Harry Potter and a Collection of Oneshots

Harry Potter Flooes at a Bad Time - Wolfstar Smut

Harry wanted to speak to his godfather, Sirius Black, as soon as possible. He needed Sirius to tell him that his father wasn't an egomaniacal bastard that bullied students daily for fun. That all the foul things Severus Snape had told him were lies. He simply refused to believe it, ignoring the palpable irony: he has never met his father, therefore he didn't knew him enough to know whether or not he was a slick git.

Somewhere in his heart, however, he knew it wasn't true. That Snape was merely under a phrenetic nebula of hatred, giving his usual tirade.

Never mind that not only he heard Severus, but he had seen it as well. He didn't know how it happened, but somehow he delved into Severus' memory. Surely, he must have done something awful for James to target him?

Taking a pinch of floo powder in his hands, Harry knelt before the fireplace and shouted Number 12, Grimmauld Place!

He expected Sirius to be there alone, sullenly pacing the house, unable to do anything but stay in hiding. Dumbledore had told him not to go out by any means unless told to, lest he should risk getting caught again.

What he did not expected was to see the kitchen, ah, occupied.

-"Sirius, we shouldn't..."

-"Hush, Moony."

Harry's godfather was in the middle of the kitchen and he was not alone.

Remus Lupin, Harry's former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, accompanied him.

-"What if someone from the Order arrives and sees us...?"- Asked Remus.

-"Then I'll tell them the truth,"- Sirius replied nonchalantly, -"That I love you unconditionally. Simple enough."

-"Oh, Sirius. If only it were,"- Remus answered wistfully, -"Worse, what if... what if Harry-?"

-"He'll understand, Remus. Give my godson some credit."

-"But-"

-"We're alone,"- Sirius cut in, stepping closer to Remus, -"Let's not waste it worrying over nothing."

Harry wasn't expecting to see them together, much less snogging a second later; Sirius had his arms thrown all over Remus, pulling him closer and closer to his body while kissing him full in the mouth.

He knew Sirius was noncommittal, never settled in with anyone, but he wasn't aware of this. He never would've known that Sirius was queer and fancied his former teacher. The idea was... odd. He was not disgusted, merely nonplussed.

The smooching sounds coming from the pair teemed the room as the kiss intensified. Harry saw tongues dancing and drool dripping from chins. He saw hands clinging fiercely to one another, wrenching layer after layer of clothing until they were both half-naked and the garbs left in an ungraceful heap on the floor.

Sirius broke the intense kiss to roughly push Remus onto one of the kitchen chairs. Then he sat over Remus' lap, his legs spread open (which allowed his-ahem-arousal to be quite discernible, pushing and begging to be freed from such a confined space), and continued his onslaught on Remus' lips, all the while fondling his scarred flesh.

Harry had never seen Remus without a shirt before. Usually, if not always, he wore sleeved shirts and long cloaks, robes and, sometimes, gloves. Undoubtedly, Harry now realized, to hide the horrific scars the wolf left on him each full moon. He felt a pang of empathy and sentiment for his former teacher; never has he seen so many scars on a man before.

Hastily, Sirius began to grind down his pelvis on Remus' own bucking hips; back and forth in a desperate but surprisingly coordinated rhythm. They moaned in unison into each others' mouths while trying to keep kissing; it had become messy and irregular, so open-mouthed and rooted that Harry couldn't see their tongues anymore.