in your head, perhaps the haze of pleasure, but you swore you heard a muttered, “God, I missed you.”
You, not this.
You sighed in content, eyes shutting and muscles finally letting go. Letting him take care of you. His fingers curled, tapping the place that made you see stars, colors, hallucinations; he was kissing and licking and tasting everything you had. You rolled your hips against him, the beginning of a tremor in your thighs, and that coil grew tighter.
Your moan was louder this time, despite your efforts to muffle them. Euphoria was running through your veins, fucking ecstasy as he pumped the digits skillfully, his mouth bordering on teasing.
Sirius chuckled and the reverberations were enough to send you over the edge. Any effort to stay quiet fell away as his fingers picked up their speed, his tongue a deft thing on your clit. You were trembling, but he didn’t let up, and those shocks of pleasure had you shaking. You tried to close your legs, but it only trapped him there, that self-satisfied smirk quirking his lips when he looked up at you.
Direct eye contact was held as he took your swollen knot into his mouth once again, his teeth just grazing it, and the sight—his pupils blown with lust, his hair mussed from your hands, the challenge still remaining—had you entirely entranced. It was nearly enough to distract from the pain of overstimulation.
He released you with a pop, the sound sinful, and he rolled his shoulders, wincing slightly. It was then that you realized your nails had visited that expanse of skin, and Sirius didn’t need to turn for you to see the red lines covering his back. This wasn’t the first time.
“You’re awfully possessive,” he grunted. “Fuckin’ marking me up.”
You narrowed your eyes.
Sirius let out a breathless laugh. “You just came all over my fingers and now you’re going to ignore me?”
“Why are you here, Sirius?”
He sat back on his haunches, eyes frozen on a spot in the sheets—consequently, right between your legs. He looked exhausted. “Because I wanted you. Your body. Isn’t that why I’m always here?”
In truth, it was why he was here. Because the Howlers from his mother, the threatening letters from his father, the looks of pure disgust from his brother had taken their toll. A man can only go so long without his favorite form of release.
He moved forward once more, but you stopped him, kneeling. You were face-to-face, chest-to-chest, and you curled your fingers around his jaw. Enemies, you had been branded since day one, though you couldn’t deny the benefits when such titles were disregarded.
“You can have your secrets, but you sure as hell cannot use me because of them.” He stilled, but you quickly added on, “It’s my turn anyway. You got top last time.”
You chose not to bring up the conversations that followed that particular meeting.
“You’re insufferable,” he scoffed, but did fall onto his back, hands propping under his head. Utterly relaxed. “Can never agree on anything. And to think, I was being nice.”
“Shut up,” you muttered, no preamble as you fisted his cock. It was a familiar weight in your palm; hot, heavy, leaking. You grinned. “You ought to be more careful with what you say. One wrong move and….” You flashed your teeth.
Sirius swallowed. “I’m not letting you anywhere near—”
“It’s a joke, Siri.”
“My manhood is a joke to you? Is that right?”
You dragged your tongue along the sharp edges, still smiling.
“Absolutely not.” He pushed himself up, backing onto the pillows. “Absolutely not,” he repeated.
But you were already dipping down, circling the tip of him with your tongue. It earned a deep groan, his hips twitching from just that taunt. All previous arguments and laughs were left forgotten, and you met his stare as you closed your lips, taking a few inches.
“Fucking hell,” he hissed, then jumped as you grazed the thick vein along the underside with your teeth. “What did I—”
But his words were lost, too busy choking back a moan when you hollowed your cheeks. He really did have a thing for pain.
You moved down another two inches, until he was prodding at the back of your throat. The remaining length you covered with your hand, then got to work. Sirius was a complex character, but once you got him down, every part of him was predictable.
Furthermore, blowjobs in broom closets were a frequent occurrence, so of course you could reduce him to a breathless mess within minutes. You bobbed your head, taking as much as you could without gagging (though he did love when it happened), and your hand squeezed with just enough pressure, with just enough fervor, that he was only half-holding back from fucking your face.
Your tempo was quick, and your actions were nimble, and your free hand—ever-so-carefully—dragged up and down his thighs, brushing his balls occasionally. You smiled again, watching his chest heave and his head fall back. Suction was applied, and his hand shot to your hair, yanking you up.
“Not gonna last long, love,” he mumbled, legs as weak as yours. “Not today.”
You were reminded of how ruined he was when he arrived, and you knew the stress, the pain, reached its peak today. You were supposed to loathe him, to find relish in his anguish, but you simply offered him a nod. Understanding.
He riffled through your nightstand drawer, already knowing where to go, and plucked a condom. He tore it open with his teeth, hands still shaking, and quickly rolled it on. It was nearly mechanical, the process, like he could do it blind.
Probably because he could.
Soon enough, his grasp was on your hips, guiding you forward, then aligning his cock with your entrance. You put your own hands onto his shoulders, catching his eye.
“You can tell me to stop,” you gave his own words back to him.
But he was already sitting up against the headboard, pulling you down. The gratitude was hidden, but it was there; it was in the fingertips that bruised supple skin, the exhales that became the inhales of another, the arm that drew chests flush against each other. You rolled your hips, and he kissed up the column of your throat.
You moaned, savoring how full you were, but only kept grinding. It was more intimate like that, you thought. More focused and less depraved. A story to be written in the way you moved, and how something so often tucked away, something crafted from secrets, could become a comfort of its own.
Sirius guided every roll, thrusting in perfect time. His lips were hidden behind your ear, and you couldn’t tell if it was words he was whispering or if that was fucking God bringing you to delusion. You wouldn’t have been surprised if it was the latter.
Your head tilted back, and it gave him more access. He licked the sweat that built, your chin quivering as your stimulation increased. You rose, and you dropped, and the actions, whilst minimal, shot fire through every inch of you. His fingers pinched over one nipple, and you mewled, nails drawing blood from his shoulders, scratching down his back.
“I’m gonna cum,” you breathed, your body spasming as he brushed that same spot, over and over and over.
Sirius paused against your pulse point, teeth retracting from where they had begun to dig in. “Pretty little thing. You know, this is all I’ve thought about for days. You got me in a vice here, doll.”
You knew it was in more than one way.
He took to kneading your breast, pulling and playing like you were just a toy. The orgasm curled around the edges of your mind, replaced every other thought as your skin was set alight. You could hardly stay steady, and the hand on your waist tightened, bringing you up further, then drawing you entirely down.
That, combined with words, praises, thoughts you could hardly believe, had you collapsing into him. The climax broke over you, just as he moved his touch down to your clit, massaging the sensitive button. Wave after wave was incurred, your throat covered with his marks, and the trance that was left had you limp. It was so great that you hardly noticed his continued actions, letting you capture him in his own release.
A grip on your hair pulled you up, and lips were immediately on yours. It was a heady thing, adding to your intoxication, the embrace a different sort of gift. Sirius’ tongue met yours, greeted it, but did not take, did not search for more. A whisper of affection.
“Good girl,” he said as he pulled away. “Really needed this today.”
These were the moments where the dichotomy was most prevalent. When you were no longer you and he was no longer him. When touches were gentle and not bruising. When kisses were given and not stolen.
“You gonna be okay?” you asked because some incorrect chamber in your heart cared.
Enemies, you reminded yourself, but it was no use.
Because you knew he was screaming the same thing at himself, despising the both of you for giving in once more. But his forehead fell against yours and oxygen was shared, lips grazing and words a collection of mutual pain, anger, warmth. “I don’t know,” he murmured, and you almost couldn’t hear it.
You carded your fingers through his hair, pulled him harder against you until bones were aching. “You are going to be okay,” you decided for him. “We are going to be okay.”
Together, apart; you weren’t certain. But you did know that he was there, inside you and around you and touching you, your very soul lining his. Your eyes were closed, but you knew if you opened them, the sight would truly set you on fire. He was yours and you were his. To hate, to hurt, and to love.