Chapter 10

The look on Hermione's face when she came through the Floo had broken Sirius' heart. She looked absolutely devastated, as if someone had stolen her candy and kicked her puppy. He wanted to go to her, but he was still angry at her abrupt departure and knew he should calm down before they spoke again.

Plus, he had to get this place cleaned up, since a tornado bearing his name had come through.

Sprawled somewhat lazily on the couch, Sirius aimed his wand at various broken and battered items of furniture and artwork and went about putting his house in order. It was not the first time he'd flown into a rage, and he knew all the best spells for repairing his oft-abused fixtures.

Once finished, he allowed himself to think on their kiss. She was a good kisser, he would give her that much. She was all soft and smooth and perfectly compliant to his own particular style of kissing. She'd let him take the lead in a way that suggested she preferred it that way, and that line of thinking inevitably led him to wonder what else she would let him take the lead in.

Which inevitably led him to think about tying her to his bed.

Which inevitably led him to drop his head into his hands and groan out load.

He wanted her, he knew that much. He wasn't used to working so hard to seduce a woman. It usually fell into his lap; he'd make the first move, and the object of his desire would succumb to his undeniable charm. But for whatever reason, Hermione was denying his allure, and he was damned if he was going to let her keep that up.

In Sirius' mind, he had two choices. He could play hard to get, distancing himself until she became desperate and threw herself at him. This option would take time, patience, and self-control.

The obvious choice was his other option: go after what he wanted ruthlessly and with absolutely no regard for anyone or anything but his own satiation. And, of course, Hermione's.

While her bond-mate made an important decision regarding her sexual satisfaction, unbeknownst to her, Hermione was pondering her future with Sirius. She knew she had to tell him what she had learned from Snape, but she was scared. The great Hermione Granger was scared to talk about sex. To a man. To Sirius.

Her face immediately flushed. His kiss had been so demanding, so forceful and yet so attentive to her own movements. She felt like for once in her few kissing experiences, she could play the passive role, let him guide her, teach her.

She was so thankful to not have to take on the teaching role this time. And it was one of Hermione's many hidden desires to have a man really take over, really let her relinquish control. She hadn't trusted anyone else in her life in that way, not like that; but she had a feeling she could trust Sirius to take good care of her. To see to her own needs as well as his own.

Hermione reclined back on her bed, wondering if she could somehow leave Sirius a note with Snape's message or otherwise chicken out of telling him what needed to be done. She closed her eyes, knowing she would have to come up with the courage to talk to him about sex and reconcile the part of her that still saw him only as Harry's godfather and still saw herself as thirteen years old. She was an adult now, and Sirius was a man... a kind, attentive, devilishly handsome and devastatingly sexy man with a delicious-looking trail of coarse black hair under his belly button that lead to places of which she'd only imagined.

But maybe it was better to stay away from thoughts like that altogether.

The door opened, and Hermione knew, due to the immediate settling of her scattered thoughts, that Sirius was in the room. She didn't open her eyes, thinking if she pretended to be asleep, she could avoid the confrontation for just a little longer.

Sirius cleared his throat and Hermione contained a snort. Very subtle. But she remained in repose, trying not to jump up when she felt his weight settle on the bed next to her. She was in the middle, and he was quite close to her, enough to disrupt her thought process. Why am I pretending to be asleep again?

She felt a hand, perhaps the back of his fingers, slide along her bare arm, and little shocks followed his movements, leaving a trial of heat. His fingers slowly traced each of hers, and her hand twitched slightly, wanting to grasp him but restraining. It felt so good to be touched by him, it felt so real... but Hermione's treacherous mind reminded her there was nothing real about this situation; it was contrived, his feelings weren't genuine but forced. But that became more difficult to believe when his fingers ghosted over her lips and cheek, around her ear and back down her neck. His actions caused her body to tremble, and she wondered how long she could maintain the façade of being asleep.

Not long, apparently. For when his lips descended on hers, his warm breath melding with hers and his tongue snaking out to taste her, she couldn't withhold her gasp. Her eyes opened against her will, and she could swear he wore a triumphant smile.

But that smile disappeared when she pressed her lips more firmly to his, demanding more from him, but still not taking control. She only pressed their lips together; it was up to him to move. She held the kiss for as long as she could and almost gave up, when his mouth slanted over hers and the kiss became brutal, desperate. His tongue moved sharply, quickly against hers, and his body moved over hers, both hands braced on the bed beside her head. He was holding his body atop hers, not letting them touch, but Hermione knew it was a Herculean effort, since she herself was having a hard time not rocking her hips upward to meet his.

Sirius seemed to regain his control and slowed the kiss to a bearable heat. Hermione's lips were traced and her tongue gently sucked. She felt herself falling off a precipice, wanting desperately to grab something...someone...to hold on to and fall with her, but knowing someone had to stay grounded, and it certainly wasn't going to be her.

Sirius slowly lowered his body to hers, his legs on either side of hers and his hips aligned with hers. He could feel her heat even through his jeans, and it nearly made him lose his precarious control. It would feel so good, so perfect, to grind his pelvis into hers until the friction brought them both to climax, but as much as he wanted that and so much more, he remembered that they had to talk.

What a horrible, horrible thing to remember. No other recollection had ever caused him so much pain. Yet recall he did.

"Hermione," he rasped, trying to show her he was still in control of himself and failing miserably, "I wanted to say I'm sorry."

Hermione was jolted from the blissful weight of his body on hers by his inopportune verbiage. "It's okay, no problem," she assured him, punctuating her words with quick, hot kisses on his neck. Sirius tried to take a deep breath to centre himself but found his lips to be otherwise occupied once again. Hermione drew his tongue into her mouth where she worshipped it, and Sirius saw no reason to leave.

But he had to at least finish what he started. The talking part, that was. "I shouldn't have insulted Sni...everus in front of you. I know you... respect him," Sirius barely stopped himself from finishing with, 'for some reason.'

Hermione looked at him, surprised by his admission. "I do, Sirius. He is a good man. Thank you. I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have left like that... sometimes it's hard for me to contain my temper these days, and I don't like that feeling."

Sirius didn't doubt that. He sensed it frustrated her very much to show any weakness. "Where did you go?"

He knew the answer, but thought he might enjoy a little self-flagellation by hearing her say it.

Hermione scooted out from under him, and both felt bereft from her movement away. She sat up at the same time he flopped onto his back, hands laced behind his head.

"I went to see Professor Snape," she admitted, looking away in case his gaze pierced her. He only nodded, gesturing for her to go on.

"He gave me some answers, though they might be... difficult to hear. They were for me, at least." She had already gone this far, clearly there was no backing out. And he deserved to know, to make an informed decision. He stayed silent, so she plunged on, drawing a deep breath and barely pausing until she'd relayed Snape's entire monologue.

A lovely shade of magenta, Hermione didn't even pause when she told Sirius that having sex (or intercourse, as she clinically called it) was the only way to alleviate their mutual discomfort to a manageable level.

To her shock, when she braved a look at his reaction, he did not look completely disgusted. Thoughtful, yes. Repulsed, perhaps not. She pursed her lips, waiting for an answer.

"So..." he began, lips twitching, "We find ourselves in an unusual position. We are both attracted to one another, yes?" Hermione couldn't answer for him, but nodded for herself. "Yes," he agreed. "And we are both consenting adults who happen to enjoy one another's company, as well as live in the same house, alone, by ourselves. Together." Again, Hermione nodded, lips white from staying tight so long.

"And we have to have sex in order to live."

Again, Hermione could only nod, but feeling she should contribute, said, "Um, essentially."

Sirius looked like he was carefully considering her valuable input, and nodded decisively.

"Well, it appears the decision has been made for us, then." And with no further compunction, he grabbed her hips and dragged her body onto him, settling her between his thighs and taking her mouth in a violent coupling. He groaned when her mouth immediately opened, and he buried his fingers into her dishevelled hair, not allowing her to pull away.

Which she wouldn't have done, even without his death grip on her mane.

He broke the kiss to whisper against her lips, "The things I will do to you, Hermione, you have no idea." She whimpered and he took her lips again.

Nearly an hour and many half-hearted attempts to leave the bedroom on both their parts later, Hermione and Sirius decided it was best for all parties to get some food and a shower (not together, Hermione admonished) before bed. It had been the very longest of days, and she was especially exhausted. And tomorrow Harry and Ginny would be coming over for dinner, and she needed to clean and get ready for that. Not to mention all the work she'd brought home with her.

After tucking into a sandwich, Hermione was thinking about the turn of events as the warm water cascaded over her skin and trickled over her body. She wanted Sirius, more than any other man she'd ever known. It felt so right when he touched her, kissed her. He didn't seem to ask permission, he only took everything she offered, and she felt relieved that he didn't treat her like some wilting violet. She was strong, she'd proven it innumerable times, and yet men always seemed to handle her like glass.

But not Sirius. He held her like a woman, like she was fire instead of water. She felt so sexy in his arms; she felt confident around him. It was a dangerous, heady feeling. The pounding of the water matched the blood in her veins, and Hermione couldn't...and didn't want to...stop her fingers from sliding over her soap-slicked skin and into her light brown curls at her apex. A moan escaped her parted lips when her fingers brushed her swollen nub. No man had ever put her in such a state, of that she was certain. Leaning against the coolly-tiled wall, Hermione's fingers danced and pressed until her movements became frantic and she cried out her release, desperately hoping, a little too late, that the sound of the rushing water masked her wanton racket.

But Hermione had no such luck, and by the time she had towelled off and hightailed to her bedroom to don pyjamas, Sirius had already disposed of his own franticly discharged release, having heard Hermione's soft moans. His choice had been between attacking her in the shower and fucking her blind or relieving himself by his own hand in the cold comfort of the kitchen.

Hardly sated but more in command of his senses, Sirius took to the shower when he was sure Hermione was in bed.

Merlin, but he wanted that girl. She was just so fucking innocent, so untouched. He usually didn't go for that type, preferring a woman who knew her way around a hard-on, but there was something about her tentative touches, her enthusiastic responses, that made him rethink his approach.

He wondered about her past. How many men had had her? Not many, he mused, and most likely none that would make her feel like he would. Her innocence was the only thing that had stopped him from ripping her clothes off her body in the bedroom earlier, and if he didn't know better, he might have thought she was a virgin. But there was no way she'd been with Ron all those years and remained virginal, especially if they'd still been together in those lost years, during which he knew nothing of her life. She very well might have been with numerous men while he was beyond the Veil. Sirius couldn't identify the strange twist in his gut when he thought about that. He did not enjoy thinking that other men had known her like that. He had never been anyone's first, and didn't intend to be, but he couldn't deny that he wished there had been no men before him.

Maybe he was just being selfish.

Sirius wondered about how Harry would react to him and Hermione. He knew his godson loved Hermione, and as with Remus, Sirius had entertained the idea of them getting together one day, especially before Ginny. And he also knew Harry loved him, almost to hero-worshipping levels, and though that made him simultaneously proud and uncomfortable, Sirius knew he would be shaking the foundation of trust when Harry learned he and Hermione had to be together. He could only hope Harry would understand the necessity of it. There really was no choice, after all. They had to follow the bond; they were playing by rules beyond their control.

It didn't matter that Sirius knew he would have pursued Hermione even if the bond didn't exist, because even when the bond between them abated, his desire for her was intense. She was smart, funny, beautiful and she wanted him as well. Harry would just have to deal. He was adaptable; Sirius knew he could handle this. He'd probably gape and gasp and fly off the handle, but he'd calm down and be rational.

Because Harry was known for his rationality. Just like Sirius was known for his self-restraint.

Speaking of which, he was now pondering the intelligence of getting into bed with no boxers on and ravaging Hermione. But somehow (and this is what gave Sirius hope about Harry reacting positively to the news) Sirius controlled himself and donned underpants.

He crawled into bed none too quietly and immediately drew the warm, sleeping body into his arms. Hermione sighed against his chest, and her fingers reflexively clutched his bicep. Sirius grinned into her hair, smoothing it away to diminish the chance of choking to death on it in his sleep. Everything was going to turn out just fine.