You can have it all

Title: Ghosts In The Attic
Author: orpheus_samhain
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Ginny/Sirius
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~3,000
Warnings: underage
Disclaimer: Characters belong to JKR.
Summary: Ginny catches Sirius staring at her, as if he knows, as if he sees more than anyone else. She stares back. Hard. If he thinks that she'll back away, he's never been this mistaken in his life.
Author's Notes: A birthday present for pojypojy. This is not what I initially had in my mind for you back in October 2008 (eeep!), but out of four scenarios I've tried only this one rolled safely till the end. I hope you enjoy! Many thanks to brknhalo241, siriuslysnogged and melusinahp for their help and encouragement *hearts* Viva quill_sinister!


Ghosts In The Attic


Everyone's busy. They bustle in and out of that musty old house. Their remarks are curt, their eyes unseeing. Ginny studies all faces, seeing no response in their expressions. In the prevailing commotion her eyes unintentionally leave out the only other still figure beside herself, that of Sirius Black.

She's caught off guard when their gazes finally meet. His is mocking and challenging, as if he knows, as if he sees more than anyone else. She stares back. Hard. If he thinks that she'll back away, he's never been this mistaken in his life.

~*~
Ginny stands in the doorway, her eyes adjusting to the semi-darkness of the attic. Before she's able to see him, Sirius speaks, his voice hoarse.

"You're standing against the light. Everything shows."

"So what?"

"Nothing. Just curious if you knew. Might as well take it off."

The comment is offhand, and Ginny, high strung as she is, pulls the nightdress over her head in an instant. There is only silence. Ginny is suspended in time, feels no shame, merely waits for Sirius' reaction. Which isn't what she hopes for.

"If you were older, I'd think you know what you're doing."

Ginny hears a wet sound as he takes a swig from a bottle. She flings her nightdress back on, narrows her eyes, even if he can't see it, and hisses through her clenched teeth. "It's not me who's too young. It's you who's too old. And I hate you!"

Sirius chuckles. "Welcome to the club."

Ginny shuts him in with a thud—the only act of violence she can afford. The door frame is still rattling when she angrily stomps downstairs, barefoot.

For the next few days he either ignores her or stares at her insolently, with that half smirk on his lips, not letting her forget what she's done, nor letting her believe he was so drunk that he's forgotten her humiliation, but makes no effort to approach her one way or another.

The rage is growing and coiling in her stomach, along with something else.

~*~
In the evening, when all are dispersing to their allotted bedrooms, Ginny sees him slipping into one of the side rooms. She wants to ignore him, to go to bed and sleep, but when she closes the door behind herself (and Hermione's not in, interestingly enough), she knows she won't be able to.

She runs back downstairs, not caring if she meets anyone on her way, not knowing what she's going to tell him, merely that she'll give him piece of her mind.

She's in the room, leaning against the solid door, breathing hard.

Sirius slumps on the sofa, legs wide spread. He's holding a bottle in his right hand, resting the thick glass bottom on his knee.

Ginny glares daggers at him, ready for a spiteful reply to whatever he's going to say to her. He doesn't speak, though, simply spreads his free hand to the side, making space for her, inviting.

Ginny pushes off the door and walks to him, her expression threatening, and sits beside him. He doesn't pay attention to her moods, but wraps his arm around her shoulders as soon as she sinks into the sofa and pulls her into a wet kiss. Ginny's crushed between his side and his arm, stiff and unyielding. She thinks she couldn't pull away even if she wanted to. Her head lolls back, her fingers fist in the shirt on his chest. He's neither careful nor delicate with her, and in an instant she forgives him all his previous remarks.

He pulls away for a second to catch his breath, and Ginny does, too. The odour of alcohol is so strong that Ginny thinks she's tipsy just from breathing it in. When he catches her lips again, he's more insistent, and fills her mouth with his tongue, Firewhisky on it stinging a bit. She's dizzy from the lack of air, the alcohol and from her body's reaction. There are places on her body that need to be touched more than others. It's hard to breathe, and Ginny tries to inhale through her nose, while her mouth is a battlefield. She's desperate not to pull away this time, arches into him and throws her leg over his.

His turns more fully to her and his right hand slips under her sweater, reaching for her breast. His wrist gets caught in the knit, and he yanks it up, angrily. Cold air hits her flesh, and a warm hand lands on her breast, fingers pushing the thin fabric of her bra aside and a thumb drags across her nipple. For a moment, it's all Ginny wants. After a while, though, a pulsing feeling concentrates between her legs—something she cannot and doesn't intend to ignore.

She hooks her leg around his sturdy thigh, dragging herself onto him. In the process, her sweater rides higher, and she touches the almost rotten upholstery with the bare skin of her back. The repulsion brings a temporary reflection, makes her aware of what they much look like.

Trying to spit out his tongue, she wriggles out of his grasp, knocking something over.

Sirius lets her go. "Fuck!"

Ginny stands up and straightens her clothes.

Sirius is sitting on the verge of the sofa, dishevelled, panting, just as she is. His arms are lifted in the air, wide spread, frozen, while he stares at his crotch. He holds a bottle, half-empty now, while there is a big, wet stain on his jeans.

Ginny is unable to laugh, though, only one thing on her mind: to continue.

"What are you playing at?" he asks in a low voice, almost growling, and Ginny knows his anger has nothing to do with the spilled alcohol. He's glowering at her, hair in his face. Ginny wants to come to him and brush it off, but she has a feeling he might bite her hand off.

Instead, she says, "Your room."

Sirius takes one calming breath, looks at the door, then back at her. He straightens one leg before himself, fishes in his jeans pocket and hands her a Swiss knife.

"If anyone asks, tell them you wanted to give it back."

Ginny clamps her fingers around the knife and goes for the door. Her palms are sweaty, and handle slips from her grip, the door shutting loudly. Another 'fuck' can be heard from the inside, and she smiles, elated at the sureness that she'll get what she wants.

She runs upstairs, quiet and agile, like a cat. She hears the door being opened and then closed and then another one.

"What happened?" It's her mother's voice and Ginny freezes mid-step.

"Just pissed myself, Molly. Have to change, if you don't mind."

Her mother starts a tirade in a high-pitched voice.

Ginny hears heavy steps walking upstairs, and she moves, not risking checking which one of them is going up. She slips inside Sirius' room and, pocketing the knife, waits in the stale darkness, just behind the door.

She isn't even able to catch her breath. The steps come closer, the door opens, letting in a narrow line of lgith from the corridor. For a moment, the light is blocked by a tall, solid body, then the door closes, plunging her into the darkness more intense for the brief moment of light.

She knows it's him even before he lights the candles. He reeks like a distillery, and Ginny giggles.

"Lumos." He walks to the four-poster without glancing back at her, and pulls off his boots, throwing them on the floor, and then his socks. "Perfectly good Firewhisky went to waste."

Ginny takes two steps closer, but he doesn't pay her any attention, his back still turned to her, and she stops, observing him while he's taking off his jeans. When his fingers plunge under the waistband of his boxers, her breath speeds up. He merely adjusts himself and then, in a blink of an eye, he turns to her, yanks her by her arm and she's flying, thinking vaguely that if she hits anything, a poster or headboard, she's going to kill him, no matter what.

She lands on the unmade, lumpy bed and air escapes her lungs from the impact. She's still bouncing when Sirius lands next to her, twisting her arm behind her back.

"Any more ideas?"

Ginny realises that not all that alcohol smell comes from his jeans. His breath is wet, heavy, almost substantial between them. He must have taken a gulp or two when she left.

She arches up and kisses him, not even trying to free her arm. She doesn't need to. As soon as her tongue touches his, his both hands slip under her sweater, stroking her back, pulling her closer.

Without a word, they start to undress each other. Ginny slips from her sweater, and tries to unbutton Sirius' shirt, but when he latches to her breast, she's only able to grasp the front of his shirt helplessly. Her hips have mind of their own, and she rubs against him, hooking her leg around his thigh.

Sirius bites her nipple and lets go, despite her desperate clutching. He reaches to the waistband of her jeans, and pushes his hand in. Ginny holds in her stomach to allow him space, and, yes, his hand slips inside her panties and reaches her mound. His fingers slides between her folds, and Ginny opens her mouth in a quiet gasp, arching from the bed. His moves are rough and jerky, but never enough, blocked by her jeans, and Ginny unzips her fly with trembling fingers.

It's much better now. His thumb rubs at her clit while his middle finger slips inside. Ginny moans and grabs his arms, digging her fingers into his muscles. She's so wet that his finger slips in and out without any effort, and he adds another, and then another. He catches her mouth again, shifting his weight so that he's half lying on her, pinning her to the bed. Ginny can't get enough. She's dizzy again, lacks the oxygen, throws her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, the buttons of his shirt digging into her breast. She wishes there wasn't fabric between them, but is too caught up to remedy it.

His hand moves skilfully, pushing in and out, drawing circles, driving her mad. She tenses, lifts her hips from the bed as much as she's able, and the friction is finally enough to trigger her. She clamps her legs around his hand, and he's swallowing her gasps, moving until she's lying limp and trembling.

Releasing her mouth, he withdraws slowly and wipes his fingers on the sheet. He strokes the small of her back, and Ginny hides her face in the crook of his neck.

The pulsing between her legs subsides but is not entirely gone. When Ginny shifts, Sirius sits up, takes off his shirt and boxers and gets under the duvet, lifting the other end invitingly. Ginny takes the cue and undresses quickly, her jeans, panties and bra landing in a heap on the floor. She crawls under the cover, lays on her side, but facing away from him, waiting. Not in vain, as she feels him spooning her from behind, his half hard cock pressed against her buttock, his palm landing on her stomach, moving up to cup her breast and then moving down between her legs, mapping the most important parts of her body.

Ginny closes her eyes in contentment.

Sirius pulls away slightly and the mattress starts to shake. Ginny knows he's jerking off. Preparing himself, she thinks lazily. Soon enough, she can feel his hand reaching from behind, his finger probing her deeply.

He leans over her and nips at her earlobe.

"Have you done this before?" he whispers into her ear. The tip of his cock—wet—touches her buttock.

Her cunt is still hungry and his teasing makes her boil. Ginny wants more and for real this time. And she won't have any of his patronising questions.

"Have you done this before?" Her tone is meant to be offensive.

Sirius laughs quietly and allows her this little game.

"Yes. You?" He's nibbling at her earlobe again, his chest making contact with her back and Ginny is distracted.

"Yes."

She expects him to utter some statement of disbelief or surprise, but she only feels him smiling against the skin on her neck before he kisses her. "With whom?"

Ginny stiffens. This is dangerous ground.

"I'm not asking you."

His finger slips in and out slowly, driving her mad. He kisses his way up her neck, to her jaw and back to her collar bone. His kisses are light, his lips barely touching her skin, tingling. She can feel him smiling all the time.

"Are you afraid I could pass this information to your brothers? As I recall, they threatened your boyfriends with a painful death."

Ginny almost laughs out aloud. "Doesn't matter. He's dead anyway."

Sirius freezes, both his mouth on her neck, and his hand between her thighs. Ginny swears silently, cursing her big, fat mouth, waiting for the inevitable questions.

There are none.

Sirius resumes his kisses and Ginny thinks now they are meant to be consoling, but she doesn't care.

"Put your leg over mine," he says in a low voice, and is pulling his finger away from her pussy, stroking his palm down her thigh, cupping her knee and guiding it up and back. Ginny obediently hooks her foot over his hairy calf, rubbing against it, and stills like that, exposed.

Sirius guides himself in, but their position is all wrong, he's only half in, and at the wrong angle, and Ginny complains.

"Not like that. I want more."

"Greedy. You'll have enough when I'm done."

He's moving slowly, and Ginny doesn't know how to make him obey. Impatient as she is, she tries to enjoy what she can: the touch of his hip bones against her buttocks, his hand on her thigh, his breath on the back of her neck. After a few thrusts, he pushes her down on her stomach, landing between her legs, and it's much better now. Ginny can feel his hard cock stretching her the way she's longed for for a long time. Her moan is drawn out, heart-felt, coming from the guts.

He kisses the place between her shoulder blades and starts to move faster, more forcibly. Ginny clutches the pillow and angles her hips. She needs him deeper.

Sirius obliges, rises on his knees and, grasping her hips, pulls her up. Ginny misunderstands and goes on all four. An insisting hand on her back pushes her head back down, until her forehead touches the pillow, while the other hand is clamped around her hip, keeping her arse up.

His cock goes deeper now, and Ginny thinks it's what he promised, until he moves again, raising slightly, and now he's driving into her from almost directly above. His cock is pistoning into her, rubbing against a spot in her that makes her moan loudly with his every move. She can't stop it and buries her face into his pillow.

His thrusts rock her whole body now. She stays in place only because of his firm grip on her hips. She's spasming around him in no time, but he doesn't stop. When he spills inside her, she's orgasming for the second time, totally spent, totally exhausted. Placid.

He collapses on her, sweaty and heavy, and Ginny lets him. When he moves, she snuggles to his side, instead of going back to her room.

"Open the window?"

He reaches for his wand and the window springs open.

It must have been raining. Ginny falls asleep to the accompaniment of the water dripping against the stone sill; cold, humid air wafting into the stale room. Just like in the Chamber.

When she wakes up it's also like in the Chamber. She's alone and cold, and doesn't quite remember what she was doing and why.

2009, August

Concrit always appreciated.