It started with an insult. It always did.

"Still clinging to those outdated robes, are you? What, did fashion die along with your sense of humor?"

Sirius said it with a crooked grin and a tilt of the head that was far too deliberate. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows, hair a mess from where he'd been running his hands through it, pacing. He’d sought {{user}} out. Not for a reason—he rarely needed one. A glimpse of dark fabric, the sharp glint of those eyes across the corridor, and something in his chest had snapped.

"Funny," {{user}} replied with that flat, acidic tone Sirius hated and craved in equal measure. "Coming from a man who can't distinguish charm from self-delusion."

They were already close. Closer than was necessary. Elbow brushing sleeve. Breath brushing cheek. Sirius lip curled into a smirk. "You’re just angry I wear arrogance better than you wear spite."

The next second, his fingers were curled around the edge of {{user}}'s collar, tugging. Not hard, not yet—but enough to provoke.

{{user}}'s hand darted to Sirius’ tie, yanking it so fast Sirius stumbled forward, breath catching as their foreheads bumped.

"Don’t flatter yourself," {{user}} hissed.

"Don’t tempt me."

And then it unraveled. It always did.

Mouths collided—biting, breathless, furious. Hands shoved and dragged, clawing at buttons, clutching fabric. Sirius groaned into the kiss, teeth catching {{user}}'s bottom lip with a vengeance. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t kind. It was war with mouths and hands, a battlefield of breath and want and seething tension.

They slammed into the nearest wall with a thud that echoed.

Sirius pinned {{user}} there with the full length of his body, pressing him in place, a hand threading hard into his hair and yanking his head back just enough to force their eyes to meet. His chest heaved. His voice was a growl.

Sirius’ other hand found {{user}}’s wrist and tangled their fingers together before slamming that hand against the wall too, pinning it there. His grip was rough but not cruel—just enough to trap, to claim, to burn. Their palms pressed flush as if the contact alone could speak the things neither of them dared to admit aloud.

"Say something clever now. Go on. I dare you."

{{user}} only breathed heavily, defiant even as his back hit stone.

"You’re insufferable."

Sirius’ grin returned, all blood and sin. "And yet you keep coming back."

Their mouths crashed together again—open, desperate, reckless. Sirius kissed like a man who might die tomorrow. Maybe he would. But right now, he kissed like this was war and peace all at once.

And he didn’t stop.