Lalala, my first Remus/Harry. I *really* like the two of them, almost as much as Sirius/Harry
My first Remus/Harry. *shivers* They're very delicious together. Angsty goodness. Underage.
Second Hand Sympathy
AN: This started with "he asks you to call him..." I thought it was going to be a Snarry, but the little bugger had a mind of its own and liked lycanthropy better. I let it have its way. Second person abounds.
***
Dumbledore sets you free from the Dursleys early. You don’t ask why.
You arrive at Grimmauld Place two days before your birthday; he’s the very first person you see. He’s been here the entire summer.
*
Your first day back he asks you to call him Moony.
It’s a little strange at first but you can’t tell him no. He’s never asked you for anything before, and he’s the closest you’ll get to Sirius. When you forget and call him ‘Professor’ he flinches. You pinch yourself to remember.
You can do this for him.
*
He kisses you one night in August; you’ve only been at the house a week.
You wake up from a dream you can’t quite remember and there he is - sitting on the edge of your bed. So close you don’t need your glasses. He’s playing with the crystal on the bedside table, the one Hermione charmed to hold light for you; he doesn’t ask you about it. He looks sad. You want to ask him if he’s okay, if he needs something, but the words won’t form.
He doesn’t say anything, just leans forward and somehow you meet him halfway.
You only know he’s been drinking by the taste he leaves in your mouth. His hands don’t shake, but your face is wet from his tears; he doesn’t make a sound when he cries. You remember last year, kissing Cho. It seems you are doomed to be vicariously loved.
And even though you know he wouldn’t be here if he were sober and a little saner, you let his hands touch you. Memorise you. Turn you into a ghost.
But it’s okay, because this is what he wants, and if you can remember to call him Moony, you can do this too. In fact, this is easier because in a way, it’s what you want as well. A part of you wants to be made into someone else.
He starts slipping off your clothes, then his, and that’s okay too.
When he slips inside you, his fingernails dig into your back. He smothers your gasp with his mouth and keeps time with his hips, each thrust a smooth upbeat. It only hurts at first.
You’ve never thought about your first time, now that it’s happening you can’t imagine it not being this way. You call out Moony as you come.
His breath puffs past your ear - “Sirius …” He shudders and follows right behind you.
*
He’s asleep, lying half on, half off you with his arm stretched across your stomach. There’s no way to leave quietly without waking him up. Not that it’ll matter if you’re here or not when he wakes up in your bed.
You don’t know what you’ll tell him in the morning, or whether to tell him anything at all.
Second Hand Sympathy
AN: This started with "he asks you to call him..." I thought it was going to be a Snarry, but the little bugger had a mind of its own and liked lycanthropy better. I let it have its way. Second person abounds.
***
Dumbledore sets you free from the Dursleys early. You don’t ask why.
You arrive at Grimmauld Place two days before your birthday; he’s the very first person you see. He’s been here the entire summer.
*
Your first day back he asks you to call him Moony.
It’s a little strange at first but you can’t tell him no. He’s never asked you for anything before, and he’s the closest you’ll get to Sirius. When you forget and call him ‘Professor’ he flinches. You pinch yourself to remember.
You can do this for him.
*
He kisses you one night in August; you’ve only been at the house a week.
You wake up from a dream you can’t quite remember and there he is - sitting on the edge of your bed. So close you don’t need your glasses. He’s playing with the crystal on the bedside table, the one Hermione charmed to hold light for you; he doesn’t ask you about it. He looks sad. You want to ask him if he’s okay, if he needs something, but the words won’t form.
He doesn’t say anything, just leans forward and somehow you meet him halfway.
You only know he’s been drinking by the taste he leaves in your mouth. His hands don’t shake, but your face is wet from his tears; he doesn’t make a sound when he cries. You remember last year, kissing Cho. It seems you are doomed to be vicariously loved.
And even though you know he wouldn’t be here if he were sober and a little saner, you let his hands touch you. Memorise you. Turn you into a ghost.
But it’s okay, because this is what he wants, and if you can remember to call him Moony, you can do this too. In fact, this is easier because in a way, it’s what you want as well. A part of you wants to be made into someone else.
He starts slipping off your clothes, then his, and that’s okay too.
When he slips inside you, his fingernails dig into your back. He smothers your gasp with his mouth and keeps time with his hips, each thrust a smooth upbeat. It only hurts at first.
You’ve never thought about your first time, now that it’s happening you can’t imagine it not being this way. You call out Moony as you come.
His breath puffs past your ear - “Sirius …” He shudders and follows right behind you.
*
He’s asleep, lying half on, half off you with his arm stretched across your stomach. There’s no way to leave quietly without waking him up. Not that it’ll matter if you’re here or not when he wakes up in your bed.
You don’t know what you’ll tell him in the morning, or whether to tell him anything at all.