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Part of the Hpchan challenge:

#3. A Nabokovian take on a seething, drowsy summer afternoon in Harry's bedroom. Harry's parents are still alive. The boy is twelve years of age. Sirius Black takes Harry on sun warmed floor board without a sound to alert the lunchers one floor below. No magic is to be used.

I cannot tell how this came to be, how events came to pass that led me to this point in time. I can only feel, and remember, and hope he does not regret. For no matter what happens, I can never regret, will never relinquish these exquisitely sweet memories that even now, as I live them, I commit to my mind forever.

I run my hand down his arm, marveling at the silken fine sheen of his skin, so new, so untouched, and soon to be all mine.

For I cannot stop now; I knew the moment I stepped into his room today that I would have what I desired, no matter the risk.

Harry has made it certain that I cannot resist, has destroyed all of my moral arguments, with a simple smile or a seemingly innocent caress.

You will ask, how can a twelve year old boy be anything but innocent? But you do not know Harry. My Harry. He was mine, if not from the first moment I saw him, then surely the second.

I am his godfather, which should make it all the worse; but I am that in name only. Soon after he was born I was wrongly accused and sent away to prison for twelve long lonely years. Finally freed, I had nowhere to go except to my old school friends, who had trusted me not only with their lives but with the title of godfather to their young son. Though I was cleared of my crime, people are slow to forgive and I found myself at loose ends. James and Lily, who had always been convinced of my innocence, welcomed me into their home as I hoped they would.

I had decided by then that I would attempt to write my memoirs; I had a small trust fund from which I could draw so I wouldn't have to work right away. Lily graciously offered me the use of their guest cottage, situated in the gardens away from the main house. And, as I would later discover, it had a perfect view of Harry's bedroom window.

The day I arrived at Godrics Hollow will forever be emblazoned on my mind. James and Lily looked much the same, a few more lines, a few gray hairs, but they looked so happy as they welcomed me. I felt a stab of anger then, not just at them, but at the whole world that had gone on without me. It faded, though, when I glimpsed an elfin form that gazed at me from the sitting room.

I hadn't spared the boy more than a passing thought; a mewling infant at his christening was how I remembered him, and truth be told that was the image in my mind still.

How wrong I was.

Lily coaxed the boy out into the hall to greet me, and he came slowly, sinuously, as if he had more bones than he ought. No one, certainly not a boy child, should be able to move like that, and immediately I felt like prey. He stepped into the light, and I was transfixed; eyes of purest emerald stared boldly up at me, within a face that would make the most beautiful woman cry with bitter envy. Skin as soft and pure as the finest cream, dark lashes upon pink cheeks, mouth a rosebud of pure cherubic perfection. Slim shoulders giving over to a slight torso, and I couldn't let my eyes wander further lest I give myself away. I dragged my eyes back to his face, and the expression there shocked me. I had assumed from his reluctant entry the boy was shy, but the look on Harry's face was amused, speculative, and nothing I'd ever seen on a boy his age. Those eyes captured me, swept over me with a calculating look of their own, and I was well and truly lost.

"Say hello to your godfather, Harry," urged his mother, and my eyes shot to her; I'd almost forgotten there was anyone else in the room, and surely she knew what had just gone through my mind?

A hand carelessly dragged itself through dark messy locks and Harry spoke, the voice of my downfall spoke: "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Black." His voice was deep but tenuous; clearly poised between boy and man.

The silence hung and I knew I must speak; my voice, still hoarse from disuse in polite conversation finally formed the words, "Please Harry, call me Sirius." It was inane, ineffective, incomplete, but the urge had suddenly hit me that I must hear the boy speak my name, hear my own name come from that mouth, that throat, that body that even now was calling to me from its forbidden world.

A smile broke over his face then, and he took a step closer, grasping the hand I hadn't even realised I'd offered, shaking it softly and saying, "Sirius."

That was a month ago, a month that at once feels like a day and a year. It started nearly immediately; Harry seemed fascinated by me, and always wanted to be near me. The summer holidays had just begun, so Harry was home constantly. His parents, after I reassured them that the boy was no bother, seemed genuinely happy that their son had an interest other than his books. Apparently he was shy in school, didn't have many friends, and they were becoming concerned about him. I assured them that I enjoyed his quiet company, and it was accepted.

James was often out of town for his work, and Lily had a position as a minder for small children. They were both happy to leave Harry in my care, and I assured them he was no trouble.

No trouble at all.

Before you condemn James and Lily for leaving their innocent son to my immoral desires, let me assure you that it is in no way their fault. How could anyone understand what is between Harry and myself? I barely know. It happened so naturally, yet if I must be honest with myself it began that very day we met.

The summer was uncommonly hot; everyone went about in as little clothing as possible, Harry very definitely included. My concession to the heat was to wear just an undershirt with my trousers, but Harry... the first time I saw him he'd been dressed modestly, schoolboy shorts and a white buttoned shirt. Looking back, even that looked immodest on him, however, the clothes hugging his developing form jealously.

A few days later, however, the heat had fully settled in and I was sat in the garden on what would become our bench. It was out of the direct line of sight of the main house, sheltered from the worst of the day's heat by a wisteria-covered arbor.

James was gone several days, Lily off with the little ones; it wasn't yet noon and already the heat was stifling. I brushed my long hair out of my face; soon I would have to cut it or give in to the urge to tie it back. My hair, my one vanity that I still clung to now that youth had fled, but it comforted me.

I was trying to outline a chapter when a shadow fell across me, and if I had known it then, I would have called it a foreshadowing of my fate. I glanced up, pulse already quickening at the delicious sound of my name on his lips, and then all thought was quickly banished from my mind.

Harry stood before me, holding two glasses of lemonade and wearing... my throat went dry and I could not have uttered a word to save my life then. Harry wore nothing save a small pair of thin white underpants, which would have been more suited to a small girl rather than a twelve year old boy. A boy who was quite developed for his age, as I could very clearly see since the undergarment that was his only covering was quite inadequate to the task of covering what it ought to cover.

My eyes feasted helplessly, and he knew it; for the first time I gazed upon dusky pink nipples, a completely hairless torso, the musculature of adolescence just beginning to develop under silky smooth skin. I had a wild urge to taste him, to run my tongue over that chest; I knew without a doubt that he would taste like ambrosia. Lower still, my traitorous eyes roamed; the waistband of the thin white underpants hugged low on his hips, dangerously low, as if they would fall off at the smallest movement. Nothing in the universe could have kept me from staring at the bulging front of the underwear; easily discerning cock and balls through it, I swallowed and finally looked up.

There was that look again, teasingly playful and amused. I tried to speak, to apologise, to flee from the hell that my life had become when he interrupted, saying, "I brought you some lemonade, Sirius, to cool you off." Numbly, I took the proffered glass, condensation already making the outside slippery so I gripped it tightly.

Thus said, he sat himself beside me, our thighs touching, and leant back to gaze at the flowers. I in turn gazed at his upturned face, marveling that every new angle I saw of him was just as heart- breakingly perfect. "Thank you," I finally managed to mumble, bringing the glass to my lips clumsily and sipping at the cold, sweet liquid. It was refreshing and almost too sweet, but not quite; the fluid chilled my throat as it went down but did nothing to cool my soul. The entire world consisted of this bench, Harry next to me, and the line of fire that was where we touched. I fancied I could feel the burn of his skin through my trousers, and I wished them gone.

Harry drank of his lemonade, then sighed softly; despite the heat, he moved even closer, pressing his leg more firmly against mine and leaning against my arm. I held still, not even daring to breathe lest he stop what he was doing; I could smell him now, an indefinable scent that made my entire body ache.

Setting his glass on the bench beside him, Harry snaked his arms around my arm, hugging it to himself, and in the process my hand came almost naturally to rest on his bare thigh, near the junction of his legs. I could not stifle the quick indraw of breath that contact with his naked skin caused, yet Harry did not seem to notice the effect his actions were having. My other hand held the glass of lemonade so tightly I knew it was in grave danger of shattering; my eyes I kept fixed on the patch of grass in front of us as I tried to convince myself that all was innocence.

Even that illusion shattered as Harry parted his legs, allowing my hand to fall between them, so that the side of my hand was now pressed against the bulging front of his underpants.

This time I did gasp, my free hand jerking so that the icy lemonade spilled over my stomach and lap. Harry jumped up quickly, releasing my hand and even in the confusion I ached from the loss of touch. Harry was apologising, and suddenly he was walking quickly away toward the house, and I was left to contemplate his bottom, wiggling away from me, the white underpants so short that the bottom of his buttocks was quite clearly exposed.

Then he was back, bearing a small basin full of water and a cloth, and he was kneeling in front of me, dabbing at the spilled lemonade. Before my mind had caught up, Harry had pushed apart my legs and was between them, face only inches from the crotch of my trousers which were fast becoming far too snug.

Like some parody of a fantasy, Harry knelt and wiped at the stains; I could not have told you if he was removing them or making them worse, and truly I did not care. It was all I could do to not arch up into that touch, to push his hands lower, to throw him to the summer grass and ravish him.

Still, it was too new, I couldn't be sure, it could have all been coincidence and my unhealthy desire colouring an innocent boy's actions. Then he looked up at me, intense green eyes staring into my soul as if reading it, and I knew.

Even as the cloth in his hand moved, now deliberately rubbing at my fully hard erection through the trousers, I stared into his eyes and knew.

Harry knew exactly what he was doing.

And he knew I knew, for giving up all pretence now, he lay his head on my thigh, mouth inches from my arousal, and tilted his head so he could look up at me. The smile he gave me was angelic; but no devil had ever tempted a man like this boy tempted me.

And he smiled like he knew he would win.

He smiled like sin.

Slowly, he stood, backing up only enough to stand, still within the V of my legs. He lifted the basin, and, looking steadily at me all the while, poured the water down his front. "It's so hot," he explained unnecessarily; my eyes followed the path of the water as it flowed over his body. My eyes were riveted to the front of his underpants as the water soaked them thoroughly, rendering them even more transparent.

The basin was empty, and Harry set it aside, instead running his hands over his slick body, finally lowering to the waistband of his undergarment. He rubbed himself through it, his head dropping back as he did so, in clear enjoyment. My own cock felt as if it would burst through my trousers from this sight. Harry grew visibly more aroused, and the pink tip of his erection poked out of the trousers, more enticing than full nudity.

Then, uncaring of his dampness, Harry climbed into my lap and my hands came up automatically to hold him. He sat sideways across me, legs bent, his thigh pressed directly onto my aching erection, his arms coming up to circle my neck. He buried his face in my neck, and his hair tickled my face. He spoke then, his voice muffled but perfectly understandable. "I love you, Sirius," he said, wiggling as close as possible.

His small movements were agony against my trapped length, yet an agony I would have killed to keep feeling. "I love you too, Harry," I said.

"Really?" he breathed, leaning back slightly to look at me.

"Of course," I said, and then the immorality of what was happening struck me. "But we..."

"What?" he asked, the smallest of frowns creasing his lovely face, breaking my heart.

"We... this is not right," I stammered, now knowing how to explain.

"Why not?" he demanded, rocking against me deliberately now, clouding my mind.

"Because I am a man and you are a boy," I tried to explain.

"But we love each other," pointed out Harry.

I could not dispute that, as I had just confessed it. "You are too young," I tried, not able to keep the moan out of my voice.

"I am *not*," he stated defiantly, taking my hand and placing it between his legs, letting me feel the hardness for myself. "See?" he said with a breathy moan that nearly drove me mad.

His seeming wantonness... I had to ask. I knew the answer in my heart, but had to hear his answer. "You've never... before?"

"Never," stated Harry breathlessly, bumping his hips up, against my hand, impatient.

With the evidence clearly in my hands, I ran out of arguments, for truly I did not wish to argue. Perhaps if I had had stronger moral fibre, I could have stopped it then, that first day, but I was far unequal to the task.

It was soon far too late to stop.

I traced the boy's arousal through the damp material of his underpants, and Harry moaned for me.

I could never stop.

Harry shifted, straddling my lap now, and our cocks lined up. He wrapped his hands firmly around my neck, pressing our bodies together as tightly as they would go, and he began to rock. My hands went to his ass, cupping it, the flesh firm under the cotton.

We were both gasping now; though my cock was trapped in my pants, the very deviance of what we were doing ensured that I was so very close to climax already. Indeed, so was Harry, and his green eyes soon glazed as we rocked desperately. I looked deep in his eyes, just on the edge, when a slamming door intruded into our nirvana. Lily's voice drifted across the garden, calling for us both, and I froze.

But a look crossed Harry's face, and he didn't stop, but sped up, smiling beatifically at me; it was far too late, I was too far gone, and I helplessly climaxed, jerking against him, releasing my shameful seed in my trousers as silently as I could. The pleasure was nothing as I have ever felt before, and it went on and on as Harry closed his eyes, giving a hitching breath as he found his own release, the most erotic sight I have ever seen.

Then, reality came back, and Harry scrambled back off my lap, and as I glanced at him I could see that with his already damp underpants his release was all but invisible. A look down at myself revealed no such luck. Harry gave me a small smile then ran off toward his mother's voice, and I was forced to duck into the back door of my cottage, panting, heart pounding, wondering what the hell I had just done.

Whatever I had done, I knew with a sick and sinking certainty that I would sell my soul, if indeed I still had one, to do it again.

I went into dinner that evening nervous, sure that Lily would know exactly what we had got up to in the garden, but there sat Harry, dressed more completely yet just as enticing, and everything was as usual, whatever that was.

From then on, Harry would sit next to me whenever he could. He would hold my hand when we went out. He would make any excuse to be near me.

And James and Lily thought it was charming, how godfather and godson, so long apart, got on so famously.

I could almost have felt guilty.

But I didn't.

I never again tried to tell Harry that what we were doing was wrong.

But I did try to resist.

When Harry so very blatantly offered himself to me, I didn't take him. I let him sit on my lap, and make me so painfully aroused that I wanted to cry. I let him brush against me, and made no effort to stop him because the feel of his lithe body was far too exquisite to resist.

One sultry evening I was washing out a coffee cup in my small kitchen when I noticed I could look straight into Harry's room. An unmistakable figure passed in front of the open window and I couldn't tear my eyes away. The figure was unbuttoning his shirt, and then he crossed back to the window, pausing as if to shut the curtains. Perhaps my moan of protest carried all the way to Harry's room, for he paused, peering down, right at me. I couldn't discern his expression, but I was sure he was smiling. Instead of closing the curtains, he opened them wider, and with a shaking hand I reached to turn off the light so I could see better. I never took my eyes from him.

My cock rose quickly to the occasion as Harry shrugged off his shirt, standing squarely in front of the window. His shorts soon followed, treating me to a view of yet another pair of very small white underpants. Harry ran his hand over the front of the undergarment, and I could stand it no longer. Never changing my gaze, I fumbled with the front of my trousers, only opening them enough to free my aching erection. I stroked slowly, wanting to enjoy the show, prolong the pleasure.

And Harry didn't disappoint. Turning his back, he bent over much more than was necessary as he slid the underpants off. For the first time, I had a clear view of his uncovered bottom, and his legs were spread enough that I could almost see his entrance. My cock pulsed in my hand and I had to still my strokes lest I spill too soon.

Slowly, languidly, he straightened and turned, displaying himself for me, and from the side view I could see he was completely aroused. Then he was facing me, and he dropped his hand to his erection, and I cried out.

He stroked, and I stroked, in time to each other and I could almost hear his panting breaths. I wanted to see his climax before I allowed myself my own, but I was so far gone I didn't even know if I could outlast a twelve year old boy. That thought sent a spike of pure twisted desire though me, so intense, that I cried out in the silence of my little kitchen and came all over the counter. Harry must have known, for at the same moment he arched, and stiffened, and clearly climaxed before my eyes. I had an overwhelming need to rush to his room, take him in my arms and lick him clean, to taste his young seed.

Harry brought his hand up to his mouth and licked it, and my spent cock twitched from the sight. Then he gave a small wave, closing the curtains and leaving me with my mess, empty inside.

I ached for him.

Time did not help my need; it only worsened. In my dreams, I claimed my Harry in every way possible, and I woke to dirtied sheets like I was a teenager myself, or a insistent erection I had to take care of. When I saw Harry each morning at breakfast, I grew hard again in anticipation of his teasing games. For as much as I wanted to take Harry fully, I also craved the games, the danger, the anticipation. Though each day I lusted for his sweet body yet more, the buildup to what I now knew must be inevitable was delicious.

The ways Harry could tease me were innumerable. Harry love to take baths in the evening, and though I generally stayed away during this time, one evening Lily asked if I could look in on the boy, to make sure he'd washed properly; she felt he was just playing. I admit I had to ask her to repeat herself, claiming deafness, as I couldn't believe she'd just asked me such a thing. Already my heart was beating faster as I realised I was being invited to look upon my desire's naked wet form.

Lily repeated herself, apologizing for the inconvenience but she was quite busy with her mending and didn't wish to lose her place, and would I please be a dear and pop up to check on Harry?

I tried of course not to sound too eager as I agreed, and fairly danced up the stairs once I was out of her sight. I pushed open the bathroom door without knocking, and there he was. Lounging back in the bath, idly squeezing a sponge out over his slick chest, Harry looked up at me with no surprise.

"I'm to check if you've cleaned yourself properly," I said as smoothly as I could manage.

A smile spread over Harry's face as he regarded me. "And however shall you do that, dear Sirius?"

"I imagine I'll have to make a thorough examination," I said softly, shutting the door firmly.

"Oh, yes, please," Harry said eagerly, putting aside the sponge and sitting forward.

I moved toward the bath, kneeling beside it, leaning the top half of my body over the edge. Bubbles surrounded him, swirling, hiding and revealing, tantalizingly. No amount of bubbles, however, could hide the fact that he was rapidly hardening under my gaze. I had been hard since I first set foot in the bathroom, of course, and my desire rose higher at the idea that I might be able to touch at last.

Slowly, I extended my hand, giving him plenty of chance to stop me, until my hand rested on his chest. He made a contented sound, and I moved my hand, rubbing gently at both nipples before moving lower.

Harry moaned more loudly now, and got to his knees so that his arousal was out of the water. "Touch me there, Sirius," he whispered, but I wouldn't be rushed. He gripped the side of the bathtub as I slid my hand lower, over that flat belly, downward to my goal. "Please," he begged, and I couldn't refuse him. Finally, I let my hand curl around his rigid length, and the sound he made was nothing short of sublime. Finally, I had him in my hand, had the center of the boy's pleasure at my tender mercy. I stroked slowly, and in his youthful eagerness he could not stop from thrusting into my hand. I had to remind myself that tempter though he was, Harry was just a twelve year old boy who'd never been touched by another.

"Well, I think this is quite clean," I mused, stroking firmly, making him whimper. "But I have one more place I need to check," I continued, trying to keep my tone light and keep the pure lust out of my voice, removing my hand.

"But I don't want you to stop," Harry pouted, looking fully his age at that moment, save for the erection standing nearly straight up.

"You'll like this even better," I promised, and he smiled, nodding. So compliant... "Turn around, get on all fours," I ordered.

Harry did so immediately, presenting his bottom to me, wet and slick from the bath. God, I nearly came then just from that. I reached out with a shaky hand and ran it over the firm flesh, just admiring. Carefully, I slid one finger down his cleft, brushing ever so gently against his entrance, to see his reaction.

"Oh!" he gasped. "Do that again, please..." His words made me groan, and I used both hands now, spreading him open to my eyes and fingers. Circling his entrance with one finger, Harry loved it when I pushed without entering. He pushed back against my finger, and gently I pushed it inside him, and he gasped again. "Siriussss..." he hissed, muscles clenching around my finger. "I like this..."

I very slowly fucked him with one finger, pushing inside a bit more each time, until he was pushing back wildly against me. "Touch yourself now," I suggested, and when he did, he arched his back and made the most erotic sounds I had ever heard.

He stroked himself as I slid a finger in and out of him, and soon he gave a soft cry and climaxed into the bath. Almost immediately, he climbed out of the tub and onto me; I wrapped him in a soft towel and held him close as he gasped for breath.

Finally he turned those eyes on me, and asked in a whisper, "Is that what making love is like?"

I was shocked by the question, and finally said, "A bit. But it's even better."

He nudged his hip against my unsatisfied erection. "Because you'd put that in me, right? Like you did your finger."

My, but the boy caught on fast. "Yes."

"I want you to do that to me," Harry stated with all the certainty of youth. "You want to, don't you?"

"More than anything, my dear Harry," I answer, breath hitching. "But you need to be prepared more, first."

Harry nodded seriously, and from then on our bathtub adventures increased, and each time Harry asked me if he was ready yet. I told him, not yet. He pouted, and it took every ounce of resolve not to give in.

I knew I couldn't last forever.

One morning I woke, still unsatisfied from a dream, to find that the dream was real. Harry had snuck out of his room and slid into bed with me, and had both his small hands wrapped around my erection. The sight of him, naked next to me, touching me, was too much; he stroked carefully and I came before I even woke up properly. He smiled, proud of himself, and I had to kiss him, pressing him to the bed. He responded immediately, opening his mouth to mine and arching up against me. His arousal was hot against my skin.

I slid down his body, and the strangled gasp he gave when I wrapped my mouth around his cock was perfection itself. He'd clearly never imagined such a thing, and he arched up into my mouth, begging unashamedly, quickly filling my mouth, and I tasted him at long last.

Then came the day James and Lily, still blissfully unaware of the blessed perversion going on under their very noses, decided to throw a luncheon party for a few close associates.

Harry was clearly bored with the adults, so he asked sullenly if he could be excused after he'd picked at his meal. Lily and James exchanged looks, and Harry didn't wait for an answer, just dashed up the stairs to his room. I watched him go, and waited. Lily caught my eye and shrugged helplessly, while James spoke up.

"I'm so sorry," he said to his guests. "He's sort of at that difficult age. Sirius here is the only one who can really handle him." The irony of that statement should have hurt, but didn't. I just smiled.

"Would you mind just checking on him, Sirius?" Lily asked carefully, clearly trying not to impose.

I tried not to let my smile turn as feral as it wanted to. "Absolutely, no problem, Lily," I answered immediately, putting my napkin on the table as I stood pushing back the chair as slowly as possible.

"You don't know how much we appreciate this," James cut in.

"Don't even mention it, you all just enjoy the rest of the meal, I'm full anyway," I responded. "In fact, I'll probably just read him a story or two, keep him occupied a bit if you don't mind."

"That would be perfect," cooed Lily, clearly relieved.

"I'll be back in a while, then," I said, making my way up the stairs as James opened another bottle of wine for their guests.

I forced myself to walk slowly up the stairs, one step at a time, and with each step more blood rushed to my cock. This felt like a seminal moment, one that would forever be a moment I would treasure, a literal turning point in my life.

And Harry's too.

His door stood ajar, and I pushed it open.

He was expecting me.

He stood in a ray of sunshine, silhouetted and waiting.

I ached for him.

So that is how we came to be like this, lying on the sun-warmed floor of Harry's room, only a rug cushioning us, my hands exploring his bared body.

The door still stands ajar, and if I listen I can hear the clink of silver and crystal.

This makes it even better.

They could come up here at any moment.

"You must be silent," I admonish the boy as he gasps softly.

"I will," he mouths. "Make love to me, Sirius."

Though I know it's wrong, I have no more will to resist.

He parts his legs, and I move between them; his clothes are but a memory and I only wear my shirt, hanging open.

He spreads his legs wider, exhorting me to hurry, and I reach for the small tube I've been keeping with me for weeks now.

He watches, impatiently, as I get ready.

Our bath games have prepared him somewhat, but as I press myself to his entrance, I still fear I'll never fit.

But I'm too cautious, and with an impatient sound he shoves himself forward, impaling himself on me.

And then I'm in him, just like I was always meant to be, and I rock, slowly, watching him, and his mouth hangs open.

I wait, though it's very nearly excruciating.

Finally, he exhales, and nods, and clenches those muscles around me and now I have to remind myself to be silent.

Slowly, I slide out, then back in again, repeating the action as Harry's fingers tighten on my biceps.

"So.... Good..." he hisses between clenched teeth.

I nod, and slowly, finding the pulse of the hot afternoon I move inside him. In and out, as smoothly as I can possibly manage.

He's impossibly tight around me. I must be hurting him, but still he's hard as a rock and begs me silently for more, faster, more.

The sun angles across his face, picking out highlights in his hair as he twists beneath me.

My Harry.

Slowly, my pace increases, my hips pistoning, scrabbling for rhythm, my whole body tense from holding back. It's too good, nothing is allowed to be this good.

Tinkle of glasses and shifting of chairs from downstairs, but nothing matters now but us.

Nothing matters but his smooth skin, his tight channel, his full lips that ask for more.

And I give.

I'd give him anything, everything.

Then I reach between us, and take his wet cock in my hand, and I stoke it, and he's lost.

I want him to scream my name, but I know he cannot; he arches, tightening, and warm wet floods between us, Harry finds his completion.

There is no way I cannot follow, and I think I will not survive this much pleasure as I fill him at last. Hot, wet, tight, tight, I fall into oblivion and out the other side.

And Harry is still there, clinging to me, sobbing silently.

I hold him close, shaking.

I could die now, happily, except that would mean I would have to leave my Harry.

The sun is still there, the sounds from downstairs unabated, even though the world should now stop on its axis because Harry is mine.

And he leans up to whisper in my ear. "Now you're mine. Never leave me."

"Never," I agree.