Fic: Hunger (Sirius/Rosmerta)
Title: Hunger
Author: wolf_cat
Recipient's name: kirixchi
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Sirius Black/Madam Rosmerta
Author/Artist's notes: Thanks to everyone who helped with betaing the bits and pieces. :)


The first few years in Azkaban weren’t so bad, sexually. He had been too busy trying to think of reasons he should even try to stay alive. The hope of someday, somehow getting a chance for vengeance against Peter was enough.

The next few years, it was all he could do to keep even a small semblance of sanity. To keep some part of himself alive. Without the ability to retreat into Padfoot’s simpler way of feeling, he knew he wouldn’t have stood a chance.

Once he had a routine, it was almost easy. Wake up, eat whatever meager crumbs were tossed to him, and then just try to survive for the moments when no one was looking and he could spend a few moments as Padfoot. It was the only time he didn’t feel crushed under the weight of despair. With Padfoot’s canine single-mindedness, he could remember his goal: survival and vengeance. Find the rat. Kill the rat.

Sometimes, when he stayed in Padfoot’s body for a while, he could relax enough to miss things. Things like a soft bed to curl up in at night. Food that tasted good. Fresh air. The look in a woman’s eyes when he touched her. Which woman didn’t matter; Sirius liked them all. Thin, curvy, tall, short, smart, dim- he didn’t care. He loved the way they looked at him, as though they couldn’t believe he’d chosen them. He’d known he was good-looking and used it to his advantage. From his first experiences with the Hogsmeade witch who had made it her life’s endeavor to make sure the most promising seventh year boy had the best of training, he’d never lacked for willing partners until he was locked in a cell alone.

Now that he was out, however, all he could think about was his stomach, not his cock. Rat tartare, not especially appetizing in the first place, had very quickly lost its charm. The memory of warmth and comfort and other things he missed drove him to break into the Three Broomsticks to cadge something to eat.

Unfortunately, the kitchen wasn’t exactly as he recalled it; there was a dining table in a place there hadn’t been before. He tripped over a chair, sending it and himself sprawling loudly on the floor.

Rosmerta was just as fast as she had always been. He heard her coming and only barely managed to get behind the door before she opened it. “Who’s in here?” she hissed, peering around the door with her wand in her trembling hand.

He clapped his hand over her mouth. “I promise I’m not going to hurt you. Just don’t scream, okay?”

She nodded, and he slowly removed his hand. “What do you want?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“I was just going to nick a sandwich or something,” he confessed. “I’m hungry.”

“Oh,” she said, turning her head to look at him. “You look hungry.”

“Well, I am.” They both laughed uncomfortably. “I’m sorry I frightened you, Rosmerta.”

She started. “Do I know you?’

“You used to,” he said, remembering the old days wistfully.

Her eyes widened in recognition and fear. “It’s been a long time, Sirius,” she said uneasily.

“Yes, it has. A very long time. I can see why you think differently of me than you used to.” He laughed again, harshly this time. “I don’t look much like I did back then, but please don’t be scared. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“How can I believe you?” Her eyes darted about, searching for a possible defensive weapon.

He stared at her intensely. “Because I’m telling the truth. Believe me or not. It doesn’t matter. Can I have a sandwich before you call for the Dementors?”

“All right. Wait, no. I mean, I’ll make you something. Just sit down over there.” She nodded toward the table and gave him a small smile as she slowly moved away from the wall toward the pantry. “I’d rather not have Dementors in here. They make the milk go sour.”

He righted the chair he’d knocked over earlier and sat obediently at the table while she bustled about the kitchen heating up a plate of beef stew for him. Sirius’ mouth watered at the scent of it. He barely registered the touch of her hand on his when she gave him a fork and put the plate in front of him, it was all he could do not to bury his face in the dish and lap it up like the dog he so often was.

His hunger-induced desperation abated, Sirius realized the precariousness of his situation. He sopped up the last bit of gravy with a piece of bread and weighed his options. Hunger had forced him to reveal himself to Rosmerta. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he couldn’t allow himself to be captured. Not when the rat was still out there, waiting to be dealt with.

His thoughts must have betrayed him he saw her eyes widen with fear.

“Sorry,” he muttered, forcing his scowl into a softer expression. “You don’t need to be afraid of me. I swear that I won’t hurt you, but please promise me you won’t tell anyone you saw me.”

“Do you swear on your mother’s grave? Or her life, if she isn’t dead?”

He could stop his scowl from returning. “Blast my mother! I swear on the graves of James and Lily Potter and on the life of their son, Harry.”

She gasped as though he had just committed the worst sort of blasphemy.

“I didn’t kill them,” he growled. “Believe whatever lies the Ministry has forced down your throat, but I loved them. I will avenge them.”

She looked at him thoughtfully from across the table. “All right,” she finally said. “I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, because you haven’t tried to harm me at all. And I’ve never quite believed that the boy I used to know was capable of what you did. Or rather, what you were accused of,” she added quickly as anger clouded his face again.

“So you believe me?” he asked, afraid to hope.

“Well, I don’t not believe you.” She gave a nervous laugh. “I’m afraid that’s the best I can do.”

“That’s good enough, I suppose.” He smiled for the first time in years.

“You look almost… normal again when you smile,” said Rosmerta sadly. “You were a nice boy, Sirius. I’d like to think that you’ve grown into a nice man, but you really don’t look as though you’ve been living a good and proper sort of life.”

“You know I haven’t been.” He sighed and scrubbed his hand across his face. “I almost wish the Ministry would have just killed me back then.”

“Don’t say that,” she said disapprovingly, leaning toward him. “You’re alive. Isn’t that something?”

He barked out a harsh laugh. “Some life. Everyone I ever cared about is either dead or afraid I’m going to attack them in their sleep.”

He wasn’t aware of exactly how she came to be touching him, but her hand rested lightly on his arm. “Remind me again why I’m supposed to be afraid of you?” she said in the low voice that had haunted so many of his wet dreams.

“I’m a dangerous criminal,” he answered, breathing in her scent, afraid to move for fear of breaking the spell. He took a deep breath, savoring the scent of her soap and the kitchen aromas that still clung to her hair and the indefinable scent of woman beneath everything else. She met his gaze, unafraid, and he knew he would not be able to hold himself back if he didn’t leave immediately.

He rose quickly, knocking over the chair again. She jumped up when it hit the floor, gasping with surprise.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“It’s all right.” She laid her hand gently on his arm again, and something in his mind snapped.

He grabbed her by both arms and pulled her close, kissing her so violently their teeth ground together. She took a step backwards but stumbled over the toppled chair. She regained her balance by grabbing the front of his grubby shirt to keep herself from falling.

He held her steady for just a split second before pushing her roughly back against the wall.

Rational thought had already left his mind. Primal animal instinct swept through him as he pawed at the heavy fabric of her skirt. His fingers found the sheer scrap of fabric between her thighs. To his amazement, he felt that she was wet. He needed to taste it. To taste her.

He fell to his knees, seeking the source of the maddening scent of her desire. He felt the shiver go through her as his tongue made contact. Her hands on his shoulders pulled him closer, urged him on. Fingers dug into flesh: his into her thighs and hers into his shoulders. The folds of her skirt around his ears muffled her harsh moan, but what he heard went straight to his cock.

He reached down with one hand to free his straining erection. With one swift movement he rose to his feet, pushed her skirt up around her waist, and plunged himself deep inside her.

Too long. It had been much too long since he’d felt the embrace of a woman. He thrust once, and again, and once more, until he could hold back no longer. He felt her contract around him, heard her gasp, and lost himself in the oblivion of release.

Too quickly, he returned to his senses. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, pulling away form her in disgust.

“It’s all right,” she murmured, holding his face in her hands. “It’s okay.” She gently kissed the tears from his cheeks and held him close as he shivered.

“Did you ever think, back when I was a kid, that I’d turn into something so awful?” he asked. “I hate what I’ve become.”

She shook her head and patted his cheek. “You always were one of my favorites, Sirius.”

He blinked in surprise. “What?”

“Well, did I struggle to get away from you just then?”

“I wouldn’t have noticed if you had,” he confessed.

“Well, I didn’t. It’s been a long time for me, too, you know.”

“I can’t imagine that it’s been quite as long for you as it’s been for me.” Sirius grinned wryly.

“No, not quite that long,” she conceded. “But I don’t really take on boys to teach anymore.”

“That is a shame.”

“Now, there’s the Sirius Black that I used to know.” She smoothed her hands over his matted hair. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up a bit.”

He followed her up the stairs and into the bathroom.

“Shower,” she ordered.

“Yes, Madam Rosmerta.” He behaved like the obedient puppy he had always been for her when she made it her job to make him feel like a man. She had done well, both when he’d started as a boy and now when he needed to be turned back from a monster.