[fic] Falling For the First Time
Falling For the First Time
by Thistlerose
Rating: NC-17 (vanilla, but somewhat explicit)
Ship: Sirius/Remus
Summary: Sixteen-year-old Sirius has an active mind. And an active mouth. Remus has no complaints.
Notes: Thank you gehayi, australienne, and underlucius for all the info regarding homosexual rights (or lack thereof) in Britain in the 1970s.
Sirius wakes at sunrise on the twenty-third of September, slides out of bed, and pads across the quiet bedroom. Shafts of autumn sunlight spill through the window, but the air is crisp -- not cold, yet, but he's glad of the flannel robe he has on over his T-shirt and boxers.
When he arrives at Remus' four-poster he stops and listens. Not a sound from behind the closed, russet curtains, but that's unimportant. Sirius draws his wand from his pocket, mutters a quick Silencing Charm, and slips between the curtains and into Remus' bed.
He loves doing this, loves that he's allowed to do this. He appreciates the irony, too. The geniuses who built Hogwarts centuries ago had made it bloody difficult for any bloke to get into the girls' part of the dorm. But it's the easiest damn thing in the world to climb into your mate's bed. Providing your mate is a poof, too. Providing he fancies you and has the balls to admit it.
Sirius has a theory that the Founders of Hogwarts were either all prudes or all poofs. James thinks this ought to be the topic of Sirius' next History of Magic essay. Sirius would do it, but -- as Peter pointed out, rather adroitly -- the chance of Professor Binns noticing anything about the essay except its length and whether or not the heading is correct is pretty slim.
Sirius forgets this as he settles against Remus. It's warm under the covers so he shrugs off his robe and his T-shirt, and wraps his bare arms around the sleeping boy. He nuzzles the back of his neck, nosing aside the soft brown hair, and soon Remus is moving against him languidly and murmuring things like "Ohhh," and "Mmm" and "Yesssohhhmmm."
Pleased, Sirius raises himself slightly and leans over so he can get at Remus' earlobe and then down his neck to his throat. He touches the hollow with the tip of his tongue, and then Remus is awake -- more or less -- blinking up at him and smiling sleepily.
"Big dumb dog," he mumbles fondly.
Sirius nips his ear again, and grins. "You know what today is, of course."
"S'too early, Padfoot."
"I'm awake."
"You're mental."
"Come on," Sirius prompts. He's never understood why it takes his friends so long to wake up in the morning. Even the early morning. He's usually alert a moment or two after he opens his eyes. "Come on," he says again. "What's today?"
Remus frowns at him. "Think it's the twenty-third."
"And?"
"So, it's my birthday."
"Your sixteenth birthday."
"My fifteenth was last year, so I reckon you're right."
Oh, Moony.
"And what happens when you turn sixteen?"
"Umm…"
Sirius can see that Remus is trying to think. He decides to make things harder for him by rolling on top of him and beginning to kiss him again.
It's not just that it's easier to get into Remus Lupin's bed than it was to get into Cyn's or Maddin's or Catriona's. (And considering how easy it is to get into his bed now, it's rather amazing to think about how difficult it was just over a month ago to get into his knickers.) It's not just the convenience or the fact that it bedevils Prongs or the fact that all of Sirius' well-bred ancestors would be spinning in their graves if they knew. It's Remus himself, and the way he enjoys everything he and Sirius do together.
Even if he weren't a better kisser than Nell Kersey (he is) and even if he weren't a better shag than Vi Naismith (Merlin, there's no comparison) he'd still be better overall simply because he's Remus.
He doesn't try to impress Sirius (they know each other too well for that); there's nothing Sirius can give him except himself, so he can't have any ulterior motives; he's honest (it's taken five years, but Sirius has finally learned most of his secrets); he's responsive (even now, though he's probably still half-asleep); and he gives as good as he gets.
Not yet tired of giving, but eager to get, Sirius raises his lips from Remus' throat and smiles up at him. "Figured it out, yet, Moony?"
The brown eyes regard him placidly and Remus strokes his hair as he says, "Think so. I'm sixteen. Age of consent for straight people. You want us to have a threesome with a girl. With Evans. Finish poor Prongs off.
"Or," he continues contemplatively as Sirius chuckles and begins to unbutton his pyjamas, "you're excited because if we get caught today -- the two of us, I mean -- we'd be in slightly less trouble than we would be if we'd got caught yesterday."
"I'm excited," Sirius says as he kisses his way down Remus' chest, "because I'm in bed with you, you brainless oik. The fact that I won't have to spend the rest of my life in Muggle prison if some Muggle catches us -- which is pretty bloody unlikely here -- is just a bonus."
He breathes over Remus' nipples and sparse chest hairs and feels the other boy's shiver ripple through his own body. He's hard now, and Remus is getting there. Sirius wonders how long he can make this last. It's a birthday shag, after all; it's got to be special.
Naturally, Remus isn't helping. He's moaning softly, and stretching against the mattress, and arching his chest to meet Sirius' lips. He smells wonderful: like desire and sweat and old flannel and soap and himself. Once, Sirius tried to describe that indelible scent with words and sent the other boy into a fit of giggles. (Remus denies this, of course.)
This is why I'm a dog-Animagus, Sirius thinks as he undoes Remus' pyjama bottoms and begins to tug them down over his narrow hips. Not because I was 'destined to be someone's bitch,' to quote Prongs, but so that I can smell him better than anyone.
This early in the morning, and with Remus beginning to buck beneath him, that actually makes sense and doesn't seem horrifically maudlin.
And this, he thinks as he bends Remus' knees and then spreads them gently, is why it never worked with me and any of those skirts. He licks his palm, then takes Remus in his hand and pumps him until he's as hard as Sirius.
Because this is what he fancies, and I'll be damned if anyone but me gets to do this to him.
It did not take him long to get used to making love to a male body instead of a female one. What used to be round is now flat, but that's all right. Tits were fun, but sometimes they got in the way. The girls with smaller ones worried that they were inadequate, and the girls with bigger ones were sometimes a bit intimidating. Sirius likes that there's less between him and Remus' heart.
What used to be curvy is now angular and what used to be soft is now hard, but Sirius likes that, too. He likes that Remus can fill him, too. (He hasn't, yet, but he will. Maybe later this morning.) He likes that even when they're both clothed, he can tell when Remus wants him.
He wants him now. He's dripping with desire (so is Sirius) and he's panting (good thing Sirius cast that Silencing Charm) and his fingers are twisting in Sirius' hair. Sirius slicks his own fingers with pre-come and slides lower, between Remus' legs.
"You want to suck off some bloke?" James said when Sirius told him what he'd learned about himself over the summer hols.
"Not 'some bloke'," Sirius said, frowning. "Moony. What's wrong with it?"
"Skirts do that," said James in exasperation.
"And poofs, which is what we happen to be. Again, do you have a problem with that? Are we no longer as cool as we were in June?"
"You're delusional if you think you were ever cool, you bloody toff," James said without malice. "You actually like topping off some bloke? That's really what gets you off?"
"Not 'some bloke'," Sirius repeated calmly. "Moony."
That's true. Sirius hasn't thought about any other blokes since he realised he fancies Remus. And except for that disastrous, evening-long fixation with Brutus Malfoy back when he was thirteen, he didn't allow himself to think about any other blokes before he realised he fancied Remus. Maybe he's focussed too narrowly. Peter thinks he is, but Peter thinks that everything Sirius does is too much.
Anyway, thinks Sirius as he pushes his slicked fingers between Remus' arse cheeks and begins to lap at his straining cock, who cares what one's mates think, because what could be better than this?
Remus growls his name and you can tell he's trying not to thrust. He's becoming impatient, but Sirius takes his time, licking him from slit to balls, and back, probing with his fingers, finding the pucker and easing his way inside.
"I'll be seventeen before you bloody get on with it," Remus groans.
Sirius risks a glance at him, but his head is thrown back against the pillows, so all he can see is his glistening throat and the sharp angle of his jaw.
He laughs and takes Remus in his mouth as he does, and that's too much for the other boy. He bucks sharply, but Sirius is ready for him. He moves with Remus' undulations, sucking him deeper into his throat, pushing in deeper with his fingers. He isn't sure what he's hunting for (Remus can only describe it as "that spot") but he's touched it a few times (and Remus has touched his, once, so it must be a universal thing) and it drives the other boy wild. He knows he's found it when Remus begins to thrash and to gasp things like "Oh Padfoot, oh yesyes -- please -- oh --" Sirius thinks it would be just brilliant if he'd howl, but Moony always tries to be quiet, even in convulsions of ecstasy.
Sirius is wondering if he ought to hum that birthday song (Merlin, why can't he remember the tune?) when Remus stiffens and comes. There was no verbal warning (there rarely is) but Sirius catches all of it. He swallows as he withdraws and helps Remus lower his shaking legs. Then he slumps against the pillows beside the other boy and wraps his arms around him.
Remus is still somewhat breathless, but he says, "Padfoot, did you--?"
"Nah." He moves closer so Remus can feel his half-erect cock.
"D'you want me to…"
"Yeah. But, later."
Remus twitches as though he wants to turn over, but he's boneless in Sirius' arms. "But," he begins to protest.
"Moony, can you even move now?" laughs Sirius.
Remus appears to consider this. "No," he says at length.
"Can wait, then." And it can, if he doesn't think about it. "Define 'slightly less trouble'."
"Huh?"
"If we got caught doing this yesterday we'd be in more trouble, you said. So, what's 'slightly less trouble'?"
"Oh." Remus can't quite turn over yet, but he can kiss Sirius' wrists, and he does before he says, "Well. I think if we get caught today -- as opposed to yesterday -- we both get sent to Muggle prison. Not just you."
"Forever?"
"No, not that long."
"Together?"
"Think that would defeat the purpose, Padfoot. Think we'd also have to register as sex offenders."
"Would that be such a bad thing?"
"You're asking a registered werewolf?"
"Well, I mean if I just want to shag you, not anyone else, does it matter? If we're both sex offenders would they really bother keeping us apart?"
"I don't know. Don't think I feel like registering as anything else, though."
"That's fair. I'll try to contain myself in public."
"Thanks."
"Happy birthday, Moony."
Remus kisses him again, and he can feel the upward curve of his lips. "Been good so far. Much better than my twelfth."
"Oh, yeah." He kisses Remus' bare shoulder. "That wasn't fair. Bloke who rigged the lunar calendar's a bloody despot."
"Better than my fifteenth," Remus continues reflectively. "Geoff Abbott kissed me, but no one shagged me. I wanted you."
"I'll shag you on your seventeenth," Sirius promises in a low growl.
"I'll shag you after classes today," says Remus happily. "It's my birthday all day."
06/18/04
by Thistlerose
Rating: NC-17 (vanilla, but somewhat explicit)
Ship: Sirius/Remus
Summary: Sixteen-year-old Sirius has an active mind. And an active mouth. Remus has no complaints.
Notes: Thank you gehayi, australienne, and underlucius for all the info regarding homosexual rights (or lack thereof) in Britain in the 1970s.
Sirius wakes at sunrise on the twenty-third of September, slides out of bed, and pads across the quiet bedroom. Shafts of autumn sunlight spill through the window, but the air is crisp -- not cold, yet, but he's glad of the flannel robe he has on over his T-shirt and boxers.
When he arrives at Remus' four-poster he stops and listens. Not a sound from behind the closed, russet curtains, but that's unimportant. Sirius draws his wand from his pocket, mutters a quick Silencing Charm, and slips between the curtains and into Remus' bed.
He loves doing this, loves that he's allowed to do this. He appreciates the irony, too. The geniuses who built Hogwarts centuries ago had made it bloody difficult for any bloke to get into the girls' part of the dorm. But it's the easiest damn thing in the world to climb into your mate's bed. Providing your mate is a poof, too. Providing he fancies you and has the balls to admit it.
Sirius has a theory that the Founders of Hogwarts were either all prudes or all poofs. James thinks this ought to be the topic of Sirius' next History of Magic essay. Sirius would do it, but -- as Peter pointed out, rather adroitly -- the chance of Professor Binns noticing anything about the essay except its length and whether or not the heading is correct is pretty slim.
Sirius forgets this as he settles against Remus. It's warm under the covers so he shrugs off his robe and his T-shirt, and wraps his bare arms around the sleeping boy. He nuzzles the back of his neck, nosing aside the soft brown hair, and soon Remus is moving against him languidly and murmuring things like "Ohhh," and "Mmm" and "Yesssohhhmmm."
Pleased, Sirius raises himself slightly and leans over so he can get at Remus' earlobe and then down his neck to his throat. He touches the hollow with the tip of his tongue, and then Remus is awake -- more or less -- blinking up at him and smiling sleepily.
"Big dumb dog," he mumbles fondly.
Sirius nips his ear again, and grins. "You know what today is, of course."
"S'too early, Padfoot."
"I'm awake."
"You're mental."
"Come on," Sirius prompts. He's never understood why it takes his friends so long to wake up in the morning. Even the early morning. He's usually alert a moment or two after he opens his eyes. "Come on," he says again. "What's today?"
Remus frowns at him. "Think it's the twenty-third."
"And?"
"So, it's my birthday."
"Your sixteenth birthday."
"My fifteenth was last year, so I reckon you're right."
Oh, Moony.
"And what happens when you turn sixteen?"
"Umm…"
Sirius can see that Remus is trying to think. He decides to make things harder for him by rolling on top of him and beginning to kiss him again.
It's not just that it's easier to get into Remus Lupin's bed than it was to get into Cyn's or Maddin's or Catriona's. (And considering how easy it is to get into his bed now, it's rather amazing to think about how difficult it was just over a month ago to get into his knickers.) It's not just the convenience or the fact that it bedevils Prongs or the fact that all of Sirius' well-bred ancestors would be spinning in their graves if they knew. It's Remus himself, and the way he enjoys everything he and Sirius do together.
Even if he weren't a better kisser than Nell Kersey (he is) and even if he weren't a better shag than Vi Naismith (Merlin, there's no comparison) he'd still be better overall simply because he's Remus.
He doesn't try to impress Sirius (they know each other too well for that); there's nothing Sirius can give him except himself, so he can't have any ulterior motives; he's honest (it's taken five years, but Sirius has finally learned most of his secrets); he's responsive (even now, though he's probably still half-asleep); and he gives as good as he gets.
Not yet tired of giving, but eager to get, Sirius raises his lips from Remus' throat and smiles up at him. "Figured it out, yet, Moony?"
The brown eyes regard him placidly and Remus strokes his hair as he says, "Think so. I'm sixteen. Age of consent for straight people. You want us to have a threesome with a girl. With Evans. Finish poor Prongs off.
"Or," he continues contemplatively as Sirius chuckles and begins to unbutton his pyjamas, "you're excited because if we get caught today -- the two of us, I mean -- we'd be in slightly less trouble than we would be if we'd got caught yesterday."
"I'm excited," Sirius says as he kisses his way down Remus' chest, "because I'm in bed with you, you brainless oik. The fact that I won't have to spend the rest of my life in Muggle prison if some Muggle catches us -- which is pretty bloody unlikely here -- is just a bonus."
He breathes over Remus' nipples and sparse chest hairs and feels the other boy's shiver ripple through his own body. He's hard now, and Remus is getting there. Sirius wonders how long he can make this last. It's a birthday shag, after all; it's got to be special.
Naturally, Remus isn't helping. He's moaning softly, and stretching against the mattress, and arching his chest to meet Sirius' lips. He smells wonderful: like desire and sweat and old flannel and soap and himself. Once, Sirius tried to describe that indelible scent with words and sent the other boy into a fit of giggles. (Remus denies this, of course.)
This is why I'm a dog-Animagus, Sirius thinks as he undoes Remus' pyjama bottoms and begins to tug them down over his narrow hips. Not because I was 'destined to be someone's bitch,' to quote Prongs, but so that I can smell him better than anyone.
This early in the morning, and with Remus beginning to buck beneath him, that actually makes sense and doesn't seem horrifically maudlin.
And this, he thinks as he bends Remus' knees and then spreads them gently, is why it never worked with me and any of those skirts. He licks his palm, then takes Remus in his hand and pumps him until he's as hard as Sirius.
Because this is what he fancies, and I'll be damned if anyone but me gets to do this to him.
It did not take him long to get used to making love to a male body instead of a female one. What used to be round is now flat, but that's all right. Tits were fun, but sometimes they got in the way. The girls with smaller ones worried that they were inadequate, and the girls with bigger ones were sometimes a bit intimidating. Sirius likes that there's less between him and Remus' heart.
What used to be curvy is now angular and what used to be soft is now hard, but Sirius likes that, too. He likes that Remus can fill him, too. (He hasn't, yet, but he will. Maybe later this morning.) He likes that even when they're both clothed, he can tell when Remus wants him.
He wants him now. He's dripping with desire (so is Sirius) and he's panting (good thing Sirius cast that Silencing Charm) and his fingers are twisting in Sirius' hair. Sirius slicks his own fingers with pre-come and slides lower, between Remus' legs.
"You want to suck off some bloke?" James said when Sirius told him what he'd learned about himself over the summer hols.
"Not 'some bloke'," Sirius said, frowning. "Moony. What's wrong with it?"
"Skirts do that," said James in exasperation.
"And poofs, which is what we happen to be. Again, do you have a problem with that? Are we no longer as cool as we were in June?"
"You're delusional if you think you were ever cool, you bloody toff," James said without malice. "You actually like topping off some bloke? That's really what gets you off?"
"Not 'some bloke'," Sirius repeated calmly. "Moony."
That's true. Sirius hasn't thought about any other blokes since he realised he fancies Remus. And except for that disastrous, evening-long fixation with Brutus Malfoy back when he was thirteen, he didn't allow himself to think about any other blokes before he realised he fancied Remus. Maybe he's focussed too narrowly. Peter thinks he is, but Peter thinks that everything Sirius does is too much.
Anyway, thinks Sirius as he pushes his slicked fingers between Remus' arse cheeks and begins to lap at his straining cock, who cares what one's mates think, because what could be better than this?
Remus growls his name and you can tell he's trying not to thrust. He's becoming impatient, but Sirius takes his time, licking him from slit to balls, and back, probing with his fingers, finding the pucker and easing his way inside.
"I'll be seventeen before you bloody get on with it," Remus groans.
Sirius risks a glance at him, but his head is thrown back against the pillows, so all he can see is his glistening throat and the sharp angle of his jaw.
He laughs and takes Remus in his mouth as he does, and that's too much for the other boy. He bucks sharply, but Sirius is ready for him. He moves with Remus' undulations, sucking him deeper into his throat, pushing in deeper with his fingers. He isn't sure what he's hunting for (Remus can only describe it as "that spot") but he's touched it a few times (and Remus has touched his, once, so it must be a universal thing) and it drives the other boy wild. He knows he's found it when Remus begins to thrash and to gasp things like "Oh Padfoot, oh yesyes -- please -- oh --" Sirius thinks it would be just brilliant if he'd howl, but Moony always tries to be quiet, even in convulsions of ecstasy.
Sirius is wondering if he ought to hum that birthday song (Merlin, why can't he remember the tune?) when Remus stiffens and comes. There was no verbal warning (there rarely is) but Sirius catches all of it. He swallows as he withdraws and helps Remus lower his shaking legs. Then he slumps against the pillows beside the other boy and wraps his arms around him.
Remus is still somewhat breathless, but he says, "Padfoot, did you--?"
"Nah." He moves closer so Remus can feel his half-erect cock.
"D'you want me to…"
"Yeah. But, later."
Remus twitches as though he wants to turn over, but he's boneless in Sirius' arms. "But," he begins to protest.
"Moony, can you even move now?" laughs Sirius.
Remus appears to consider this. "No," he says at length.
"Can wait, then." And it can, if he doesn't think about it. "Define 'slightly less trouble'."
"Huh?"
"If we got caught doing this yesterday we'd be in more trouble, you said. So, what's 'slightly less trouble'?"
"Oh." Remus can't quite turn over yet, but he can kiss Sirius' wrists, and he does before he says, "Well. I think if we get caught today -- as opposed to yesterday -- we both get sent to Muggle prison. Not just you."
"Forever?"
"No, not that long."
"Together?"
"Think that would defeat the purpose, Padfoot. Think we'd also have to register as sex offenders."
"Would that be such a bad thing?"
"You're asking a registered werewolf?"
"Well, I mean if I just want to shag you, not anyone else, does it matter? If we're both sex offenders would they really bother keeping us apart?"
"I don't know. Don't think I feel like registering as anything else, though."
"That's fair. I'll try to contain myself in public."
"Thanks."
"Happy birthday, Moony."
Remus kisses him again, and he can feel the upward curve of his lips. "Been good so far. Much better than my twelfth."
"Oh, yeah." He kisses Remus' bare shoulder. "That wasn't fair. Bloke who rigged the lunar calendar's a bloody despot."
"Better than my fifteenth," Remus continues reflectively. "Geoff Abbott kissed me, but no one shagged me. I wanted you."
"I'll shag you on your seventeenth," Sirius promises in a low growl.
"I'll shag you after classes today," says Remus happily. "It's my birthday all day."
06/18/04