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Summary
They were enemies, once. They still are—aren’t they?
But the magic binding them doesn’t care for old grudges. It whispers in dreams, pulls them close, stirs need where only contempt once lived. In the dead of night, Severus begins to unravel—and Sirius watches, wanting, waiting.
Severus turns—and collides with Sirius Black’s chest.
Heat, solid and unyielding, sears through the fabric of his robes, stealing the breath from his lungs. The forest looms, silent. The wind curls through the trees like whispered secrets. Every nerve screams run—but he cannot move.
"I have you," Sirius murmurs, voice low, dark, reverberating like a vow.
Severus shudders. Not in fear. Not in anything he can name.
Sirius’s hands are on him, branding, possessive, raking up his sides, curling into his waist, breath a ghost against his throat. His scent—smoke, sweat, something dark—coils in Severus’s lungs, heady and intoxicating.
He shouldn’t want this. He doesn’t want this.
And yet—
When Sirius presses him back against the bark, when lips find his skin—teasing, claiming—Severus’s breath stutters. His fingers tighten in Sirius’s hair, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer.
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