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Hermione stood before the entrance of the Malfoys’ grandest ballroom, unable to cross the threshold.
It would be her first public event since being sworn in as Minister, and she was sweating, thinking about it. A nudge at her side broke her from the beginnings of what was surely to become a full-blown panic attack and had her looking over and up at her now constant companion.
“Everything alright, kitten?” As much as the moniker typically made her see red, she could appreciate the wanker’s attempt at chasing her anxiety away.
“Sirius, I’ve told you a thousand bloody times.” She attempted in a chiding voice, knowing it would do her no good. “You absolutely cannot call me that in public, especially now. Minister is preferable while you’re on the job, but I would even settle for Hermione or Ms. Granger.”
He grinned down at her and pinched her side before she had the chance to swat his hand away.
“I’ll see what I can do, Minister. But no promises.” The wink he sent her way made her growl in frustration.
Couldn’t they have found anyone else for this job? It was a question she’d asked Harry as soon as the memo had come in from her best friend, who was now the head of the DMLE.
“He was the first to volunteer and the most qualified, Hermione. There is no one I trust more to do this job. That makes sense, doesn’t it? You two will just have to learn to get along.”
She hated that Harry was always right about that sort of thing. Sirius saved her arse twice since then and hadn’t let her forget it. If Hermione had known this would eventually be her life, she would never have brought him back from the Veil all those years ago.
He smirked down at her as if he knew exactly what she was thinking and combed dark hair out of his eyes with a tattooed hand. Her stomach clenched at the sight. Prick.
Smoothing down the silken black fabric of her dress, she lifted her head and gathered all the confidence and poise waiting in her arsenal.
On her first step over the threshold, she glanced behind her and murmured, “Do keep up, Black.”
***
The rest of the walk into the ballroom was easy after that. Hermione allowed the mask she’d crafted for when she was in the public eye to settle over her features, and she smiled demurely, greeting foreign dignitaries and friends alike as she traversed the room. Her goal tonight was to raise enough funds to fully renovate the Janus Thickey ward in St. Mungo’s, and she wouldn’t leave until she’d done just that.
Hour after hour, Sirius’s steady and reassuring presence remained at her back, allowing her to focus the entirety of her brainpower on rubbing elbows with old, rich windbags. He may be a thorn in her side most days, but even she couldn’t deny that she wouldn’t be able to do her job to the best of her ability without him.
It was after a second heated conversation with one of the more conservative members who sat on Mungo’s board that she felt a large hand grip her hip and squeeze.
***
“I’m sorry, Minister, I’m afraid I have to steal you away for a bit.” Sirius had grown tired of the blustering idiot standing before Hermione minutes ago. It was only after noticing just how tense her posture had become that he decided to put an end to their conversation. “Urgent matters, you see, Rosier. I’m sure you understand.”
The man grumbled his displeasure, but Sirius had already turned Hermione toward the direction of the dance floor and started leading her over. She needed to loosen up, and the solution was directly in front of them.
As expected, she immediately attempted to step out of his grasp. It was cute that she thought she could dodge him after all this time. Sirius was not interested in allowing her to have her way right now. He knew what was best for the witch, and he intended to give her mind a bit of rest, even if—no, when—she insisted she didn’t need it.
“Sirius,” she hissed, taking care to speak quietly enough for only him to hear. “What on earth do you think you’re doing? I have several more prospective donors to speak with. I don’t have time for this.”
He chuckled, “Kitten, didn’t you know? You reached your goal over an hour ago. I think it’s time for a break, don’t you?”
Her head whipped to the side, and she stared up at him, mouth agape. He had to glance away after a minute. After watching those blood-red lips open into a pretty little ‘o’. If he didn’t think about something else, and quickly, every spare ounce of blood would be heading south. Hell, he was already half-hard. “What….Sirius, are you serious?”
He curled his pointer finger and tapped the bottom of her chin as a signal for her to close it before the press snagged a picture of her looking up at him like that. “Aren’t I always?”
She huffed and nudged him with her hip. It was the most fight he would get out of her in a room filled with people watching her like a hawk. Merlin, it was too easy to rile her. And now to take things a step further…
They’d finally reached the edge of the dance floor, and she immediately baulked when he moved to tug her to where several couples began the first steps of a waltz.
“Sirius, no. I’m happy to hear we’ve reached our intended goal, but it really wouldn’t hurt to try for more.” She was looking up at him with eyes that blazed with determination. Gods, she would bring such positive change to this world. It took the breath straight from his lungs some days. He couldn’t believe he’d been graced with this second chance at life, and from the very moment he’d awoken to those Firewhiskey eyes, he made a promise to himself to do whatever it took to ensure she would have the life she deserved after years of such hardship and loss.
“Kitten, I’ll be damned if I can’t slow dance with you after the night you’ve had. Just once. Just for tonight. Let’s celebrate, you and me.” He looked down at her, hoping, praying, that she’d agree. He’d been itching to get his hands on her from the moment he stepped through the Floo and saw that dress. It should be criminal, the way the slit parted to expose one of her tanned, toned thighs with every step she took.
After what felt like an agonising amount of seconds, she nodded minutely and he tugged her onto the dance floor before she could change her mind.
A woosh of laughter gusted out of her as he twirled her once before settling one of his hands on her waist and scooping one of hers up with the other. He tucked their clasped hands to his chest and after a heartbeat, she slid her free hand up his arm, across his shoulder, and to the nape of his neck. It tickled a bit, the feel of her smooth skin rubbing up against the hair at the base of his skull. He wished she’d sink her fingers in. Pull a little if he were lucky.
“Don’t make me regret this, Black.” She frowned up at him, but he could tell it was all a ruse. Her eyes glimmered with mischief, and it took every ounce of willpower not to dip his head a few inches and kiss the mock look of displeasure from those lush lips.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Minister.”
They would have time for such things later. He would make sure of it.
***
Hermione laughed loudly and stumbled a step before colliding with a solid chest. The air whooshed from her lungs, which only made her laugh all the harder.
“Christ, Sirius, why did you let her drink this much?”
“Oh bugger off, Harry. Let her live a little. Merlin knows how long it's been since she’s let go like this.”
“I can’t believe I’m saying this…But I agree with the Weasel. She seems to have lost the constipated look that’s generally plastered to her face while she’s working.”
“Her happiness is effervescent, wouldn’t you agree, Sirius?”
They were talking about her as if she wasn’t there but she didn’t mind. She also wasn’t about to clue Harry into the fact that she wasn’t all that drunk. It was the company she was in—Harry, Ron, and Draco and the rest of the motley mix of Gryffindor, Slytherin, and Ravenclaw—that had made her this way, not the few extra flutes of champagne she’d imbibed.
They had become more than just a friend group. They were her family. The only place she felt safe enough to let go and just…be.
A broad hand slid up the length of her bare spine until it reached the base of her neck, fingers digging into knotted muscles and pressing down until it was all she could do to bite back a moan. He was the other reason. He and his larger-than-life presence and his warmth and the way he provoked her. His stupid motorbike and his tattoos and the way he blew smoke rings into her face when she chided him about silly little things like lung cancer.
“Effervescent is one word for it, Luna.” Sirius chuckled, and the grip on her neck tightened for a fraction of a second before loosening and then falling away altogether. She felt the absence of it like a hex to the chest. “Alright, Minister. I think it’s past your bedtime. Let’s get you home.”
Sounds of protest were uttered in varying degrees of volume around her and she smiled. “Unfortunately, I think the old dog is right.” He playfully snapped his teeth in her direction. “I’ve got to be up early tomorrow morning for a press conference.”
She spent the next several minutes saying her goodbyes until it was only the two of them left.
Minister and bodyguard.
But weren’t they more than that? Hadn’t she given up a piece of her soul to pull him free of the Veil? It was something they’d spoken about only once. In the early days after his… retrieval… he’d had a hard time assimilating back into everyday life. Well, living, really. He drank often and in great quantities, and it was during one of those benders when he’d cornered her after the family dinners Harry insisted on hosting weekly.
“I could feel you, you know? Your soul? It was a halo of light, wrenching me from the darkness. From the quiet. I hated you for it. Some days I still do.” He’d braced his forearms against the wall on either side of her head and pressed in close. She could smell the whiskey on his breath and felt the heat of his skin through the thin fabric of his plain black t-shirt.
“You’re still there. Here.” He’d brought a hand down, clenched it into a fist, and pressed his knuckles against his chest until they whitened. “Right fucking here, and you won’t leave. Why couldn’t you have just let me be?” His face had been inches from hers at that point, teeth bared. They stood, both breathing so heavily that their chests brushed on each inhale. She hadn’t known what to say or what to do, only that she felt a pull to him that scared her. He must have sensed it, or come to his senses, because he’d pushed himself off the wall and stalked away and wasn’t seen for the rest of the night. And then, shortly after, he’d gotten sober and acted as if the interaction had never happened in the first place.
She wondered if he even still remembered it.
***
Sirius worked his fingers into the knot of his tie and loosened it until he was able to pull the damned thing off entirely. When he found he still couldn’t properly breathe, he accepted it was, as he originally thought, due to the woman standing before him and not that his collar had been overly tight.
He needed to get her home so he could fuck his hand and be rid of the heat that had been pulsing in his half-hard cock for the last few hours. Why he thought it would be a good idea to dance a fucking waltz with her was beyond him. The minute her tits had come into contact with his chest, he’d been done for.
“Sirius?”
“Hmm?” He blinked down at his companion to find her staring up at him imploringly.
“What if I told you I wasn’t ready to go home yet?”
His eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure…”
She shifted closer to him, tugging at his collar playfully. “C’mon old man. You and I both know you never sleep anyway.”
Where was this coming from? He knew she wasn’t as drunk as Harry’d assumed, but her inhibitions certainly seemed lower for whatever reason. Maybe it was the simple fact that she’d met her fundraising goal during her first public event and wanted to blow off steam. He could help her do that. No matter how much he might come to regret it later.
He made a show of mulling it over. She didn’t need to know he’d agree to damn near anything she asked. That she didn’t even need to beg for it, and he’d willingly comply, just to see her happy. “Fine,” he grunted. “But we’re going into Muggle London.”
She beamed up at him and it felt like a lightning bolt straight to the fucking chest. He looked away. He had no other choice.
He offered her a hand to side-along, hoping that the discombobulating sensation of apparition would clear his head a little. Her hand slid into his, just as it did every single time they did this, and his eyes squeezed shut before they were hurtling through the darkness.
They appeared in a dim, familiar alleyway that smelled of musty garbage and piss. Hermione’s nose wrinkled in disgust as she took in their surroundings and he couldn’t help but laugh. “You’ve been absent from the real world for too long, Minister.”
“Oh, and Wizarding London isn’t ‘the real world’ in your opinion?” She asked before drawing out her vinewood wand to tap on the silken fabric of her black ballgown. The hem shrank and shrank before coming to rest at the top of her thighs. Sirius nearly swallowed his tongue as she then moved to unpin her hair, allowing her mass of curls to fall down the length of her back.
“Sure as hell isn’t like this,” he muttered. With a flick of his wand, his suit became ripped denim and a Queen t-shirt that was probably older than the witch in front of him.
Her eyes rolled as she tucked her wand into a pocket along her hip that he didn’t know existed—that shouldn’t exist— and strode towards the sound of London’s busy nightlife.
There was no doubt about it, she would be the death of him.
***
The pub Sirius chose had three things that made Hermione exceptionally happy. Live music, greasy chips, and a bartender with a heavy-handed pour. Without the scrutiny of different Ministry officials and wealthy wizards and witches looking to make her job as Minister harder, her previous restraint and poise evaporated into the hazy, smoke-filled air around her.
Alcohol pulsed through her veins at the beat of whatever old rock song the current band was playing. She hadn’t felt this free in years.
Losing herself in her surroundings was easy enough. Sirius was there to ensure she was safe and her inhibitions had long since melted away. She was no longer the Golden Girl, Hermione Granger, the youngest Minister for Magic yet, at 38 years old. She was years, decades, aeons younger, without a care in the world save for this moment, in this pub, with these strangers.
And him. Always him.
It had been a relief, the night he’d drunkenly exposed how he’d felt when she brought him back. She’d been convinced she was broken prior to the admission. There was an all-consuming hole within her when she spent too long away from him. An empty sort of longing that couldn’t be filled. The hunger was an insatiable thing within her.
The mere presence of him staved off the worst of it, which was why she hadn’t fought harder when he’d volunteered himself as her bodyguard. If she were to be miserable and alone for the rest of her life, at least the fact that he’d shackled himself to her for the entirety of her career as Minister ensured she wouldn’t be driven completely mad.
Though she had to admit, as she watched him from across the room, she might be bound for insanity regardless. He looked good tonight. More than good, in fact, in both the suit and now his regular attire of jeans and a t-shirt. Her mouth went dry, watching him. She wondered what he was thinking about. If he, too, was struggling with the fact that no one in this entire building knew who they were and wouldn’t care if they danced, or touched, or…
Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and refocused on the music, revelling in how good her body felt as she moved to the beat of the thumping bass. Allowing her mind to go there would only end in heartache. There was no telling when she’d have another night of freedom like this again, and she didn’t want to waste even a single second of it, pining for a man who would never be hers.
***
Sirius bit the inside of his cheek hard enough that the coppery tang of blood flooded his mouth. A hen party had found Hermione on the dancefloor and had drawn her into their raucous group. She looked so fucking pretty, flushed pink with alcohol and the warmth of being crowded amongst sweaty bodies.
Her arms were currently slung in the air as she writhed to the upbeat music, the hem of her dress rising perilously close to exposing the bottom curve of her arse. He could hear her bright laughter all the way across the pub, and the wondrous sound of it hit him in the solar plexus hard enough that it was suddenly hard to breathe.
He loved her.
He loved her and he didn’t know what to do about it. No, that wasn’t quite right. There was nothing to be done. She was the Minister for Magic and he, an old fuckup loser who’d already spent over a decade in prison and another behind the Veil. He had nothing of substance to offer her, other than his very life if hers was in danger.
There were times like tonight, though, when hope forced its way through the smallest of cracks in his blackened heart. When they slipped into roles other than that of bodyguard and Minister and pretended they were different people, in brand new lives that weren’t weighed down by a lifetime's worth of insurmountable baggage. They were dangerous, those glimpses of hope.
Even more dangerous? The half-lidded look of hunger that Hermione wasn’t bothering to hide. He knew what she wanted because it was exactly what he wanted, too. And right now, he was running out of excuses as to why he shouldn’t just go and give it to her.
His resolve wavered, but it wasn’t until the next song started that it crumbled entirely. The sound of warbling synth, accompanied by the steady thump of a bass drum, filled the room, and Bruce Springsteen began to croon.
Tell me now, baby, is he good to you?
And can he do to you the things that I do?
Oh no, I can take you higher
Oh, oh, oh, I'm on fire
Sirius was halfway across the dancefloor before he even realised what was happening. He was on fire and the only remedy for the inferno threatening to engulf him was to put his hands on her, consequences be damned.
Her eyes snagged on his as he prowled closer and her body stilled. He watched greedily as her tongue flicked out to dampen her lower lip before his eyes travelled lower to watch the movement of her delicate throat as she swallowed. Was she imagining what he might taste like? He’d been thinking about it all night.
If it were anything like she smelled…well, he’d already decided he was fucked, hadn’t he?
Sirius inhaled deeply. Now that he was only steps away, there was no mistaking her scent for anyone else’s in the crowded pub. Usually, it was a mix of grapefruit and fresh linen, with a hint of parchment and ink on days she’d spent long hours in the office. Tonight, though, it was pure sex. She was aroused and he’d be willing to give up the entirety of his family’s bottomless vaults to bet it had something to do with him.
She’d turned and was now looking back at him over her shoulder as her hips swayed provocatively from side to side. Sirius growled and closed the distance between them. His hands moved of their own accord to rest at her hips, fingers sliding across the silk fabric of her dress.
“As far as I can see, you’ve got two options, sweetheart.” He leaned close enough that his lips just barely brushed against the shell of her ear, and he was delighted to feel her entire body shiver. “I can fuck you right here and right now, for everyone to see.”
If it were possible, he would have sworn she pressed herself further against him. One of her hands, so small compared to his own, rose to brush against the side of his face. Her fingertips traced along the side of his jaw before sliding back into his hair, holding him to her.
“Or if you’d like a bit more privacy,” he chuckled and took the liberty of nipping at her ear with a sharp canine. “We can take this outside.”
***
Hermione couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Her mind was muddied, though it wasn’t from the loud music or alcohol that ran through her veins. No, the man at her back was entirely to blame. She felt like she’d spent her entire life wanting him at this point. And now that he was offering himself up to her? How was she supposed to decide the where of it? If this was to be their only chance, she wanted to make it count.
Her eyes darted around the pub, weighing her options. They were surrounded by intoxicated Muggles who didn’t care who they were or why they were there. Hermione was just another woman being held by just another man. If there were going to be any place they could get away with something like this…it would be here.
A pulse of excitement ran down the length of Hermione’s spine and had her arching back into Sirius. She’d be lying if she said the thought of him taking her here, surrounded by a sea of strangers, didn’t turn her on. Though when it came to Sirius, she’d always felt a bit possessive. She wanted his attention on her and only her. It was bad enough that she’d already had to tell several women from the bridal party that he wasn’t up for grabs. Practically snarled at them. It had been pathetic.
It annoyed her to no end, the amount of attention he garnered wherever they went. In their world, he was the Sirius Black. Godfather of Harry Potter, who escaped Azkaban and then Death itself. Here, it was solely because he was an attractive man, which somehow made it even worse. Sirius despised it when people treated him as if he were someone special because of what happened in his past, whereas here, all of that bullshite was absent. He could take home any one of these women just because they were beautiful and weren’t aware of the baggage he carried.
And that just wasn’t fair, was it?
Sirius’s fingers dug into the flesh at her sides. “It seems as if you’re having a hard time, so I’ll do you a favour and decide for you.”
He let go of her and spun her around before bridging the gap between them and stealing the very air from her lungs. Both of his hands slid into the mass of her curls and cupped the back of her head. She wanted to lick into his mouth and taste the whiskey she knew would be on his tongue. He pulled away before she had the chance, and an embarrassing whine slipped out of her.
The bastard’s lips slid away from her mouth and kissed and nipped along her jaw messily. Well, that was just fine. If he wanted to withhold his mouth, she would explore with her hands. She’d wanted to touch the expanse of skin on his bare chest and back about as badly (and as long) as she’d wanted to kiss him. His mouth moved down her neck, sucking bruises she’d need to spell away afterwards, in-between murmuring filthy things against sweat-dampened skin that had her digging her nails into the bare skin of his lower back.
“I couldn’t wait another fucking second. Had to get my mouth on you, sweetheart.” Her nails raked up the length of his spine, and one of his hands slid down to grab a palmful of her arse, hauling her closer. She could feel the hard length of his erection through his jeans and couldn’t help but rock up against the length of him. “Be still, kitten.”
She would do no such thing.
“As much as I’d love to slip your knickers to the side and fuck you right here, I couldn’t bear the thought of another man seeing your face as you come for the first time around my cock.” Hermione’s knees buckled, and Sirius chuckled darkly before pulling away far enough to peer down into her eyes.
The grey of his irises was barely visible around the expanse of his dilated pupils. There was hunger in his eyes, yes, but there was also laughter, evident in the way the skin at the corners of his eyes wrinkled, and more terrifyingly…something that looked a lot like an emotion she herself refused to put a name to.
Before she could think too much on it or get lost in her head as she tended to do, he raised a knowing brow at her before backing up and tugging her toward him. Together, they took one step, and another, until they were both stumbling past the loos and out an emergency exit to the alley they apparated into hours earlier.
In the time it took for him to back her into the nearest brick wall, her hands were fumbling with the button and zip of his jeans. Something was building within her that ratcheted higher and higher with every new swath of skin her fingers traversed. She wanted more…more than she would ever dare to ask for and more than he was probably willing to give. But until she was told to stop, she was determined to take and take and take.
Her hand slid beneath the waistband of his briefs and finally, fucking finally, his cock was within her grasp. Sirius’s moaned, “Fuck,” echoed her own, and she delighted in the harmonisation of their combined pleasure. His firm, velvety skin was warm beneath her fingers and she stroked the length of him tentatively before pulling her hand away to reach for her wand. She had no problem sinking to her knees and wetting him with her mouth, but she already felt like they were on borrowed time. Better to cast a lubrication charm and get on with things.
His hand caught her wrist halfway to its destination and he released the grip he had around her waist to snake his other hand between them. “I’ll take care of it.”
Hermione’s brain, already made fuzzy with a fair amount of lust and alcohol, blinked up at him dumbly.
“Spit, sweetheart.”
Heat rippled down the length of her spine and her eyes darted from his face to his open palm. Jesus Christ, was he even real? He grinned down at her, a challenge if she’d ever seen one.
“Fuck it.” Her fingers curled around his wrist and lifted it a few inches higher. The last thing she wanted to do was miss his hand and embarrass herself. She took a moment to gather saliva in her mouth before spitting a good amount onto his palm.
He leaned forward, careful not to disrupt what he now had cupped in his palm and pressed a light kiss to the corner of her lips. “There’s a good girl.”
She bit back a moan.
Slowly, ever so fucking slowly, he backed away and she watched, entranced as his hand lowered towards his cock. He stroked himself, once, twice, until it was glistening from the coating of spit—her spit—it’d just received. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head at the thought, and she let her head fall back, momentarily forgetting she was leaning against a brick wall.
His hand snaked behind her head, fingers threading through her hair and palm cupping her skull so that instead of bashing her head against the brick, his hands took the brunt of the impact instead. He was always doing this. Taking care of her. Protecting her. She wondered how he could stand it—putting her safety, her life before his own when he hated her.
But was it hate? She didn’t think that was how he felt for her. Not any longer.
“Sirius,” she breathed. There was so much she wanted to say to him. So much she needed to say lest she combust from keeping it buried deep within her.
His eyes roved over her face, searching for something she wasn’t privy to. “I know, sweetheart. I know.”
One of his hands came up to cup her face, his thumb brushing against the length of her jaw before she couldn’t stand the waiting any longer. She pulled his face down to hers and let her lips, tongue, and teeth say what she was too afraid to.
I love you.
I gave you a part of my soul without meaning to.
I don’t want it back.
She writhed against him, needing him close enough that there wasn’t a breadth of space between where one of them began and the other ended.
“Fuck me,” she begged. “I need you inside me.” And she did. She’d never needed anything more in her life.
***
Sirius was seconds away from apparating them straight onto the steps of Grimmauld, but he knew full well that if they went there, he’d keep her there, naked in his bed, for days, months, forever.
But she was the Minister and had a press conference in the morning, and he refused to ask her to give up something she’d worked so damn hard for. If it came down to the good of all Wizarding Britain or him, there would be no contest. He knew who she would pick, and he wouldn’t begrudge her for it.
Even though a small, deluded part of him frequently whispered, “Might she make room for both?” It wasn’t up to him, and he was too cowardly to ask.
He would fuck her here because he was weak, but he needed to give her the barest hint of how he felt lest he regret it for the rest of his miserable life.
His hands slid down her body until they reached the hem of her dress, and his fingertips slid under the fabric, toying with the smooth expanse of skin at the tops of her thighs.
“There’s no coming back from this, Hermione. Not for me.” The words were whispered like a prayer between them, and the witch before him nodded desperately.
“I know. Fuck I know. Please just…” She panted before squirming against him, and the fabric of her dress rose high enough that he knew if he looked, her knickers would be exposed.
Sirius’s eyelids pressed shut for the briefest of moments. He would need to start looking for a new job tomorrow. There was no possible way he could withstand the fallout. Maybe he’d take some time for himself…travel the world. Create physical space between them and pray that it would help.
“Sirius, please,” Hermione whined and his restraint finally snapped. His hands slid back to cup her thighs and he hoisted her up until her legs curled behind his back.
The press of her damp knickers against him warmed his bare cock, and he groaned in disbelief. She ground against him and could feel how wet her cunt was, even with the small scrap of lace between them. Fucking hell, this witch.
“Touch yourself for me, sweetheart. I want to know just how soaked you are for me.”
***
Hermione was out of her mind with desire. It was the way Sirius looked at her and the feel of his hard body against hers. And then he'd gone and said the bit about how there would be no going back and her brain short-circuited. She agreed, obviously, but for the first time in her life, she didn't want to overthink what they were about to do. There would be time to talk about what he meant, how they would proceed after…this. But not right now when every fibre of her being screamed for him to be inside her.
And so, she obediently complied, snaking her hand between them, skipping her fingers past her knickers and down through the drenched folds of her cunt. Her thumb circled her clit sloppily once, twice, three times, and before she knew what was happening he had her wrist gripped in his hand and he was tugging her wet fingers up to his mouth.
His hot tongue lapped at them, sucking every last drop of her arousal off her skin as if her cunt was the finest thing he’d tasted all night.
His growled, “fucking Christ, Hermione,” nearly sent her over the metaphorical cliff she’d been climbing towards for hours now. She pushed her free hand down their bodies, praying he’d keep her upright now that the only grip she had on him was her legs around his waist, until his cock was in her hand.
She was suddenly so desperate to have him inside her that she wandlessly and wordlessly vanished her knickers. So what that they were one of her favourite pairs? Cute, comfortable knickers meant fuck all when they stood in the way of a gorgeous man’s perfect cock entering her and fucking her until she couldn’t remember her own name.
Once she lined him up so that all it would take was a single thrust on his part, she paused to look up at him. His heart was in his eyes and she was powerless to look away.
“I need you to be sure about this,” he whispered. She paused for a moment before sucking in a breath, knowing they were on the precipice of something all-consuming and life-altering. Sirius was right. There would be no coming back from this.
She’d never been more sure about anything else in her entire life. “I am,” was her simple reply.
He wasted no time, pressing forward just enough that the tip of his cock split her open. He lingered there for the span of a few heartbeats, tipping forward until his forehead came to rest against hers. She inhaled sharply as the movement served to push him the rest of the way inside of her.
***
She felt like home. Nothing mattered outside this moment with her and nothing else could possibly compare for the rest of his life. It was as if his soul was finally whole again. It was an unfamiliar feeling, one he hadn’t experienced since before Lily and James’s death and quite honestly never believed he would again. But here he was, balls deep inside the woman of his dreams in a fucking alleyway.
He couldn’t help but laugh in disbelief.
Hermione’s eyes were unfocused even as she grinned up at him. “Wh—What’s so funny?”
There wasn’t an answer he could give her that wouldn’t sound utterly unhinged so he shook his head and stole a kiss from her smiling lips.
She arched against him, reminding him how mouthwatering her fucking tits looked in that dress. He drew the neckline down until both had spilled out into the open air and looked his fill before taking one of her dusky pink nipples into his mouth. The other he strummed with his thumb before pinching, using enough pressure that Hermione sucked in a tortured breath.
“Alright there, kitten?”
Her only response was to buck against him. The minx knew what she wanted, he’d give her that.
The warm grip of her felt like heaven and he no longer wanted to deny himself the pleasure of fucking her into the wall. Sirius slid his hand behind her head once more, he could be a gentleman after all, and began to thrust into her at a slow and steady pace.
His lips traversed the skin of her chest and he was delighted to find she had a dusting of light freckles there. They tasted as sweet as brown sugar and he lapped and sucked his way to her other nipple.
“The fucking taste of you, sweetheart,” Sirius groaned into the side of her breast. If given the choice, he would remain there forever.
Hermione’s fingers delved into the hair at the base of his skull and fisted the strands tightly. His mind briefly flickered to earlier in the night when he’d thought about her doing just that. And now they were here, and he was buried deep within her, and he still couldn’t believe his luck. It was as close as he’d ever felt to reaching Nirvana and his thrusts increased in intensity.
***
Hermione was going to come. She’d never come from penetrative sex alone, but of course Sirius would be the one to find a way to get her there without even trying. The bastard. Her mouth chased a line of sweat that dripped down the column of his neck and she paused to bite down on his Azkaban tattoo.
Her next act as Minister should be to burn the whole fucking prison down. To obliterate the cursed place that stole so many years from this amazing man’s life. She would do it with her own two hands. Right…right after he was done doing whatever he was doing with his hands and cock and tongue.
“Harder,” she demanded. “I’m close….Sirius.” His name she whispered on a soft whine that he captured with his mouth.
Kissing Sirius was like drinking felix felicis. A rush of warm, golden magic that fizzed through her veins and made her believe anything was possible. The biggest “anything” being the notion that she and Sirius could be together after this. He owned part of her soul. Who was she to say he couldn’t own her heart as well? She knew he’d take care of it, just as he’d taken care of her these last few years.
It could work. She was determined to make it work. There wasn’t a task up to this point in her life that she hadn’t accomplished and she’d be damned to deny herself a lifetime’s worth of happiness over the optics of loving Sirius out loud.
That settled, she allowed herself to let go. With his mouth on hers, her hands roving down his toned back, and his thick cock hitting a spot so deep she could see stars, the tension within her pulled tight and finally—fucking finally—snapped.
She came around his cock and sighed a quiet, “I love you,” against his cheek.
***
The feel of Hermione’s warm cunt pulsing around his cock made him delirious. His brain didn’t comprehend what he’d just heard. It was all he could to do to keep thrusting up and into her, fucking her through her orgasm while still chasing his own. Some part of his brain screamed at him to listen. To pay attention to what had just been said but he couldn’t. Not when his release was seconds away from barrelling down his spine.
“Fu–ck. Where? Where can I come, sweetheart?” He panted against her neck and attempted to slow his thrusts until she gave him an answer.
“Inside.” Her legs crossed around his lower back tighter, holding him to her. “Please, Sirius,” she whined and the sound of it, the feel of her hot breath against his temple was what finally did him in.
He came, seated deep inside her. They stayed there, breath mingling, as his cock softened. Sirius was reluctant to set her down, even as she shifted in his arms and loosened her legs from around him.
It was then that he realised she was avoiding his gaze. Fuck. Something was nagging at him within the loud static of his mind. He’d missed something. An important something.
“I…” She swallowed loudly and awkwardly began fixing her dress. He was at a complete loss for words as his mind scrambled to right itself after that completely life-altering experience.
What was it that he’d missed?
“I think I’ll be going now.”
He felt frozen in place as she took a step away from him, but not before she swiped away a lone tear from her cheek.
His mind began moving faster and faster the more seconds that passed after he’d apparently orgasmed himself brainless.
Lips moved against his cheeks, forming words—important words—as she was clenching around him and a supernova exploded behind his eyelids. Three words. Three precious, unbelievable, blessed words he never expected to hear from her lips.
I
Love
You
***
Milliseconds away from her apparating into the safety of her home, a large calloused hand clamped onto her wrist.
“Will you forgive me if I said you fucked me stupid? I didn’t hear what you said but I remember now.” His voice was hoarse and cracked on the final word.
She sucked in a shaky breath. She was sure she’d scared him off or had reminded him that he did, in fact, still hate her.
He tugged on her arm gently until she turned to face him. The look of concern made her want to cry all over again.
“I love you, Hermione. How could I not? You own me.”
She rolled her eyes but laughed lightly all the same. “Are you forgetting the time you told me you hated me for bringing you back all those years ago?”
He winced. “Are you forgetting I spent most of that entire first year back, pissed off my arse?”
A fair point but she knew at the time he’d meant it. “It’s alright if you did—if you do. I didn’t exactly give you a choice, did I?”
Sirius’s expression shifted into something so intense she took a step back. He followed. “I was scared, and broken, and so fucking depressed back then, Hermione. I’m sorry I ever made you think I wasn’t grateful for this second chance.” He huffed out a breath and laughed incredulously. “Kitten, I owe you…everything.”
She searched his face and knew without a single doubt, that his love for her rivalled her own.
“I’m going to take down Azkaban for you. Brick by fucking brick.”
He grinned and took her face between his hands. “Only if you let me help.”
She pushed herself up onto her toes and paused before their lips could meet. “Oh and Sirius?
“Yes, kitten?”
“You’re fired, effective immediately. I’ve got a different role in mind for you…one that requires you by my side rather than at my back.”
He threw his head back and barked out a laugh, the sound of it warming her more thoroughly than any warming charm ever could. “I’ll visit the vaults in the morning, sweetheart. I’m sure I can find something that looks good on your ring finger that isn’t cursed. Walburga will be thrilled.”
Hermione slapped his chest playfully before linking her arm with his. “Is that a proposal, Black?”
He pulled her closer to his side and pulled out his wand, twirling it through his fingers. “Would you rather me down on one knee?”
Hermione pulled him to a stop and dragged him down for a kiss. “Both, actually.”
Sirius’s eyes shone with mischief when she pulled away and the moment before he apparated them directly into her bed, he whispered a cheeky, “Yes, Minister.”