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Not for the first time, Peter Pettigrew feels small. He isn't in his animagus form but he still feels like the rat under the heat of Sirius Black's dark scrutinizing, dirty and worthless and shameful.
Slowly, Sirius takes a swig of the Firewhiskey he grips in his hand, steel grey eyes never leaving Peter's crimson face. "You're for real, mate?" His voice is low and sensual and Peter's pants stiffen even more, his body turning against him. He honestly would have accused Sirius of doing these things on purpose if he didn't already know the truth -- that Sirius Black had simply been made with the intention of perfection, from his angular face to his chiseled jaw to his perfectly bouncy ebony curls. He'd been made to seduce and taught to command attention, to make others listen, to make everyone want him.
"Y-yeah," Peter squeaks, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He sounds weak and he hates it. He wants it. He wants Sirius.
So why is it so damn hard to form words?Why is his voice cracking like he's 13 again and has just seen James Potter naked for the first time -- no, no, no James. Not now. Not when Sirius is here and considering and not throwing punches or bottles of Firewhiskey at him or storming out the door. Not when Sirius is looking at him like that, like he's both insignificant and fascinating at the same time. Not when someone might see him, if only for a moment.
"And you think this will help?"Another swig. A vague hand gesture. "Me?Us?"
"Yes," Peter says and he gives himself a mental pat on the back for not stuttering like a dunce.
"Sounds pretty stupid to me, Wormtail."
"May I remind you who the Marauders are?" Peter tries for a cocky grin but fails miserably and just ends up awkwardly grimacing. The corner of Sirius' mouth twitches upwards, as if he were going to smile but decided against it. "We thrive on stupidity, Padfoot. Unless you've forgotten, with all your secret missions for the Greater Good."
A shadow crosses over Sirius' face even as he gives in and chuckles, shaking his head. This time when he drinks, he throws his head back and drains at least a quarter of the bottle's contents, which he'd been sipping on for at least an hour. His Adam's Apple bobs up and down as he swallows and Peter can't help following the movement with his eyes, arousal building up in the pit of his stomach, his erection bordering on painful. The smallest of whimpers falls from his lips and had Sirius been in his animagus form, his ears would have twitched as he became alert.
Sirius slowly sets the bottle down on the little coffee table in front of Peter's lousy couch, which he'd claimed upon arrival and had lounged on for most of the night. He stares at Peter for what feels like ages, as if looking for something vital, before shaking his head again and letting out what sounds like a sigh that Peter chooses to ignore.
"Alright, Pete. C'mere."
Peter tries not to let too much of his excitement show but fuck, it's difficult. He practically leaps to his feet and crosses the distance between his chair and the couch in seconds, plopping down next to Sirius as his friend readjusts himself, muttering under his breath.
For a few heartbeats, Peter thinks Sirius is backing out. Or fucking with him. Or both. He thinks that this is surely a dream, too good to be true, and any moment he will wake up and he'll have to shower, get dressed, eat a meager breakfast, and go to the Leaky Cauldron to work his shift. He'll wake up and have to remember that there's a war and Voldemort is out there and people are dying. He'll have to wake up and see James and Lily and baby Harry, all smiling and happy. The perfect little family. He'll have to see the longing in Remus Lupin's eyes as he beholds Sirius, the softness that takes over Sirius' face whenever Remus is around or happy or excited or, well, Remus.
He'll wake up and he'll be alone.
Then, Sirius is kissing him and -- yes, yes, oh fuck yes -- it feels every bit as good as he'd always fantasized. The kiss is intense. Sirius is cupping his face and nibbling on his bottom lip and yes, his tongue is slipping into his mouth and Peter moans unabashedly. He thinks he can feel Sirius smirking against his lips but he doesn't care too much. Peter hasn't felt this good in a long time, not since James had --
Peter moans. Sirius' hands start exploring his body, sliding under his shirt to pinch his nipples and roam his chest, clutching his arse, his hips. It all feels so good. So good in fact that he really shouldn't be thinking about James at all because all of that had happened before Lily had given him a chance and before Harry and before the Order. Before everything went to shit, when life was simple and it was all textbooks and turning live animals into utensils and the stupid, endless fucking Goblin Wars.
James' kiss and James' touch had been before. Sirius is now and hard as a rock and grinding against him. Peter doesn't know what will happen after though.
As Sirius lays him down and he spreads his legs wide, he wonders. As Sirius' belt unbuckles and a soft lubrication spell is uttered that leaves him feeling strange and wonderful at the same time, he thinks.
Words like 'after' are terrifying. Almost as much as 'future' and 'consequences' and even worse --
Regret.