Walks up to you shaking and whimpering…
Padfoot/harry
-Harry talking about what he does with his dog to get human Sirius off
-Oral knotting
-filled up/ breeding kink
-marking territory (piss) (pissing inside but also breeding kink)
This is so insanely filthy I feel like I'm gonna get arrested for posting it, BUT UH, HERE YOU GO. HERE. I'M JUST GONNA LEAVE IT HERE. its like 2k words YOU'RE WELCOME HAHAHA ---
Harry in the curl of his arm, molten liquid like something spilled. The room stinks of teenage sweat and Sirius can taste the hormonal spice of it in the back of his throat, coating his tongue, clinging to his mustache and stubble from when he was licking Harry out, minutes ago. He kisses him with the same dirty mouth and Harry loves it–moans into him, sucks his tongue, fucks himself on the two crooked fingers Sirius has buried in his spit-wet hole. They’ve been at this for ages: Sirius working Harry over behind warded doors, blinding him with pleasure, dutifully transforming a boy into a raw, begging nerve.
Earlier in the summer when they first fell into this mess, Sirius feared he would be too much for Harry. His desire too mad, his past too black, his needs too insatiable. After all, a grown man fresh from Azkaban, no matter how honorable his intentions, could tear a fifteen year old apart. A dog could do much worse.
But Harry is not built to tear and he is not afraid of dogs. He is steel-strong and as it turns out, just as mad, just as black, just as insatiable. He meets Sirius in the gutter, and then he digs them deeper into the wet earth. It’s Harry who begs Sirius to fuck him for the first time, Harry who suggests new positions he doesn’t even have names for, Harry who’s hand wanders down between Padfoot’s dog’ legs to curiously tease over his sheath for the first time. Later, it’s Harry who pants into the mess of their fevered kisses, “I’ve made myself come thinking about sucking your dog cock.”
Sirius had been shocked, reeling back to stare down at his Godson’s open, trusting face with arousal-thick awe. He wasn’t disgusted by the suggestion, he was only shocked Harry wasn’t disgusted. “Are you just saying that to drive me mad over you?” he’d asked, petting Harry’s damp hair, razing nails down to the scalp. “Because I assure you, I’m quite mad already.”
But Harry had shaken his head, hips twitching, cock hard in Sirius’s fist. “No,” he’d murmured. “I really have thought about it, a lot. Is that–does it make me touched in the head?”
And Sirius had swept down to kiss him, claim him, erase any doubts he was anything but wonderful away with the tide of his own body. “No, no darling. It makes you so bloody filthy and wonderful I can hardly stand it.”
Sirius had come first, that night. With Harry nursing at the tip of his prick, mouth sloppy and eyes hazy as he pulled off to stroke with his hand and ask Sirius about his body, in its other reality. How big is it? How does the knot work? Are your senses like–more heightened, when you’re a dog? Can you smell me better? Do you remember everything once you turn back?
Answers, choked out between moans: a bit smaller–the shape is different. I’ll show you. Yes, I can smell everything, what you had for breakfast, the chemicals in your sweat, your DNA. And I remember–I remember everything. Sometimes it’s like waking from a dream, but a dream I remember.
“A good dream?” Harry had asked, voice slurred, mouth full of cock. And Sirius came at that, his cry like a bark wrenched from the animal parts deep inside him.
They hadn’t done it yet–fucked as a dog and a boy. Sirius knew Harry wanted to and part of him wanted to, as well, but there was something to be said about talking around a fantasy, inching nearer and nearer to it, close enough to singe without catching fire. Plus, they’d already rocketed through everything else two people could do together in record time, across the last month of the summer like a comet streaking through the darkness. He wanted something to hold out on, something to promise Harry without giving into, just yet. That way, Harry wouldn’t tire of him when he was away. He wouldn’t grow bored, and forget. “When you come back for winter hols,” he told him one night. “If you study and keep your head down at school.”
“Keep my head down?!” Harry had snorted, and his head had gone down then, indeed.
But Sirius’s patience runs thin like his saliva when he is Padfoot, and he can smell what Harry had for breakfast, the chemicals in his sweat, his DNA. It’s late August now and they are so desperate and hungry for each other it feels like a sickness, made all the more desperate and hungry by knowing their remaining secret nights together are numbered, dwindling. So here, now, in the humid clutch of Sirius’s bedroom with his fingers wet and pruned as they play with Harry’s prostate, their tongues laving at one another like two beats and a slick of drool all over Harry’s chin, Sirius is terribly near cracking.
“I want,” Harry chokes out, insides fluttering around knuckles. “I want more.”
“My prick?” Sirius huffs, punching deep into Harry’s body, loving the way his back arches, body flushed and shiny with perspiration. “You want me to fuck this sweet ass?”
“Your knot,” Harry murmurs, dropping a bomb eyes flashing. “I want it inside me.”
Sirius feels himself disintegrating, his heart tripping over itself to slam into his ribcage. “I told you,” he murmurs. “That’s your treat for Christmas.”
“But I’m ready now,” Harry hisses. “Please.”
The wavering is a palpable thing–Sirius can feel his body wanting to change, wanting to give Harry everything he can, because he is in love and it’s what you do, when you’re in love. Change, transform. Promises be damned. “Not yet,” he manages to say. “It will be much sweeter if you wait. If I make you wait, and you’re a good boy and endure that waiting.”
Harry makes a sound, no words, all frustration and longing. It makes Sirius have to put his tongue in his mouth– hold the jut of his chin fast with his one free hand and lick over his teeth . He spits a foaming wad right onto the pink pad of Harry’s tongue, watches him thrash and swallow it down desperately, like he needs it. “Tell me, instead,” Sirius rasps. “Tell me your Godfather every dirty thing you want to do with your pet dog.”
Harry groans, arse spasming sweetly, a needy gape that allows Sirius to ease a third finger in alongside the other three, stretching him wide. “Hngg–you know,” he murmurs against Sirius’s parted lips. “You know I want you to fuck me, like that. Fill me with your come, then knot me so it stays in me. So if I were a dog, too, I’d be bred.”
“Fuck,” Sirius murmurs, fingering Harry deep, letting him feel the full burning width of all three of his fingers. “You want to be tied to me? Sated and limp while I pump you full of come?”
“Yes,” Harry rasps, hips working desperately, his red cock dripping on his stomach, flagging, fucking into nothing. Sirius wants so badly to touch it, to suck it, put his boy out of his misery and make him feel good, but he knows Harry can come just from this–insistent fingertips jammed just right against his prostate, milking him from the inside out while Sirius talks dirty to him. “I want to be stuck like that. So I couldn’t get away even if I tried. But I wouldn’t try.”
“No,” Sirius murmurs, mercilessly strumming Harry’s inner walls, loving the way he twitches and gasps involuntarily at the over-stimulation. “You’re a good boy.”
“A good bitch,” Harry says with a cheeky grin, and Sirius sucks in a ragged breath.
“Language,” he mock scolds, before dripping another string of spit into Harry’s waiting mouth. Then he dives down, licks his chin, the corner of his mouth, swiping up beaded sweat on his upper lip to taste the most perfect salt. “Such a beautiful, dirty mouth.”
“Yours to fuck,” Harry wheezes. “Yours to knot.”
“Ah,” Sirius groans into him, cock throbbing where it’s pressed hard and aching into Harry’s thigh. “You want your dog to fuck all your holes, don’t you?”
“Yes. I want you to breed my ass, breed my mouth. Knot me there. Coming down my open throat.”
“Jesus, Harry,” Sirius swears, overcome. He withdraws his fingers, manhandles Harry onto his stomach and props his hips up so he can get a better angle, a relentless drive at his prostate, an arm corded around his thighs to hold him in place. “You make me want to throw it all out. Every plan. You make me want to become an animal right here and take you.”
“Do it,” Harry dares, waving his ass back and forth defiantly, hole glistening and pink, puffy from being worked over and fingered for hours. Sirius has to lick it again, he can’t not so he lunges forward, swipes his tongue from ball-sack to tailbone, growling into sweaty skin. “You want to,” Harry says in a shaky voice, half muffled by arm and pillow. “You can’t help yourself. You want to breed me. Fill me up with your come. Your piss.”
Sirius chokes on his own saliva. Fuck–leave it to Harry to suprise him again, come up with something so insane even he hadn’t thought of it. But now–now he’s thinking of it. He reels back, lays his frame over Harry’s heaving spine so his cock can nestle up between his cheeks, tease him while he presses his mouth to his ear. “What did you just say?” he asks. “Say it again and I might come right here, all over you.”
Harry wriggles his hips, backing up against Sirius, fitting their bodies more snugly, sticky skin against skin. “That I’d let you mark me and fill me however you want. With dog come. With dog piss.”
“Jesus, fucking Christ,” Sirius breathes, shoving Harry down onto his stomach, straddling his narrow hips to rut roughly against him. “Feel that? Feel how hard you make me? How badly I want to do just that?”
Harry laboriously frees a hand to reach back and hold one cheek open, exposing himself. “Then fuck me,” he begs. “Knot me. Tell me how you’d breed me if I was your bitch.”
Sirius was genuinely about to do it–shift forms and lose control, but those two words stop him: tell me. So it’s still a game–still a series of gambits, temptations, tricks. He softens, bends to kiss Harry on the back of the neck. “I’d get my jaws right here. Open my muzzle and bite you. Not hard enough to break the skin, but hard enough you couldn’t twist away.”
Harry moans, shudders. “You could break the skin. You can mark me like that, too.”
“Wouldn’t want to damage something so precious,” Sirius murmurs, adjusting his position so he can fuck into Harry’s thighs and slide three fingers back in to milk him. He pushes in fluid, easy, Harry’s hole gaping submissively at the sudden fill. “God, look at you. Need it so bad. Need your dog’s cock,” Sirius marvels.
“Need my dog’s come. Need to be filled up, overflowing with his piss. Ah–fuck–Sirius,” Harry cries out, spine locking and hips lifting to meet the sudden barrage of staccato thrusts. Sirius knows exactly how to make him come like this–find the button, press it over and over again, stroke it and work it until Harry is raw and sobbing and his pretty cock is shooting off into the sheets. Talk him through it, over the edge.
“My darling boy. If you knew how much your dog needed you, too. When I got out of prison, Harry, you were the first place I went. On all fours, as Padfoot, I came to see you. You were so angry, so young, and my dog’s body–you turned it on, I could smell you in the mist that night. The scent of your body made my cock come out of its sheath. I felt so guilty, later, you were only thirteen, but me, my animal self, I knew, I knew–”
“Fuck, Sirius,” Harry whines urgently, clutching around him, close, so close with his white knuckled fists in the sheets, his gasping mouth. “I wish you had–then. Knocked me down, ripped my clothes off, shoved your muzzle between my legs. Taken me–marked me–bred me, then, I was yours, I was already yours–I–-ah–”
He comes so good, so full-body. A vice around Sirius’s fingers, his head thrown back, a gargling sound in his throat and his thighs twitching as Sirius humps him fiercely, teeth at the back of his neck just like he said they would be. It’s a long time before Harry’s flesh relents its hold enough he can ease his fingers out–first one, then the other two, Harry hissing and chasing the pressure each time. “Longer,” he said hoarsely. “Stay in me longer. As long as it would take for the knot to shrink.”
“Shh,” Sirius says, positioning himself so he can sheath his still-hard cock inside Harry’s used body. “I know. I’m going to give you that come you need so badly. I’ve got you.”
It’s slow, sweet. Sirius has been holding on so long, edging himself and staving off his orgasm with such determination that all it takes is a few deep, hip-circling thrusts into Harry’s body to spend, and fill him up to the brim. A hot sudden flood, Sirius’s breath shuddering out of him as he finishes, nose buried to inhale from the wreck of Harry’s hair.
They lie like that, one inside the other. The pantomime of being tied together, Harry crushed, limp, spread out underneath the cage of Sirius's body that he couldn’t get away if he tried, not that he is trying. Sirius strokes his side gently with one hand, tracking his breathing, counting his ribs. "Was that enough?" he asks, voice a rumble through Harry, making him quake.
"No," Harry says, though he sounds very satisfied. "It's never enough. I don't think there is such thing."
"We'll see when Christmas comes round," Sirius says. "And I give you all I have to give."
Harry shrugs, the motion making Sirius undulate on top of him like a wave. "I think I'll just invent something else to chase."
"I hope so," Sirius says, before pressing a kiss to the thrum of Harry's pulse.
