The Sugar Quill
Author: Alkari (Professors' Bookshelf)  Story: A Touch of Leather  Chapter: Default
The distribution of this story is for personal use only. Any other form of distribution is prohibited without the consent of the author.





SUMMARY:   Sirius and his girlfriend discover that leather trousers may look good, and be very practical on a flying motorbike, but they do have certain practical difficulties.  An affectionate, humorous look at an awkward situation.  WARNING:  Sexual situations and mature subject matter.  Rated R for “Racy but Respectful”.


Author’s Note:  Fiona is from my “A Most Unusual Student” fic.   How she became Sirius’ girlfriend at school will be the subject of another outtake later.


Disclaimer:  Naturally I do not own JK Rowling’s characters, or make any claim to them. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>She invented them and the wonderful world of Hogwarts. I am just happily visiting her world for a while.





The cool air was a shock on her cheeks as they emerged into the open.  Fiona felt mellow, almost languid; the food had indeed been as good as Sirius had promised, and she’d enjoyed the music and the rowdy, friendly atmosphere.  The pub that Sirius had somehow discovered during his forays into Muggle society was a world away from St Mungo’s, with its victims of Death Eaters and the pervading sense of fear. She smiled as Sirius helped her into her heavy jacket before shrugging into his own: he’d attracted more than a few appreciative looks and comments from the Muggle women in the crowd that evening.  As usual, he’d exchanged banter and a few cheeky winks as he moved to and from the bar to get more drinks, but he’d somehow made it perfectly obvious that he was With Someone.  Not Available.  It had given her an odd, warm sensation, a sort of inner glow of assurance.  They were both so busy these days – hard to believe it had been over two weeks since they’d seen each other. 


“Ready?”  Sirius’ voice broke into her thoughts, and she realised with a start that he was already astride the bike, pulling on a knitted cap and wrapping a Gryffindor scarf around his neck.  Hastily she pulled on her own cap and gloves and climbed aboard behind him.  She wrapped her arms round his waist and he started the engine immediately, switching on the lights and edging out into the Muggle traffic.  They had a mile or so to go before they could turn down a dark lane that allowed them to take off.


A flying motorbike still doesn’t feel quite as safe as riding a broom, Fiona thought, clutching tightly as Sirius swerved suddenly to avoid a pothole.  She felt him chuckle.  “Sorry!” he called over the noise of the engine, but she had the impression he wasn’t at all sorry to have her pressed against his back and clinging to him like this. 


A minute or so later Sirius gestured left, and they turned onto a side road that soon became little more than a lane with a stone wall on one side and thick woods on the other.  The road climbed, and the headlamp’s beam threw odd shadows, reflecting briefly off occasional pairs of eyes. Probably rabbits, she thought.   The wall ended and the vista suddenly opened out onto rolling fields and hedgerows, with lights from the occasional farmhouse.  The town they’d just left was a brighter patch back to their left, tiny dots of red and gold moving along roads; ahead of them, the waning moon gleamed whitely above the greyish ribbon of the road.  


Sirius slowed to a halt, took out his wand and tapped it on the handlebar; she felt the brief tingle of a Disillusionment Charm.    He studied the road ahead, then glanced back and smiled.


“Here we go,” he said, revving the engine slightly and flicking a small lever.   She gasped at the surge of power, feeling the dull vibrations of the wheels on the road suddenly fade as they left the ground and soared upwards.  They climbed steadily for a minute or so, then Sirius put the bike into a long sweeping turn towards the southeast and the soft glow on the horizon that was London.  He levelled out, throttled back and switched off the headlamp; the engine noise diminished to a low growling that she could feel rather than hear.


There were none of the acrobatics he’d demonstrated on their way out.  He flew an even, steady course, the air rushing past and the bike warm and solid beneath them.  Below, the landscape was a thousand shades of black and grey, dotted with patches and pricks of light, whilst above and around them the night sky stretched onwards into infinity.  Fiona had always enjoyed looking at the stars when she flew her broomstick, seeking out the constellations they’d studied at school.  But tonight, she couldn’t even be bothered looking for the Big Dipper.  The moon and stars were just there, and she didn’t need to know their names.


She gave a contented sigh and snuggled closer, resting her cheek against the softness of his jacket, breathing the scents of leather and smoke and people – and Sirius.  His scent was so familiar, she realised; she’d been subconsciously aware of it from that very first day when they’d sat together at the piano in first year, talking about the piece that Professor Lieder wanted them to learn.  She’d never been able to put a name to it, never seemed to identify any particular part of the smell – it was just Sirius.  Amidst all the fears and horrors of the war that was submerging their world, it was somehow one of the most reassuring, comforting things she knew.


The evening had been fun, and the steady flight was soothing: gradually she relaxed her hold, letting her arms rest more loosely around him and drifting into a pleasant haze of happiness.   She almost wished they could just fly forever like this …


“Don’t go to sleep just yet.”   She could feel his voice rather than hear it, and tightened her arms in a quick squeeze.


“I won’t.  Just … just happy.”    She felt him chuckle.  He took his left hand from the bike, resting it across hers and twining their gloved fingers gently together; she knew he was smiling.  The bike purred steadily on.


 “It’s beautiful at night.  Sometimes I think I’d like to stay up here and just fly and fly.”  Sirius’ voice broke into her reverie. 


No real world, no war, no deaths, no hated family.  Just the moon and stars, clouds and sky.  “Freedom?” she murmured.


She felt him take a deep breath, but he didn’t reply.  They flew on for a minute or so, then he turned to look at her.  His eyes were almost all pupil, dark and yet alive; there was a strange half-wild grin on his face.  Fiona found herself grinning back, and he suddenly let out a wild whoop of joy, and sent the bike roaring upwards.


“Fly to the stars!” he yelled, as she clung to him frantically. 




“Sorry! Don’t think we’ll make Canis Major tonight,” he laughed, levelling out and coming back to a safer speed.  “Maybe another day.”


Fiona regained her breath, grateful to discover they were back on course for London.  The lights were thicker on the ground now, and she could see flickering streams of traffic moving along several main roads.  She hadn’t a clue where they were, except that they still seemed to be heading southeast, but Sirius was perfectly at ease.  She was just starting to feel relaxed again when she felt the bike’s engine pitch change. 

”Here we go.” Sirius spiralled the bike downwards towards a patch of inky blackness.   “Safer to land out here near the park.  Not as many people.”


They touched down lightly, drawing to a halt under some trees so Sirius could remove the Disillusionment Charm.  “Safer if the Muggles can see us,” he said, flicking on the headlamp and moving out onto the road.  A few twists and turns, and suddenly they were there.   They dismounted at the back gate, and Sirius wheeled the bike through the untidy garden into the shed, which he carefully locked behind him.  He took her hand as they made their way to the back door and into the darkened stairwell, lighting his wand so they could climb the two flights of stairs. 


Security charms and an enchanted Muggle key took care of the door-lock, then they were inside his flat, which felt oddly warm after the brisk air outside.  With a few deft flicks of his wand, Sirius sent his jacket, cap and scarf in the general direction of the coat-hooks behind the door, lit the lamps, and turned back to assist her with her coat.  


“Have a good time?” he said, draping it across the back of a chair.


“Mmmm - yes.  Good band – it was fun.  I’m glad you found it.  I really needed to get away from things.” 


“Me too.  So – what d’you think of the bike now?”  He was smiling, his face alight with enthusiasm.


“The bike?  Oh yes …” she paused, watching his expression change to one of slight apprehension.  “Well - .”


“Well?” Now he was looking definitely worried.  “Sorry – I mean, if I scared you. I wouldn’t let you fall, you know.”


No, somehow she’d always sensed that.  Though it was fun to tease him.  “I see why you enjoy it.  Certainly has advantages over broomsticks.”  


He raised an eyebrow.  “Such as?  More comfortable?”


“Mmm.  I think so.  But it’s also a good way of making sure your female passenger holds onto you very tightly for a long time.”


He burst out laughing.  “You need an excuse?”   He slipped an arm around her waist, drawing her close to him.   “Happy to oblige any time.   Just ask – I’m always available.”   He kissed her lightly.


“Not to mention you get to wear black leather.”   She leant back in his embrace, smiling wickedly.


“It’s very practical on the roads,” he assured her, straight-faced.  “Good protection.  If I fall off.”


“Of course.  And that’s your only reason?”


“Well, it’s very comfortable.  Light – warm – waterproof ….”


“I see.  The fact that every woman under the age of ninety in that pub wanted to remove those trousers has nothing to do with it?”   Not to mention that his family would loathe anything so outrageously Muggle. 


He stared at her, looking slightly apprehensive.  “Fee - I wasn’t chatting them up or anything. I mean …”


Sirius had always flirted if given the slightest encouragement, but it was invariably light-hearted, as much a part of him as breathing.  Though few people ever saw beyond that.  “I know,” she said softly.  “And anyway - if you didn’t make those trips to the bar, how could I watch you and appreciate your figure.”  


“Very true.”  He stepped back, smirking, and struck an exaggerated, hands-on-hip pose.  “There.  You can appreciate me in private.”


“Hmm – yes, they do fit rather well.”


He looked at her, and suddenly the air between them seemed to tingle.  His eyes were dark, and he was breathing a little too rapidly.  Her own breath caught; her mouth was dry, and she swallowed.


“Fee.”  He held out his hand, and half turned to move towards the couch.  But somehow his foot caught in the shaggy, thick-piled rug on the floor and he ended up sprawled ignominiously between couch and coffee table.


He swore briefly as he rolled over and sat up, rubbing a knee ruefully.  Fiona gasped, then stifled laughter.


“Flinging yourself at my feet?” she quipped, kneeling down beside him.  “Hurt yourself?”


“Nah … just bashed the edge of the table.   You could always kiss it better for me,” he added with a wink.  “Special Healer magic.”


“Kiss your KNEE?”  She pulled a face, and helped him stand up.  “I – er – think there are other places I’d rather start …”


He stepped backwards, collapsing onto the couch and pulling her down with him.  “Mmm.  How about – here?”  He kissed her lightly, teasingly, on the lips.


“Not bad,” she murmured happily, wrapping her arms around him and snuggling closer.  “Perhaps I will have to start at the top and work all the way down …”  


She found his mouth again and lost herself in the next kiss, aware of his whole body pressed closely against hers - his breath - his scent - his hands running possessively down her back, over her body – the feel of his lips, his hair – the softness of his woollen jumper – the muscles of his shoulders and arms and back – the smooth warmth of his skin as she reached up under his jumper to explore.


They broke apart briefly, gasping, their breathing rapid, ragged.  He murmured something, and his lips moved down, nuzzling into her neck, pushing aside her top and trailing tiny little kisses down and onto her shoulder.  She shivered, twining her fingers in his hair, stretching up to let him continue ...she wanted this … she wanted him …he wanted her … it was so simple …


A tiny corner of her mind was shrieking insistently: Wait!   She forced herself to think, to resist sensation and the demands of her own body, pressed so deliciously between his and the squashy cushions of the couch.   She moved her hands to grip his shoulders, thinking to push him away while she tried to gather her wits and decide whether to take that last, irrevocable step.


As though he had read her thoughts, the kisses stopped and he lay still, just his breath huffing hot and heavy against her throat.  Suddenly he made a strange little husky sound and drew back, staring down at her.  Dark, wild eyes, cheeks flushed, and an expression she’d never seen before.   He swallowed.


“Fee?  I – er …” His voice rasped.  He swallowed again, and took a shaky breath.   “Please?  I mean …?”   He reached out to touch her cheek gently.


The cliff dropped away in front of her.  Did she want to jump into the unknown?  Sirius Black broke rules, took risks, often had scant regard for authority, yet despite his eagerness at times, he’d always respected her boundaries.  She knew she could say no, could pull back even now and he would accept it.   He would be disappointed, uncomfortable, reluctant – but he would accept it.  That knowledge made her decision easy.


“Yes.”  She smiled at the look on his face. 


“Yes?”  Amazed, awkward, eager, uncertain.  “You – you mean it?” 


“Yes.  Only, Sirius -”   She held him back, as he tried to kiss her again.  “Sirius – not here.  SiriusWaitPlease.”   It was somehow oddly important that it didn’t just happen while fumbling around on the couch. 


“What?”   He sat up, blinking at her in confusion.  “You said – I thought …”


“Not here, “she insisted.  “I think – I think we might have more – more room - in a bed.”  


“Oh.  Yeah – I guess so.”   Reason seemed to return.  He smiled sheepishly, running a hand through his already dishevelled hair.


She managed to sit up, feeling almost disoriented as the room came into focus again.   “That is, if your bed is ready for – a visitor.  No dirty socks or old jeans?”  


He stared at her, startled, and they both burst out laughing.   “I changed the sheets yesterday,” he assured her, running a finger gently across her lips and over her cheek.   “And I washed all my socks on the weekend.  Honestly.” 


“Good.”  She kissed him lightly and stood up, evading his swift grab with ease.  “Back in a minute.  You check for old jeans.”  She winked, and made for the bathroom.


Five minutes later, Fiona paused barefoot at the door of his bedroom, clad in T shirt and cords   She’d removed shoes and jumper, leaving them neatly on the chair with her coat and wand.  Her mind was doing odd things.  She felt icy calm and yet strangely feverish; a thousand thoughts and images flashed through her brain, only to disappear before she could get hold of them.  She took a deep breath and moved into the room.


A small lamp glowed from the bedside table; the curtains were drawn, and she was vaguely aware of clothing tossed haphazardly onto a chair near the wardrobe.   Sirius too had removed jumper and shoes, and was perched awkwardly on the bed, as though uncertain what to do next.  He smiled crookedly as she moved across to him.


“You – you really mean it?” he said huskily.  “Fiona - you’re sure?  I’ve – er, I – remembered  - you know, I mean - Contraceptus …”   His voice trailed off.


Fiona.  He rarely used her full name when they were alone together; he’d called her Fee since about third year.  And he’d remembered Madam Pomfrey’s Charm too.  She sat down next to him.


“Yes.  I’m sure.”   


He let out his breath, and the smile reached his eyes.  They were dark and intense in the soft light; his rumpled hair and black T-shirt were stark against his pale skin.  He touched her hair tenderly, pushing it back from her face in a familiar gesture that set every nerve in her body quivering.  She leant forward to kiss him gently, their lips touching, parting, and touching again in a series of tiny kisses that that she could feel down to her toes.   He pulled her closer, and then they were sinking back onto the bed, running their hands eagerly over each others’ bodies, tugging urgently at clothing, murmuring encouragement.


Somehow he drew back sufficiently to shed his T-shirt, and hers soon followed.    Between kisses he reached around to fumble awkwardly with her bra, and she sat up to remove it entirely, tossing it onto the floor behind her. 


Fiona paused, suddenly nervous.  Her breasts were a nice shape, she’d always thought, but they weren’t particularly – well, big.  He’d touched them before of course, but being naked together was somehow – different.  She lowered her eyes, unable to look at him directly, studying his body and the play of muscles where his skin disappeared under the waistband of his trousers.  His hand had been resting on her hip as she sat up: now he moved it slowly upwards, cupping her breast gently and moving his thumb across the nipple.  It tingled.  She took a deep breath, leaning into his caress, and lowered herself next to him again.


Bare skin against skin: she wanted to press every inch of herself against him, into him.  His lips, his tongue, his hands – she couldn’t get enough of him.   She was never quite sure how her cords found themselves halfway down her legs – she moved apart from him just long enough to kick them free - then they were rolling back together again, eagerly, hungrily.  The leather of his trousers was slick and smooth under her fingers as she ran her hand along his thigh, and she felt him tugging urgently at the fastenings …  


There was only one drawback to tight leather trousers, Fiona realised, after some frantic and increasingly frustrated fumbling, accompanied by muttered grunts and curses from Sirius.  Leather stuck to the skin, and getting out of it was no easy task.  She sat up again: Sirius was breathing heavily, cheeks flushed and definitely embarrassed.


“Um – maybe a charm?   Deshabilllo or something?” she gasped, trying to overcome a sudden urge to giggle idiotically.  Dear Professor Flitwick’s classes never dealt with this predicament.   “Where – where’s your wand?”  Wand – WAND?  Oh no! her mind shrieked, even as she uttered the words. Too late.


Sirius stopped struggling and now lay panting, a wicked grin slowly replacing the frustration.  “My – er - wand?  We-e-e-ll …”   He glanced down meaningfully to where the offending clothing had now been peeled back part way along his hips.


Her giggles threatened to break through.  “I think,” she spluttered, shaking with suppressed laughter, “that this is …”


Serious?” he finished helpfully.  


Fiona took a deep breath, the very Ravenclaw part of her mind attempting to overcome the absurdity of the situation.  “Um … here … I’ll pull … try and roll them down.  You … er, wriggle,” she said with only a slight quiver in her voice.  She crouched over him and seized the top of the trousers at either side with grim determination.


 “How do YOU get out of them, Sirius?” she gasped after a moment, taking a fresh grip on the recalcitrant garment.


“I’ve never …been ... like this …”   He struggled, his hands tangling with hers as they both worked feverishly at the leather.  The trousers moved a few more inches.  “Why don't these damn things have self-peel buttons?"


The leather was making funny squeaking, scrunching noises as they worked at it.  She managed to ignore his all too obvious arousal, concentrating on the more immediate problem.   “You might give me a little help ...”  


“I am ... you said ... WRIGGLE ... here…”  His legs and hips heaved violently, and the leather reached his knees. 


“It’s ... easier ... to peel a ... MURTLAP!"


“Or skin a shrivelfig!”


"Maybe I need … to use … my teeth?" 


She was never quite sure exactly what happened.   One minute she was tugging the garment towards his ankles, assisted by his energetic squirming – then everything seemed to come free with a rush.   A last wild jerk of his legs sent her tumbling backwards.   There was a brief sensation of half sliding, half falling, and with a muffled shriek, she found herself sprawled on the floor, her arms full of soft leather and blue cotton, which she vaguely realised were his underpants.


Fiona rolled over and sat up, blinking, rubbing her elbow where it had met the bedpost rather heavily.  Above her, a startled Sirius was peering over the bed, anxiety giving way to amusement as she dropped the clothing beside her.   Their eyes met.  Very slowly, he reached out a hand, pulling her up beside him. 


“I – um - could kiss it better.”  He tried to keep a straight face.  And then hilarity overtook them.   They collapsed in a heaving, spluttering heap, shoulders shaking, gasping wildly for breath, her face pressed against his chest.  


“You … you ... you said …” he chortled.  “You said …”


“You wriggled …” she said, overtaken by another fit of mirth.  “Skin a shrivelfig!”




“It’s good protection!”


He released her and rolled away, helpless with laughter, the bed shaking beneath them.  Fiona pushed herself up and sat hugging her knees, gasping and snorting as tears ran down her cheeks.  She raised her head at last, almost in control of herself, only to catch sight of the offending trousers on the floor.  She dissolved into giggles once more.


Slowly she became aware that Sirius had stopped laughing.  She took several deep breaths, then turned her head slightly to look at him.   He was propped on one elbow, regarding her with gentle intensity, and she was at once quiveringly aware of his nakedness. 




She fitted herself against him, relaxing into a slow, wonderful kiss.   She found she was no longer nervous, no longer shy – the laughter had washed away any vague apprehensions.  She reached instinctively for the top of her own knickers, somehow still in place, her hand tangling with his on the same urgent quest.


“These better come off more easily,” he muttered. 


And they did.





Author’s Notes:  My sincere thanks to all those who have helped with this fic, including Suburban House Elf for advice on its rating, Jessanndi for expert Brit picking, Violet Azure and other members of the Workshop.   Not to mention the various other friends and authors from SQ and the Werewolf Registry (who probably wish to remain anonymous!) for “inspiring” this work during many hysterical Chats and conversations about the HP world and its fandom, including topics such as romance, leather trousers and other interesting issues …   Oh yes, and a little smile and a big wink to the “Fluffy Tuesday” group from SQ.


Motorbike helmets: Yes, I know these became compulsory in Britain in the early 1970s, but this is 19 y.o. Sirius Black and a flying motorbike after all.   Rules?  What rules?!


Write a review! PLEASE NOTE: The purpose of reviewing a story or piece of art at the Sugar Quill is to provide comments that will be useful to the author/artist. We encourage you to put a bit of thought into your review before posting. Please be thoughtful and considerate, even if you have legitimate criticism of a story or artwork. (You may click here to read other reviews of this work).
* = Required fields
*Sugar Quill Forums username:
*Sugar Quill Forums password:
If you do not have a Sugar Quill Forums username, please register. Bear in mind that it may take up to 72 hours for your account to be approved. Thank you for your patience!
The Sugar Quill was created by Zsenya and Arabella. For questions, please send us an Owl!

-- Powered by SQ3 : Coded by David : Design by James --