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There is a strange, sweet smell in the room.
It’s out of place, and that isn’t the only thing. Severus realizes that it’s too bright here. How can it be so bright when his room has no windows? And that musty scent overlayed with the oddly tantalizing sugary-yeasty odor… No, that is definitely not right.
He opens his eyes. The sheets are gray rather than the crisp white of his bed at Hogwarts. He sits up abruptly, only to shiver in the burst of cold air. He pulls at the dingy maroon duvet, wraps himself up, and looks around.
Yes, now he knows where he is. Now he remembers. He’s never seen this room in daylight before. Last night comes to him in brief flashes as he examines himself: Naked, covered in small bruises and bite marks from chest to thighs, and that feeling inside of being open, being stretched…
Movement at the corner of his eyes catches his attention. His hand twitches as if to go for his wand, but he has no idea where that is. It’s of no consequence, anyway. His lips press together to form a thin line when he sees who is sitting at the little table by the window.
Sirius Black leans back against the spindly chair, a delicate thing that looks as if it should struggle to take the tall man’s weight (and what a juxtaposition that is, especially after last night). He’s chewing on what had once been a cinnamon roll, a mangled scrap of doughy bun pinched between long fingers as he gazes impassively at Severus. “Morning,” he says. Severus’ hands grip the duvet tightly around himself.
The potions master isn’t quite sure what to say. He hadn’t planned on spending the night. The sex had been on the schedule, of course, but he never stayed after. This was new. It was unexpected. Out of his element, out of his bloody clothes in the light of day, he has no idea how to behave, what to say.
Sirius seems to read him for a moment before saying, “It’s noon, you know.”
“Noon?!” Severus nearly leaps out of bed. That can't be right.
“Relax. Saturday, you know. No classes to teach, unless you have a detention to oversee?” Sirius raises an inquisitive eyebrow. “No? Well, have a roll.” He nudges the white cardboard box on the table.
Severus examines it from his position on the bed. “Where did you get those?”
“Does it matter? I got ‘em for us. Go ahead.”
It’s too bizarre. Sirius is behaving as casually as can be, as if they’re just two lovers waking up on a Saturday morning after a mind-blowing shag. This little tableau looks nothing like what it is. Severus remains still, buried in the voluminous bedspread, his bare shoulders peeking out from his coccoon and his hair tousled and his cheek still red from where he’d slept on it. This is not right. His eyes dart around the room, locating his clothes, his wand, the door.
“I’m not letting you eat in my bed,” Sirius says, and Severus finally snaps.
“I have no intention of doing anything in your bed! Would you be so kind as to stop staring at me?”
“Shy?” Sirius smirks in between bites. The last scrap of cinnamon-drenched pastry disappears and he licks his fingers.
“I am not shy. I just don’t feel like giving you a peep show while I dress.”
Sirius reaches his clean hand for his wand and flicks it. Severus flinches before he realizes that his clothes have materialized onto him, blocking out the chill in the room. And isn’t it just like the mutt, he thinks, to show off like that? Transfiguration was always his specialty. Naturally it would be, as it had always been Severus’ weakest subject. Dressing someone else like this is something that takes real skill. It’s so irritatingly considerate a gesture that Severus tosses the bedspread aside and snatches his wand from the nightstand, his grip like a vise and red sparks flying from the tip.
“You sure you don’t want one?” Sirius calls as Severus retreats from the bedroom. There is no answer. Severus won’t give him the satisfaction of an answer. He leaves after cleaning up in one of the guest bathrooms, leaves Sirius to his cinnamon buns and his casual arrogance.
>>><<<
Severus had been a hair’s breadth from staying away the next weekend, but damn if he isn’t a creature of habit. He shows up like clockwork on Friday evening, and just as usual, they fuck until it’s nearly dawn. Severus is convinced that last time had been a fluke. He had only stayed because he’d been tired enough to fall asleep after. This time, he’ll be sure to make himself scarce long before he has the chance.
He’s proven wrong when he once again wakes up to a too-bright room and the smell of yeast and sugar.
This time, he sits up and immediately glares at Sirius, who’s once again sitting at the window. The plain white box on the table contains a number of uniform rolls, and Sirius has one halfway protruding from his mouth as he chews through it animalistically. Severus watches in disgust as Sirius devours it, leaving a few smears of red around his mouth that he licks unashamedly.
When Sirius notices that Severus is watching him, he pauses with his tongue still hanging out ludicrously. “What?”
“Surely you procured a napkin or two from wherever you got those things?” Severus drawls.
Sirius just shrugs and finishes licking the sticky substance from around his lips. “It’s raspberry jam,” he offers. “I’ve got a soft spot for these. Have some?”
This time, Severus slides out from under the covers and gathers up his clothes on his own. He is painfully conscious of those gray eyes on him as he bends to pick up his scattered belongings, but he shows no reaction to it. He dresses and smooths down his hair, wincing only slightly at the ache within. Last night’s escapade had been particularly enthusiastic.
“There’s plenty,” Sirius says.
Severus turns and glares at him again. Sirius is still watching him, though he’s started on another doughnut. The sharp scent of raspberry overlays the sweetness of the pastry. Severus strides to the table, snatches up one of the buns, and storms out of the room.
>>><<<
He wakes up the next Saturday morning with a feeling of foreboding. Here he is again at 12 Grimmauld Place, waking up to the dusty room and the madman sitting at the table by the window. This week’s offering looks much like last week’s, but it’s lemon filling instead. “Not as good, but I take what I can get,” Sirius says with a teasing bent as he watches Severus getting dressed. The innuendo is not lost on him, but he’s far too set on his determination to rise to it.
“This needs to stop,” Severus says as he buttons up his cuffs. “I have duties to attend. I can’t laze about in bed all day every Saturday, unlike some people.”
“I was up at eight,” Sirius says, pointing a doughnut at Severus to emphasize his point. “I can hardly help it if you’re too out of shape to withstand a night of passion.”
What they have is not what Severus would call “passion.” Passion is such an inadequate description. Passion doesn’t leave one with marks that bring to mind a mauling by some wild animal. Passion doesn’t leave one trembling in the arms of one’s oldest enemy or cause one to lose all sense of time and decency.
No, he cannot adequately describe the emotions behind whatever this is.
He reaches for the box on the table, but Sirius grabs his wrist and pulls him down into a fiery kiss. This is wrong, Severus wants to scream, but his tongue is pinned by the taste of lemon and sugar, his waist is held by an arm as wiry and strong as an iron bar. Sirius stands up, pushing with his mouth and his hands, pushing until Severus is on the bed again, and the overcoat he had just put on is slowly, methodically taken off of him again.
It's well past two in the afternoon by the time he gets out of there, the lemon buns long gone stale.
>>><<<
“Not this time, Black.”
“Oh, yeah?” Sirius’ eyebrow quirks. “What’s ‘not this time,’ Snape?”
Severus places a small stone onto the bedside table. Sirius peers at it curiously. “I have enchanted this to produce noise at sunrise.” Severus seems proud of himself. “There will be no ‘morning after’ this time.”
“There is an alarm clock in my parents’ old room,” Sirius points out.
“Do you think I would trust anything that belonged to your mother?” Severus scoffs. “It’s probably jinxed.”
“No arguments there,” Sirius says. “But why did you bother with this?”
“The past few weeks have been… irregular.” Severus speaks carefully as he unbuttons his shirt. “This… arrangement between us is convenient, but I cannot allow myself to become complacent. This is just sex, Black. Nothing more.”
“And ‘just sex’ can’t involve any ‘morning after’ nonsense?” Sirius guesses.
“You understand, then.”
“I understand that you’re losing your mind,” Sirius says casually. “I don’t care if you spend the night. Prefer it, actually. No feelings involved, I just like having a warm body in my bed.”
“Shut up.” Severus discards his shirt and moves to straddle Sirius’ lap. Sirius grins as thin hands tilt his face upward until they’re kissing. When they break apart, Severus stares so hard into Sirius’ face that he momentarily loses himself in those dark eyes. “This is nothing more than a physical release for our frustrations.” He sounds as if he’s talking more to himself than to his bedmate. “There is no room in war for emotions.”
“Whatever you say, babe,” Sirius says, gripping Severus’ hips and rolling them onto the bed before Severus can protest to the pet name. “So, blueberry sound alright for tomorrow? Or would you like cinnamon again?”
“Just fuck me, Black!”
“Cinnamon it is.”
When dawn rolls around, they’re still going at it, their movements lazy after hours of that so-called passion, of fucking and talking and more fucking. The little smooth stone begins to ring like a bell. Sirius is highly amused when Severus grabs it off of the nightstand and tosses it across the room, and the animagus has just enough presence of mind to cast a silencio on it before he’s dragged back down by cool hands and hot mouth and biting teeth.
Severus wakes to the smell of cinnamon a few hours later. He takes a bun and the stone with him when he leaves and hurls the stone into a drainage ditch with as much strength as his exhausted body can muster.
>>><<<
“Severus.”
He groans as the voice pierces the haze in his mind. He’s dreaming, he thinks. Flying through the clouds at dawn. They’re orange and pink clouds, puffy like cotton candy, and if he reaches out, he can swear he feels them against his fingers.
“Severus!”
His eyes open. Sirius smiles at him. “Morning.”
“M- morning?”
“It’s about nine.” Sirius licks his lips briefly, glancing at the window that is letting in bright sunlight. “You wanted to get up, yeah?”
There is no scent of pastries today. Severus frowns as he sits up, ignoring the complaints from his back and hips. “Kicking me out already, Black? I thought you preferred to have a warm body in your bed.”
“I’d take you again right now if I could.” Severus realizes that Sirius is fully dressed in a red jumper and blue jeans, his wild hair tamed for once by some unfortunate brush. The usual stubble is gone, and his beard neatly trimmed. “Harry and the others will be here shortly. I imagine you want to be gone by the time he arrives.”
Ah, yes. The Christmas break. Potter was spending it with the Weasleys, but Sirius had warned him that they’d be visiting today. Severus rises and dresses without a word as Sirius leaves the room. He can hear the animagus downstairs, apparently trying his best to clean as he whistles an off-key Christmas tune.
Severus doesn’t seek him out before he leaves. It’s all very businesslike, and this is more akin to what he’d been used to. But he can’t help feeling a little sorry, a little dejected, as he apparates back to Hogsmeade.
When he passes the bakery, he hurries on by before the appetizing aroma of fresh pastries can bring forth any feelings of regret or longing. It’s just too pathetic, he thinks, as his boots track through the slush on the cobblestones. He lifts his eyes to the castle, just visible over the hills and through the trees, and his mask falls into place once more.
>>><<<
Severus wakes on a frosty day to find that the fireplace is lit. That’s new. Sirius never lights the fire in this room, even when the chill seeps into their bones and they have to do their Friday routine under the covers.
It’s warm and comfortable now, and Severus does not, for once, hurry to leave the bed. He rolls onto his side, snuggling – yes, snuggling – into the blankets and closing his eyes again. The smell of burning wood, of warmth, almost covers up the sweet scent of the baked goods that he knows will be on the table.
The bed shifts behind him and Sirius leans over him, one arm snaking around his chest to pull him close. The bristles on Sirius’ face tickle the nape of Severus’ neck, and he sighs, allowing it to happen, allowing his body to relax into the other man’s hold. “You look comfortable,” Sirius says at last, his voice low and soft.
“It’s your fault,” Severus mumbles into the duvet.
“Thought I’d clean out the chimney yesterday. Nearly froze my balls off the other night.”
“And what a tragedy that would be.”
“For you, mainly.” Chapped lips are pressed to his neck, and Severus shivers. He’s fully awake now, but he feels as if he’s dreaming. He must be dreaming. Sirius never kisses him outside of sex. It’s never tender like this.
“Come on,” Sirius says after a moment, pulling away and rolling out of bed. “There’s currant scones and cherry turnovers today.”
“Where do you procure these delicacies?” Severus is still reluctant to quit the bed, but he does it anyway, finding the temperature much less shocking to his bare skin.
“A place just ‘round the corner,” Sirius says as he sits at the little table and picks up a triangular scone.
Severus looks up sharply. “Black, if you’ve been leaving the safety of this house just to buy pastries…”
“I haven’t left at all,” Sirius says with a grin.
“Then how did you…”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Yes, I would, as a matter of fact.” Severus walks over to the table and sits across from Sirius, dressed only in his trousers and shirt. It feels so odd to be like this, to be partially dressed in front of someone. Sirius has seen him completely nude, but this is somehow more intimate. He averts his gaze self-consciously as he takes a cherry turnover. The crust is flaky and buttery, the filling tart and perfectly sweetened.
“Well, that’s a secret. Just enjoy it.”
“Albus has gone to great pains to conceal your location, all to protect—”
“Merlin’s balls, Snape, I get it!” Sirius jiggles his leg irritably as he tears into the scone. “I’m not doing anything that would compromise the Order’s safety, alright? I haven’t left this house!”
“Then you must be in contact with someone.”
“I’m in contact with lots of people, though they don’t much have time for me.” His tone is bitter, and Severus realizes that they’re skating on thin ice, but his curiosity is getting the better of him. His annoyance, too. Sirius can be so pigheaded that Severus can’t put it past him to disregard his own safety for something frivolous like this.
“So, if I were to tell Albus of your… sweet tooth,” Severus says coolly, “that would not give him any cause for concern?”
Sirius glares at him. Severus takes another bite. This is more like it. This is how it should be between them. When was it that they had forgotten that?
To Severus’ amazement, Sirius lets out a breath and looks out the window. “I know what you’re doing,” he says. “Stop it. I’m in no mood to fight with you today.”
“It’s not a fight I want,” Severus says, though perhaps that isn’t entirely true.
“Yes, it is.” Sirius is watching the street below, his gray eyes intense though his body language is relaxed. “You haven’t been sleeping, have you?”
The question takes Severus by surprise. “What has that to do with the topic at hand?”
“Arthur,” Sirius says, and Severus feels his face go pale. “He’s the reason, right? You’ve been worrying over him.”
Severus frowns, narrowing his eyes. “Jealous, Black?” How had Sirius noticed?
“I can imagine that you’ve been cooped up in your dungeon, scrambling to find a way to help him. Because that’s what you do.” When Sirius’ eyes turn to him again, they’re soft and understanding. “Didn’t think I’d notice, right? Well, that’s what I do. I notice you. I could never help it, really, it’s sort of an obsession.”
They stare at each other until Severus can no longer stand it. He looks away, unable to face himself through Sirius’ eyes. “We were all worried,” Sirius says, “when it happened. But I know that you went to St. Mungo’s and consulted with the healers. I know you probably helped to find the antidote to the snake’s venom.”
“How do you…”
“I have my sources,” Sirius catches his eye and winks at him. “My point is, you care more than you let on. About people, I mean. It’s why you’re needling me about the bloody pastries.”
“I… I do not care,” Severus grinds out, “about anything but seeing the end of this war.”
“Whatever you say, Sev.”
“Don’t call me that!”
“Sure thing, babe.”
Severus’ eyes flash. Sirius has been getting far too familiar with him of late. Waking up in bed together might be blamed for that. He never should have allowed it to happen. He leaves the turnover on the table and sweeps out of the room, grabbing his cloak and overcoat as he goes.
Sirius remains at the table, staring out at the cold winter day, unmoved.
>>><<<
In the end, it’s so easy to simply give in. Sirius’ eyes on him make him feel seen in a way that he hasn’t been for many years. Nobody knows him. Nobody can know him. It isn’t safe for anyone involved.
But Sirius sees.
He doesn’t just look, he sees. Sirius may be the one person in Severus’ life who looks at him and really sees him as he is. Severus has the unnerving feeling that Sirius can examine his thoughts. Ever since their affair began over the summer, ever since the first time they’d come together on the dining room floor after an argument turned physical, Severus felt as if he was being examined piece by piece. As if his soul is exposed and opened.
That is what brings him back week after week. That is what draws him into those strong arms, into the rumpled bed that is never made. Because for all of Severus’ hiding, he feels like a plant in want of sunlight; he needs to be seen by someone or he feels he’ll lose himself.
When he wakes up and smells the barest hint of a spring breeze, feels the warmth in the air, he knows that everything is changing.
Surprisingly, he’s OK with that.
He wakes up earlier than usual. His late nights and long days are but a memory when he’s with Sirius, and last night they had simply lain together, never doing more than holding each other. He feels remarkably refreshed and unusually limber as he dresses and goes downstairs.
What he sees has him gripping his wand in alarm.
“Black, what is the meaning of this?”
Sirius turns to look at him. In the drawing room, sitting as if it belongs there, is a red fox. It’s a scraggly little creature, its paws wet and grimy, but it looks at him with intelligence in its amber eyes.
“Just a friend of mine,” Sirius says as if said friend isn’t a wild animal. “He was just leaving.”
Indeed, the fox trots out of the room. Its claws tap on the parquet floor. Sirius follows it, and Severus watches as the fox is let out the front door. Sirius closes the door and ensures that all of the locks have engaged before he turns with a sheepish little smile. “I guess the cat’s out of the bag.”
“What the devil was that just now?” Severus glowers at him, and Sirius goes back to the drawing room, Severus trailing him like an angry shadow.
“This,” Sirius says, grabbing the white box from a side table and holding it out to him. The white plastic bag that had held it flutters to the floor. “Looks like plain glazed this time. Hope that’s alright.”
“Don’t tell me that the fox brings you your pastries,” Severus says, peering at the box warily.
“He does,” Sirius says, opening it and withdrawing a glazed doughnut. “And before you ask, no, he’s not an animagus. He isn’t a spy. I’ve known his family for some time.”
“Its… family?”
“There’s a family of foxes living in the park nearby,” Sirius explains. “I used to run round with them in the summer, in my dog form. I liked to stay in practice, you know.”
“And this fox is a part of that family.”
“Right. He’s one of the last. We met up last summer, when I went for a little walk around the place, before I was instructed to stay inside.”
“And… it came looking for you?” Severus finds this story implausible, yet he believes it. It sounds like the sort of bonkers shenanigans that Sirius Black would get up to. Running with a werewolf at Hogwarts and foxes in London… It was a wonder he had survived into adulthood.
“Guess the little guy missed me,” Sirius says with a grin. “I’ve been asking him to nick me some things here and there when I get sick of my own cooking. Well, sicker than usual.”
“Do you expect me to believe that a fox simply walked into a patisserie and stole boxes of pastries? Or did you give him a little pouch of money to hand over?”
“No, it’s on the up and up. These are the old pastries that don’t sell.”
“What?”
“Yes, the bakery closes at ten,” Sirius says, munching his doughnut happily. “Whatever doesn’t sell gets put out in the trash. My little friend just grabs a bag of them and brings it here. He keeps the ones I don’t like.”
“Do you mean to say,” Severus’ nostrils flare, “that you have been feeding me garbage every time I stay over?”
Sirius shrugs. “Doesn’t taste like garbage to me. It’s perfectly good stuff. Here!”
Severus backs away from the offered treats. “Dear God, I need to take a rabies vaccine…”
“Oh, he’s fine,” Sirius says. “Perfectly healthy!”
But Severus does brew some preventative potions as soon as he’s back at Hogwarts. Sirius may have survived for months by eating rats and detritus, but Severus isn’t so desperate as to expose himself to God only knows what.
And the next time he appears at Grimmauld Place, it’s with a box of chocolate doughnuts, purchased that morning and placed under a stasis charm.