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All other image and content © Deirdre Riordan 2004. All rights reserved.

Title: Wanna Touch
Author: Deirdre Riordan
Pairing: Harry/Sirius
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not mine. If they were, I could afford to get sued. As it is, I'm a broke college student and I couldn't pay you if I wanted to.
Warning: This story contains explicit s-e-x between two adult males.  Please respect the law. It also contains improper (read: American) use of the word 'pants.' I'm sorry.
Challenge: 110. Post Voldie: Harry lives with Sirius. Harry has a secret hobby: cross-dressing. How does Sirius react when he comes upon his godson wearing a very racy number? (Camilla Bloom)

 Feedback: deirdre.riordan @ gmail . com (remove spaces).

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Wanna Touch

*Lipstick, check. Mascara, check. Rouge, check. Earrings, check. Now for the shoes.* Harry carefully removed his brand new patent leather stiletto heels from their hiding place in the back of the closet and slid them onto his feet. Perfect. He loved it when he knew Sirius would be gone all day. If he hadn't been a wizard, perhaps he would have had his own drag show. Or at least gone to amateur night once in a while. Not that he never had, but he was always too scared to sign up. However, he practised his routine regularly, just in case. Maybe once he'd finally gotten disguise spells down. As it was, though, he couldn't afford that kind of publicity if anyone were to see him.

 He grabbed the Joan Jett CD and ran downstairs. Yes, this was indeed a good day off. He shuddered to think what anyone down at the Ministry would say if they saw him. Well, Seamus would probably like it, but...that was Seamus. He shook the thoughts of professional repercussions out of his mind, closed the drapes, and put on the CD. He turned it up all the way and went full-on into his dance routine. It wasn't that much harder with the heels.

 "Do you wanna touch-- yeah!
Do you wanna touch-- yeah!
Do you wanna touch me the-ere!"

 He belted out the song, going through the thrusts and turns of the dance he'd spent months creating. This would be a thousand times better with a partner, he thought. Sirius, in nothing but those hot leather pants of his. In his fantasies, he and Sirius were stage partners. But then one night, Harry would look much hotter than usual for some reason, and after the show Sirius would push him backstage, lift his skirt and pull his lacy panties to his knees and fuck him senseless. He got hard every time he thought about that. He'd wanted Sirius for about as long as he could remember. Probably before he even knew what it was to want someone. If only Sirius would want him back.... Even if he could just have him for one night. *Yes, he'd unlace my corset with his teeth and kiss my ankles through the fishnets.* And then... well, it always ended with Sirius pulling Harry's lacy panties to his knees and fucking him senseless. Preferably bent over a tabletop. *Ooh, or maybe the motorcycle...*

 *Uh-oh.* It was almost five. Sirius would be home any minute. Harry retrieved the CD and ran upstairs. He carefully hid away his clothes and jumped into the shower. As soon as he was locked in with the water on, his hands immediately went to his still-engorged cock. When he was all warm and wet like this, he could almost believe that his hands were Sirius' mouth. Just thinking about that aroused him even more. He came hard, slipping and hitting his arm on the side of the tub. Damn, that was going to leave a mark.

 He heard footsteps running up the stairs. "Harry? You okay in there?" Sirius was home.

 "Yeah, I'm fine, I just slipped," Harry managed to call back.

 Sirius muttered something Harry couldn't hear and went back downstairs.

 After checking and re-checking that no trace of makeup remained on his face, Harry got dressed and went downstairs to help Sirius cook dinner.

 When he entered the kitchen, Sirius had his head in the fridge, so all he could see was that lovely, lovely bum of his. He was probably the only man in the Ministry who could get away with wearing leather pants to work. "Have a good day off?" Sirius asked, still rummaging.

 Harry laughed nervously. He was always afraid Sirius suspected something. "Oh, yeah, you know, just bummed around the house, wrote a couple of letters. Nothing interesting. How about you, did I miss anything good?"

 Sirius emerged from the fridge, handing him a beer. "Nope. Highlight of the day was Seamus 'accidentally' spilling a cup of coffee of Draco's crotch. Damn boring without any supervillains to chase."

 "Gee, sorry, if I'd known you were going to be so bored, I'd never have offed Voldemort."

 Sirius laughed. Gods, his smile was lovely. "Yeah, Harry, why'd you have to go and save the world?"

 "So, what's for dinner?"

 "Always evading the blame. Well, we've got mayonnaise, an egg, and something I won't attempt to identify. I thought you were going to go grocery shopping today."

 Oops. In all the excitement of makeup and leather, Harry had completely forgotten. "Sorry," he said, blushing. "I just couldn't make myself do anything useful. I'll go tomorrow."

 "Saving the world, forgetting to go to the store, what the hell am I going to do with you?"

 "Ummm, take me out for curry?" Harry said, trying his best to look cute and innocent.

 Sirius laughed. "Sure. Which of London's millions of curry establishments shall we grace with our custom this evening?"

 "That place down by Angel? We could go to Filthy McNasty's after."

 "What's your fascination with that place anyway?"

 Harry shrugged. "I dunno. I guess I like the name."

 They Apparated to Diagon Alley and got on the tube at Charing Cross. Sirius grumbled-- he hated the Underground, but Harry always insisted on taking it whenever they went muggle places. "All the squeaking and knocking about, I don't know, it just makes me fear for my life for some reason," Sirius had once explained. But he knew Harry loved the Underground, so he obliged him in most cases.

 They had a huge meal and left over-spiced and satisfied. After the three-block walk to Filthy McNasty's, they discovered it quite mysteriously closed. "Dammit!" Harry said. "I hate it when they do that! Why doesn't anybody ever post bloody business hours around here?"

 "So they don't have to keep them if they don't want to, I imagine."

 "So, what now? Home?"

 "Nah, it's Saturday night, and we're already out, so we might as well make the most of it. We find a bar, we drink till we think we can dance, and then we go to a club and test the theory."

 "I'm not really dressed for it," Harry said, looking down at his jeans and trainers. Truthfully, he was just afraid of what he might accidentally reveal about his feelings if he danced with Sirius, especially while drunk.

 "Are you a wizard or aren't you? Transfiguration? Remember that?"

 "Oh yeah," Harry muttered. He should really have thought of a better excuse.

 "So, back to the tube, we get a copy of Time Out, we get a few drinks, and then we go make arses of ourselves till all hours," Sirius said decisively and started back toward the tube station.

 Harry followed with resignation and a little bit of apprehension. He supposed he'd just have to get so pissed he wouldn't be able to get it up, thereby avoiding any embarrassing situations on the dance floor. They hadn't gone clubbing just the two of them in ages. They usually went with Ron and Remus or some other friends, and Harry always managed to skilfully avoid dancing with Sirius except during very fast songs that prevented physical contact.

 They soon ended up in Camden Town in the Elephant's Head, a copy of Time Out open between them. Sirius was reading through the listings as Harry gulped down beer, surreptitiously spelling his glass full every couple of minutes.

 "Let's see... Eighties at House of Fun... techno...techno....techno...more eighties, hey, what about this School Disco thing?"

 "Ugh, no, I hate those!"

 "Okay, okay. Does any of this sound good at all?"

 "It seems to be eighties or techno. Is there anything on at the Connexion?"

 "I don't see a listing. Do you want to go anyway?"

 "Sure, I'd probably rather not know what I'm getting into."

 Sirius called the club to see what to wear and came back looking bewildered. "He said... think 2025 meets glitter and has a bastard child with Johnny Rotten. What's that supposed to mean?"

 "Probably exactly what it sounds like. Futuristic and glittery and punky. Should be easy enough. Besides, if we don't look like anyone else in the queue we can always change."

 "Right. Well, we'd better get down to drinking, then."

 "Don't you think we should do our outfits before we're drunk?"

 "You have a point. Let's go change in the gents' here and then go to another pub."

 They agreed to do each other's outfits. Harry transfigured Sirius' clothing into tight red leather pants, a white blazer with no shirt underneath, and a pair of tall leather boots covered in metal. He completed the outfit with red glittery wrist cuffs and equally glittery eyeliner. "Hey, not bad," Sirius said, looking in the mirror. Your turn."

 Harry ended up wearing a pair of skintight white trousers with straps that crisscrossed all the way up the legs, a white fishnet and leather shirt, and a pair of pointy green boots with studs up the sides. Then he added green leather gauntlets that reminded Harry of his old Quidditch guards, and sparkly green and white eyeliner. Sirius circled him for a minute, thinking. Then he waved his wand one final time, and Harry yelped as he felt his nice comfy boxers turn into a g-string. "What'd you do that for?"

Sirius giggled. "You had the worst underwear lines I've ever seen."

 "How come you don't?"

 "I was wearing a thong to begin with," he said with a shrug.

 That was a picture Harry could have done without having in his head, especially considering the tightness of his pants. He managed to banish the thought from his head before it could do any damage, though, and they set about fixing their hair. Harry added green streaks in his and straightened it enough for it to behave. Sirius did red and blond streaks and pulled it back, letting the front of it hang in his eyes. "Well, I'd say we look pretty hot," Sirius said when they had finished. "Let's go to that goth bar down the road, we'll look like complete weirdoes in any of these traditional places."

 It was true, they fit right in at the goth bar. To top that off, the vodka was incredibly cheap there. Finally ten o'clock rolled around and they decided they'd probably better be getting on their way to Islington if they didn't want to spend the rest of the night in a queue. Harry was nicely buzzed--- okay, bordering on legless--- and that made the tube right pretty entertaining, at least for him. He couldn't stop giggling about the message someone had scrawled on one of the doors of the carriage-- "Noisy doors are unacceptable."

They reached the club and joined the queue. It was long, but it seemed to be moving fairly quickly. Soon they got within earshot of the bouncer and learned why the queue was so fast. Whoever was working the door tonight was not being very lenient. There was one bouncer making the judgements and another pushing away those not deemed worthy, keeping them from standing about and arguing. There was about one "okay, go" for every four or five declarations of "not with that hair," or "you call those trousers?" Harry hoped they'd get in, but at the same time, he'd be quite relieved if they didn't. When it was their turn, the bouncer looked them over for a second. Then he said "Hmm, very nice," and ushered them in.

"Are we good or what?" Sirius said gleefully once they were inside waiting at the queue to pay. "None of those other sods got a very nice!"

Harry just nodded, now nervous beyond belief. He was going to need a few more drinks. Ten-pound entry fee extorted, they descended the stairs into the club proper. The reason for the bouncer's selectiveness was apparent. The place was already packed. But every person there was carefully dressed in elaborate outfits and makeup, and Harry couldn't find a single one who wasn't attractive. He insisted he needed more drinks before he could dance, so he and Sirius made their way to the main bar a couple of rooms away so they could sit (or at least lean) without being danced on too much. The main bar, however, was much transformed. A catwalk had been set up and there was a woman lip-synching to Abba in front of a crowd of appreciative onlookers. Wait, that wasn't a woman. This was a drag show. Harry had never had any idea that something like this ever went on here.

 "Well, looks like we've got entertainment," Sirius said.

 "Sort of," Harry said, laughing nervously. Well, at least he could see how Sirius reacted to boys in dresses. He ordered the most alcoholic drink he could think of and joined Sirius at the table.

 "How is it?" Harry asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

 Sirius shrugged. "I've seen more talented queens, but she's not bad. Abba's so cliché, though."

 "You like this stuff?"

 "Sure. Though seeing the Lady Chablis kind of ruined me for everyone else."

 Harry had heard of the Lady Chablis, and he was absolutely astonished that Sirius seemed to be such a drag connoisseur. He did his best to hide his excited reaction, though. "You ever done it?"

 "Who, me? Just once for laughs back in school, it was awful. But I really appreciate the art of it. I mean, just think, these people have to transform themselves entirely, but they don't have anything like magic at their disposal."

 Harry was heartened by Sirius' appreciation, but he figured this probably wasn't the time for any big revelations. He downed his drink even faster than his previous ones and went back to the bar for another. "You guys do this a lot here?" he asked the bartender.

 He nodded. "Yeah, every other Saturday. And the last Wednesday of the month we have an amateurs' contest. Stay away on those nights if you don't like Abba, let me tell you. I think I've learned their entire discography by now. That's six quid for the Long Island, mate."

 Harry gave the man his money and went back to Sirius, who was staring so intently at the next act that he didn't even seem to notice Harry's arrival. He wondered if Sirius would like his routine. *No, just keep that little secret to yourself.* Although the mention of an amateur night did sound tempting, as always. The last Wednesday of the month was the following week. Maybe he could actually work up the balls to sign up. Maybe. He knew nobody from the Ministry ever bothered to venture as far into muggle London as Islington without him. They mostly stayed at the bigger places by Leicester Square, since it was an easy walk from Charing Cross and nobody over there was too selective. Merlin, they couldn't afford to be with the sorts of bizarre tourists with money to burn who tended to show up at those clubs. Even with his guidance, he was hard pressed even to get them as far as Oxford Street. This place would probably be safe. He could probably get Tuesday off to practise, he knew Sirius had a big department meeting that day. Yes, maybe he could do it, just maybe. Shit, that meant he had to definitively choose his stage name. He'd been going back and forth for months between Stella Revolution and Lola Profane. His deliberations were interrupted by a set break that brought Sirius back to earth.

 "You ready to dance now, Harry?"

 "Yeah, I think I could give it a go. Unless you'd rather watch the show."

 "Nah, I'd rather dance."

 They moved from the bar into one of the rooms reserved for dancing. The music was an interesting mix, going from the Clash to Blondie to David Bowie to the Specials. Not the sort of thing Harry was really used to hearing in clubs, but he danced to it happily, as it was the kind of stuff he liked and didn't require one to be particularly close to one's partner. After half an hour of thrashing and skanking, Sirius suggested checking out what they were playing in the other rooms. They passed through a techno room, which neither of them had any particular interest in, then through a 70s room that caused Harry to make faces. Finally they arrived in a room where the DJ was mixing reggae and hip-hop, which seemed like an okay compromise. They grabbed more drinks and had a rest before dancing. When their glasses were empty, the music immediately changed tempo. Harry had to wonder if somebody up there had it in for him. The song was slow and the dance floor was full of couples grinding against one another. Harry cursed his luck as Sirius pulled him to his feet. Not that he hadn't always wanted to dance with Sirius like that, but he couldn't trust his body not to betray him.

 "Sirius, I'm not very good at this kind of dancing," he shouted over the music.

 Sirius laughed and pulled Harry against him. "Just have fun."

 Halfway through the song, Harry truly began to feel his intoxication, and began not to care what his body did or didn't to, just enjoying the feeling of having Sirius so close to him. The way they were dancing wasn't too suggestive, as Harry was still being careful to avoid contact of a terribly dangerous sort. Sirius went off to the toilet after a while and Harry took that opportunity to get another drink. As he was walking away from the bar, he was accosted by a perfectly gorgeous boy with spiky blond hair.

 "Want to dance?" the guy asked.

 "I'm waiting for my friend, he's just gone to the toilet."

 "Have you seen the queue? We've got time for a dance."

 Harry couldn't say no to the gorgeous smile. And he couldn't help thinking the bloke looked somewhat familiar, but he figured he'd probably just seen him about town. London was funny that way. Huge as anything, but you somehow managed to always run into the same people. The blond took his hand and led him onto the dance floor. With him, Harry let himself go, grinding against him shamelessly. "You're lovely," the blond said in his ear, twisting long fingers into his hair.

 "So are you," Harry said, daring to kiss his neck. He was rewarded with a moan, so he did it again, kissing his way up until soft lips met his own. He wore the same cologne as Sirius. His eyes closed, he could almost believe he was kissing Sirius. He felt terrible projecting this fantasy onto a complete stranger, but he figured this bloke would never know. Just a bit of fun after all. Wouldn't be the first time, anyway. Harry made out with the blond for what felt like ages. When he opened his eyes, he was astonished not to see tanned skin and black hair in front of him. Blushing furiously, he realised what he'd been doing and backed away, stuttering. "I--I've gotta go," he said, and bolted, pushing his way through the crowd without waiting for an answer.

 He collided directly with Sirius, who had a strange smile on his face. "Back so soon? It looked like you were having fun over there."

 "Sorry," Harry stuttered, "I didn't mean to leave you all alone like that. It was just... well... I'm sorry."

 Sirius put a brotherly hand on his shoulder. "Calm down, it's okay."

 "Sorry, it's just... I..."

 Sirius frowned. "Did he try something you didn't want him to? If so, I'll go deck him right now. Nobody messes with my godson."

 Harry shook his head, near tears. His godson. Was that all Sirius thought of him as? "No, nothing like that. I don't know, I'm not usually so slutty, that's all," he managed weakly.

 "Pshaw. It's a bloody nightclub, Harry. Nightclubs are for kissing strangers and not having to worry about it the next day. You didn't do anything even remotely slutty. God knows I've done worse."

 Harry definitely did not want to know about that. "Do you want to go back to the first room we were in? I don't feel like dealing with that guy right now."

 "Sure, let's go."

 Once back to where they started, Harry loosened back up. They drank more and danced until three or four in the morning. Knackered and drunk, they staggered out laughing like idiots to catch a night bus back to Charing Cross. They floo'd back home from the Leaky Cauldron, since neither of them was right enough in the head to be able to Apparate properly. Once home they sat down on the couch with huge glasses of water, exhausted beyond belief. Neither made it as far as his bedroom.

 Harry woke up at some point the next day with a horrible pounding in his head and no feeling in his feet. Somebody moved under him. *Oh, shit, who'd I come home with?* He thought, panicking. He twisted his head around slowly. It was Sirius he was lying on top of, his arms wrapped around Harry's waist. *Did we...?* The night suddenly came back to Harry, most of it anyway. *No, we didn't. Damn.* He had to pee and he couldn't feel his feet.


 "Hmmmm?" Sirius murmured, not opening his eyes.

 "Wake up."

 After a series of protests, he finally got Sirius to open his eyes and help him get his boots off. "Some night, huh?" Sirius said, rubbing his eyes. He looked quizzically at the eyeliner that came away on his fingers and then shrugged, wiping it on his pants. "Wow, you look shagged."

 "So do you. How come there's dwarves tap-dancing on my brain?"

 Sirius laughed momentarily and then groaned and grabbed his own head. "I think we drank too much."

 Harry fumbled his wand out of the gauntlets he was still wearing and pointed it at Sirius' head. "Clarus Cerebrum." Sirius gave a sigh of relief and performed the same spell on Harry. Somehow it just didn't work as well when one did it on oneself. Heads cleared and pain gone, Harry headed for the shower while Sirius made coffee.

 Despite the fact that his hangover was gone, Harry was still incredibly tired and sluggish. It took him forever to do the simplest things. He couldn't even be bothered to properly get dressed, just throwing on a pair of jeans. He was also starving. He went down to the kitchen, thinking of toast. Sirius was there, sipping coffee, his eyes unfocused. "All yours," Harry said, pouring himself a cup.

 Sirius stood up with a grunt. "I would have made breakfast, but we still haven't got any food."

 "Ah, shite. My fault. I guess we'll have to go to the store."

 "I don't think I'd be able to wait that long. Why don't you floo Remus and look really cute and see if he'll feed us."

 "Mmmm, food." His energy bolstered by the thought of actual breakfast, he tossed some floo powder into the kitchen fire. "Remus Lupin!"

 Remus appeared, looking amused. "Good morning, Harry. Or should I say good afternoon?"

 "Hey Remus, what's up?"

 "Oh, not much. Am I to assume that since you're flooing me on a Sunday afternoon with the look of just having gotten up, this means you're yet again out of food and want to come over for breakfast?"

 "Well...." Harry tried to look sweet and charming.

 "I thought as much. I was going to invite you guys anyway, I'm making waffles. Come on over whenever you're ready."

 "Thanks, Remus! See you soon." Remus disappeared. "SIRIUS! WAFFLES!" Harry shouted up the stairs.

 Sirius was down in record time and they were soon in Remus' kitchen. Remus laughed when he saw them. "Well, I see you didn't bother to waste time getting dressed," he said, looking from one shirtless man to the other.

 "Sorry, we were hungry."

 "How do you guys always manage to run out of food at such inconvenient times?"

 "Because my dolt of a godson is too lazy to go to the store on his day off," Sirius said, punching him in the arm.

 Harry had the grace to look sheepish. "Sorry," he muttered.

 "Hey, don't worry about it, it got us waffles," Sirius said with a grin. "Speaking of which..."

 "It's all ready," Remus said.

 They sat down and he served them each a waffle, topped with a huge scoop of cinnamon ice cream and chopped bananas. Harry and Sirius demolished two each within a matter of minutes, along with a fairly massive quantity of tea. At some point Sirius excused himself to go to the bathroom, leaving Harry with Remus.

 "So, what exactly did you two do last night?"

 "Well, it started out as just dinner since we didn't have any food, but then we decided we might as well make a night of it. So we went to a bar, then another bar, then the club."


 "And...what?" Harry was genuinely confused.

 "You were both drunk, right?"

 "Dead right, I don't think I've been that pissed since....well, okay, so New Years wasn't that long ago, but still. So 'and' what? What are you getting at anyway?"

 Remus shrugged. "Clubs, drunkenness, thing happen."

 "Okay, so I kissed a blond, but that was really it. What, were you thinking we woke up next to mysterious strangers or something?"

 "Well, not exactly, but---" he heard the bathroom door open. "Oh, never mind."

 "Never mind what?" Sirius asked, coming into the room.

 "That's what I'd like to know," Harry said. "Remus is being cryptic again."

 Sirius glared at his friend, who now had an angelic smile plastered on his face. "Me? Cryptic? But Sirius, may is the grub of the pitchforks of goon."

 Sirius squinted at him and then just shook his head.

 Through the rest of the afternoon, Harry racked his brain trying to figure out what Remus had been trying to say. Other than the pitchforks bit, that is, which he was pretty sure was just rubbish. The best he could work out, somewhere between the frozen food section and the checkout of the supermarket, was that Remus wanted to know if something happened between him and Sirius. But why would it? As much as Harry would love it, he just couldn't see Sirius feeling that way about him. Especially with his constant references to the fact that Harry was his godson-- it seemed like he was trying to remind him or something, trying to subtly tell him it was off-limits. He really needed to find a new fixation. Maybe he should have spent a little more time with that blond.

 As Wednesday drew closer, Harry became increasingly antsy. Taking off work to practise was the easy part. The hard part was making up an excuse about where he was going and why Sirius couldn't come. The key was making it so that Sirius wouldn't want to come. So what wouldn't Sirius want to do? Something really boring. Something really boring at night. The opera. Perfect. Wait, Harry didn't like the opera. Therefore, there had to be someone forcing him to go. Who would force him to go to the opera? Hermione. Of course. She'd lie for him, wouldn't she? Oh, bugger, he'd have to tell her why. Or maybe not. Sometimes she knew enough not to ask questions. He had to try anyway. Monday morning he called her and made a lunch date for that afternoon.

 He was twitchy and nervous throughout the meal. While they were waiting for their dessert she pursed her lips. "Okay, Harry, spill it. What's the matter?"

 "The matter? Nothing's the matter. I'm fine."

 "Yeah, right. You've been acting like a mental case for the last hour. Now what is it?"

 Harry sighed. "Fact is, I need a favour."

 "Ah-hah! I should have known. So what is it?"

 "Well.... what are you doing Wednesday night?"

 "Ummm, nothing that I know of, why?"

 "Well, see, there's this thing I need to do, but I need Sirius not to know I'm doing it, so I need him not to go with me and I need to make up something I'm doing that he wouldn't want to do because I can't tell him what I'm really doing because I don't want him to know about it, because---" Harry had a moment of inspiration, "---it's supposed to be a surprise, and Wednesday night is the only time I can do it."

 Hermione blinked, processing the information. "In simple terms, you're doing something you don't want Sirius to know you're doing, so you need to say you're doing something with me, and you need me not to say you weren't."


 "Just out of curiosity, what is this all-important surprise?"

 Ah, shit. He hadn't thought of that. "I'd rather not say, it's kind of embarrassing."

 Hermione smiled, obviously getting something Harry really didn't. "Oh, that's so sweet! Of course I'll help you. Now what are you going to say we're doing?"

 It really wasn't supposed to be that easy. Sweet? Why was everybody getting all weird on him this week? "Well, I was thinking the opera."

 "Harry, you hate opera."

 "I know, I was going to say you begged me to go with you because Ron wouldn't appreciate it or something."

 She snorted. "Well, that's certainly true. Last time I took him he fell asleep ten minutes into the first act. So what opera?"


 "You hadn't thought of that, had you? If you're going to cover your arse, your story needs to be watertight. Like what you saw and what it was about. You're lucky, though, I happen to know that Carmen is on right now, and you've actually seen that."

 "Was that the one with the elephants or the one with the gypsy?"


 "Okay. What was the one with the elephants?"


 "Right. So you don't really have to lie to anybody, just don't say that wasn't where we were."

 "I can do that. I was thinking of going anyway, so maybe I actually will."

 "Hermione, you are the greatest. I owe you one. No, I owe you like, ten. In fact I'll buy your lunch."

 Hermione giggled. "I can't wait to hear what the surprise is."

 Oh, hell. That meant there actually had to be a surprise. Oh well, he could probably arrange one. He'd think about that later. The important thing was that he had a perfect excuse and an alibi. He could even nip into the theatre on the way to Connexion and pick up a programme to make it look like he'd really been there. Well, all right, it wasn't exactly on the way, but the extra trip would be worth it if he wanted to avoid questions.

 He practised all day Tuesday until he was sure he had everything down. He made sure to clean up in plenty of time and carefully got together all the things he would need and reduced them into a pocket-sized package which he put next to the keys to his office so he wouldn't forget it. It certainly wouldn't do to go to the "opera" with a giant duffle bag. What on earth would he have done if he hadn't been a wizard? He went downstairs and got dinner started. By the time Sirius arrived home, the food was almost ready and Harry had managed to calm down.

 "Mmm, is that food I smell?" Sirius said when he walked in the door.

 "Yeah, I decided to make up for my uselessness the last time I had a day off."

 "Why did you have today off anyway? You usually work Tuesdays."

 "Oh, I... had some stuff to do."

 "What kind of stuff?"

"Just... stuff. You'll find out soon enough." Great, now there REALLY had to be a surprise. "Oh, by the way, bad news. I have to go to the opera tomorrow night."

Sirius wrinkled his nose. "Whatever for?"

"Hermione begged me, and I owe her a favour."

"I'm not going, am I?"

"No, of course not. Unless you want to?"

"Ha, no thanks. I think I'll stay home and watch the Osbournes marathon."

"Sirius, we don't have cable."

Sirius shrugged.

"Then how are you--- Sirius, are we magically stealing cable?"

 "Yeah, so what? No one's going to know, least of all the cable company."

 "I suppose you have a point. Anyway, back to tomorrow, I'm going to meet Hermione at the University and then we'll probably go straight over there, so I doubt I'll be back here at all till late. Bloody opera probably goes on forever."

 Sirius melodramatically pressed the back of his hand to his forehead. "O, alas, woe is me, left all on my own for an entire evening! No, Harry, you mustn't, I won't know what to do!" He exclaimed, falling down and grabbing Harry's kneecaps.

 Harry snickered and poked him in the forehead. "Oh, my poor damsel," he deadpanned. "I would never leave you, my darling." But he couldn't help thinking how much he liked seeing Sirius on his knees in front of him.

 They ate dinner, and Harry was mostly at ease. The first part of his plan was going off without a hitch. Now he just needed to be in the bloody show.

 Wednesday at the Ministry was pure torture for Harry. He was nervous, he was excited, and the time was dragging by. To top that off, the day was full of minor but extremely annoying mishaps. First the magical field blocker that allowed the Ministry's new computer system to work gave out, and stayed out all day, meaning that Harry couldn't access half of his files. Seamus accidentally blew up a teapot (all over Harry's desk) and Draco was having a bad hair day, which meant he was inordinately snappish and grouchy, and he actually tried to hex Harry for telling him it didn't look that bad (because it actually looked exactly the same as always). Ron went home sick after a couple of hours due to constant nasty bouts of puking, and of course his calls got sent to Harry. When he went to lunch, the waiter brought him the wrong thing twice, and when he finally got it right the damn thing was burned. And just as Harry was getting ready to leave, an irate old witch with a particularly stubborn biting teacup attached to her earlobe stormed into his office, refusing for nearly three quarters of an hour to recognise that her concern needed to be directed to the Department of Magical Mishaps and not to the Boy Who Lived, who could not, in fact, fix everything and who did not, in fact, even have the means to file the necessary paperwork due to the fact that a, he did not have the forms, and b, his computer still was not working. Then it took another half an hour to explain to her how to get to the Department of Magical Mishaps, which was, by that time, actually closed, but he wasn't about to tell her that.

 At last he was alone in his office. None of the day's annoyances boded well for this evening. Harry had never been much for omens, since they usually predicted his impending death, but these were hard to ignore. Perhaps nothing else could go wrong. Or perhaps everything else could go wrong. He slipped out of the building and wizarding London and got on the tube to Islington. He half-expected the thing to break down or explode, but he arrived without incident. He looked at his watch. Half-six. The man he'd spoken to at the club (at least the Ministry's phones had been working) told him that the performers didn't need to be there till eight. He had ages. He sighed and got back on the tube to get the opera program. That didn't kill as much time as he thought, as the tube yet again failed to explode. He was back to Islington by seven fifteen. He grabbed a sandwich and ate it, which took all of fifteen minutes, as the man who made it got it right the first time. Well, alcohol probably wouldn't hurt. He stopped into a pub and ordered a pint of Guinness, knowing it would take him a while to finish it. He drummed his finger on the bar nervously, looked around, looked at the clock, took a sip of beer, drummed his fingers. He walked over to the cigarette machine and stared at it. He hadn't smoked in a long time. Not that he'd ever smoked that much, just off and on in 6th and 7th year. He dropped four pounds seventy into the slot and was rewarded with a pack of Marlboros. He hated Marlboros, but he hated Silk Cut more, and he'd never heard of any of the other brands. He also wondered what he was going to do with all those cigarettes. One or two really would have sufficed. He'd probably have done better to just beg one off someone else rather than spending five quid, but oh well. It was for a good cause, he reasoned. And maybe he'd need them later.

 At last it was five to eight. He enlarged his duffel bag in the men's room and he made his way out of the bar and down to the club. To his astonishment, there were nearly fifty people there. The man running the thing explained to them that they would all have to do one minute of their routines for him to determine which twenty-five of them would actually be permitted to go on. Harry hadn't known about that catch.

 "Basically they have to cut out the extra twenty-five people doing 'Dancing Queen' to avoid boring the customers to death," explained the bloke next to him. Harry was damned glad he at least had something semi-original. They were instructed to put on their costumes but not their makeup and then write down their names and their songs. Harry dressed carefully, extremely self-conscious doing so in the presence of so many people.

 "First time?" asked someone at the mirror next to him, obviously sensing his nervousness.

 "Is it that obvious?"

 "You look nervous."

 "I am."

 "It's no big deal, really. Don't worry if you don't get in the first time, you can always come back. I had to try three times before I actually got in. But once you've performed here you're basically guaranteed an in."

 He had to get in, he just had to. He walked up to the promoter, trying to look confident. Next to "Name" he filled in Lola Profane. Next to "Song" he filled in Joan Jett - Do You Wanna Touch. The promoter looked at the sheet quizzically. "I'm sorry, I don't think we've got that. Have you got another song you can do?"

 "Umm, no... but I do have the CD with me, will that work?"

 "Oh, sure, that's fine."

 Harry handed it to him. "Track five," he said.

 Harry sat through loads of little snippets, most of them not even lasting a minute, and most of them being "Dancing Queen" just like the bloke had said. Some of the people seemed really talented. Others were perfectly awful. Finally it was his turn. He did it perfectly if he did say so himself. He was nervous at first, but after a couple of seconds he realised he just had to imagine he was home in the living room. After that it was easy. And he was even allowed to go the full minute. There were only a few people after him. Then the promoter and his assistant compared notes for a few minutes-- more like an eternity. At last he stood up.

 "Okay girls, this is how it goes. If I read off your name, you're in the show tonight. If I don't, sorry, come back next month. Right, here we go. Dixie Cream, Lolly Malone, Tabatha Shaggs......" Harry tuned out the list for a while, fretting, and then he heard "Lola Profane." It was all he could do to keep himself from cheering.

 They were told they had ten minutes' break, then they were to get into makeup and go for a light check by 9:30. Harry took that opportunity to smoke two more cigarettes and talk with some of the other performers. They all seemed really nice, very funny. As it turned out, he was one of only three first-timers there. Both were impressed that he'd gotten in on his first try.

 "But I saw your routine," said one of them, "How could they not let you in?"

 "Wow, thanks," said Harry, blushing a little.

 Break over, Harry began to put on his makeup. *You're home in your room* he told himself over and over to keep his hands from shaking. Thank Merlin he'd learned to put on makeup the muggle way or he'd have been in real trouble. The light check was fine, he didn't need to fix anything like a lot of the others did. So maybe the bad stuff that had been happening all day didn't mean anything.

The final briefing before the show had an adrenaline-charged atmosphere. "Here's how it works," the promoter said. "You've each got a list of the order in which you're performing, make sure you don't miss your cue. I call your name, you walk out and do your stuff, you take your bows, you go back in. First prize is fifty pounds and a spot in the Saturday show. Second prize is twenty pounds and a CD. Third prize is ten pounds and a CD. Everyone gets a t-shirt and two free cocktails just for coming. You're only allowed one before you go on, can't have you drunk. I'd suggest going for them right after this if you don't want to spoil any surprises. Any questions?" A few hands went up. "Yes... with the bananas."

 "Is the spot in the Saturday show a permanent one or just a one-time?" A few people laughed and the rest of the hands went down.

 "Remains to be seen. Depends on how they like you, so we don't say one way or the other. Anyone else? No? Good. Merde to all of you. Go get your cocktails now if you want."

 Harry followed the bustle of high heels and the swishing of chiffon out to the bar. He noticed that almost everyone was ordering the same drink he was, a Long Island. He wondered if it was because of the alcohol or because it was a queen drink. Situated on a stool with his drink and yet another cigarette, Harry had a look at the list. "Merlin's balls, I'm last!" he exclaimed.

 "What was that?" asked the person next to him (the one with the bananas).

 "Oh, I was just surprised. I'm going on last."

 "Wow, and it's your first time, right? They must really think you're good. You're pretty much guaranteed a prize if you're last."

 "Yeah?" Harry didn't dare to dream of a spot in the Saturday show. That would create all kinds of new problems. He'd honestly be happy with the ten quid.

 The show started. He watched from the wings, sipping his drink and chain smoking. Yeah, they were all pretty good. Though there was an awful lot of Abba. There was some original stuff, though. The bloke with the bananas actually did a Spanish song. Of course there were the staples like "Son of a Preacher Man" and "I Will Survive." A queen decked out in leather and metal did "Oh Bondage Up Yours" and one in a plaid skirt did "Hit Me Baby One More Time," which caused most of the people backstage to roll their eyes and make gross-out faces. After the hillbilly queen named Dixie Cream did a particularly good rendition of "Goodbye Earl," it was Harry's turn.

 "And now, last but definitely not least, it's her first time here and she's lovely, please welcome Miss Lola Profane!" There was applause. *Oh god, they're clapping for me. Breathe. You're in the living room. You're in the living room.* He strutted out and did his routine. He didn't even screw up once and it was over before he knew it. There were loud cheers and someone actually threw a rose onto the stage at his feet. He picked it up, blew a kiss to the audience just like he'd practised, bowed, and strutted backstage again. The other performers congratulated him, telling him he'd been really good. Everyone came back out onto the stage for a company bow and collected their t-shirts.

 "It's time to award the prizes! Third prize goes to Miss Tabatha Shaggs, for "These Boots are Made for Walkin'!" Tabatha smiled, bowed, and collected her prize. "Second prize goes to Jenny Rotten for "Oh Bondage Up Yours!'" Jenny smiled, bowed, and collected her prize. "And now, what we've all been waiting for, first prize! It was her first time here tonight, and you'll be seeing her again next Saturday in the regular show, Miss Lola Profane for 'Do You Wanna Touch!'" Loud cheers broke out and Harry's song played over the PA as he collected his fifty pounds, along with a bouquet of roses. The other performers were cheering him on too, even the ones who'd obviously expected to win. There were a few closing pleasantries, but Harry was deaf to it all. Good god, he had won. He fucking bloody won. Oh shit, he'd won. He had to find some way to go back and do this again.

 As he was heading off the stage, Jenny and Tabatha each caught one of his arms. "We've got a bit of a tradition round here," said Jenny. "You won, therefore we must do our damndest to get you shitfaced," she said, grinning.

 Despite the fact that he had work in the morning, Harry was never one to turn down free drinks, so the three of them joined the other queens at the bar. Tabatha and Jenny each bought him two drinks, and a few of the other performers bought him one as well. They were all lovely people, funny and friendly. Harry couldn't remember the last time he'd had so much fun. The excitement was added to by the thrill of being out in public in his costume. He should have done this a long time ago.

 Suddenly Harry heard a familiar voice behind him. "Can I buy you a drink, Miss Profane?" *Oh fuck. Sirius. Does he know it's me? Of course he knows it's me! What's he doing here anyway? Oh god, oh fuck, oh shit, I'm doomed!*

 "Sirius," Harry said, blushing furiously beneath his makeup. "I'm--- I--- that is---"

 "Not a hard question. Can I buy you a drink, yes or no?"

 "Okay," Harry squeaked. This was one of the few times when he couldn't read Sirius' emotions on his face. He had no idea what the man was feeling. Was he angry? Did he think he was weird? And what was he doing here anyway?

 Sirius put a drink into his hand. "That was a good show you put on," he said. "I knew you were talented, but not in that area."

 "Sirius, I--- I mean, I can explain, I was just---"

 Sirius smiled at last, but it was a strange smile. "You don't have to explain anything," he said softly.

 "I don't?"

 "No, you don't. Although I'm a little hurt that you didn't think you could tell me, I understand. You were afraid I'd think you were strange and a freak and all that."

 "I'm sorry, I was just so afraid you'd hate me."

 "Hate you? Harry, you idiot, I love you. A little bit of eyeliner and a skirt aren't going to change that."

 "You love me?" *Probably not the way I want.*

 Sirius gave an exasperated sigh. "Inhale too much hairspray or something? You don't live with someone and take care of them and have them take care of you for four years without growing to love them."

 *Nope, not the way I want.* "You're right, sorry. And really, I'm sorry I lied to you."

 "Don't be sorry, I understand. And I'm prepared to forgive you on one condition."

 Harry gulped. "What's that?"

 Sirius smiled. "Can I come see your show next Saturday?"

 "You mean it?" asked Harry, beaming.

 "Course I mean it. You're really great. I loved watching you."



 On an impulse Harry threw his arms around Sirius. "Thanks," he whispered.

 Sirius pulled back a little after a moment, but didn't let go of him entirely. "You look amazing like that, you know. I mean, you're amazing anyway, but....." He faltered and blushed. *Oh lord, Sirius Black is blushing! Hell must freeze over right now!* "I have to confess, I've always wanted to see you like that. It's not everyone who can be a beautiful man and a beautiful woman."

 Harry's head was spinning, and not entirely due to the alcohol. He desperately tried to process what Sirius had just said to him. Wanted to see him like that? Beautiful? What? And he was also becoming increasingly aware of the arms that were still around his waist. Sirius leaned forward and gently brushed his lips against Harry's. Just that feather-light touch sent a wave of heat through Harry's entire body that threatened to knock him over. "Sirius..." he half-moaned, half-whispered and captured Sirius' lips again in a deep, searing kiss. When they parted Harry pulled Sirius along behind him and they stumbled backstage. Harry collected his belongings quickly, somehow still kissing Sirius in between, and they Apparated home.

 Once in the living room, Harry dropped his bag and Sirius pushed him back onto the sofa, kissing him frantically, his hands roaming up and down Harry's chest and back. Like a man gone mad, he pinned Harry's hands up above his head and bent to kiss his neck and shoulders, sliding his other hand under Harry's skirt. Harry didn't fight the restraint, he just lay there and moaned, revelling in the surreal joy of what was happening to him. Then it happened. Just like in his daydreams, Sirius ripped the lacing of his corset open with his teeth, growling as he pushed the garment apart. He sucked Harry's nipples hard, catching them between his teeth and licking them until Harry thought he was going to come just from that. Sirius kissed and bit every inch of Harry's chest, all the while teasing his cock with his free hand.

 "God, Harry, you're so hot like this," Sirius murmured, biting his earlobe. Harry gasped and struggled to free his hands. He needed to touch him, wanted to touch every bit of him. Sirius just laughed and tightened his grip on Harry's wrists.

 "Sirius, please, suck me, I need you to suck me," Harry managed to gasp out.

 Sirius pushed up his skirt and pulled down the lacy black underwear Harry was wearing. He flicked his tongue teasingly over Harry's balls and up his throbbing shaft, then buried the whole length in his mouth. Harry moaned and flung his left leg over the back of the sofa, ripping his underwear in the process. Sirius rubbed him and sucked him with long, swift strokes, and then Harry felt him gently push a finger inside of him to graze his prostate. Harry moaned loudly and bucked his hips, fucking Sirius' mouth. He wanted Sirius inside him. All the way inside him. "OgodSiriusIloveyoufuckmefuckmeplease," he breathed incoherently, still thrusting into the hot mouth on his cock.

 Suddenly the mouth was gone and Harry felt his hands released. He opened his eyes. Sirius took his hands and brought them to his belt. Harry undid it and pulled down Sirius' jeans. He wasn't wearing anything underneath. His cock sprang free, long and erect. "Suck," Sirius instructed hoarsely. Harry did as he was told and swallowed Sirius' length, tasting him. After a few seconds Sirius withdrew from his mouth and then turned to bury himself inside of Harry in one swift motion.

 It hurt for a moment, and Harry cried out. Sirius paused for a second and then began to pound into him, hitting his prostate with every stroke. Harry locked his legs around Sirius' back, screaming and moaning profane incoherencies. Sirius slid his hand between them to touch Harry's cock. Realising his hands were still free, Harry moved one to Sirius' chest to rub his nipples and brought the other around behind him to massage his balls. He was close, so close.... Sirius crushed his mouth down on Harry's, chasing his tongue and biting his lips. And then they both came in a flash of white hot ecstasy that nearly caused Harry to pass out.

 Sirius collapsed on top of him, out of breath. Harry lifted his head and kissed him. This kiss wasn't like the others. There was no seduction or desperation behind it, only love. Harry sighed contentedly and they both fell asleep for a while. They woke up a couple of hours later, sore from the positions they'd slept in and rather sticky.

 "Hi," Harry murmured into Sirius' hair.

 "Hi, yourself." Sirius half-sat up. "Harry, about tonight..."

 *Oh no, he's going to say it was a mistake.* "What about tonight?" Harry asked, trying in vain to keep his voice from trembling.

 "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

 Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "No, I loved every second of it. I've wanted you to do that to me for ages."

 "You should have said something."

 "Well, if I'd known seeing me dressed up like this was going to get you all hot and bothered, I would have."

 Sirius laughed. "Come on, let's go get a shower."

 They made their way upstairs and slowly undressed each other. They got in the shower and Sirius gently washed off what remained of Harry's makeup and then they washed each other's bodies. Both were too exhausted for actual arousal, but they caressed every inch of each other just the same. They dried off and Harry crawled into bed with Sirius, still in complete awe that his dream had come true.

 "I love you," Sirius whispered before falling asleep.

 "I love you too," Harry said, feeling tears come to his eyes.

 ----the end-----

(but not really....)


A/N: Don't go to Islington looking for the Connexion. I made it up to suit my purposes. It's actually modelled after two real clubs, but neither is really that great on its own, so I wouldn't bother. They're not in London anyway. Oh, and no stealing the stage names. They're all friends of mine.

Feedback: Yes, please! Send comments to deirdre @ muse-wanted . com (remove spaces)


The above is an original derivative work, ©2003-2004 by Deirdre Riordan

Hallways and Forgotten Spaces
La Découverte ou L'Ignorance

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Operation: Parkinson
Wanna Touch

Far From Innocent
An Accident of Birth