onewizardwolfpack | (no subject)

Entry tags:

amnesia,
sirius

(no subject)

Remus wasn't drunk, but he would have liked to have been. His house wasn't the spacious luxury abode that Sirius' was, but whoever had built it had done so very carefully. The breeze moved through it wonderfully, and the floors were always cool and smooth, despite grooves left from what he knew were the claws of a large canine. Possibly more than one. It was like a charming tropical version of the shack, in that way, which he probably should have found more off putting.

What little furniture he'd bothered acquiring subsisted of a bed and some chairs and a low bench with thick woven palm fronds in place of hard seats. He hadn't bothered for a coffee table. Single lamp on, casting a warm orange glow over the hut's primary room, Remus sat with one knee drawn up and his back against the sofa's front, turning the pages of a book he wasn't really reading and drinking a beer he'd pilfered from the Winchester. It wasn't cold any longer, but beggars couldn't, he had frequently been told, be choosers.

It ought to have sunk in by now, he figured, but some lessons were harder to take to heart than others.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

There's no suitable place in the parlour for this, not unless Sirius pushes Remus up against a wall and fucks him that way. They've done as much before, ages ago when they were still teenagers and overwhelmed by hormones, but Remus deserves more than that, wants more than that although he'll never say. Sirius isn't good for much, but he can at least hold his cock in check until they make it into the bedroom.

Hands clasped against Remus' bare arse and mouth still occupied, he walks them toward the bedroom door, feet catching on discarded clothing as they go. He's barefoot but still in his blue jeans, and when they reach the threshold he lets Remus go, inertia stumbling the smaller man back a step as Sirius unbuckles and unzips, and shimmies the faded fabric to the floor.

The back of his leg hit the edge of the bed and Remus caught himself with one hand, then let himself sink the rest of the distance down to it. The repose lasted all of a second before he was leaning up, reaching for Sirius' body and running his mouth over the sharp jut of one hipbone.

Guided by the imploring tug of Remus' hands, Sirius plants himself between the other man's knees and drops his gaze to the mouth pressed against the arch of his pale hip. Humming appreciatively, he pushes fingers through the brown tousle of Remus' hair, gentle at first and then gripping harder as his hips rock forward on instinct.

The tug of Sirius' hand was shockingly familiar. For all the casual touching, even in their tenser moments, Remus had felt a certain precious distance, a tentative buffer created by the years between them. That buffer was gone.

Remus bit back a groan, hands flattening over Sirius' waist and sliding down his thighs, and was turning his head to drag his lips where instinct, habit, and a genuine if long dormant hunger demanded when it hit. This wasn't an extended hallucination, it wasn't a dream. Sirius Black was warm and against him and innocent, if only in one way. The only way that mattered. And Remus had missed him, terribly, missed this, more than he had allowed himself to acknowledge. His hands went to the small of Sirius' back and he pressed his face against his stomach, shakily breathing in the moment.

Sirius swallows against the instinctive bite of impatience, and pushes his fingers through Remus' hair again in an attempt to ground himself. He doesn't begrudge Remus the pause or even the emotion behind it, but Sirius can't stop now, might fucking shatter all to pieces himself if he stops now and gives into this.

"Look at me," he gently prompts, although he can't quite help the subtle, constant rock of his hips.

Remus did as instructed, lifting his face up to meet the familiar grey gaze and leaning a little into the touch of Sirius's fingers. His own hands trailed down, slowly mapping out bare skin and muscle until they were anchored on his friend's hip bones again, the pads of his thumbs sliding lightly over too-pronounced hollows.

"You're gorgeous," Sirius says, the word so casually tossed out it would seem flippant were his tone and expression anything but genuine. Like most other compliments directed Remus' way, Sirius expects this one to fall on deaf ears, but he also reckons that sometimes Remus needs to hear it said.

"And you think too much," he adds, slipping nicotine-stained fingers from Remus' hair to trace the curve from cheek to chin. "I've fucking missed you. Let that be enough."

Remus swallowed, lashes fluttering briefly at the light touch. He turned his head enough to graze Sirius' fingertips with his lips, his own hands skirting down the fronts of Sirius' hips, trailing through dark curls and before he wrapped one around the hot skin of Sirius's length, the weight familiar, wanted, and then let the purse of his mouth graze along that tip instead.

He looked up again, needing to see the want on Sirius' face as much as hear the words. For the first time in a while, he didn't second guess them.

"Want you so fucking much," he murmured, almost rasped, flattening his free hand over Sirius' stomach and leaving it still as the other moved, almost experimentally. He tilted his head down, pressing his lips to the head of Sirius' cock, parting them to smooth the flat of his tongue over the tip. It had been years. Not just since Sirius. Since anyone, and those others he would just as soon have forgotten. With a soft, guttural sound of real need, he took Sirius into his mouth.

There's a handful of seconds, in that first overwhelming moment when Remus draws him inside his warm, slick mouth, when Sirius thinks his knees might just buckle. His head falls back with a softly hissed expletive, fingers tightening instinctively in Remus' hair, and he stays like that, all a-tremble and wavering, with eyes closed and lips parted, until he feels solid enough on his feet again to bear witness to Remus' mouth wrapped around his cock.

Eyes gone dark and glassy, he finally tips his head forward again, peering down the long, pale length of his torso to watch, and remembers himself enough to uncurl his fingers a bit. There's always been something particularly obscene about Remus like this, precious prefect Lupin with his prim facade stripped away and sucking cock like a master, and Sirius is transfixed.

"Look at me," he murmurs again as his hips sway gently forward.

He bit back an outright moan, pushing forward with his mouth to take another few inches with the rocking of Sirius' hips, sliding a hand around to palm the deliciously familiar shape of his ass, already moving his tongue against the smooth underside of his cock. Most wizards wouldn't be familiar with the old adage about riding a bike, but Remus Lupin was a halfblood, and it came easily it mind.

After a moment of adjusting, of remembering the thousands of times he'd made Sirius make just that noise by sucking just so with the slit of Sirius's cock grazing the roof of his mouth, he looked up. There was a moment where Sirius' face was obscured by the shadow of Remus' own lashes, and then it was gone, hazel eyes clear and locked on grey, and Remus slowly bobbed his head, lips tight, cheeks hollowing out.

Edited 2012-07-19 14:51 (UTC)

He can't do this. He can't look at that perfect mouth and those wide open eyes and not completely fucking lose it. They've barely gotten started and Sirius ought to be pro at this, has had this man's lips wrapped around his cock beyond counting, but the sight of it now hits him hard, reverberates in his chest and down to his prick as soundly as if he'd been struck.

"On the bed," he breathlessly says, sure now that he'll come if this keeps on and suddenly feverish with the need to be inside Remus as soon as possible.

It was one of the exceptionally few situations in which Remus had ever had any control over Sirius Black, and he closed his eyes for a moment, reveling in that old familiar knowledge before he drew his mouth away in a long, slow, sucking pull.

He pushed himself back onto the well-made, if thin, mattress, breaths already coming faster, reaching for Sirius to pull him down. He'd gone five years without kissing the man, and now after only a few minutes he couldn't bear the lack.

"Sirius," he murmured, "please-"

"Come here," Sirius says again, drawn in by the imploring tug of Remus' hand and the long, naked lines of his body stretched out across the bed. Their mouths meet again, hot and urgent, the slight musk of Sirius' cock on Remus' tongue, and Sirius slides his body over the other man's like a shadow.

When he breaks for breath, Sirius draws away, lips dragging over chin and down the column of Remus' neck, licking into the hollow of his collar bone. His hands don't stop moving, sliding palm and fingers from thigh to shoulder, down Remus' arms and across the sparse hair over his stomach. Remembering.

He couldn't pull him close enough, couldn't possibly, and as overwhelming as it all was, as much as it set him shaking, a tremble he'd be embarrassed by in front of anyone else, the real shock was that he hadn't forgotten this. Not a moment of it, not a breath. Their bodies were different, difficult years altering otherwise familiar landscapes, but being beneath him again, feeling the drag of those fingertips and licking at the seam of those lips, it was perfectly clear that all the anger and shutting himself away had been completely useless, because how could he ever get away from this.

"Oh, God," he breathed, head tilting back and throat pulling taut, body rolling up, angles and wiry muscles sliding together. He could almost forget about the scars, like this. Almost. He dug his fingers into Sirius' hair and turned his head to hide his face against it.

For all that Sirius has a very particular, very bitter resentment for the disease which placed the scars all over Remus' body, the scars themselves he adores and always has done. His tongue and fingertips trace the delicate, spidery shape of them from Remus' throat down to the taut muscles of his abdomen, until Sirius transfers his mouth to the soft curve of Remus' erection, rocking the other man's hips up with the firm press of his palms against the back of trembling thighs.

He nuzzles once against the glorious, musty nest of hair and then drops his mouth lower, nuzzling into the cleft of Remus' arse instead. With a low, gratified hum, he reaches an arm instinctively up, hand cupping the rough curve of Remus' jaw as his thumb presses past lips and teeth into the warm of Remus' mouth.

"Oh," he gasped, breath leaving him in a rush, lips parting with a moan as he sucked Sirius' thumb into his mouth, licked at it, dug his teeth into the pad. It dimly occurred to him that he should possibly mention the fact that he hadn't done this in quite some time, not merely to quell any potential disappointment but because- Because it had been a while, and as utterly, almost painfully aroused as he was, as sharp as the memories were, his body really didn't know what it was asking for, any longer. There wasn't a bloody chance in hell he was going to take his mouth off Sirius' skin long enough to do so, however. Anyway, he had no control over the sounds Sirius' mouth was drawing out of him at that point, let alone if the ability to manage speech. He just knew he hadn't heard those rasps or that husky, broken keening in what felt like a lifetime.

Edited 2012-07-19 21:13 (UTC)

As much as part of Sirius that would like to truly revel in this, to sink into the tremble of Remus' body and his quiet, needful noises, it's soundly overruled by the heat under Sirius' skin and heavy ache of his own cock, caught between his instinctively rocking hips and the blanket. He might not know precisely how long it's been for Remus, but he knows it's been quite some time, that the work of his tongue (and now his fingers) is important, but Sirius also feels half fucking blind with the need to be buried inside the man writhing beneath him. He wants and wants and wants, with an overwhelming intensity he's not felt, at least not with Remus, since their first gasping fumble in a Hogwarts bunk.

With a haste that makes clear his mounting desperation, Sirius pulls himself abruptly away and practically launches himself at his abandoned blue jeans, which he'd had the misfortune to abandon by the door. In the pockets he finds condom and lubricant both, and he returns immediately to the bed, sacrificing his typical cool confidence for speed.

"Turn over, love," he says, and kisses against one of Remus' bent knees.

The world is a dizzy mess of sound and feeling. Remus isn't entirely certain he hasn't been drugged. He's languid and boneless as he slides- woefully- away from Sirius' mouth, fingertips dragging briefly over his friend's jaw, his lips, before he does as instructed. His body aching and hot and desperate for something to rock back against- for Sirius- and something deep and animal that he spends a lot of time pushing down wants to snap the condom out of Sirius' hand and toss it away, but he merely digs his fingers into the sheet and bows his head, spine stretching, a low, shaking hum of want working through him.

Edited 2012-07-19 22:20 (UTC)

Sirius is surprised to find a tremble in his fingertips as he rolls the condom on and opens the lube, could possibly attribute it to physical desire but knows, in a quiet and distant way, that it isn't merely that. He works Remus open again, fingers pressing more sleekly inside, and he knows that he ought to give it more time but doesn't think he can, his entire body all but humming with want.

Somehow, through sheer force of will, he's able to stop himself with cock in hand, head of it pressing against that hot ring of muscle, entire body now trembling with the effort.

"If I hurt you, you tell me," he insists, but can't wait for an answer, instead bending close to push slowly inside, a long, low moan stuttering out against the arch of Remus' spine.

Remus' toes curl into the sheets and he bites back a soft, harsh sound that lies somewhere between a moan and sob because oh fuck he'd forgotten, after all. It's no longer instinctual to relax against the intrusion and so he tenses everywhere, tightening mercilessly around Sirius and pressing his forehead against the sheets, gulping down a breath. There's an almost fitful urge to move, and he rocks back slowly, another strangled noise fighting its way from its throat.

Sirius hisses an expletive through clenched teeth and then bites instinctively against Remus' shoulder, just enough to be felt, to center them both. Propped on one hand, he splays the other against Remus' throat, directing his head up and back so that Sirius can whisper raggedly against his hair.

"Relax," he pleads, knowing it's easier said than done. "This is where I belong, right here, just fucking— Let me in, baby. Let me in."

The way those long fingers cradle his throat, the soft rasp of Sirius' voice in his ear, and the words, God help him, they all earn a whimper. The concept of belonging has always been a powerful one with Remus, and as in all things, involving Sirius only makes it more potent. He breathes deeply, gasping down two full breaths before his muscles uncoil and then it doesn't feel like being broken into, it just feels like being filled.

By Sirius.

Remus turns his head to lick and nip at Sirius' fingertips, one of his own hands sliding over Sirius' wrist, relishing the contact.

"More," he says softly.

A low, breathy moan sighs out of Sirius as he sinks in to the hilt, Remus holding every inch of him. He could stay just like this, he thinks, could just fall utterly into that feeling of belonging somewhere, but his body has its own agenda and his hips begin a slow, steady rhythm that wrenches more shuddering sighs from his lungs, hot exhalations across Remus' ear and neck.

"You feel so good," he murmurs against Remus' shoulder, and slides his hand from Remus' throat down and around to take hold of his cock, immediately stroking in sync with the easy pulse of his hips.

"I want you to come so hard," he adds, lips moving against warm skin.

He shudders, tries at once to pump into Sirius's grip and rock back into the press of his hips, the amazing pressure that trumps any lingering pain. Words are not something that've factored into sex for Remus in a while, and he's happy to leave those to Sirius, especially given the way they make the already considerable heat coiled inside him spread, burn hotter. He settles for moaning, breaths moving noisily through him in time with the pulse of Sirius' body. Remus can't reach Sirius' mouth but he can try, and turns his head to rub his forehead against Sirius' jaw, arcs beneath him and dig his fingers into the mattress for purchase, for leverage, to move harder back against him.

Which feels, God, he'd forgotten what it could feel like, that anything could be this good, and that startles words from him, if nothing more than Sirius' name and, "fuck, yes, please."

It works on Sirius like a drug, the way Remus says his name, all that breathless yearning shooting up under his skin and hot through his veins. His hips stutter and then pick up a faster tempo, rocking both of their bodies forward with each firm thrust.

He wishes, desperately, that he'd gone without the condom. There were reasons to use one—Very solid, important reasons—but he wants nothing more right now than to come inside this man and then lick it back out again.

"Touch yourself," he says after his rhythm falters again, and draws both hands back to grasp against Remus' hips as he leans back.