Sirius knows it's wrong, these thoughts, these actions, even as he takes everything Harry has to offer and more. One kiss and Harry's his now, his in a way that no one's been in years, and Sirius hopes that Harry doesn't regret it tomorrow. He's certainly not regretting it now, his face a mixture of pleasure and affection for his godfather, even with his hands bound overhead with his school tie while Sirius slides slowly into him for the first time, the first time anyone's ever done this to him.

He's taking his godson's virginity, and although a part of him suspects he really ought to feel more guilty, the rest of him is focused entirely on the heat and tightness, and the way Harry's arse just sucks him in greedily as though this very moment was all he'd been waiting for. Sirius pauses when he's fully inside, and Harry looks as though he might want to say something, so Sirius forestalls any possible commentary with some very focused nipple biting, and whatever words Harry had turn to moans.

Sirius finds this very gratifying, and takes it as his cue to start moving his hips in a stuttering glide that sends his concentration skittering away. He brings a hand, still slick with remnants of the ointment he'd used on himself, down to stroke Harry's cock, and the moans start to sound an awful lot like his name, which is almost more satisfying than the weight and shape of his godson's cock in his hand, but not quite. He strokes harder, faster, both hips and hand fairly flying with nothing but pleasure on his mind now, giving and receiving as best he can.

It's Harry's come that sends him over, the hot feel of it on his hand, that ocean-bright scent rising to fill his nostrils, telling him he's doing all right after all, that Harry enjoyed this despite the initial protestations that had led to him being tied up in the first place. Sirius lets go with a bark, hips snapping forward and spilling deeply into Harry's now-pliant body, the white noise of his own release wiping away the last vestiges of guilt and filling up all those hollow places that years of prison had etched out in his soul.

It doesn't last, of course, it never does, but he finds there's still some glowing warmth left in the nooks and crannies when Harry accepts a kiss, his mouth as warm and sweet as the rest of him. "All right?" Sirius asks, as something snaps back in his head and he feels a stab of fear that he'd done precisely the wrong thing after all, had the exact wrong response to Harry's sweet, tentative kiss.

Harry grinned up at him, wiggled his hips a little and clenched his arse around Sirius, sending a flash of pleasure up his spine. "Yeah," he said, stealing another kiss. "But next time you get tied up, and I get to bugger you, all right?"

Sirius laughed, feeling manic and mad as the guilt and fear melt away once again, leaving nothing but bright affection in their wake. "Yeah, all right. Give me a few minutes, though, I'm not as young as I used to be."

Harry tugged at his bonds, grin still firmly in place, and replied dryly, "Not like I've got much choice, is it?"

Sirius answered him with a kiss, followed by another and another, until he found that he was, perhaps, a bit younger than he'd thought, when properly inspired. A small thrust of his hips made Harry cry out into his mouth, and he grinned and said, "Your turn, then?" reaching up to loosen the knots.

"Yeah," said Harry, grin going feral as his arms came down and flipped them both over, "My turn."