Never Leave a Puppy Unattended

Amazing how fast a body could get bored at Hogwarts over Christmas, Sirius decided. Hadn't seemed like such a bad idea to start with, taking over the old place while Jamie took Lily home to meet the folks. Had seemed like somewhat less of a good idea when Remus got the letter from home and had to leave for his grandmother's funeral.

By the time Peter'd broken down and admitted that he was going home too under the lure of his mother's cooking, Sirius was already bloody bored. There were only so many games of chess he could play with the three first year Ravenclaws who were also staying before he felt as if he was beginning to lose his mind.

Even Snivellus had slithered off some place for the first year in remembered history.

It really was just his luck lately.

He didn't bother making his excuses when he abandoned the chess game, only grabbed the nearest first year, dropped him into his own vacated seat, and said "Here. Finish. You're winning." Ignoring the looks he received from his former opponent, he tossed back over his shoulder a final directive to his replacement. "And castle to E-4."

Merlin, he was bored.

Trailing callused fingertips along the stone of one wall, Sirius wandered back to Gryffindor tower; if he was the only one staying over this holiday, he might as well make some use of it. No one had ever mastered a locking charm Sirius Black couldn't overcome, and if they had, he'd welcome it. Anything had to be more interesting than another game of chess against first years who took fifteen minutes to decide each move. He'd had better evenings watching Jamie's hair grow.

Giving the password, Sirius climbed through the portrait hole, and stuffed both hands in his pockets when he came to a stop in the common room. His eyes swept the familiar tapestries and couches, then lingered on the stairs. Now where would an enterprising young lad go if he were left entirely unsupervised?

Without a second thought, Sirius transformed and trotted up the stairs into the Seventh Year girls' dormitory. It had been Wormtail to discover that the protective charms didn't apply to animals.

Unfortunately, perfume didn't translate well for animals either.

He gagged on the acrid fumes and changed back once he was in the room, opening a window and taking great gulps of cleansing air, muttering about scent being for dabbing on, not bathing in.

When he finally felt safe, or at least that his nose had shut down in agonized protest, he turned back to the room and snickered. Who said girls were neat? Prodding at a blue lacy thing on one bed with his wand, he lifted it to the light, considering for a brief moment leaving it somewhere incriminating--like Peter's trunk. But no, Jamie might have words with him if his Biggest Fan spent the first few weeks back at school in a state of nervous catatonia.

He tossed the frilly strappy bit back onto the floor and threw himself onto the nearest bed, bouncing twice, and rolling over to snatch up the glossy magazine on the bed side table. Propping his ankle on the opposite knee, and wondering vaguely if it was strictly fair that the girls seemed to have softer beds, he began to read.

Ten minutes later, he was bored once again, but he did know seven handy tricks for landing his man, and how to choose just the right shade of lipstick to go with the season's new fashion in robes. The magazine followed the lingerie onto the floor. Somehow, Sirius had hoped the girls' dormitory would be more interesting. It wasn't. Just more frilly. He sneezed. And heavily scented.

He was glad he hadn't decided to explore as Padfoot--the poor beast's nose would never recover. Rolling to his knees, he shifted until he sat cross-legged almost on the pillow, and opened the bed-side table's drawer, poking through the contents with his wand. Letter. Letter. Quill. Chocolate Frogs.

...picture of Jamie removing the last of his uniform in the Quidditch locker room?

Sirius smirked, tempted to pocket that one, but he didn't fancy being caught with that kind of evidence on him. Nudging the picture aside, he picked up the topmost letter and began to read. Then, he began to chuckle.

Oh, Jamie.

Eyes green like the Quidditch pitch, hair like a Gryffindor banner?

Mate, it's a miracle you got any, let alone got to take her home to meet your parents.

He shuffled through until he found one half completed note addressed to James, then burst out laughing.

My dishy darling (was crossed out, and then followed by:) you know I love you, you great prat...

He'd have to make a note to call James "dishy darling" some time in private. After all, he was going to keep the photo secret, and a fellow could only be expected to resist so much temptation in a single evening.

Putting the letter back, Sirius nicked a Chocolate Frog as advance payment for his silence on the matter of the incriminating photograph, and left the room, trailing down the stairs and up to the boys' dorm out of simple habit. There was no point, really, in going through Peter's things, or Jamie's. He already knew what they had, and Remus would flay him alive if he went poking through those wards he kept.

Terribly bored.

The phrase had taken on new meaning, and gnawed at Sirius until he beat a fist into his pillow in frustration, glaring at Jamie's bed as if it were a portal to convey his extreme displeasure to his friend. There was no help for it.

He'd simply have to sneak off to Hogsmeade on his own.

Muttering to himself as he flipped James's trunk open and began to rifle through it, Sirius shoved his way to the bottom. "Right, mate. If you're going to traipse off with your lady and leave me here, the least you can do is lend a fellow your invisibility cloak." He straightened with some satisfaction, shaking out the liquid silver folds, then swirled the cloak around his shoulders with a dramatic flourish. On a second thought, he dropped back to his knees and fished the map out of the trunk as well, tucking it into his pocket.

Closing the trunk and flipping it a friendly salute, Sirius squared his shoulders and struck what he thought was a rather dashing and dramatic pose. "I do indeed solemnly swear that I am up to no good whatsoever."

And a few pints at the Hog's Head should do much to improve the evening.

*

Three, to be precise. The first pint had gone down remarkably fast, and the second had followed with the first blooms of warmth in his belly. Just as he was setting down his empty third and beginning to feel distinctly numb around the tip of his nose, God offered to buy him a fourth. "Ringing in the new year alone then?"

The Voice of God was a seductive whisper. Who would have thought?

Sirius found himself grinning a lazy grin in return. "Don't seem to be ringing it in alone now." The alcohol had warmed away what few inhibitions he possessed, and he saw no reason at all to hold back on the renowned Sirius Black charm. God, after all, had the nicest blue eyes, and what appeared to be a very tempting body under those robes. If his luck held, he'd see the new year in with said body wrapped around him.

Never let it be said that Sirius Black couldn't recognize a come on when it happened. Suddenly, the solitary vacation was looking up, though he might have to brag just a little to Prongs that he'd gotten more staying at Hogwarts than James and Lily did at the Potter home.

"So," the Voice said as the Eyes raked him up and down, "how many pints would you like to toss down until we abandon the pretence of being interested in each others' conversation and find a room?"

Sirius flashed his best Quidditch Star smile and raked a hand back through his hair, knowing that however it fell, it would fall stylishly. "How many are you willing to buy?"

"As many as you can drink," he answered, and mirrored Sirius's gesture, driving long fingers through curly dark hair, tugging the strands back to reveal the strength of his cheekbones. Sirius smirked. He had an appreciation for a fellow catch who knew how to show off his assets. "-upstairs," he finished, leaning forward and resting his chin on laced fingers, examining Sirius through his eyelashes. Remarkably thick eyelashes. Girly almost.

And Sirius was just drunk enough to giggle at the thought.

Thinned lips turned down sharply at the corners which only made Sirius snicker harder. God was displeased and the timing was brilliant. If the man only had any idea what Sirius was thinking--aah--he does look sexy glaring like that.

The glare evaporated instantly. "Upstairs then?" He stood, looking down a nose just impressive enough to carry off the look.

Sirius found himself nodding, even grinning foolishly. Well why not? Sexy glare, nice body, Voice of God and curly hair he itched to bury his fingers in. He wasn't about to wait around for a marriage proposal. Thinking fast, Sirius snagged his last pint and stumbled into God's body, finding himself rubbing full length like a dog with an itch.

That made him grin harder, and he could feel the gleam-of-disaster, as Moony called it, forming in his eyes. "Gonna give me a name?" He asked, cheek tingling from the scratch of stubble he'd taken in his brush past the man's jaw.

"No," he said, slipping an arm around Sirius's waist, steadying the boy against him. "I think I like you calling me God."

"Yeah, yeah, live up to it and I'll be calling you God a lot louder," Sirius said around a smirk, comfortably aware of the frictive heat radiating from their contact as he allowed the man (God!) to lead him away up the stairs.

Once inside the room, Sirius allowed the taller man to pin him up against the door, lips parting easily under an immediate assault of warmth and wet, sliding his arms around broad shoulders and rubbing wantonly at the offered body. "You don't waste time, do you?"

"It's almost midnight. No time to waste."

Sirius began to protest that midnight was hours away, but the lips on his throat were beginning to convince him that a) they only had hours! no time to waste! and b) there was an invisible line strung directly between his neck and his groin, and God was sucking all will to argue out through it.

Something he was supposed to remember. Sirius was quite certain there was something-

He grunted as an adventurous hand slid around his waist, boldly delving past a belt that hung dangerously low on Sirius's hips. He clenched his fingers on that arm, God's left, and drew a shuddering breath. "Just--just a minute."

The voice of libido shrieked its fury at him, but his fingers tightened.

Merlin!

"I need to see your arm. Please," Sirius panted, heart fluttering in his chest between nauseous worry and raw lust. Circe, what he wouldn't give to be able to not ask to see his partner's arm before things got too interesting.

"Hm." Rather than offence, Sirius saw amusement pass over the handsome features, and the rapidly warming fingers shifted, slid over his skin until the inner arm was revealed. A whine built in Sirius's throat as God's sleeve was pushed up--he still hadn't let go, just held. "This arm?"

Breath rushed from Sirius's lungs, and his knees would have buckled if the potential for pain hadn't been so strong with that grip around him. The arm was bare.

The man was chuckling, letting go of his sleeve to once more pin Sirius against the door with his weight, as he leaned down to whisper into Sirius's ear. "Did you really expect to see a Mark on me?"

"Can't--can't be too careful these days," Sirius forced out around the haze of lust and alcohol that was definitely making the night more interesting with every stroke.

"No," God seemed to find that amusing, laughingly trailing his tongue in a burning trail from Sirius's ear to his clavicle, then up, closing his lips over the boy's Adam's apple and sucking until Sirius growled. He bit. "I suppose you can't."

"You didn't ask to see my arm."

Those icy blue eyes lifted, brilliant points of colour in a pale face. "It's not your arm I want to see."

Sirius groaned, and his fingers tensed on God's shoulders when the man began to edge backwards towards the bed, pulling Sirius after him with that teasing hold. "Not--not worried about me being a Death Eater?"

"Mm," he said again, and this time, even laughed quietly. "I'm not worried about Death Eaters."

Sirius let out a short bark of laughter, and opened his eyes finally, fully getting a clear view of his companion's flushed face. "You've got to be either lying or cra-ah!" The fingers had tightened, sharply, and Sirius winced against one hard shoulder.

"Fear takes respect. I have no respect for blind followers." The words were murmured with tenderness into Sirius's hair.

Still dazed around the edges of the nervous system, Sirius felt himself lowered to the bed, arms and legs wrapping wilfully around the heavy body above, grinding into muscle. Merlin, the man was hard all over. Not, he thought proudly, if a little vaguely, that he himself was lacking in the hardness department. Any hardness department.

"What do you have respect for?" Sirius found himself gasping with the three brain cells not otherwise occupied with sensory overload.

Cool air assaulted Sirius's chest, followed by that incredibly warm mouth, and a laugh that shot straight through into his lungs. Teeth closed over a nipple and pulled, arching his body up off the bed and wrenching a groan from him.

"Well?"

"Strength." The word was accompanied by hands at his trousers, tugging them open and down, hands flexing over thighs made strong by Quidditch. For a moment, it looked as if he was opening his mouth to say more, but instead, lowered that teasing smirk to skin.

Sirius did, indeed, end up calling him God. Several times. Very loudly.

*

Sirius was mildly surprised, the next morning, to discover that not only was he still in the room above the Hog's Head, so was God. As God was warm, and the room looked bloody cold, Sirius decided it was worth breaking his no-cuddles rule, and snuggled up to the warm body shamelessly, even throwing an aching leg over bare hips to wriggle closer.

He felt absolutely debauched.

Yup. Winter holidays were looking much improved.

When a hand ran through his hair, Sirius all but whined.

"You," God said, quietly, once Sirius was making enough noise to be definitely awake.

"Mh?" Sirius asked coherently, and sent up a brief prayer of thanks that the man hadn't come after him for his intelligence.

"What makes you think I'm not after your intelligence?" The hand continued its stroking, fingers curling behind his ear in--ah, just that spotsogoodrightthere--that made Sirius want to roll onto his back and thump his leg on the ground even in human form. God was laughing quietly, and Sirius squinted up at him the moment the fingers stilled.

He looked to be waiting for an answer, and Sirius bludgeoned his brain to remember what the question had been around those touches.

Warm lips pressed to Sirius's forehead, and God spoke again. "What makes you think I'm not after your intelligence?"

Sirius blinked. Had he said that aloud? A faint, if rare blush crept along Sirius's neck, and he grunted, burying himself back into warmhardshoulder. Since the man still seemed to be expecting an answer, Sirius shrugged. "Didn't think I was showing much of it last night."

"Perhaps I've seen you elsewhere."

Sirius smirked. "Then I'd say you had good taste."

He was rewarded with another low laugh, and fingers returning to that nice spot behind his ear. "On this, we agree. Do you think we agree on other matters?"

Sirius found himself willing to agree on nearly anything that would keep those fingers where they were and maybe promise a repeat performance of the night before.

God's smile became particularly approving at this. "You," he said again, but this time followed it with the rest of the thought, "I believe I could respect."

"We definitely agree on other matters," Sirius said with the deep conviction of the lustfully inclined, trying to loop a leg around those hips without giving himself away. Obligingly, God shifted, and Sirius moaned into a shoulder, writhing in a manner that he figured probably suited Padfoot more than him but it felt so good!

"We shall have to see, won't we?" Teasingly, the man brought Sirius's left arm to his lips, and bit the skin on its inner surface, suckling, and swirling his tongue over the pulse.

Sirius laughed, tugging his arm free, and gave up the pretence entirely, wrapping both legs around God (!) with abandon and rolling onto his back. "Looking forward to it, mate--now how about you use that tongue somewhere more appreciative?"

*

When Sirius woke again, he stretched, and hummed with pleasure at discovering that he was neither sticky nor chilled, but rather clean and tucked beneath the covers of the little room above the inn. He was, however, alone, and that was somewhat less pleasant to discover. He wouldn't have minded having another go.

Deciding that, all things considered, waking up alone in a warm, paid room with a blanket over him and a -- oh, hey, note on the table. Rolling over, Sirius grabbed the note and broke the seal, flopping onto his back and squinting up at the fine handwriting. Even with the curtains closed, the room was bright, and Sirius smirked to himself, adding "sleeping till noon without being dragged out of bed" to his list of why waking up that morning was wonderful.

Thank you for the late Christmas gift, Mr. Black.

Sirius's eyebrows jumped and he laughed. Oh, so he'd known who Sirius was, had he? Maybe winning all those Quidditch games with Jamie was finally beginning to pay off.

The room has been paid, and you may take your time leaving it. I thought you might be needing your rest. I will send an owl tomorrow for your reply if you care to do so.

Sirius let out a quiet chuckle at that and scrubbed absently at his chest with the heel of one callused hand. "Proud of your prowess, are you, Mr. God?"

The letter didn't answer, though Sirius thought it might have been a neat trick if it had--like the map. He supposed he couldn't expect all the world from God right at the start. His eyes skimmed the precise handwriting, groin tightening pleasantly at some more detailed recounts of Sirius's performance the previous night.

And then, at the end, Sirius read the words that made his smirk blossom into a feral grin and the tingling race through his nerves until he felt like a fourth year with a crush. I look forward to seeing you again -- shall we continue our discussion?

Sirius flopped back with a whoop and threw the letter into the air. "I do believe I have a new religion!"

*

By the time the old year faded into the new and Sirius found himself once more in a crowded Great Hall for breakfast, surrounded by his friends, jubilant excitement over his conquest had faded into an uncomfortable squirming feeling in his stomach that didn't feel like telling them the details of his New Year's Eve.

It'd been when he was dressing in the little rented room that Sirius noticed the love bite--if that'd been what it was. He'd joked during the (mind blowing) sex afterwards about the location, teasing the other man about trying to give him a dark mark.

It didn't feel funny anymore by the day after New Year's when the crimson bloom had faded from his skin--because the bruise left behind did look uncomfortably like the skull and snake that shone up at him from the front page of the Daily Prophet--there'd been a raid in Hogsmeade on New Year's Day. Even as a coincidence, he didn't fancy explaining the mark to the others, especially since it hadn't faded since that second morning. It definitely wasn't funny seeing that mark every day. And he'd said as much in the letter he owled back.

Calling him God didn't feel so fun anymore either.

Neither did reading the letter that almost landed in his tea.

You want to know how to remove the mark? Why would you--it suits you, I think. But really, if you're insistent, meet me in the same room first Hogsmeade weekend. We will discuss. Love, God.

Sirius crumpled the letter and shoved it into his bag, gripping his spoon like a weapon and attacking his egg. "Just another bad Slytherin joke, Prongs. Leave it." He forced a feral grin through his hair. "We'll see them on the pitch this weekend."

Peter was too busy nattering on about Gryffindor cleaning the pitch with Slytherin, and James was far too busy making sure Lily heard every word of it to notice the odd look Remus was giving Sirius, or the way Sirius couldn't meet the werewolf's eyes.

It was just some kind of stupid coincidence. Very stupid. The man'd had a rotten sense of humour, that was all, and Sirius didn't care--after all, the sex had been spectacular. Because sex was all he'd been after and he was no stranger to pranks being taken too far.

With time, Sirius learned that the mark would fade on its own. But the feelings remained.