Fic for Sazzlette!

TO: sazzlette
FROM: fleshdress
TITLE: For Ever Nearer Yet
PAIRING: Sirius/Harry
RATING: NC-17
SUMMARY: There's more than one way to send a message.
WARNINGS: Under-age
DISCLAIMER: No copyright infringement intended. It's JKR's.
A.N. Thanks to J for the lightning-fast beta.


There was something infinitely right, Sirius was sure, in swapping the relentless cold of the fortress of Azkaban, set in the freezing grey wastes of the North sea, for the merciless heat of the white and gold beaches of the tropics. It fitted into the universal scheme of things, maintaining the balance of destiny's plan.

Yes, Sirius thought as his hammock swayed lazily between the two large, lush trees, the world was finally making sense again, after taking twelve years off for intense nightmarish insanity. He was so in tune with the universe's song today that he'd barely had chance to think that all he needed now was a refill of his drink when he saw the barman – a boy with a wicked smile and a mess of dark hair – moving in his direction, with a glass of sangria on a tray, shimmering in the heat like a mirage.

Sirius rose onto his elbows and pushed his sunglasses up his head. The boy's dusky complexion flushed further as Sirius met his gaze and with some half-remembered instinct, Sirius effortlessly swept his long, dark hair off his face. The colour in the boy's cheeks became brighter and it was all Sirius could do to keep from barking in glorious laughter. Time and hardship had not withered him beyond the repair of a little sunshine and the admiring looks of the men and women at the resort.

Before Azkaban, he'd have had the boy agreeing to come to his room that very night – or even strolling with him to the deserted stretches of the beach this very minute, getting sand in their clothes and hair. But there was Harry to think of now, and Sirius was a respectable godfather. A role model. The very image of dignity and duty.

Harry had to come first.

"You forgot my umbrella," he murmured, contenting himself with teasing the boy instead.

*

He dozed in the afternoon sun and dreamt of flying beneath the water, his hair tangling in coral and the world becoming a slip-slide land of endless aqua and blue shadows. It was a thick, heavy sleep of the kind that had been impossible in Azkaban.

Sirius had quite surrendered to it when he heard his name being called, in a voice that he could no more ignore than he could the end of the world.

He started awake so suddenly he tumbled from the crazily swinging hammock and landed on the soft sand, still looking around for Harry, with the question of what the hell Harry was doing in Honduras anyway lingering on his lips for a long moment.

The sea lapped lazily at the shore and the sound of the other guests at the resort were distant and nothing but the clink of glasses and the irregular hum of chatter and laughter. Sirius stared about himself, then rose to his feet with Black grace and dusted himself down.

He scowled at the empty cocktail glass and flicked his sunglasses back down over his eyes. Rubbing the back of his neck, he sauntered back to the peaceful shade of the cabana and the coy smiles of the barman.

*

Three days later, he saw Harry from his balcony. It took him twenty-five seconds to charge from his room - half-dressed in only a pair of shorts and one sandal – down the stairs and through the early-morning cluster of holiday-makers onto the beach.

It had been Harry. Not a mirage, not the result of Sirius's long musings about birthday cakes and how to send them or his quiet, unexamined sense of missing Harry. It had been Harry.

He'd been coming towards the cabana, skinny white legs and squinting in the light and all that mess of black hair, looking such a small, lost figure. He couldn't have got past Sirius. Even if for some inexplicable reason Sirius wasn't the one he was there to see, there was nowhere else he could have gone.

He should have been there.

But all Sirius could see were strangers, sunlight and shadow. He fought back the choking panic and tried to catch his breath, scanning the flat expanse of white beach that skimmed out to the flatter line of the sea.

"Are you alright, sir?"

His gaze darted to the petite waitress who was eyeing him with concern. Looking about, he realised people were staring at him and that as an escaped convict hiding out, he shouldn't really be running about in odd states of attire and acting like a madman.

"Yes," he said at last, swallowing and wrenching his gaze away from his desperate scrutiny of the resort, just in case he'd somehow missed his godson on the secluded stretch of the beach. "Yes, I'm alright, thank you. Just… just the heat, I suppose."

The waitress smiled sympathetically, her predisposition to like the striking Englishman who tipped so freely winning over her alarm at his odd behaviour.

"Can I get you some iced water?" she trilled.

Sirius looked over the beach once more and then flashed her a dazzling smile.

"That'd be lovely."

*

For any other wizard who was in temporary exile from the wizarding world due to a little mix-up regarding mass murder and betrayal, it might have been difficult to get hold of a copy of The Daily Prophet from a small island just off Honduras.

Sirius Black was not any other wizard though, and he grinned easily at his supplier as he unfolded the tabloid and shook it out. He rolled his eyes at Fudge, who was gurning on the front-page, and opened it, skimming over the news about the upcoming Quidditch World Cup.

"Could get you something a little harder than that, you know. Coming all this way just to bring you a paper, s'daft. Might as well make the trip worthwhile."

He paused and lifted his gaze to the squat man who was picking something out of his teeth. He watched the man examine his find on the end of his fingernail, then flick it to the street.

"Like what?" he asked in tones of polite scepticism, because if it were anything Sirius was intending to consume, he was fairly sure he didn't want the supplier to have even looked at it.

It was enough interest to provoke a broken-toothed smile and Sirius reminded himself that he had no right to be vain anymore and judging people on their looks. The supplier shrugged and looked Sirius up and down, smirking at the eyebrow Sirius raised at him.

"Potions, girls… boys," Sirius ignored the lewd undertones and looked patiently unimpressed. "Anything you want. You just tell me, and I'll get it for you. For a price." He hurried on as Sirius's eyes narrowed to dangerous, grey slits. "Like your name, I meant. The story of what a fancy bloke like you's doing out here."

"Not selling," Sirius cut him off. "But-" he hesitated, flicking a Galleon into his palm and holding it out. "I'll buy a little gossip."

The coin disappeared into the man's plump, grimy hand and his smile was back.

"You'll be wanting to hear about Bertha Jorkins then."

*

There could be no sleeping in this heat, so Sirius laid under a white sheet – so cleanly cool and starched – and drowsily listened to the hypnotic crash of the surf and the languid sweep of the ceiling fan. The chill of his shower was slowly drying off his skin, leaving it refreshed for maybe half an hour until the bone-deep warmth crept back in. His hair was spread wet and heavy across the cotton pillows, sending little droplets of water dribbling down the back of his neck.

The night was not black, but a very dark blue. There were shadows everywhere, not the creeping black kind but the soft, comforting kind that smoothed over the jagged edges of the world. Not deep shadows, but even.

And so it took Sirius only a few moments to blink and shift a little to pick out the figure at the end of his bed. His hand was edging towards his wand, when it spoke.

"Sirius…"

He gaped for no more than a second before he'd struggled out of the sheet and caught hold of him.

"God, Harry," he breathed, cradling him against his chest and smoothing his hair off his face. "What are you doing here? Does Dumbledore know? How did you find me?"

He tilted Harry's chin up and searched his face, feeling Harry tremble as he stared back at him. His bright green eyes shone luminously in the gloom, and were so starkly afraid that Sirius could do nothing but close his arms tight about him and bury his face in the scruffy black hair, breathing him in and wrapping him in a blanket of godfatherly devotion.

"What's wrong, kid? You have to tell me what's wrong. I can't do anything to help if I don’t know what the problem is." He trailed off, finding it hard to speak and holding him even tighter. "I'd do anything for you. Just tell me what's wrong."

It was only when he felt the brush of lips against his nipple, soft warm lips, that he registered the fact he was naked. Sirius froze, staring at the wall as Harry wriggled next to him and something hot and wet flicked his nipple.

"Sirius," Harry whispered. "I need you. Miss you so much and I need you."

"Harry," said Sirius, trying to ease him back. "Harry, that's not…"

He broke off into a groan as a set of small, sharp teeth sank into his collarbone. Harry's hands were creeping up his arms, palms sliding against the muscle and then blunt nails digging into his shoulders. Sirius's head rolled back and Harry's mouth moved over his throat in a slow glide of tongue, before he bit once more – trapping the flesh between the teeth and rocking his jaw open and shut.

"God, Harry… this isn't… this isn't right…"

"Please," Harry murmured, pushing closer, so thin and hot and every sharp angle of his bones pressed against Sirius. "Please, Sirius, I need you so badly. So much."

"No, Harry, not like this, this isn't how it should be…"

The sheet was warm from his own body as Sirius somehow found himself leaning back and bringing Harry with him. Harry was so light and yet inescapable, like air, even as he pressed his mouth to Sirius's in a kiss that was like living and dying in the same moment.

His lips were chapped and hungry, and it was all Sirius could do to cradle his face to keep Harry from swallowing him whole. But for himself, with this wicked and adored creature moving over him, Sirius could feel control and restraint slipping.

In a blur of kisses and slick hands sliding between Harry's thighs and down his spine, Sirius couldn't remember undressing him, but when Harry's cock was grinding against Sirius's thigh in some instinctively perfect rhythm, Sirius couldn't help but be aware of his godson's utter nakedness.

It was wrong, so very wrong Sirius had never considered it. Well, not really. He considered it in as much as Harry was so like James and there had been those drunken, guffawing incidents of groping and hand-jobs in the alley outside The Three Broomsticks back at school. He'd considered how like James Harry was, and how little like him he was – so trapped and hunted. So sweet.

"You have to stop this, Harry," Sirius mumbled in a last ditch attempt to save himself from hell.

Even he wasn't convinced and so when Harry spread his legs and straddled him, his cock brushing against Sirius's, Sirius didn’t fight it.

"I'm so alone. I need you, Sirius. Please… love me."

"I do," Sirius insisted, near incoherency. "Oh I do, Harry. More than life itself."

Harry's smile was fierce but fleeting. Feeling useless and oddly afraid, Sirius buried his fingers in his hair, dragging him close for a kiss of pure love, struggling to express his devotion. But there was something too frenetic about Harry for him to be soothed.

His frame was lithe and made of light muscled, a boy becoming a man, and he rode Sirius with an unsettling desperation. His narrow hips jerked frantically and Sirius arched up against him, giving a half-surprised, half-overwhelmed moan and curling his hand about their cocks. The hard flesh moved slickly together and Harry's breath was hot and moist as he leant forward and nibbled along the line of Sirius's jaw.

The grazing of his teeth over Sirius's cheekbone, as Harry's mouth moved restlessly over him, was savage enough to be painful, but Harry seemed to need so much that Sirius willingly gave whatever he wanted.

If Harry needed his pulsing heart in his hand, it was his.

"I love you," Sirius whispered, fisting their cocks harder and feeling Harry writhe atop him. "Fuck, I'd die for you."

Abruptly, Harry was still. He looked at him, as Sirius gasped, his chest heaving. Harry's eyes were an unblinking green and he smiled slowly.

"I love you too," he breathed. "I miss you. I need you."

Sirius came in long, white spurts, his come splattering his stomach as he bucked and gave a strangled sob. For a moment, the crash of orgasm left him breathless and blind. His pulse throbbed like it was trying to deafen him and his blood hummed through his veins.

The fan buzzed steadily in the silence, and the sea's lullaby went on as ever.

"Harry?" Sirius said after a second, propping himself up on his elbows.

The room was empty.

*

The letter came the next morning.

A weird thing happened this morning, though. My scar hurt again. Last time that happened it was because Voldemort was at Hogwarts. But I don't reckon he can be anywhere near me now, can he?

So like James. That same nonchalant tone that insisted he really wasn't worried and didn't need any reassurance but, all the same, nothing to worry about, right, Sirius?

So like James, if James had had no-one in the world to protect him but Sirius.

Sirius refolded the letter neatly and smoothed over the indentations of the writing Harry had left with his pen. A hasty, anxious little scribble.

"I'm on my way, kiddo."

END