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There is a physical constant called the law of conservation of energy. Energy does not disappear. It only flows from one form to another, from one pair of hands to another, from one body to the next. Severus had learned this in the Muggle world and thought at the time: what a dull science. He was seventeen, and he didn't yet know that this law would turn out to be the most precise description of his personal life.
Now he is twenty-three. And his fourth boyfriend has cheated on him with Sirius bloody Black.
Severus has his own theory about Sirius Black. It had taken a long time to form — four years, to be exact, starting from the evening when Severus first understood that this boy with his idiotic smile would ruin his life. Sirius doesn't do anything on purpose — that's the horror of it. Sirius simply exists — loud, warm, laughing, with that ridiculous hair and those hands that always know where to land. Sirius simply walks into a room, and the gravity inside it shifts.
Severus knows this better than he would like to. So there's no point in blaming people for always choosing Black. Even Lily, back in the day, had looked at him and his gang of lunatics in exactly that way. But it doesn't make it hurt any less.
Severus found out about the latest betrayal on a Thursday. Thursday, if he's being honest, is an appalling day for betrayal. Friday, for instance, is much more suitable. You can go on a bender and chalk it all up to a well-earned weekend. But Thursday is fiendishly cruel. On a Thursday, you still have to survive Friday.
One image kept looping through his mind: his boyfriend ,ex-boyfriend now, standing in the doorway of Sirius Black's bedroom, his shirt unbuttoned two buttons more than is decent for a person in someone else's home, laughing as though the whole world had just handed him a front-row ticket to the greatest show on earth.
Severus took one last drag, flicked the cigarette butt into a tin tea caddy, and whispered quietly:
"Conservation of energy, for fuck's sake."
Because energy truly does not disappear.
It simply flows.
From his hands — into someone else's.
From his bed — into Black's.
"No, this is just too much, how could he do that to you?" said Lily, sitting beside him and chewing a pastry at the same time.
"Careful, Lily, you're going to choke."
"These are amazing, where do you buy them?"
Severus smiled faintly.
"From my own oven."
Lily's eyes went wide with surprise.
"Wow, they're absolutely incredible."
Lily took another one. That was her third, not that Severus was counting — he simply noticed the plate slowly emptying and felt something resembling satisfaction for the first time all week.
"Thank you," he said quietly, watching Lily take a crunching bite of a shortbread tart with cream. "I just… I needed something to do with my hands."
"And your head," Lily nodded knowingly, chewing.
Severus gave a soft huff and leaned back against the old sofa. Lily was sitting on the floor with her legs tucked beneath her, just like she used to in school when they would hide from the Marauders in the library. Except now they were hiding in his rented flat, and instead of Potions textbooks, the table was covered in empty pastry wrappers.
"You're not going to forgive him, are you?" Lily asked suddenly, her voice turning serious.
Severus looked out the window. Rain was drizzling beyond the glass — London's autumn spared no one. He remembered how that boy, whose name he no longer wished to say aloud, had kissed him right here in this room.
"I don't blame him," Severus said at last.
"What?" Lily choked on her tea. "What do you mean, you don't blame him? Sev, do you hear yourself? He slept with Black!"
"I know that," Severus turned to face her. "I don't blame him because it's Black. Look at him yourself. He's perfect. Everyone is drawn to him."
Lily frowned, setting down her mug.
"Severus, that's not an excuse. Your boyfriend should have chosen you."
"He should have," Severus echoed. "But he didn't."
They sat like that for a while. The rain tapped against the glass. In the fridge, a second batch of pastries was waiting. Somewhere in the city, Sirius Black was probably laughing his damned smile, with no idea that yet another chapter of Severus Snape's life had shattered because of him.
"Do you know what Marcus said to me?" Severus asked suddenly. "When I asked him why he did it."
"And why did he?"
"He said: Because it's easy with him. You don't have to think. He just takes over and makes you happy."
Lily snorted.
"Oh, of course. What a magnificent justification. He made me happy with his dick, sorry darling."
Severus couldn't hold back a laugh.
"Lily."
"What Lily? Easy means not having to make any emotional investment. Being able to show up, get what you came for, and leave without looking back at the consequences. That's hardly a compliment to Black."
Severus shook his head. She had always had a gift for putting things in order. In school it had been infuriating — when she sorted through his grievances, his jealousy, his stupid adolescent outbursts. Now, for some reason, it was calming. Perhaps because the shelves Lily arranged his life onto were the only ones that didn't collapse at the first touch.
"You don't understand," he began, but Lily cut him off.
"I understand everything. I saw how you used to look at Black when we were at school. And don't tell me it was only hatred."
Severus went still. The teaspoon he had been twirling in his fingers clinked against the saucer.
"What?"
"Oh, don't make that surprised face," Lily sighed and reached for another pastry. "You looked at him the same way Potter looked at me. I thought it would pass."
"It has passed," said Severus, too quickly.
"Good," she said softly. "If you say so."
Lily finished her tea and set the mug on the table. She ran her finger around the edge of the plate, collecting the last crumbs of shortbread, and licked them from her fingertip.
"You don't have to keep yourself in check all the time," she said, not looking at him. "Sometimes you're allowed to just be angry. Break something."
"Breaking crockery is a luxury for people with money."
Lily snorted. She stood up, stretched, and Severus noticed her wince slightly. They embraced tightly at the door.
"Call me if you need anything," she said on the threshold. "And don't stay up all night."
The door clicked shut. Her footsteps on the stairs faded. Severus stood still for another minute, listening to the silence of the flat, then returned to the kitchen.
He put the kettle on again, though he wasn't thirsty. The sound of boiling simply filled the space, distracting him from idiotic thoughts. Marcus's voice kept circling in his head: It's easy with him. The word clung to him like powdered sugar on fingers. Severus wiped his hands on a towel and sat down at the table. The notebook was where he had left it that morning — pages filled with the formulae for a calming draught he had been brewing for himself but never finished.
The click of the kettle switching off jolted Severus out of his stupor. He blinked, trying to focus on the open notebook. The ink on the page had long since dried, and the rows of precise formulae had blurred into grey static. Twenty minutes wasted. It wasn't tiredness, exactly — it was simply that one particular image kept flashing before his eyes: a collar, unbuttoned exactly two buttons lower than it ought to have been.
Severus pushed back his chair and stood abruptly. He poured the boiling water into a mug, tossing in a cheap paper teabag with distaste. A murky brown cloud spread through the water unattractively. On any other day, his meticulous, precision-trained nature would have rebelled at such barbarism, but now he simply wrapped his cold fingers around the hot mug and sat back down heavily.
The rain outside had changed its rhythm, now lashing the glass with a damp, slapping sound. Severus rested his chin in his hand, staring through his pale reflection at the street beyond.
Just break something, Lily had advised.
But he had no desire to smash anything. The burning fury had long since burned itself out. In its place, something thick and hollow was turning beneath his ribs — an aching, gnawing emptiness that was frighteningly close to hunger. Severus swallowed, feeling how the cloying sweetness of those pastries he had forced down while talking to Lily still sat across his throat.
It wasn't really about Marcus. Marcus had simply been the last, inevitable misfire. If he were being fully honest with himself, Severus had known that from the very beginning. Their relationship had been like a worn-out jumper: scratchy in places, pathetic-looking, but too much trouble to pull over your head and throw away.
The problem was Severus, and his stupid feelings for Black.
He had been fourteen. It was February, he remembered because Hogwarts in February always felt a little like a ship on the open sea: dark and windy outside, too cramped within, and everyone slightly on edge because winter hadn't ended and spring was only just preparing to arrive.
Severus had stayed late in the library that day. Madam Pince allowed him to take books from the restricted shelves if he came after supper, when there was almost no one left, and this was one of the few privileges he used without any self-consciousness whatsoever. He was walking back to Slytherin with three books under his arm, already looking forward to shutting himself in his corner of the common room.
He had not anticipated the Marauders.
They were standing in the corridor, all four of them, but in that moment Severus only saw Black. He was in the middle, as always, because Black was always at the centre of everything — laughing at something Potter had said, his head thrown back, and in the torchlight his hair gleamed with a dark shine; his top two shirt buttons were undone, and his tie hung crookedly.
He tried to slip past without catching their eyes.
But Black noticed him.
"Well, look who's here" Sirius turned to face him fully. That tone always produced a sharp, aching contraction somewhere beneath Severus's ribs.
Potter grinned immediately. Severus stopped. Running was absurd and there was nowhere to go: behind him, the corridor turned a corner where two first-year Hufflepuffs had frozen in place, pressing themselves against the wall and staring at the Marauders.
"What do you want, Black?" Severus spat.
Sirius stepped forward. One single step, like a predator that has no intention of attacking just yet, but is simply sizing up its prey — marking it, so that later, when hunger comes, it can be devoured whole. They were the same height now, both having shot up over the summer, but Black somehow managed to fill the entire corridor.
"Back from the library again?" Sirius let his gaze slide over the books, which Severus instinctively clutched more tightly. "At this hour? Snape, do you even have a life, or do you only cuddle dusty old tomes?"
"I do," Severus replied, feeling the leather spines of the books dig into his fingers. "Unlike some people, I don't waste it propping up corridor walls."
Sirius tilted his head slightly. Something in his expression shifted for just a moment — his gaze sharpened, and then his customary smirk settled back into place.
"Point taken, Snape," he said. "But the library closes at ten. It's half past. Does Madam Pince let you in?"
Severus didn't answer. The silence was a mistake — it confirmed what he had not said. Black understood immediately, because Black always understood such things: exactly what hurt, exactly where to press so that a person first flinched and then did something stupid.
"Ah, I see," Sirius drawled. "Special privileges for a special boy."
"Get out of my way," said Severus, and stepped forward, intending to pass. Black didn't move his shoulder. They collided in the narrow passage, and for a fraction of a second Severus found himself pressed right up against him — he could feel the warmth of Black's shoulder through his school shirt, smell his cologne, and the whole corridor suddenly collapsed to those few centimetres between them.
"Where are you rushing off to?" Black asked quietly. Potter was saying something behind him, but Severus couldn't hear.
"Let me go," said Severus. His voice came out louder than he intended.
He left. The Marauders, surprisingly, let him go. Severus walked quickly to the Slytherin common room, sat down in his armchair by the fire, opened his book to the right page, and did not read a single word until midnight.
He was thinking about the way Black had looked at him. About how this idiot was becoming an ever-greater problem in his life.
But the true scale of the problem only revealed itself in sixth year — as tends to happen with problems that you shove under the bed for years and successfully ignore: at some point, they simply stop fitting there.
It was early October, and Black had had a falling-out with someone from Ravenclaw — Severus never found out with whom or over what; it didn't matter, Black was constantly quarrelling with someone over something — and as a result Black had ended up alone by the lake at the same time Severus happened to be there for entirely different reasons, namely because he needed to collect a particular species of water plant that only grew in that spot at that time of year.
Black was sitting on a large rock by the water, throwing small stones into the lake. His face was flushed.
Severus should have walked around him. Or waited until Black left. Or simply turned around and come back for the plants the next day. He did none of these three obvious things and instead went down to the water's edge five metres away from Black and began methodically searching for the right plant along the bank, telling himself he was behaving in an entirely normal fashion.
Black didn't look at him.
That was unusual.
Severus found the first clump of the plant, cut it, put it in the jar. Found a second one. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Black throw another stone — it skipped across the surface four times and sank.
"What are you collecting?" Black asked suddenly.
Severus looked up. Black was watching him with an unfocused gaze.
"Waterweed," said Severus.
"What for?"
"For a potion."
Sirius moved closer. He was drunk, Severus noticed. The smell of Firewhisky hit him at once.
"I don't have time for you. I'm busy, so leave me alone."
But Sirius didn't leave. He took another step. Now they were face to face. The moon lit his face. His cheeks were flushed, his lips slightly parted.
"You're always busy," Sirius muttered. "Busy, busy…"
Severus wanted to push him away. He genuinely did. But his hand froze in mid-air. Sirius suddenly moved behind him and wrapped his arms firmly around his waist. Hot palms pressed against Severus's stomach through his damp shirt. And then Sirius buried his nose in the hair at the back of Severus's neck.
A breath. Deep, slow, a low sound.
"Mmm…" Sirius exhaled against his skin. "Damn, Snape, why do you always smell like you make me want to…"
Severus went absolutely still. His whole body tensed like a bowstring. The warmth from Sirius seeped through the fabric, burning him. The hands on his stomach tightened slightly.
"Let go," Severus hissed. His voice was trembling. "You're drunk, Black. Go sleep it off."
"I… damn it, Snape. You infuriate me. Every day. Your face. Your books. The way you look. And then at night I think about you and…"
He didn't finish. He inhaled again, deep and hungry, as though trying to take in the entire scent of him.
Severus felt a treacherous warmth spreading in his lower abdomen. He drove his elbow back. Sirius grunted but still didn't let go.
"That hurt," he murmured, laughing. "But I like it when you fight back."
"I said let go!" Severus spun around in his arms. He drew his wand, casting a thin light over them both.
Now he was standing nose to nose with Black, his wand hand trembling, the wavering light flickering over Black's flushed face. The warmth of Sirius's breath grazed his lips.
"Snape…" Sirius whispered hoarsely, and there was none of the usual mockery in his voice — only raw, animal hunger. The hands at Severus's waist tightened further, fingers digging into the fabric of his wet shirt. Heat flooded through Severus's veins, his heart hammering as though it wanted to break free from his chest. He wanted to hit him, to push him away, to shout "You bastard!" — but his lips only parted.
Sirius leaned even closer, his nose pressing against Severus's cheek.
"Damn, it's like you were made to drive me out of my mind." His lips were almost touching, and Severus could already sense their taste — sweet with whisky, so achingly inviting…
The doorbell sliced through the silence of the flat. Severus jerked violently. The mug slipped from his fingers and struck the floor with a dull thud. A murky brown puddle of tea began spreading across the linoleum, flowing around the broken handle, but he didn't even look down. The memory shattered instantly, leaving only a bitter aftertaste.
He was not sixteen. He was not fourteen. And outside the window it wasn't the Black Lake — it was London sleet pattering drearily on the asphalt. He was alone. And whoever was at the door clearly had no intention of leaving.
The bell rang again.
The floorboards creaked under his feet. Through the peephole he saw wet hair plastered to a forehead, a leather jacket gleaming with rain. He would have preferred it to be Marcus. Marcus he could have handled.
Severus opened the door exactly the width of one hand.
"What do you want, Black?"
Sirius didn't answer. He pushed the door open with his shoulder and walked in. In his hand he was holding a crumpled grey t-shirt — Marcus's. The very one that Severus had once laundered himself, because Marcus couldn't be bothered. Sirius tossed it onto the hallway table, demonstratively, like a slap in the face. The t-shirt unfurled and fell to the floor, and Severus saw there was a stain on it.
"Returning what I don't need, Snape," Sirius drawled, shaking raindrops from his hair onto the doormat. "Wouldn't want you thinking I keep your leftovers. Marcus forgot it at mine. After… well, you know."
He grinned more broadly, his eyes glinting with malice. Just like at school, when the Marauders had cornered him in the corridor. Except now they were alone — no Potter, no Lupin.
Severus felt a scorching fury rise inside him. This bastard would never change.
"Get out of my house," said Severus, his voice unsteady. "Take your trophy and get out."
Sirius laughed.
"Oh, Snape," Sirius exhaled through his laughter, wiping his face with his palm. "You should see your expression. Does it really hurt that much? Was that pathetic Marcus actually the one for you?"
Severus stood with his back pressed against the wall and felt everything boiling inside him. Venom was flooding from his chest into his fists, his throat, his eyes, which burned with rage. He wanted to hit him. Wanted to grab that t-shirt and shove it down Sirius's throat.
"Get out of my house, Black. I'm not going to say it again. You've already done enough damage. Or did you come not just to return that shit but also to laugh at the wreckage of my life? Because that's your favourite sport, isn't it? Destroying things. Ruining things. Taking everything that isn't yours."
Sirius stopped laughing, but the smile remained. He took a step forward.
"Oh, come off it, Snape," Sirius drawled, his voice low, almost tender. "Everything that isn't yours. Who said Marcus was yours? He came to me himself. Crawled, to be precise."
"Get out."
"Nope," Sirius shook his head, the smile sharpening. "I came to talk. Did you think I'd just drop off your latest idiot's dirty laundry and disappear? No, Snape."
"You have ruined my entire life," Severus nearly spat the words. "Do me a favour and, just once in your life, listen to me."
"Oh, don't start." Sirius rolled his eyes. "You ruin things yourself, Snape. You keep choosing these bland, boring boys who can't even fuck properly. And then you act surprised when they come running to me."
"They don't come running because you're so bloody brilliant, Black. They come because you're a slut who deliberately—"
"Deliberately?" Sirius took another step. Now Severus had his back against the hallway wall. Sirius loomed over him, one hand braced against the wall beside his head.
"You really think I waste my time deliberately sabotaging your pathetic love life?"
"I think," said Severus, quietly and precisely, "that you don't need to do anything deliberately. You simply exist, Black, and that's enough for everything around you to break."
Sirius didn't step back. The hand on the wall didn't move.
"Right," he said. "So it's my fault that you keep choosing one bastard after another? It's my fault that you fall for people who at the first opportunity—"
"Shut up."
The tears he had been holding back all evening, all week, finally came. Hot, furious, they rolled down his cheeks, leaving salt tracks behind. He hadn't wanted to cry.
His hand flew up of its own accord and his palm connected with Sirius's cheek with a sharp, dry crack. Black's head snapped to one side, wet hair whipping across his face.
Sirius turned back slowly. A red handprint was already blooming on his cheekbone. He ran his tongue along his lip as though tasting his own blood, and… smirked.
"Oh," he drawled, his voice thick with mockery, making Severus want to strike him again. "Don't tell me our sweet Snevy wanted a happy ending. A white picket fence, Sunday breakfasts in bed, a ring on his finger, and a proper walk down the aisle?"
His hands settled on Severus's waist — exactly like that time by the lake. Hot palms burned through the thin fabric of the t-shirt. Severus shuddered but didn't pull away.
"But in one thing you're right," Sirius lowered his voice to a whisper. "I slept with your boyfriends on purpose. Every single one. Especially Marcus. To taste you. Because you'd never give it to me directly. You'd never let me touch you. So I took what was left after you. Their lips — after your kisses. Their skin — after your hands. Their moans — and I'd imagine it was you screaming my name."
Severus's throat tightened. His eyes stung. He let out a sob.
"You're sick."
Then Sirius did something Severus hadn't expected.
He raised his hand.
Severus instinctively flinched, just like he used to at school, because from Black you always expected a blow. But Sirius's fingers didn't curl into a fist. They opened. His palm gently cupped Severus's cheek, and his thumb slowly traced the wet trail beneath his eye.
Severus froze.
"What are you..." he began.
"Shh," Sirius said softly.
"Severus."
He couldn't remember the last time Sirius had called him by his first name. Maybe never.
"Get away from me," Severus said, but he didn't move. It was a lie neither of them believed.
Sirius didn't move away.
He leaned in slowly, so slowly that Severus had time to pull back, time to push him away, time to say something vicious that would set everything right again.
His lips touched his cheek.
A dry, careful kiss right where the tear had glistened.
Severus felt that kiss tear open something inside him that had long been covered by scar tissue. And it turned out the scar had never truly healed — it had only hidden a pulsing, living wound that now gaped wide open, greedy for air, for touch, for everything he had forbidden himself even in his most secret, most forbidden dreams. Sirius's thumb still rested on his cheekbone, warm and rough with calluses, likely left from the days when Black used to ride his motorcycle through the wet streets of London or fought for no reason at all — simply because his body always sought an outlet for that wild, animal energy Severus had once hated with every fiber of his being. But now, in this moment, as Sirius's lips pulled away from the wet skin of his cheek and hovered just a millimeter from his own, he realized that hatred had only ever been the flip side of a hunger so deep he had spent years lying to himself by calling it contempt.
He didn't even have time to draw breath before Sirius tilted his head slightly and captured his lips. The kiss started slow, almost questioning, as though Sirius was still waiting for Severus to push him away like always. But Severus didn't. He simply exhaled softly, almost soundlessly, into the kiss all the bitterness he had carried since he was fourteen, and let his lips part. The taste was salty: from tears, from the blood on Sirius's split lip that he himself had caused moments earlier. Sirius's tongue slipped inside cautiously, but when Severus responded, when he tangled his fingers in the wet strands at the nape of his neck and pulled him closer, the kiss instantly grew deeper and wetter. They kissed like they were trying to make up for all the years they had spent only hissing at each other across corridors.
Sirius's hands were no longer simply resting at his waist; they slid carefully under the thin t-shirt, hot palms gliding over the cool skin of his back, pulling him closer as if he wanted to press Severus into himself completely. Severus felt a shiver run down his legs, his knees weakening, and in the next second Sirius simply lifted him — one arm under his knees, the other supporting his back.
Severus instinctively wrapped his arms around Sirius's neck and buried his face in the wet skin beneath his ear. He wanted to say "put me down," wanted to protest, but instead he only held on tighter, feeling those strong arms supporting him.
They moved through the apartment.
The couch was close. Severus felt its edge brush against the backs of his knees, and the next moment Sirius lowered him onto the soft cushions, looming over him without allowing even an inch of space between them. The room was dark, lit only by a small lamp, and in the dimness everything felt sharper: the scent of Sirius's skin, his own ragged breathing when Sirius finally pulled the t-shirt over his head and tossed it aside.
Sirius took his time. He moved lower, lips trailing along Severus's neck, gently biting the skin just below his ear, then lower — across his collarbones, to his chest. His tongue circled one nipple, then the other, slowly, deliberately, sucking it into his mouth until Severus arched off the couch, fingers twisting in Sirius's wet hair. Meanwhile, Sirius's hands worked open Severus's trousers, unhurried, accompanied by kisses down his stomach.
Severus rocked his hips upward, trying to urge him on, but Sirius only smiled against his skin and continued his slow caresses, denying him what he was already desperately craving.
"Sirius, please..."
Sirius finally undid the button, drew down the zipper, and slowly peeled off the trousers along with his underwear, leaving him completely bare.
Severus lay before him naked, legs slightly parted, skin covered in goosebumps, and between his thighs there was already a glistening wetness. Sirius continued kissing down his stomach, moving lower, pressing his lips to every inch of skin on his inner thighs. His fingers stroked the sensitive skin there, moving higher and higher, but still avoiding the one place Severus needed him most. Only when Severus tugged at his hair did Sirius finally settle between his legs, making himself comfortable as though he intended to stay there all night.
"So beautiful," he murmured.
First he simply kissed the outer lips. Severus shuddered violently, fingers clenching the couch cushions. Sirius spread his legs wider, placing his palms firmly on the insides of his thighs to hold them open, and began licking slowly, achingly slowly, from the entrance upward, gathering the thick arousal that was already dripping down his folds. Sirius groaned in pleasure, the vibration traveling straight to Severus's clit and making him arch and moan long and low.
"You drive me insane, Severus."
"Don't stop."
"Those bastards never pleased you like this?"
Severus gasped and shook his head.
Sirius didn't reply with words. Instead he pressed closer, lips parting softly, almost reverently, and his tongue traced the sensitive edge where the skin was hot and slick. Severus felt the breath catch in his lungs at how slowly Sirius was savoring him like fine wine he'd waited years to taste.
"Tell me if..." Sirius began, but Severus only shook his head, his fingers automatically tightening in the wet strands at the back of Black's head, not pulling, just holding on. As if to make sure this wasn't another dream in which he'd wake up alone in a cold bed.
Sirius's tongue moved upward, circling the clit with careful, deliberate strokes, then again, a little firmer. Severus exhaled shakily. Sirius wasn't rushing. He licked slowly, collecting the wetness that flowed more freely now, and each time his tongue dipped slightly inside the entrance, Severus felt his inner muscles clench instinctively, trying to hold onto the sensation.
"I never thought I'd hear you like this," Sirius whispered, pulling back just enough to kiss the delicate skin of his inner thigh. His stubble scraped lightly. "Not in my dreams. But for real. Severus… you have no idea."
Severus opened his eyes, he hadn't realized he'd closed them, and looked down. Sirius was gazing up at him, eyes dark with lust, rain-soaked hair plastered to his forehead.
"Then don't talk," Severus breathed, his voice hoarse and broken. "Just… keep going. I don't want to think right now."
Sirius gave the smallest nod and lowered his head again. This time there was no teasing. His tongue slid deeper, pushing inside, and Severus arched sharply, heels digging into the cushions.
"I hated you for this," Sirius said suddenly, pulling back slightly. "For never looking at me like this. For making me steal from others. Even when I was with them, I'd close my eyes and imagine your hands on me. They never deserved you anyway."
Severus let out a broken sob and tugged Sirius's hair harder than he'd meant to. Sirius returned immediately, focusing fully on his clit now. Severus felt his legs begin to tremble, his abdominal muscles tightening, but it wasn't the sharp, quick build-up he knew from his lonely nights. This was slow, intense pleasure that made his eyes roll back.
"Sirius…" he gasped.
Sirius moaned against him in response, and Severus felt everything inside him coil tight, a hot heaviness gathering low in his belly. He cried out softly, fingers digging into Sirius's shoulders, scratching the skin beneath the still-damp shirt the man hadn't bothered to remove. Sirius didn't stop. He licked, thrust his tongue inside, then returned to the clit, and when Severus finally couldn't hold back any longer, he simply let it happen — a deep, quiet climax that rolled through his entire body, making him arch and press his face into Sirius's shoulder as the other man moved up to hold him.
Sirius wrapped his arms around him immediately, holding him tight. He pressed a kiss to his sweaty temple.
"I'm here," he whispered. "Breathe."
Severus lay against him, feeling fresh tears slip down his cheeks. He didn't push Sirius away. Instead, his hand came up to rest on the man's back.
"Stay," Severus said quietly.
"I'm not going anywhere," Sirius replied.