Chapter 56: Despite Your Destination
Hands danced across his skin, fingers pausing over scars as if worshipping them. A pair of lips joined, dropping kissed lightly at first then with such intensity they seemed to burn. The deeper scars drew more attention, the burn across his side the most. The nerves were dead from the heat of the dragon's fire, but he knew what was being done and groaned despite not being able to feel it. A low chuckle rose to meet his ears.
The hands and fingers and lips took their veneration farther south, deftly sliding the trousers from his hips to leave him exposed.
"Sure looks like you fancy me," Sirius said with another chuckle.
"Shut up!" Harry's urgent whisper came out in a ragged gasp. "I think someone's coming."
"Yeah. You."
His retort died the instant the hand wrapped around him, warm and calloused and perfect. He'd felt this only once before, under duress and shame. Even then it had felt good. Now, alone and with someone he properly liked, it was the most magnificent thing he had ever felt. He lost his voice, lost all conscious thought as the boy worked him.
"Think that's good, just wait," Sirius said, though Harry barely heard him. He knew the perfect hands had stopped, and he whined until he saw the boy drop to his knees. Their eyes locked as the Beater licked his lips and drew closer. When those lips closed around him he shot up in bed, gasping.
"What?" Harry panted. His hands flew to his groin, where his fingers ought to have tangled into a head of long, black hair. Instead they met wet duvet and a hardness quickly vanishing.
The boy fell back onto his damp pillow and groaned.
"What's happening to me?"
No one answered. No one heard the question. The silencing charm still held firm around his bed despite the old nightmares being a rare visitor over the past few weeks. He was suddenly very grateful for the routine of putting the charm up before falling into bed; he did not want to explain to James why he was moaning Sirius's name in the middle of the night. His father already had it in his head that there was something worth worrying about between them, and Sirius was not doing anything to dissuade him. The boy's old habits of using him as a pillow and hanging on him for most of the day were back in place, but there was a decidedly different tone to the actions; they had become less casual, more deliberate, and decidedly intimate. Harry knew it wasn't his imagination that Sirius put his hand on his thigh when they sat together in class; that he brought his arm up when he had his head in Harry's lap and let his fingers brush dangerously close to his groin; that when they walked he let his hand rest on his neck, fingers dipped inside his collar to graze his throat. No, it wasn't the same. And apparently neither was Harry.
He hurried from his bed before anyone could throw the curtains open and catch him in the aftermath of a wet dream. The cleaning charm wasn't perfect, but it removed the majority of the evidence from his duvet. After that, it would just be a matter of not letting anyone see his face. He was sure his thoughts were still plastered there for all to view.
At the first sound of stirring in the nearby beds, he considered jumping into his trunk and hiding there until the Quidditch game; no one knew just how large the space was, and they wouldn't think to look for him there. He was halfway to unlocking it when James stumbled from his bed and muttered an incoherent greeting as he staggered toward the washroom. James hadn't noticed. Neither did Remus some minutes later. Sirius grinned at him, but it was not a grin that spoke to knowing he had been the subject of the boy's fantasies; it was just his usual rakish and charming grin. A sexy grin.
'Stop thinking of him like that!' Harry ordered as he forced his eyes away from the boy.
"What's with that face?"
The question had not come from Sirius but from Peter. The watery little eyes were looking at him, studying him across their breakfast. The cherubic face gave nothing away, unlike his own.
"Just deciding what to eat," Harry muttered and shoved a slice of toast into his mouth.
"That's not you're 'can't decide between kippers and eggs' face," the boy observed. "That's your 'thinking thoughts' face."
"Didn't realise I had so many faces," he commented with a forced smile.
"That's your 'trying to make light and distract everyone' face," Peter pointed out. "It never works, by the way."
Harry's 'make light and distract everyone' smile fell. "How could you possibly notice?"
"When you're as rubbish as me at most magics, you kind of have to learn to read people," he admitted. "Like playing cards, there's always a tell. I learned right quick when someone really meant to hex me or when they were all talk."
He nodded as the boy explained, suddenly impressed by his psychological prowess. As much as he hated to admit it, there were things about Peter he actually liked. He had made a point of avoiding the boy as much as possible, but in the tight quarters of their dorm he couldn't help but get to know him. He wasn't the man Harry had met in the Shrieking Shack and wouldn't be for many years. He was still just a teenager, awkward and bumbling as McGonagall had described him, desperate for a place and approval. As with so many other things, Harry wished he could do something to change this boy's fate, to keep him as this generally kind-hearted boy he was now. His defection would come so long from now, he couldn't even begin to understand what prompted Peter to turn away from his friend.
"Thinking thoughts again," Peter commented, gesturing to his face with a forkful of sausage.
"Whatever are you thinking about so intently, Messer Granger?" Sirius inquired as he slid closer on the bench. "Me, I hope."
"No, that was earlier," the blond boy opposite informed him. "He was pinker around the ears, then. Can always tell when he's thinking about you by how pink his ears get."
"Oh, sod off," Harry grumbled and pushed his hair to cover his flaming ears. It didn't work any better than when he attempted to smooth it flat; the wild black strands fell back into their usual place of wherever-they-felt-like, leaving his ears plain for all to see.
"Nice," Sirius smiled. "I'll be keeping an eye on that from now on. Thanks, Wormtail, I owe you."
Peter grinned with only the slightest hint of malicious delight in his eyes and went back to his breakfast, leaving Harry grumbling and trying to push any and all thoughts of Sirius from his head. It didn't work. The boy was so close, his thigh pressed tight against his own, that there was nowhere for his mind to go but to Sirius, to the dream of them together, and his ears betrayed him. His companion's pleased 'hm' informed him that he had noted the change in colour.
"I have detention," Harry said hastily and hurried to free himself of the bench and Sirius.
Thankfully, Sirius didn't follow him, so he was able to take his time meeting Filch and getting his assigned punishment. He was not looking forward to the coming days of detentions. He had already learned the man's capacity for creative interpretation of school rules regarding punitive sentences after spending his previous detention harvesting guano from the belfry for use in the school greenhouses. With at least four detentions in the coming weeks, he was sure the caretaker was gleefully inventing new and disgusting jobs for him to complete.
"You're late." The old man shoved a bucket of water into his hands. "Dungeon walls need scrubbing. Get to it."
Harry peered down into the soapy water and saw the toothbrush he had been provided for the task. There were three dungeon levels that he knew about. He couldn't possibly be expected to clean them all with a single bucket and a toothbrush. He opened his mouth to protest, but got a stern glare before he could utter a word.
"Yes, sir," he muttered and trudged off to the stairs, grumbling to himself the whole way down to the dank, windowless floors that Slughorn and his snakes called home. His mood darkened with every step farther from his friends and family until he was positively seething with annoyance at having to be there labouring alone. He threw the pail down, not caring that half the contents sloshed up and over the rim to soak the floor.
"Not fair," he complained and cursed as the tears stung his eyes.
It wasn't fair that he had to spend his few free hours of the few remaining days alone in the dark instead of with all the people he loved and cared about. Hermione was up in the warmth of Gryffindor Tower now, probably sitting on Remus's lap despite knowing that Lupin was alive and anxiously awaiting her return. The image made his blood boil. Harry was not usually one to resent anyone anything, but right now he resented Hermione. He poured his anger into his work, scrubbing fiercely at the algae until the bristles of the tiny brush bent and green slime began to spray up at him. Still he scrubbed, his every thought focused on the filthy mortar and not on the people he would soon be leaving behind.
"That's enough," Filch's voice called to him from the stairs. "Don't be late tomorrow or you'll be in for another detention."
Harry frowned as the caretaker stalked off down the corridor. He didn't have a watch to accurately tell him the time, but he was certain he had only just set to work, not that he was foolish enough to argue with an end to the dirty job. As he moved to stand, he realised just how much time must have passed; his muscles screamed at him, legs all but numb from kneeling, arms barely able to move for all the force he had put into scrubbing.
"Stupid," he muttered again, this time at himself. He still had another detention to serve the following day. He really ought to have taken it a bit easier. A shower. That's what he needed. And perhaps a visit to Madam Pomfrey. But definitely a shower before all else.
"What the bloody hell have you been up to?" James demanded. The boy moved to slap him but recoiled when he saw the state Harry was in.
"Scrubbing," Harry mumbled.
"You missed lunch," the Chaser informed him coolly. "And dinner."
"Detention. Sorry."
"If you wear yourself out for Filch and don't eat properly, we don't stand a chance against Slytherin. You might as well say your spell and head home now rather than risk our chances at the Cup."
"Whatever you say, Captain. Just let me shower first." Harry offered a half-hearted salute and stumbled up the stairs to their room. There was a vaguely human shape on his bed; viewed through the film of green algae on his glasses it looked almost like one of the mermen he had seen in the murky depths of the lake. Really it was Sirius on his bed, laying amid the rest of the Weasley Wizarding Wheezes products he was sure he had locked back into his trunk; there was no denying the obnoxiously colourful packaging.
"Shower first. Hex you for breaking into my trunk later."
The boy grinned. "Don't take too long. You know how much I love watching you get all hot and bothered."
Harry was too filthy and sore to flirt back and just grunted a reply.
The water was painfully hot, but he didn't care. It was a joy to be able to feel anything in his limbs. He groaned as the water cascaded down his back, easing the tension in his abused muscles.
"Merlin, I love seeing you all hot and bothered."
Harry started at the voice. "Sirius! What the hell?"
"Can't a bloke enjoy a show?" he questioned, his voice deep and plucking all the right chords inside him. "Although, I was never one for just sitting back and watching."
The blurred shape Harry knew to be Sirius, slid inside the curtained shower stall and grew close enough for him to make out the general details of his body – arms, legs, torso, all naked. Just as he had in his dream, the boy's hands took to examining his scars, sliding across pale skin and caressing the damages as if he might massage them back into his flesh.
"Sirius," he gasped as the boy's hands travelled down past the burn on his side.
"If you're planning to tell me to stop, I wouldn't bother," the boy replied, smirk evident in his voice.
"No, don't stop."
His head fell back against the tiles and the heat flowed down his body as Sirius dropped to his knees. He knew he shouldn't want this as much as he did, that it was wrong to be so attached to someone he would be leaving behind, but he didn't care. He wanted Sirius. He wanted everything he had to offer and as the boy's mouth closed around him he cried out and nearly down himself in the water still pouring from the showerhead.
"Dammit, not again," he groaned and let his forehead crash against the tiles as he felt the emptiness around him.
Hurriedly, he finished his shower and what his overactive imagination had started, rushing through the corridor and back to their dorm. Sirius was there, though he had returned to his own bed. The boy smiled when Harry returned, no doubt noticing the flaming cheeks and ears the damp boy was so desperate to hide.
"Pleasant shower?" he asked causally.
Harry didn't trust himself to reply, and only offered a 'hm' before diving behind his curtains and falling onto the mattress. "What is happening to me?" he asked the darkness.
Sirius came to him later, sliding beneath the sheets and pressing his body on top of him. "Good evening."
"Go away," Harry groaned and tried to shove him off.
"What? I'm insulted."
"Good, maybe you'll stop bothering me when I'm trying to sleep then."
"And shower?" Sirius added with a laugh in his quiet voice.
"That, too," he agreed with an annoyed huff. "Why can't I get through a single minute alone without you popping into my head? I am trying to sleep. If I have another sleepless night, James will have my head."
"Can I have it instead?"
Harry snorted as the boy made a puppy dog whine. That amused snort turned to a groan as the boy slid down his body. "I thought I told you to stop that!"
"I could," Sirius agreed. "Or I could wear you out so you're sure to sleep soundly. Two birds, one stone. Sounds like a fine plan to me." He dropped below the duvet, but Harry could feel every move he made. Oddly, he didn't recall there being quite so many awkwardly placed elbows when he last had this dream, but he ignored them as Sirius settled between his legs and his warm hands set to work. These dreams were getting so much better.
He bucked against the hands. "Get on with it!"
"You are spoiling my fun, Harry," Sirius chided. "But since it's you…" He sighed and the hands stopped.
"Why—?" The question exploded into a moan as that smirking mouth closed around him. It was so hot, so wet, so perfect. He had never felt anything like it, and he was sure he should be waking up right now. This is where the fantasy always ended. His hands flew to his groin, fingers wrapping into the long hair and caressing the warm skin of the other boy's face. "Crap, this isn't a dream."
Sirius licked him in reply, and suddenly Harry didn't care if this was real or imagined so long as he did that again.