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Fic - Between Breaths - 1/1
Title: Between Breaths
Author: Evandar
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Romance/Angst/Smut
Pairing: Sirius/Harry
Warnings: Underage sex (Harry is 15)
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I am making no profit from this story.
Summary: Mirrors are hardly a perfect form of communication - they can't capture the little things. In their absence, doubts can form.
AN: This is the sequel to Summer of Eden and was written as a birthday gift for the lovely![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
gracerene. I hope you like it and that you have an absolutely fantastic day!
He’ll always remember Harry like this. The way that his hair feels as it slides through his fingers; the way his back arches and his body tightens; the little noises he makes as he sucks – slurps and gasps and sounds of deep, satisfied contentment that buzz over the head of Sirius’ prick. He’s beautiful like this, so young and trusting that it breaks Sirius’ heart that he can’t let go of him. But he misses Harry like he misses the sky and Sirius is too selfish – too weak – to try.
He presses his fingers deeper just to feel Harry moan and to see the muscles in his back twitch.
He loves Harry’s back. The long, lean lines of muscle and the smooth, pale skin, and the little dips above his arse on either side of his tail bone. He hadn’t appreciated it enough during the summer, and all the glimpses he’s had of Harry during term time have been through the mirrors. His face while they talk long into the night; awkward images of his cock and arse and questing fingers, always at a funny angle and perfectly lewd.
He wonders if Harry feels the same. If he’s ever lain in the dark after their mirror calls have ended, unsatisfied with his own hand and desperate for all the things that an image can’t give. He wonders if he’ll ever work up the urge to ask, terrified as he still is that Harry’s going to come to his senses and run for the hills – or worse, the Headmaster. And he’s too busy bloody wondering about it to properly enjoy their first chance to fuck in months; doesn’t notice, really, until Harry shifts and squirms and lets Sirius’ cock fall from his mouth with a pop.
His lips are red and wet and he’s frowning slightly, and Sirius wants nothing more than to smooth the little crease between his eyebrows away. So he does. With his tongue. And it makes Harry jump, which pushes him further onto Sirius’ fingers, and the uncomfortable angle of his wrist and his doubts and his guilt are all forgotten in the wake of the red flush that spreads over Harry’s chest and the moan that spills from his lips. He can’t help but feel a little proud that Harry reacts to him like that. That, when Harry’s eyes open again, they fix on him like he’s something worth looking at – like he’s still the handsome man he used to be before the Dementors stripped it from him; like he’s not old enough (older than, in fact, by two months and nine days – and looking older even than that) to be his father.
When Harry kisses him, he can taste himself on his tongue. The rich musk of his flesh mixed with the bitterness of pre-cum, and he searches out every last morsel of it even as he pulls his fingers free and draws Harry properly onto his lap. Harry shudders and moans, digs his fingers hard into Sirius’ shoulders. His cock is hard and slick between them, neglected so far, and Sirius makes a mental note to suck him off whenever the next opportunity arises. He’s missed the taste.
It’s the mirrors. The mirrors lack taste and texture. They’re enchanted silvered glass, and they’re far less magical than the sharpness of Harry’s teeth and the feel of his heart hammering inside his ribcage. They’ve got nothing on the heat of his breath when he buries his face in Sirius’ neck and tries not to scream when finally – fuck, finally - Sirius guides him down onto his cock; no matter how intimate the image they show, there’s no way they can portray the heat of Harry’s body or the slick slide of skin on skin.
Harry clings to him like a drowning man, gasping for air as he rides Sirius’ cock like his entire life depends on it, and in between breaths, Sirius manages to hear him.
“Fuck. Missed this. Fuck, Sirius.”
Author: Evandar
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Romance/Angst/Smut
Pairing: Sirius/Harry
Warnings: Underage sex (Harry is 15)
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I am making no profit from this story.
Summary: Mirrors are hardly a perfect form of communication - they can't capture the little things. In their absence, doubts can form.
AN: This is the sequel to Summer of Eden and was written as a birthday gift for the lovely
gracerene. I hope you like it and that you have an absolutely fantastic day!He’ll always remember Harry like this. The way that his hair feels as it slides through his fingers; the way his back arches and his body tightens; the little noises he makes as he sucks – slurps and gasps and sounds of deep, satisfied contentment that buzz over the head of Sirius’ prick. He’s beautiful like this, so young and trusting that it breaks Sirius’ heart that he can’t let go of him. But he misses Harry like he misses the sky and Sirius is too selfish – too weak – to try.
He presses his fingers deeper just to feel Harry moan and to see the muscles in his back twitch.
He loves Harry’s back. The long, lean lines of muscle and the smooth, pale skin, and the little dips above his arse on either side of his tail bone. He hadn’t appreciated it enough during the summer, and all the glimpses he’s had of Harry during term time have been through the mirrors. His face while they talk long into the night; awkward images of his cock and arse and questing fingers, always at a funny angle and perfectly lewd.
He wonders if Harry feels the same. If he’s ever lain in the dark after their mirror calls have ended, unsatisfied with his own hand and desperate for all the things that an image can’t give. He wonders if he’ll ever work up the urge to ask, terrified as he still is that Harry’s going to come to his senses and run for the hills – or worse, the Headmaster. And he’s too busy bloody wondering about it to properly enjoy their first chance to fuck in months; doesn’t notice, really, until Harry shifts and squirms and lets Sirius’ cock fall from his mouth with a pop.
His lips are red and wet and he’s frowning slightly, and Sirius wants nothing more than to smooth the little crease between his eyebrows away. So he does. With his tongue. And it makes Harry jump, which pushes him further onto Sirius’ fingers, and the uncomfortable angle of his wrist and his doubts and his guilt are all forgotten in the wake of the red flush that spreads over Harry’s chest and the moan that spills from his lips. He can’t help but feel a little proud that Harry reacts to him like that. That, when Harry’s eyes open again, they fix on him like he’s something worth looking at – like he’s still the handsome man he used to be before the Dementors stripped it from him; like he’s not old enough (older than, in fact, by two months and nine days – and looking older even than that) to be his father.
When Harry kisses him, he can taste himself on his tongue. The rich musk of his flesh mixed with the bitterness of pre-cum, and he searches out every last morsel of it even as he pulls his fingers free and draws Harry properly onto his lap. Harry shudders and moans, digs his fingers hard into Sirius’ shoulders. His cock is hard and slick between them, neglected so far, and Sirius makes a mental note to suck him off whenever the next opportunity arises. He’s missed the taste.
It’s the mirrors. The mirrors lack taste and texture. They’re enchanted silvered glass, and they’re far less magical than the sharpness of Harry’s teeth and the feel of his heart hammering inside his ribcage. They’ve got nothing on the heat of his breath when he buries his face in Sirius’ neck and tries not to scream when finally – fuck, finally - Sirius guides him down onto his cock; no matter how intimate the image they show, there’s no way they can portray the heat of Harry’s body or the slick slide of skin on skin.
Harry clings to him like a drowning man, gasping for air as he rides Sirius’ cock like his entire life depends on it, and in between breaths, Sirius manages to hear him.
“Fuck. Missed this. Fuck, Sirius.”