Author: Mosh Title: Can't Catch Me Note: You may not archive, re-post, or alter any of my stories without my permission. Please contact me first. Thanks! |
... and he's following James into the trees, again. Sirius chases the wind-whipped black hair that flails wildly around a slender cream-white neck, the glint of those stupid glasses as James glances over his shoulder, the can't-catch-me of a flashing grin. His footsteps thump-thump-thump, like his heart and the blood pounding through his veins. The sun had set soft and warm through the window of the dorm hours ago, and with one knowing look their evening plans had been set. Now, later, the moon ambles jolly and fat and milky across a starry sky, hours ticking on, the chase becoming more frantic, more heated. Sirius pauses to listen, lets his gaze rise to the canopy of withered branches above, claw-like but still comforting in their way, cocooning their game in secret. It's quiet and still, the kind of night Sirius could get lost in. Could, if there wasn't already a James to catch and get lost in. Sirius wants to fuck. Badly. The chase makes it all the sweeter, the excruciating pull of want, James eluding him at every snap of twig and rustle of leaves against denim. They never venture far into the Forbidden Forest, not in human form. They're not stupid - oh please. But the sheer vastness of the trees means James has miles of safe ground to stalk and climb, or sometimes just sit, waiting to ambush Sirius thoroughly, without going too deep, too dangerously in. Oh yes, Sirius wants to fuck right now. If only he could find James. A gnarled oak tree groans to his right, an old grumpy man, sod off young thing and let me be, as Sirius leans against it. He moves on. Stops. Listens again. But it's no good; no sound penetrates the darkness but his own rhythmic breathing. When the moon comes out, it penetrates the dense veil of the forest and highlights the life; the sheen of moisture on curling leaves that poke up through the blanket of mist on the ground; something gigantic and silver-backed loping through the undergrowth, in search of food. In the shadows, Sirius feels untouchable. High. Omniscient. Where the fuck is James? Why isn't he here to see this? Not that James would appreciate it; he lives right next to a forest in Dorset and this sort of thing is nothing to him. This is every single night. But to Sirius it's otherworldly, having grown up in the heart of Upper-Class Wizarding London. And what a shallow heart it could be: airs and graces, all winter tones and fancy frippery, disguising the incestuous underbelly of his family, the family that extends, and extends, and extends in those history books in the Black library. That scorn they show because of the path Sirius was set on the moment the Sorting Hat touched his head. 'Your mother informs us you were put in Gryffindor. But you're a Black. Never forget it, boy.' "Fuck off," he mutters, and looks for James. Bugger it. Sirius cheats and transforms swiftly into Padfoot. He sniffs the air deeply, drowning in the rich and the ripe. Then he gets distracted. The funniest thing is that his tail wags against his will, which just makes him want to laugh even more, which just makes that damn tail wag even more, until he's spinning in dizzying circles chasing it and shit, James would never let him live this down if he could see. James. "There you are," Padfoot barks, manic tail forgotten in favour of his friend. Sleek black ears prick up. "Prongs!" He's unsurprised James has cheated, too. Really, he would expect nothing less. The stag always looks ethereal under the moon, still and regal, tall, silent and ghost-white in the thicket. When they move towards each other Prongs's hooves drum and Padfoot can almost feel the vibrations rumbling under the earth. Metre by metre, by foot by moment, and transform. "Where the bloody hell were you?" says James, still wearing the fading imprint of antlers above his head. He clutches Sirius's shirt and some of the buttons pop in his haste to get it off. Incredulous, Sirius kisses him, pulling James's belt out of its loops in one graceful, whipping arch of leather. It falls snake-like to the ground, coiling round itself. "Looking for you, you pillock," Sirius says, and it's half a lie because he neglects to mention how long he chased his own tail. It's all new, this Animagus thing, so it's really not his fault. James leans back for Sirius's mouth, lets it fasten fast onto his neck, bucks his hips in response as if the two are connected. "Look at you," Sirius breathes, coming up for air. "Gagging for it." He slips James's jeans a little way down his hips, the waistband snagging around his thighs. "Gagging for it is a healthy part of a growing man's life," James says, a grin forming against Sirius's cheek. "Trying to catch your own tail, however-" Sirius shuts him up with a well-aimed slip of his tongue, and James has no choice but to suck on it. They share breath and it beats out against their lips, as clothing drops to the forest floor like shedding skin. Shivers form gently under the slip-slide of fingers and yet more fingers fist in dark hair. A cool mouth moves gracefully across a cheekbone, neck, down, down, down. As naked as the moon, pale and contented, Sirius wonders, not for the first time, what the fuck turned things around. James makes a little noise - oh yeah, that's what it was, Sirius thinks. He opens his mouth and breathes the sound in, pushing himself flush against his friend. The forest is no longer a factor, not with a hot, hard cock pressing between Sirius's legs, nor with his own cock skidding up against James's stomach. "You all right?" "I'm all right." The unspoken Shall we fuck? lingers, until- "So shall we?" Sirius raises an eyebrow and turns around. Unbidden, the image of James's girl fleets through is mind and, sadly, he wonders how long it'll be before James gives him up for her - for that simple bit of skirt - for Evans. James snorts. "Oh don't start. I'm not about to give you up for some stupid bit of skirt." He'd said it out loud? Damn, he hadn't meant to. "Just saying." Sirius can't help but feel like it's all make-believe. That this, this thing they do as often as they can find time alone, won't be forced to end. "Padfoot-" Sirius lets a smile crack across his mouth, turns, lets James see it; lets him see that cracked and knowing smile that doesn't reach his eyes. He bends over, his bare knees dropping to the ground, cushioned by soft moss and the scrape of twigs. His oil-black hair spills over his face, hiding his expression. He's sure he can hear James swallow thickly. "Come on," Sirius prompts, wriggling his bare arse. "Prongs." He's sure he can hear the sigh too, as James falls to his knees behind him and runs a hand down over his spine, dipping into the crease of his arse. "Oh, wait - shit," James suddenly says. "I forgot the-" "I knew you would," says Sirius, cutting him off. "Which is why I made sure everything was prepared before we left." "Oh." A finger pushes gently at his hole and Sirius shudders. "Nice one." The finger eases inside, finding Sirius already slick but no less tight. "Jesus Christ." "Not quite," Sirius mutters, a smirk forming on his mouth. He's rewarded with a swift slap across one arsecheek. "Now there's no need for any of that kinky stuff." "Shut it, Padfoot." There's a grin in James's voice, betraying his amusement. "Why've you always got to be so talkative?" "Breaking your concentration, am I? You poor thing-" James twists his finger, a little harder than expected, and Sirius gasps, his hips bucking backwards. "Now who's gagging for it?" "Sshh," Sirius hushes, rocking on all fours. "Don't be so talkative." It all comes out as a groan and James snorts quietly. This is the third time - well, technically the fourth, but the first time they'd had to stop, so it doesn't count. When James pushes into Sirius it's welcome and right, the familiar swell of cock and stretch-pull of muscles, the sting that lasts for long, drawn out moments and makes him wince, and a fullness that always astonishes Sirius. Cursing, Sirius digs his fingertips into the ground, dirt creeping under his nails. He tries to hold on to it, as James drives forward and back, but it's hard to anticipate his movements and Sirius ends up skidding across the earth. "Fuck, hold on," James says, never slowing. If Sirius had been in any right mind to retort, he would have said 'oh you tell me now?' but he can't. His forearms and elbows graze the soft, premature pine needles and discarded fern leaves. He lets himself be ridden into the ground, giving up and just letting be. James has never had much finesse and at times like these it'd be mean to call him on it. Not to mention a mood-killer. Deeper, Sirius says, but doesn't; it comes out as a whine worthy of Padfoot and he grumbles, inarticulate. "Deeper," he moans, properly this time, a groan worthy of Sirius Black wanting more. James drives in deeper, just like Sirius wanted, deeper still. James who manages to make it feel great regardless of having no finesse. It's never really mattered how or where, just so long as they both enjoy it. It's easy that way. Awkwardly, James reaches down, curls one fist around Sirius's cock, stopping its swinging motion between his thighs. He pulls smoothly, his sweaty palm sliding up Sirius's length and it feels so good it's like Sirius's bones are dissolving inside him, he can barely hold himself up. The moon disappears behind a scraggy cloud. Darkness falls completely then, and it's all about touch, about two bodies hidden in the dark of the forest. James's frantic movements grow and grow, until there are no more groans, no more gasps, only thrust-thrust-thrust-thrust-thrust-thrust all out of sync, and neither of them care. James's stomach falls full and hot and twitching against Sirius's back. The cock in his arse jerks and he knows, knows that James is coming. The choked curse in the quiet falls warmly on Sirius's shoulder, followed by a violent shudder. He recalls all of it, so used to it now. Sirius comes, silent but for the soft crunch of pine needles in his fists. James's fingers wrap tightly around his shaft, tugging everything out of him. White threads spill onto the ground and throw off steam. "Ahh..." he moans, "Ohh..." "Mmm," James agrees, waiting till the spasms have stopped. He pulls out, and again Sirius wonders at the feeling of being empty, of still wanting more. Turning over and sitting down with another wince, Sirius flicks his sweaty black hair away from his eyes. "Want to get back to the castle?" He feels stupid for trying to play it cool, because he knows James can see right through him. "No, actually," James replies, sitting down too, still out of breath. He drops his head, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. Sirius stares at him out of the corners of his eyes. After a long while, James sighs deeply. "If things ever did change, on the whole-" Against his will, Sirius holds his breath. So James is finally willing to admit things will change. "It doesn't mean our things have to change, you know?" James's voice is muffled in his arms. Sirius tries to find words, some kind of response, but nothing is forthcoming. Instead, feeling like a bit of a prat, he shifts himself carefully over, scooting on his bum across the dirt, until he's sitting next to James and their elbows knock, their knees graze. The subtle contact is not a declaration, not a firm promise. It's nothing more than enough. "Yeah," Sirius finally says. "All right." They sit naked and contented in the forest, until it becomes too cold and they re-dress, James flicking Sirius on the backs of the legs with his belt, before sliding it back into the loops with a hearty laugh. ~fin~ |
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