HP one shots

Sweetheart // Sirry

Summary:

Living with Sirius would be easier if Harry didn't get turned on every time his godfather called him 'sweetheart'...
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"Thanks, sweetheart."

Sirius's thumb runs across the skin at the back of Harry's wrist, just for a second, and Harry finds himself biting back a gasp. How can such a simple touch feel like this? It sends tingles through Harry's skin, pooling heat in his groin.

"Erm, that's okay," he says hastily, turning away.

This is Sirius, this is his godfather, for Merlin's sake. And yes, okay, Harry might only recently have discovered that he's attracted to men (belatedly: most people realise before they're nineteen, and before they've tried to have a long term relationship with a woman, though Ginny seemed as relieved to break up as Harry was, if truth be told). But still, this is Sirius. Of all the people to start a badly timed and ill-advised crush on, Sirius is... Harry is living with Sirius, for fuck's sake. He's – it's just –

It's not going to happen. That's what. Harry tells himself this very firmly indeed, and if when he wanks off that night, there is a shadowy-faced older man, murmuring 'sweetheart' in a low toned voice, it's just chance. It's fine. It's nothing to do with what happened earlier.

*

Except Sirius seems to call him that a lot. Sweetheart.

"Can you pass the salt please, sweetheart?"

"Night, sweetheart."

"You do that so well, sweetheart."

Harry is embarrassed by how strongly that last one turns him on. The combination of Sirius calling him sweetheart and praising him for something is... He has taken to wearing baggy jumpers in the house, even over his pyjamas, because his cock throbs and fills so easily to the sound of Sirius's deep, husky voice giving him praise. Especially combined with the little touches. Sirius has always been a hugger, pulling Harry into his arms when he's especially pleased, or Harry seems sad, or even if they haven't seen each other much for a few days. But there are all these other little touches, too – brushing Harry's hair out of his eyes; resting a hand on his arm when they look over things together; ruffling his hair as he passes by. Was Sirius always this tactile? Is it just that Harry is noticing it more now?

*

He's given up pretending it isn't Sirius in his fantasies. The shadowy figure has been getting less and less shadowy, more and more like the real man that Harry shares Grimmauld Place with. He says things Harry's heard Sirius say, though maybe not in the same context.

"Oh God, there, Harry sweetheart. Yes, that's wonderful, just there... fuck."

Harry was massaging Sirius's shoulders when Sirius really said those words. In Harry's fantasy, he's touching him somewhere very different as he hears Sirius's voice in his head and his own hand slides slickly over his prick. Sirius, who looks younger every year that Azkaban fades further away, who is once again the handsome man Harry saw in his parents' photos. (In his parents' photos, though, as if to remind Harry how wrong it is to be thinking of Sirius in this way. His dad's best friend. His father's friend.)

Sirius, who...

"Sirius, please," Harry groans, his motions on his cock growing faster and firmer. "Sirius..."

"Harry?"

Sirius's voice. But not in his head. Coming from the doorway. Harry jerks to attention, his mostly-closed eyes suddenly wide open. His hand falls away from his prick as he makes an awful, embarrassing, scrabbled effort to cover himself, to pretend that he wasn't doing what it is quite clear that he was doing.