He knows he’ll be there again, leaning against the brick façade of the building he seems to prefer. He’s always there, so Sirius walks purposefully toward the corner. He all but ignores the pretty witch with the smeared red lipstick who grabs at the sleeve of his coat, offers him a good time for just a handful of sickles. Sirius tosses an almost contemptuous look over his shoulder, smirking as he tells her maybe some other time. The lie puts a smile on her face, and Sirius continues on down the street.

Rabastan looks as if he’s been waiting for Sirius, eyes fixed on the corner even before Sirius rounds it. The lines of Rabastan’s body shift, change, tense with an odd combination of anticipation and loathing. He sees the latter in the dark shadows cast across Rabastan’s brow as he glares at Sirius. There’s only one thing Sirius is there for, and Rabastan knows it.

This isn’t the first time; it isn’t even the fifth time. Sirius stopped counting a few weeks ago. He wonders if Regulus has any idea that his brother fucks his boyfriend for money. Reaching into his pocket, Sirius fishes out a single key on a garish orange key ring and tosses it to Rabastan. He doesn’t bother to stop as he strolls past, muttering follow me beneath his breath. Sirius doesn’t look over his shoulder as he heads to the shabby motel just at the end of the block. He knows that he is being followed, even if begrudgingly.

It’s the way it’s come to work between them. Sirius was content with ducking into alleys when it was just a quick blow. But after a while it became more than Sirius could stand; a bloke could only stay so quiet when he was getting the best blowjobs of his life. (No, seriously. His life.) He wasn’t taking Rabastan back to his place. His place wasn’t his place at all. The Potters had been amazing but he didn’t reckon brining a prostitute home -- a male prostitute, no less -- would have been the best idea. Sirius hadn’t moved into his own flat yet after Hogwarts so it was going to have to be a motel. The rather seedy place Sirius had spied at the end of the street served their purpose just fine.

The first time they got a room in the motel, Sirius fucked Rabastan against the door. Sirius had just grinned against Rabastan’s collarbone, muttering that they’d make it to the bed the next time. Once more against the door, and another time on the floor, and Sirius finally made good on his promise. The motel became their regular spot.

The light-haired wizard behind the front desk doesn’t even look up as Sirius and Rabastan enter the building, heading up the rickety stairs to the second floor. Sirius walks to the door numbered ‘18’ and steps aside, flashing a smile as Rabastan puts the key in the door. The place is nothing like what either of them are used to, both brought up in posh pureblood world, but neither is the entire situation so it’s of little consequence.

Sirius wastes no time in lifting his shirt over his head, tossing it across the room to land wherever. He can hear Rabastan let out a small huff behind him, and he just grins. Sirius doesn’t figure the time to find the tact he’s been missing all his life is when he’s about to pay for sex. He reaches into his pocket as he flops down onto the bed, the thin mattress groaning in protest as he shifts to get comfortable. The other boy follows his lead, stripping off his shirt and trousers quickly.

“Eager?” Sirius asks, laying the plastic bag from his pocket on the bed. He can see Rabastan tilt his head and try to see just what Sirius has brought with him, but he just lounges against the dresser and shakes his head at Sirius.

“To get this over with, yes,” Rabastan says, making his way over to the bed. He sits down on the edge, and pokes at the bag. Sirius pulls it away, stuffing it under a pillow and laying flat on his back. He keeps his eyes locked on Rabastan’s as he undoes his fly, lifting his hips up to push his trousers down until they’re kicked away.

Sirius sits up, fishes the bag out from beneath the pillow. “Oh, but your time is money. Quite literally, in fact,” he retorts, extracting a thin, white paper from the bag. Sirius looks up and laughs at the quizzical expression on Rabastan’s face. “Come on, mate, I can’t believe you’ve no idea what this is. None of your customers ever thought to bring a little reefer to the party?” He dips into the bag again, plucking out some of the dried leaves and carefully arranging them on the paper. Sirius pays little attention to the other young man in the room as he concentrates on rolling the joint into the perfect shape. It still amuses him that Peter was the one to introduce them all to the fine pastime of smoking cannabis. He’d said a few of his Muggle neighbours got him high over the summer before sixth year, and he’d known that his mates just had to try it. Needless to say, none of them objected to it. Sirius finally flicks his eyes up to Rabastan as he licks slowly along the edge of the paper, sealing the joint with a few swipes of his tongue.

“Yes, I know what it is,” Rabastan says, and Sirius can hear the annoyance laced in his words. Sirius reaches his hand out and mutters accio wand, igniting a tongue of blue flames from the tip. He lights the joint, taking a deep hit, and then holds it up to Rabastan’s lips. After a second’s hesitation, and a pointed glare at a smirking Sirius, Rabastan closes his lips over the joint and puffs on it.

Sirius watches as Rabastan blows out the thick, pungent smoke, watches it curl from between his lips and hang heavy in the slim space between them. They smoke the entire joint before doing anything else. Rabastan gets progressively more relaxed, draping himself over Sirius’ hip as his eyes narrow to slits; Sirius starts to laugh at the most ridiculous things, and he can’t even remember why he and Rabastan are laying together in their pants.

Until Rabastan leans over suddenly, and bites Sirius’ thigh. For a second, it’s the funniest thing that’s happened to Sirius all week. Then Rabastan looks up at him as he tugs Sirius’ y-fronts down just a touch, and Sirius realises that there is nothing comical about the situation at all. It becomes even less funny when Rabastan curls his fingers around Sirius’ cock, curls his tongue around him and sucks like he’s getting paid to do it. (Which he is, but that’s hardly the point.)

“Fuck, that’s… yeah,” Sirius moans, settling back into the pillows. Everything seems like it’s moving at a slower pace. Each swipe of Rabastan’s tongue, each stroke of long, nimble fingers feels intensified, and Sirius wonders why he never thought of this before. Then he stops wondering things all together because Rabastan moans, and it’s bloody ridiculous how good it feels. Sirius tangles his fingers into the other boy’s hair, tugs his head back just a bit, and Rabastan manages to look annoyed.

“In the middle of something, Black,” Rabastan says, stating the blatantly obvious. The fact that he apparently is enjoying himself despite his attempts to make Sirius think otherwise isn’t lost on Sirius, even in his altered state.

Sirius flashes him a lazy grin. “And it’s brilliant, believe me. But I rather think I’d like to fuck you already.”

Rabastan rolls his eyes but moves anyway, yanking Sirius’ pants all the way down as he stands to strip off his own. He crawls back onto the bed, getting on all fours and looking over his shoulder at Sirius. It’s all the urging Sirius needs.

He gropes around on the side of the bed for his own trousers, finding his wand still sticking out of the back pocket. Sirius doesn’t bother pretending this is anything other than what it is so he doesn’t go in for any foreplay, and Rabastan doesn’t expect it. He runs one hand over the curve of Rabastan’s arse while muttering a spell beneath his breath. Funny, he thinks, how the most convenient spell he learned is one that wasn’t taught in any class.

Sirius grips Rabastan’s hips and pushes forward suddenly, pressing inside with a series of broken grunts. Rabastan tips his head back, gasps out softly, mutters something breathy and French. It’s nearly enough to undo Sirius right then and there, but that would hardly be worth the money he’s spent on the motel room alone.

“Fuck, Lestrange,” Sirius moans, tightening his fingers over Rabastan’s hips so hard that he knows bruises will blossom on the pale skin in the morning. It’s probably the cannabis in his system but Sirius thinks that every thrustpushglide is the best fucking thing he’s ever felt. Rabastan seems to agree, if the way he’s moaning means anything, but Sirius wants more. He wants to unravel the boy who always seems to keep an air of distinguished nonchalance, even when he’s getting fucked. It’s infuriating. So when Sirius starts to buck his hips harder, pushes him down onto his belly and fucks him into the mattress, and Rabastan actually slips and cries out his name… well.

“You like that, yeah?” Sirius pants out, twining his fingers in Rabastan’s hair and tugging back. He leans forward and bites down on Rabastan’s shoulder, making the boy curse beneath his breath.

“Merde,” he moans, sounding somewhere between pain and pleasure. It’s always in French, damn him, and Sirius lets out a whimper that he’d rather have kept in. The smirk Rabastan tosses him over his shoulder is precisely the reason why. It’s almost a game between them now: to see which one can make the other lose control first.

This time? Sirius loses.

He comes shuddering with a deep groan, hips pushing forward in erratic bursts. It’s all rather undignified but his dignity is the farthest thing from Sirius’ mind. He’s still panting as he shoves his hand in the space between Rabastan’s body and the bed, rubbing and stroking roughly at his cock. He’s not going for finesse, he just wants to make the other boy come. Rabastan writhes beneath him, dipping his head low as his breath hitches in his throat. Sirius feels his body tense, and then Rabastan is arching back against him, moaning and trembling as he comes.

Sirius presses his forehead to the skin between Rabastan’s shoulder blades, and he can feel the harsh rise-and-fall of his back as Rabastan struggles to compose himself. Sirius takes a moment to catch his own breath, patting the other bloke’s thigh as he rolls off him, untangling himself from Rabastan and stretching out on the twisted mess of bed sheets. When Rabastan lifts himself onto his elbows and turns slowly to glance at Sirius, Sirius can only flash him a smug smirk.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’ve decided to grow a fucking conscience now,” Sirius says, misreading the look on the other boy’s face.

Rabastan shakes his head, letting out a wry little laugh. “No, Black, I was just thinking.”

“Thinking about what?” Sirius says, shifting onto his hip. He idly wonders if it’s common practice for johns to converse with their whores, then realises that nothing he’s ever done has been common practice.

A smirk tugs at one corner of Rabastan’s mouth. “Thinking about how ironic it is that you’re so much like the brother you hate.”

Sirius dresses quickly, the words killing his high and angering him beyond words. Well, beyond words other than the string of curses he hurls at Rabastan as he tosses a handful of money on the floor. As he storms out of the motel’s front door, Sirius decides that he’s had enough of Rabastan and he’s not coming back to see him.

At least not for an entire week.