Sirius Black, forehead against the window, staring blankly out at the world he was denied, felt tired. Tired of being trapped in the house, tired of seeing the sun only through glass and magic, tired of having his life consist of long stretches of loneliness punctuated by a few moments of excitement. Tired of not having Remus. He'd been all right during the summer, when the house was brimming with Weasleys and, of course, Harry; but once everyone was off to school and even Molly hardly ever dropped by anymore, things were bleak and empty in the huge, dark house.

"Enjoying the view, or just brooding again?" said a familiar voice. Sirius felt a smile crack through his self-imposed gloom as he turned to find Bill Weasley lounging in the doorframe.

"The house is very suited to brooding," Sirius replied, trying not to stare at the way Bill's jeans fit tight over a well-built body. Aside from the lethargy, the other thing that the loneliness brought him was the aching reminder of just how long it had been since he'd touched another man. Remus was so different now, so self-contained, mature, and collected -- Sirius felt eleven again just thinking about it. They were worlds apart now, and thus that part of their relationship, that part of Sirius, was left wasted and untended.

Sirius was heartily tired of lying fallow, and something in Bill's smile gave him a small spark of hope that he might find his fields tended to very soon. "Or maybe you just spend too much time alone, Sirius."

Sirius shrugged, trying not to show how neatly that had hit home, turning his face back to the window and the blue, forbidden skies. "It's not like I can go out visiting, is it?"

"I suppose not," said Bill, standing straight and walking over to where Sirius sat, curled up and sulking, on the window seat. "But you could ask us to visit more."

Sirius shrugged again, not looking up. "You come when you're needed."

Bill sat, lifting Sirius' bare feet up to make room for himself and settling them disconcertingly in his lap. Sirius felt the heat of Bill's body rising, warming his cold toes, and looked up, a bit shocked at the closeness, suppressing the desire to burrow his feet into the comforting touch. "I think you need us more often, if you'd only admit it," said Bill gently.

Sirius bowed his head, as much of an admission as he'd make. Bill's presence was already chasing away the gloom, even if it did leave behind a sort of hopeless longing behind for the handsome younger man. Bill was nearly a decade his junior and, last Sirius had heard, dating some beautiful part-veela girl from France. He had no place for Sirius' lust in his life, no need for the affection of an old, broken man trapped in an old, broken house.

"I'd always make time for you, Sirius," Bill added when Sirius didn't respond further, his voice low and intent.

Sirius looked up, startled, and said the first thing that popped into his head. "But you're busy. Curses. French girl."

This time it was Bill's turn to drop his gaze, fidgeting as he said, "No more French girl, actually. Realized I wasn't so into them. Girls, I mean, not the French."

"Oh," said Sirius, desperately trying to quash the much stronger surge of hope and lust. "Me neither."

Sirius could swear he heard Bill's neck snap as his head whipped up to meet Sirius' intent gaze. "Oh!"

Sirius let his eyes wander over Bill's body, finally allowing himself to appreciate the way his shirt was open three buttons, enough to show freckles and wisps of gingery chest hair. The way his jeans were tight and worn enough to leave the exact right amount to the imagination. The way his hair fell in a tail over one shoulder, looking soft and coppery in the sunlight, inviting Sirius' fingers to twine themselves in its gentle waves. The heat in his kind brown eyes as they roamed over Sirius' body, as Sirius put his feet down and leaned in, closer to the warmth that Bill radiated, until their lips met in a beam of bright sunshine.

The kiss was slow and sweet, tentative, tongues unsure of their welcome flickering at lips that parted readily, dipping inside to taste, then finally exploring fully, until they were both breathless and half-kneeling on the worn velvet cushion. Their eyes met again, and Sirius breathed, "We're alone."

Suddenly hands were everywhere, as if that one small bit of permission was all they'd both needed, passion Sirius had suspected Bill possessed but never expected to see directed at him now equaling his own desperate, sudden need. Sirius found himself naked before he'd quite realized he wanted to be, Bill's rough hands guiding his body until he was kneeling up on the window seat, hands braced overhead, against the cool glass. Spread out in all his glory for a world that couldn't see him, feeling like Bill was the only thing making him real.

Bill stood behind Sirius like a warm wall, his breath hot against Sirius' neck, his erection pressing into Sirius' cleft. His chest was warm against Sirius' back, his shoulders broader, more muscle on his body than Sirius had ever had. Sirius was gaunt now, his arms thin and wiry where Bill's hands slid up them until their fingers commingled on the glass. Sirius' breath was already fogging up the view when Bill whispered in his ear, "They don't know what they're missing, do they?"

"I know what I'm missing," said Sirius, unable to entirely shake the longing for a piece of that freedom, to walk in the sunshine under that blue, blue sky and not worry who might see or hear or care.

Bill pressed a kiss to the back of his neck and whispered, "Let me make it up to you." Bill slid his hands back down Sirius' arms, over the front of his body to tweak at his nipples and tease fingers through the sparse trail of hair that led down and down. He cupped Sirius' balls, slid his other hand around the painfully hard prick, and Sirius jerked, bucked. It had been so long since anyone had touched him like that, so long since he'd had anything but his own right hand and faded memory.

"Fuck me," moaned Sirius, a curse, a prayer and an offer all in one.

Bill moaned softly behind him, and Sirius bowed his head at the weight of realization. Bill wanted him, wanted this, had probably come here just for him. He was almost glad when Bill released his cock, because he was already riding that fine edge of torment where orgasm was just a wrong touch away, and he wanted to come with Bill inside him. Bill's hands spread Sirius wide and he had just enough time for the shock to really settle in as Bill's mouth slid down his body, tongue making a languorous path down his prominent spine only to end up with a soft kiss to his tailbone.

"Want you," said Bill hoarsely, before pressing another kiss right over Sirius' entrance. Sirius' breath caught, and then escaped in a gasp as Bill's tongue rasped over the sensitive flesh. Bill's hands were hot against his skin, fingertips almost bruising as they pulled him wider, and Bill's tongue began to circle and tease, dipping into him like a toe testing waters, seeing if he'd accept it. He moaned and pushed back with his hips, letting his body speak for him, and was rewarded with a harder push and a flash of bright not-pain as Bill's tongue speared into him.

He felt helpless, exposed, laid bare as he leaned his forehead against the sightless window, feeling Bill open him with that wicked mouth. It was strange to do this up against the glass, to look out on a world that didn't look back. Exhibitionism at its most bizarre, with no one to watch and only them to know. He was panting and sweating by the time Bill stopped and whispered a charm, adding magical slickness to the spit already easing the way for two long, slender fingers.

Sirius cried out when Bill's fingers brushed his prostate, and again when a third joined them, stretching him in places he hadn't had any reason to open in years, a lifetime and another person ago since his heart was laid bare, his body made to welcome another's touch. Bill pulled his fingers away just as Sirius was growing used to the idea of them, then whispered the charm again and pressed his now-slick cock against Sirius' entrance.

"I think I've wanted you for a long time," said Bill softly as he pushed inside, not the words Sirius had expected at all when those lips had drifted up to his ear. Sirius' breath hitched and caught, keeping his voice inside and trapping any response he might have made. "I never thought you'd want me, not like this," he slid his hips forward in a small thrust, burying that last inch with emphatic force. "But I had to try, when I finally admitted it to myself."

Bill pulled out slowly, drawing himself across Sirius' prostate, creating a tangle of pleasure and longing. It was still missing something, though, some small thing Sirius needed before they could find the end of this strange conversation, bodies and words in an endless loop of confusion at being wanted again. "Bill," he managed, pride and cock filling him in equal measure at getting even that single word past the memory stuck in his throat. He'd never been had by a man that wasn't Remus and didn't know what to do anymore, how to be or what to want, so he kept his hands on the glass and let his body arch of its own accord.

Bill's hands slid down the planes of his chest, over the cobbled hollow of his stomach to once again cradle the most needy places of him. "So good," moaned Sirius, the glass warm where his forehead rested, condensation surrounding his head and hands like haloes of forgotten angels. Bill thrust into him again and again, countless times too short for him to measure between racing heartbeats and the fruitless struggle for breath. He rode the razor's edge of bliss, unwilling to go over too soon, needing to draw a picture of this moment in his mind with as much clarity as he could through the fog.

"Thank you," Bill whispered, mouth dropping from Sirius' ear to his neck, teeth finding the place where it joined the rest of him and sinking in like realization, sharp and needful. Sirius moaned and plummeted, words lost completely as he came and tried to remember if it was the fall you were supposed to fear, or the sudden stop at the end. He forgot the question entirely when Bill echoed his moan and came with him, thrusting them both forward, hands and cock smearing incomprehensibility through the Rorschach blot of hot semen on the cold glass.

Endless minutes later, when the whole window had warmed to his blood, the glass' slow travel downwards briefly quickened by lust, Sirius found his tongue again and whispered out the words he'd been searching for before he came. "You're welcome."

Bill laughed out irony instead of breath, face buried in the forest tangle of Sirius' hair. His hands traveled back up the hills and valleys of Sirius' anatomical topography, sliding over his arms to twine their fingers back together. Their bodies were still flush and flushed, sweat commingling with the new affection that lay so close between them. "Imagine if they could have seen you come, so beautiful," said Bill softly, lips forming words like all lovers say in the first rush of newness.

"You didn't even see me," said Sirius quietly, wondering if that would be the case forever. He would live out his life in these walls, this house, with no one to watch him as he went from room to room, pain to pleasure and back again in a crash of adrenaline and truth.

Bill leaned back, gently pulling Sirius with him, wrapping both their arms around his insecurities. "I felt you," he whispered, holding Sirius close until the doubt melted back into contentment. "I didn't need my eyes to enjoy the view."