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The characters and the situations within these fanfiction stories are
not my property. They are the property of J.K. Rowling, Warner
Brothers, and others, and are used without permission; challenge to
copyright is not intended and should not be construed. No profit is
being made from the use of these characters and situations; these
written-down imaginings are only presented in an internet forum for the
interest of and consumption by the like-minded individuals who enjoy
them and recognize them as unauthorized fanfiction only, and are not in
any way meant to be confused with the originals NOR presented as
authorized materials of these owners.
Even Closer To Me
Summary: "I dropped it in the Forest," he lies.
A/N: Canon-compliant smut. Thanks to fabularasa for the
super-fast beta. The characters are all fictional and thus have no age;
I own nothing in the Potterverse and am only imagining.
A brow wrinkles, a mouth purses. "Little harder. Can't feel it."
"No, no, don't be like that." Sirius's fingers riffle through Harry's
hair, trying to comfort; it's like wind, it's so insubstantial. "Just
try again. A little harder, that's all."
Again Harry moves his hand--sweaty, anxious--along the length of
Sirius's cock, fingers wrapping about it in a grip that he'd be scared
would hurt, were he not trying to bring off a stone-born shade. "Yeah,
I think I felt that this time. Nice."
He thinks he felt it. Shit and damn and bloody fuck.
"Maybe..." Harry swallows, not wanting to say it, but they're both
thinking it so why the hell shouldn't it be said? "Maybe that's what
the Three Brothers tale meant. What it said about how his sweetheart
was distant 'as by a veil.' That maybe they couldn't get closer than
this." He swallows again; he can't unsay it.
Sirius's hand moves to Harry's chin; his fingers pull Harry's face up
so that he's looking right into Sirius's eyes. The tug of his fingers
is faint enough that Harry knows he could resist it, but he doesn't try.
"Sod all stupid children's fairy tales," Sirius says, and kisses Harry
full on the mouth. This, Harry feels. Every bloody fabulous moment of
"Have you seen Harry?"
"Hm? No, I haven't. Wasn't he with you?"
"He was supposed to meet me for a walk."
"Huh. No, haven't seen him. Suppose he's got other things on his mind,
Gin. He's been like that."
"I felt that."
Sirius's warm chuckle against his chest. "Did you now."
Harry's voice is hoarse. "Yeah." Every part of him feels sticky, not
just the seepage around the head of his own cock. "Do that some more?"
Another chuckle, and Sirius obliges, kneading Harry's cock in his fist,
and it's just as fantastic as it was a moment ago. He can feel fingers,
not just vague pressure but the joints and bones of Sirius's hand
squeezing about him, and the answering tightening in his balls is like
a cry. More of the sticky ooze leaks from his cock, and he can feel
that, too--the interface of wetness between his cock and Sirius's hand,
and there's nothing ghostly, nothing shadely, about it at all.
Sirius lifts his head from where his lips have been worrying at Harry's
nipple, and brushes them against the shell of his ear. "You can come
for me now, if you like," husks Sirius, low and wicked and enough to
push Harry over right then.
Truly enough. A well-timed thumb of Sirius's strokes down the underside
of Harry's cock and Harry shouts, arches into Sirius's hands and comes
hot splashing drops in gorgeous pulses that seem to empty him like the
life-giving opposite of a Dementor's Kiss. Oh, it's better than he'd
imagined, better better better. He pants into
Sirius's neck, sweaty and feeling radiant. As if he's...
As if he's beaten death.
He can even feel the arm Sirius has about his neck, feels how it
pillows him, how Sirius's hand lies upon his shoulder. He can feel
Sirius's breath on the side of his face. Things Harry couldn't have
felt at all a few weeks ago. Sirius has become damned good at this.
Harry likes to think he's got something to do with it.
"Half-bad isn't half-bad," jokes Sirius lightly.
Harry shakes his head. "Not half-bad at all."
"Hermione. Where's Harry?"
"Ron, don't be angry at me--I let him sleep. He so looked like he
"I'm not angry, why'd you think that?"
"Oh--just--the look on your--you looked worried."
"Suppose I am. Did you actually look in his bedroom?"
"Why, no. The door's closed. I assumed..."
"Might be what he wants us to assume."
"I wish I could--I dunno, take you somewhere."
Sirius lifts his head. "This is nice." He looks around at the path that
leads down from Shell Cottage: lots of weeds to hide them from anyone
who might come by, but the view of the sea unimpeded. "It's a different
place from the Burrow, too, so, technically you have taken me
somewhere. Not that I'm not happy to be anywhere you are."
"Not what I meant."
"I know what you meant, Harry." Sirius plucks a stem of oniongrass; it
takes him a couple of tries to get it but eventually it yields to the
grip of his fingers and comes away with a tiny snap. "I suppose it
doesn't matter that I don't mind?"
"It matters." Harry tries to smile. He lets the smile go when he feels
its falseness but more, realizes that he doesn't need to put it on, not
when the plain sober truth will serve him better. "It matters enough.
He reaches for Sirius, who takes his hand and interlaces the fingers of
it with his own. Harry can feel every separate division of it and knows
it really was the truth he spoke.
"You've been gone a long time. Fleur thought we should hold dinner for
you, but I said you'd feel bad if you'd thought you'd delayed it for
"It's no problem. Only...only I wonder if keeping to yourself so much
is making you feel better."
"It's not bad. I'm all right."
"We're here, always. I'm not saying you have to talk to us, even. Just
that we're here."
Harry finds himself wishing his eyes were somewhere else on his body,
so that he could do this and watch Sirius's face more easily at the
same time. Sirius's mouth is twisted up and his eyes are slits, and the
idea that he's making Sirius look like that makes Harry double his
efforts, hollowing his cheeks with the effort of his sucking. Sirius
groans, and Harry stops to lay the flat of his tongue against the join
of skin between Sirius's cock and balls, lick hard along the loose
flesh of the sac, until Sirius groans even louder. "Devil," Sirius
mutters, and Harry fights a grin off his face so that he doesn't slack
off in his job.
At last Sirius's hips buck, Harry with almost the full length of
Sirius's cock in his mouth, feeling it nudge the back of his throat as
Sirius shouts and bucks and comes. Harry lets the taste of it drip back
down his tongue, needing the proof of it as one more trophy, even
though Sirius's shouts and shudders and his fingers clutching at
Harry's head should be more than enough.
"Yeah?" he says when he's at last released Sirius's cock, when Sirius's
eyes are on him and Harry is making a show of licking a drop from his
lower lip, just because.
"Yeah," Sirius echoes with a laugh. "What on earth must I taste like,
you cheeky pup?"
"Starlight," says Harry, and Sirius makes a face and cuffs him, but
fondly. And then he wrestles Harry into a kiss, his tongue chasing the
remnants of his own come from the inside of Harry's mouth, and the
shocks of that are so electric Harry fancies he wasn't just being
poetic after all, really.
"I dropped it in the Forest," he lies, surprised that he can
tell a lie to a portrait, and that Dumbledore does not see through it
instantly. But Dumbledore does not, and Harry can feel the stone in the
pouch around his neck, waiting, waiting for him. As he imagines he can
feel Sirius still by his side, waiting, waiting for him.
"It's Sirius, isn't it? I heard you say his name."
"I won't tell anyone else. I just--I just want you to be happy. And I'm
afraid--afraid of what will happen if this drives you mad. 'Hopeless
longing.' Oh, Harry, we can't lose you to this!"
"You won't. It's...not like that."
"How can it not be?"
"That's how they told the tale to children. I'm not a child and this
isn't a fairy tale. It's different."
"I want to believe you."
"Hermione. I promise you this. I won't kill myself over it, all right?
Not going to happen."
"Don't look like that, please. I mean it; it's really all
"You can bring the others back, too."
Harry starts, closes his hand about the stone. He hadn't realized
Sirius was there. Though he should have expected it; Sirius is usually
content to wander unseen in whatever dwelling they're staying in, but
here in Grimmauld Place Sirius tends to stay close to him.
"It's not like I'm selfish." Sirius leans back on the bed, shakes his
long hair out of his face. "That I need to be the only one. You can
have your time with them, too, really."
Harry looks at him, shakes his head at last as he replaces the stone in
the pouch. "I can't. I'm afraid of what they'll say."
A wry smile. "Of how much time you're spending with ghosts, or that
your godfather's defiling their dear boy?"
Harry ducks his head. "The latter, I guess." He looks at Sirius more
directly. "You're not a ghost."
"Suppose not." The smile widens into a grin. "Ghosts can't do this."
Sirius reaches forward and begins to undo Harry's flies as if such
physical barriers never once gave him trouble, and the bite he worries
into the join of Harry's neck and shoulder is slow and fierce and ends
just below the point of pain. It is enough.
"I heard you were thinking of getting a place in Godric's Hollow."
"I was, yeah."
"Not that I mind. I just sort of thought I'd have heard about it first
from Ginny or Hermione. Not from an estate agent who left a message."
"Of course, once I would have heard about it first from you. I don't
really expect that so much these days."
"Ron. Ron, I'm sorry."
"Yeah, well, me too. I'm still your friend, you know? I'm even your
mate, if you want to be that too. Let me know if you want to talk about
"Okay. I'm--thanks, Ron. Not--right now..."
"It's all right. You and me, you know? I'm here, when you want me."
"Fuck me," Harry begs, hearing the unfamiliar words fall from his mouth
and inflaming him even further with their obscenity. "Do it. Fuck me."
He's on his knees, his own hands spreading his arse wide and Sirius
growls with animal lust as he comes up behind him, draping his own
naked body to cover Harry's. Harry groans, feeling the bluntness of
Sirius's cock and balls knock against his spread crack, and then Sirius
backs off to place his thumbs at either side of Harry's arsecheeks and
push them open further, ducking his head and spitting a tangible gob of
saliva directly upon Harry's anus. His tongue follows it, laving more
spit into the crack, and Harry nearly sobs with the agony of his
And then Sirius is up against him again and his cock is huge and
remorseless and breaches Harry in a fiery burn of glory, hard,
enormous, truly too much for him and Harry thinks he'll die with the
joy of that. Sirius sheathes himself completely and pulls nearly out
and does it again, and again, and Harry can hear him saying, "Like
that? Like that, you cock-hungry slut? My cock-hungry slut?" and Harry
babbles words he never imagined could come from him, all yes
yes more and I am, I'm your cock-hungry slut, yours
all yours and make it hurt more please please
please. His orgasm is an explosion, a death, a moment he
can't imagine living past, and Sirius gives him the violence of his own
orgasm to match his and the entire world stops for them, useless
They don't talk about how long it will last. Sirius insists that Harry
get out of the house frequently, and for more than just shopping. Harry
knows that Sirius is trying to think of Harry's best interests and that
it would be best for Harry to meet someone else, but Sirius thankfully
isn't so noble that he can stop himself from fucking Harry in just the
way they both like.
Harry's friends don't fail to visit, though Ginny comes by less and
less and Harry's glad of it; it's not fair to her. He wishes she
wouldn't keep saying, "I'll wait. It's all right."
Hermione's kept her word, not told. He knows because Ron still doesn't
know, hasn't said anything, seems content just to be on better terms
When Hermione looks at him, Harry can almost see her running the text
of Beedle the Bard through her head. He wishes he
could convince her not to worry.
It's not perfect, but it's enough.
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