Despoiling Harry

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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. 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.

Nothing Near Inebriated
by Amanuensis

Pairing: James/Sirius
Categories: Angst
Notes: From a challenge by nimori: Sirius/James: Bending the rules, but not breaking them.


"You can't have asked me in here to hold your head while you puke. You've barely quaffed anything stronger than butterbeer all night."

"Stronger than that, you git, but not at the puking stage yet, no." James peered through the crack in the lavatory door at the corridor outside. "Maybe I just needed to get away from the repetition of hearing our mates call this my 'stag night' and having to see you give me the most fucking annoying winks when you think they're not looking. You're about as subtle as a bludger to the goolies."

"Ah, Moony and Peter were doing the same thing."

"They were not. It was you, you, and you." James turned from the door. "It's always you, you, and you, Pads."

It was on Sirius's lips to crack wise in his defense, but as Sirius saw James's expression, all speech fled. The look was naked. And even his inner six-year-old's urge to giggle at the word was squelched because that was the only word for the look, lacking humor or armor or anything other than bared emotion, wanting and open and so very much at Sirius's mercy.

"Always you," James repeated, because it was true, Sirius wasn't good at subtle, but he'd had to have been a good deal more drunk to have missed that look.

He swallowed. "I...we talked about this. I won't--"

"We didn't talk." James took a step closer. "You talked. You said it's all right, Prongsy, you've got your girl now and I understand; I'm still going to be your best mate even if we don't have that anymore, and I listened, Pads, I listened because I couldn't make myself kill what was obviously such a brave speech for you. I listened. I didn't talk. You...made sure I couldn't."

"Now, hang on--"

"No, you hang on. I don't even want to talk anymore; I've had more to drink than you think and I'll just start slurring things. I lost my chance to talk, so I'll just go right for the action, shall I?"

And Sirius found himself pinned against the lavatory wall. James's hands were on his chest, and there was a half-hard cock pushing against his own through two sets of trouser cloth, and James's mouth, not on Sirius's mouth but on his neck, biting, sucking--as if to say, yes, I'm done with the talk, you talk if it means so much to you.

Though all Sirius could manage was a "Gnuh."

The hands left his chest and went to work on his trouser buttons; James never had failed to be a man of action. Whether it was the alcohol or the surging understanding that the sweetness Sirius had believed he was never going to have again was happening to him right here and now--or possibly just the prospect of hushed and hurried sex in a public lav--Sirius was completely hard by the time the buttons were undone. So hard that there was already wetness smearing over James's fingers at the first touch of his hand.

"Fuck," said Sirius, achieving an actual--if unprintable--word this time. "James..." Neither was a word that would get him to stop, though.  Sirius was having the hardest time understanding why he would even want James to stop, but then the word and the reason lined themselves up like some peg-in-board puzzle, and he said both: "Lily..."

"No," said James, pulling his mouth from Sirius's neck, "not tonight. Tomorrow you can say 'Lily,' and I'll say Lily back to you, and we can talk about it. Tonight--" and he kissed Sirius on the mouth after all-- "I'm not married to Lily yet."

Of course Sirius knew that that wasn't the answer, not at all, and of course there would be oceans to talk about once they did talk--but tonight James wanted it to be the answer so much, so much, that Sirius couldn't do anything but let it be. Because this was James, this was Jamie, this was Prongs, and Sirius had thought it had cost him his soul to make that I understand speech so many months ago.

James slithered to his knees, and all Sirius could do was brace himself against the wall as James took his cock into his mouth, pulling him in with one long hollowing of his cheeks and a suction that almost did for him right then. One hand reached inside the tangle of fabric to cup and hold Sirius's balls, and the other was down James's own trousers now, moving as rapidly as James's tongue was, up and down the underside of Sirius's prick like a finger beckoning him towards damnation, and wasn't that about the shape of things. Sirius wanted to throw back his head and howl, but instead kept his eyes on James's face as he came, until his eyes watered with the need to shut them tight and just feel--but he couldn't miss a moment of Jamie closing his own eyes as Sirius's come spilled over his tongue and the back of his throat and him swallowing it down like it was the best thing he'd had to drink all evening.

He had enough strength to stay on his feet after, but not enough, it seemed, to do up his own trousers as James had his own shuddering orgasm kneeling on the floor in front of him. He should have been the one to do it for him, he thought wanderingly. Even if they were in a public lavatory and anyone could have walked in at any moment--

Sirius got his trouser buttons done up. If they did walk in, the scene now looked not too far off from a bout of drunken nausea after all.

"James," he said.

James had taken his sticky hand out of his trousers. It glistened on his lap, and Sirius felt a rising urge to lick it.

"Tomorrow," James said.

Sirius knew the word was a promise.

Whether to him or to Lily, he couldn't be arsed to ask.



Despoiling Harry

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