InsaneJournal

His Mother's Bay Window

                Sometimes, in the middle of the night, his lover would come to him, and Grimmauld Place would cease to exist around him. For the moment. It always came back to him, even if it took so long as to only come back to him in the morning. His surroundings were bleak. They were everything he despised about the world. He would have had a fit without some sort of release. He supposed he had to feel grateful for that.

                But he had a feeling their meetings only took place to keep him in Grimmauld, to keep him trapped as ordered. He wouldn't put it past the skewed, selfish bastard. He wouldn't really put anything past him at all.

                "What is it tonight?" Albus asked softly, watching him from the doorway of the kitchen as he stared into the fire and drank.

                "Does it matter?" he said.

                Albus stepped forward, boots going click, click, click on the old floor, reaching out a hand to push some of Sirius's dark hair behind his ear, to brush fingertips over his robe-clad shoulder. "How are you?"

                "Same as always," he huffed back. "You know, gnawing boredom, claustrophobia, need . . . ."

                "I can take care of some of that need," said the headmaster, pressing a kiss to the back of his head.

                "Not need like that, barmy git. Need for escape."

                "How about we look out the window this time, Sirius?" he said, cupping his chin, pressing a kiss to his ear.

                "Fuck in front of the window?" he paused for a moment, whole body intent as he considered it. "Yes. Please. Anything."

                He locked the door to the sitting room and parted the curtains to the big, bay window all with a single motion of his wand.

                Sirius would have snapped "Why didn't you mention this before?" but he still had apprehensions. Wouldn't it just be torture, masochism, to allow himself to be so close and still not be able to escape?

                "It has come to my attention that you would look wonderful in the moonlight."

                Sirius snorted. He didn't look wonderful ever. Lighting wasn't going to change that. Then again, Albus Dumbledore was old. "Thanks, Albus," he said in a voice laced with sarcasm. "Maybe I'll go and buy a portable moon. That way, when I'm tired of Moony, I can just blame it on the price we pay for fashion."

                Albus smiled softly at him, beginning to slip out of his ornate, soft blue robes. He eyed Sirius for a moment. "Would you like to be pressed against the glass, or would you like me to move the settee?"

                Sirius's breath hitched. It took him a while to answer, considering it was the first decision he'd had in a long time—or at least the first important one. "Don't move the settee on my account, Albus," he said, as sarcastically as ever. Or more so. Albus knew that merely meant he desired to be pressed against the glass, and very much so.

                "You're going to have to undress first, Sirius," he said softly, watching as Sirius finally pulled himself away from the scene of the darkening street to do so.

                Sirius stared straight at Albus, almost angrily, almost accusingly, as he slid his robe off. "Elphias Doge said you had a thing for Grindelwald, once upon a time."

                Albus paused. It looked almost as if he was going to leave. He shifted a bit awkwardly from foot to foot and then said, "More than a thing."

                "Oh." Sirius stared at him for a moment. He wondered if that was why the man was such a horrific bastard. Then again, to fall in love with Grindelwald, wouldn't he have had to have been one already? Not that Sirius was any dark lord expert. Though, Albus probably deluded himself thinking he was one. "Do you get off on the dark artifacts here?" he asked suddenly, looking about at some of the shelves in the sitting room.

                "Just one," said Albus, staring at Sirius quite hungrily. But they can both tell it's really a lie. Albus must be pretty fond of dark artifacts (real ones, not Sirius himself) after all. "Would you like to just talk? I need to get back soon, you know."

                Sirius shook his head, nearing the man to pull down his pants. He pulled off his own, feeling thin and awkward as he always felt lately, moving toward the window and pressing his palms against the glass.

                There was little foreplay. An oiled finger at his entrance had him going well enough anyway, for the most part. It probed inside of him. A second joined it. He was used to the stretching, but small sounds still got caught in his throat against his will. It was an aftereffect of Azkaban. Pleasure, of any sort, either could not be felt at all, was felt too intensely, or was felt mixed with pain. Sometimes pain was equal to pleasure. Sometimes pain was what he wanted. Tonight was not a night in which he wanted pain. Dumbledore always knew what he wanted. Somehow.

                The third finger came and lips pressed themselves to his shoulder blades, kissing them. Sirius knew he was too-thin, but Albus seemed to like the fact. Sirius let it slide. The man was barmy anyway.

                "Did you ever fall for anyone?" came the soft question. The fingers continued to stretch.

                Sirius sighed, resting more of his weight on his hands. "No. Never really had time, I suppose."

                "I know what you mean."

                "Never found anyone to replace him?"

                "Gellert? No."

                "Did you ever . . . ?"

                "Oh, yes. Quite a bit." He nuzzled his face into Sirius's unwashed hair, pulling his fingers out.

                "I'm ready."

                "I know," he said, rubbing oil over himself before pressing in. Sirius groaned. "Isn't the street beautiful?" he asked, pausing to let Sirius adjust. Sirius just pressed back against him instead, so he began to move.

                "Miss nature, Albus," moaned Sirius sadly, staring at the decidedly man-made street. "I miss nature."

                "If you're very careful, I might consider . . . taking you for a walk."

                Sirius moaned and his face flushed at the prospect. He pressed back against the thrusts a bit each time.

                Albus knew such a statement would get a good reaction. It was all about reactions with Sirius, really. He was quite easy to predict. Albus lowered his hand to stroke at Sirius's taught stomach, pressing flush against him, leaning in to nip at his ear.

                "Ah! S'good, Albus . . . ." He shivered softly against him, and from the cold of the window so near his naked flesh. He was getting goose bumps.

                He could remember his staunch mother sitting at the bay window—how could he forget? This was the very spot her portrait had been painted in front of.

                As if she could hear his thoughts, the portrait began shrieking. Albus further swelled, pushing into Sirius with more fervor.

                "Menace to society," moaned Sirius.

                "Quite," groaned Albus.

                Soon they were out of words, panting and groaning and thrusting, their pricks leaking, their balls tightening, and Albus came. He always had to come first. Sirius could not unless he had, for some reason. He plucked gently at the head of the prick, stroking it firmly, nipping at the juncture of neck and shoulder, sinking his teeth in as Sirius splattered the window with his essence. With the essence of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black.

                Sirius, as always, sagged backward, remarkably unsteady after their couplings. Albus led him to the settee, pressing a kiss to his stubble-covered cheek.

Sirius would pull into a melancholy most of the time, afterward, and he'd either leave him like that or rock him in his arms until he fell asleep.

Albus gave Sirius's hand a quick squeeze before making his exit. He closed the curtains again, sending a smirk at Sirius to get him to notice that he'd not cleaned up the come, a smirk which Sirius half-heartedly returned. "Give Kreacher a bit more excitement in his life. Maybe he'll roll around against the window."

Sirius chuckled, then fell back into the hazy sort of stupor of his sorrow.

Albus gave a nod to him, and then made his way to the front porch slowly, heels going click, click, click. "The caged Snidget cannot sing," he said softly to himself. "No matter how broken or beautiful."