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a Fic! *gasp*
Yes, I am still writing! Amazing, isn't it? Okay, wanna thank my betas ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dark_soul_lost and cblm. This is for Cai. ^^ For once it isn't H/D, either! *gasp*
~*~*~*~*~
Remus had cried again last night.
Sirius had pretended to be asleep. When Remus rose, Sirius rolled over and tasted the salty tears from the rough cotton of the pillowcase. He tried to remember what it felt like to care.
Sirius pulled his cloak tighter around him as he wandered the dark streets, keeping his eyes away from the shadowed corners by staring down at his feet. He was briefly tempted by the idea of transforming into his canine body and running rampant through the stores in an attempt to find anyone he knew, but dismissed the idea after worrying it with mental teeth for a few moments. His desire for play, just like his desire for anything else, had vanished the day the Order of the Phoenix won the Great Battle against Voldemort and his godson had died.
Everything in Diagon Alley seemed muted and gray. Harry had once teased him that dogs only saw in black-and-white, but Sirius had never thought about how true that was for him. He’d always seen in black-and-white. Good, Bad. Harry, Voldemort. Living, Dead.
"You looking for a bit of company?" The clear question roused Sirius out of his thoughts, and he half turned to see a boy watching him carefully. The boy was wearing torn black jeans and a T-shirt, rough hands with rather short fingers lifting a cigarette up for a slow drag as dark eyes that were far too wide for comfort stared unflinchingly at him. There was something about that voice—that lilt—which was vaguely familiar.
"It depends on what kind of company you’re offering," Sirius answered, stepping closer.
The boy smiled, a rather unfriendly baring of teeth. He took another drag off his cigarette. "What do you think?"
"I think you’re a little boy who needs to run home to Mother," Sirius answered with a shrug.
The boy’s eyes narrowed. "My mother is dead, and I’m not a boy. My name’s Seamus."
"Oh, I’m sorry, Seamus." Sirius looked Seamus up and down, a wry grin pulling his mouth to the side. That name seemed very familiar, but Sirius couldn’t place it. "What can I do for you?"
Seamus sighed. "It’s not what you can do for me, it’s what I can do for you." Seamus dropped the cigarette and ground it beneath his heel slowly before stepping up to Sirius and smoothing his hands over the older man’s chest. Before Sirius could blink, Seamus’ mouth was on his, open and wet, and Sirius deepened the kiss on a whim. Seamus tasted of dust and ashes, and it suited Sirius perfectly.
He stepped away. "Let’s go, then."
Seamus nodded and led Sirius to a slightly dilapidated building, the brick crumbling in a near waterfall of gravel. Once inside, Seamus kissed Sirius again, and Sirius pushed him away. "Take off your clothes." Seamus blinked at him for a moment and shrugged, peeling off his T-shirt as Sirius went to the bathroom to remove his clothing. This would be quick.
Seamus was naked on the torn bed when Sirius came out, lying on his stomach and staring at the wall in front of him. Sirius stroked himself to hardness and cast a Preventive Charm that would protect him from any illnesses the boy-whore might have contracted and paused, tilting his head. "Seamus…" The name rolled off his tongue, a misty half-memory, but he couldn’t place it.
"I’m ready whenever you are," came Seamus’ muffled answer.
Sirius made a sound and knelt on the bed, between Seamus’ legs. He placed the tip of his wand against Seamus’ backside and whispered a lubrication charm before setting it carefully aside.
For several minutes, there was silence, broken only by grunts and the sound of creaking bedsprings protesting under the weighted motion as Sirius stared down at the sandy hair that itched his memory like a biting flea. "Did you go to Hogwarts?" Sirius queried, simultaneous with a deep thrust.
"Hasn’t everyone in England?" Came Seamus’ diffident answer.
"Then… you knew Harry Potter." Sirius had only asked this question of one other, of a boy he had taken for the simple fact that to triumph over him had been like triumphing over his oldest enemy.
Seamus laughed. "You’re an odd one, wanting conversation. I must not be doing my job." Seamus tightened his muscles abruptly around Sirius, and Sirius gasped before continuing. While the sex was decent, he didn’t care whether he orgasmed now that he found a more interesting use for his bedfellow.
"What house were you in, then?" Sirius asked as he caught his breath.
Seamus shuddered as he clenched around Sirius, and answered, "Gryffindor. Harry Potter was in my year, all right? He was my friend. Could we please stop talking and finish this?"
This boy knew Harry. Sirius stroked Seamus’ sandy hair with a tender motion, and pulled out from the boy’s body smoothly.
He wouldn’t make this one bleed.
"Where are you going?" Seamus asked listlessly, and Sirius shook his head, not particularly caring that Seamus’ face was still down on the pillow and therefore wouldn’t see the movement. Sirius went into the bathroom and rinsed himself off before pulling on his clothing again. When he came back out, Seamus was sitting up, watching Sirius with a curious boredom.
Sirius leaned against the wall. "I knew Harry."
Seamus cast his eyes to the worn wooden floor. "He was a great person." After a long pause, Seamus continued. "Sometimes I wonder what the world would be like if he lived. I wonder what would have happened if…"
Sirius pulled away from the wall and tossed Seamus a pouch of galleons, and gave a wry smile at Seamus’ frown. "Go get a meal. Get out of here for a while. Harry wouldn’t have wanted to see one of his friends like this. Take care of yourself." With that, Sirius strode out of the room and left Seamus behind him.
Sirius paused just outside the door, his forehead wrinkled in a pseudo-realization. He was disturbed at the thought that he had been willing to hurt this boy and enjoy it, just as he had so many times before.
The war and reconstruction had done something that even Azkaban hadn’t been able to do.
It had taken away his soul.
With an empty, mental shrug, Sirius transformed into his Animagus appearance and darted down the alleyway. With any luck, he could get home, wash his clothes, and take a shower before Remus came home. The last time Remus had smelled another person on him, they had shouted at each other for three days.
Sirius didn’t feel like fighting.
~*~*~*~*~
dark_soul_lost and cblm. This is for Cai. ^^ For once it isn't H/D, either! *gasp* ~*~*~*~*~
Remus had cried again last night.
Sirius had pretended to be asleep. When Remus rose, Sirius rolled over and tasted the salty tears from the rough cotton of the pillowcase. He tried to remember what it felt like to care.
Sirius pulled his cloak tighter around him as he wandered the dark streets, keeping his eyes away from the shadowed corners by staring down at his feet. He was briefly tempted by the idea of transforming into his canine body and running rampant through the stores in an attempt to find anyone he knew, but dismissed the idea after worrying it with mental teeth for a few moments. His desire for play, just like his desire for anything else, had vanished the day the Order of the Phoenix won the Great Battle against Voldemort and his godson had died.
Everything in Diagon Alley seemed muted and gray. Harry had once teased him that dogs only saw in black-and-white, but Sirius had never thought about how true that was for him. He’d always seen in black-and-white. Good, Bad. Harry, Voldemort. Living, Dead.
"You looking for a bit of company?" The clear question roused Sirius out of his thoughts, and he half turned to see a boy watching him carefully. The boy was wearing torn black jeans and a T-shirt, rough hands with rather short fingers lifting a cigarette up for a slow drag as dark eyes that were far too wide for comfort stared unflinchingly at him. There was something about that voice—that lilt—which was vaguely familiar.
"It depends on what kind of company you’re offering," Sirius answered, stepping closer.
The boy smiled, a rather unfriendly baring of teeth. He took another drag off his cigarette. "What do you think?"
"I think you’re a little boy who needs to run home to Mother," Sirius answered with a shrug.
The boy’s eyes narrowed. "My mother is dead, and I’m not a boy. My name’s Seamus."
"Oh, I’m sorry, Seamus." Sirius looked Seamus up and down, a wry grin pulling his mouth to the side. That name seemed very familiar, but Sirius couldn’t place it. "What can I do for you?"
Seamus sighed. "It’s not what you can do for me, it’s what I can do for you." Seamus dropped the cigarette and ground it beneath his heel slowly before stepping up to Sirius and smoothing his hands over the older man’s chest. Before Sirius could blink, Seamus’ mouth was on his, open and wet, and Sirius deepened the kiss on a whim. Seamus tasted of dust and ashes, and it suited Sirius perfectly.
He stepped away. "Let’s go, then."
Seamus nodded and led Sirius to a slightly dilapidated building, the brick crumbling in a near waterfall of gravel. Once inside, Seamus kissed Sirius again, and Sirius pushed him away. "Take off your clothes." Seamus blinked at him for a moment and shrugged, peeling off his T-shirt as Sirius went to the bathroom to remove his clothing. This would be quick.
Seamus was naked on the torn bed when Sirius came out, lying on his stomach and staring at the wall in front of him. Sirius stroked himself to hardness and cast a Preventive Charm that would protect him from any illnesses the boy-whore might have contracted and paused, tilting his head. "Seamus…" The name rolled off his tongue, a misty half-memory, but he couldn’t place it.
"I’m ready whenever you are," came Seamus’ muffled answer.
Sirius made a sound and knelt on the bed, between Seamus’ legs. He placed the tip of his wand against Seamus’ backside and whispered a lubrication charm before setting it carefully aside.
For several minutes, there was silence, broken only by grunts and the sound of creaking bedsprings protesting under the weighted motion as Sirius stared down at the sandy hair that itched his memory like a biting flea. "Did you go to Hogwarts?" Sirius queried, simultaneous with a deep thrust.
"Hasn’t everyone in England?" Came Seamus’ diffident answer.
"Then… you knew Harry Potter." Sirius had only asked this question of one other, of a boy he had taken for the simple fact that to triumph over him had been like triumphing over his oldest enemy.
Seamus laughed. "You’re an odd one, wanting conversation. I must not be doing my job." Seamus tightened his muscles abruptly around Sirius, and Sirius gasped before continuing. While the sex was decent, he didn’t care whether he orgasmed now that he found a more interesting use for his bedfellow.
"What house were you in, then?" Sirius asked as he caught his breath.
Seamus shuddered as he clenched around Sirius, and answered, "Gryffindor. Harry Potter was in my year, all right? He was my friend. Could we please stop talking and finish this?"
This boy knew Harry. Sirius stroked Seamus’ sandy hair with a tender motion, and pulled out from the boy’s body smoothly.
He wouldn’t make this one bleed.
"Where are you going?" Seamus asked listlessly, and Sirius shook his head, not particularly caring that Seamus’ face was still down on the pillow and therefore wouldn’t see the movement. Sirius went into the bathroom and rinsed himself off before pulling on his clothing again. When he came back out, Seamus was sitting up, watching Sirius with a curious boredom.
Sirius leaned against the wall. "I knew Harry."
Seamus cast his eyes to the worn wooden floor. "He was a great person." After a long pause, Seamus continued. "Sometimes I wonder what the world would be like if he lived. I wonder what would have happened if…"
Sirius pulled away from the wall and tossed Seamus a pouch of galleons, and gave a wry smile at Seamus’ frown. "Go get a meal. Get out of here for a while. Harry wouldn’t have wanted to see one of his friends like this. Take care of yourself." With that, Sirius strode out of the room and left Seamus behind him.
Sirius paused just outside the door, his forehead wrinkled in a pseudo-realization. He was disturbed at the thought that he had been willing to hurt this boy and enjoy it, just as he had so many times before.
The war and reconstruction had done something that even Azkaban hadn’t been able to do.
It had taken away his soul.
With an empty, mental shrug, Sirius transformed into his Animagus appearance and darted down the alleyway. With any luck, he could get home, wash his clothes, and take a shower before Remus came home. The last time Remus had smelled another person on him, they had shouted at each other for three days.
Sirius didn’t feel like fighting.
~*~*~*~*~