Howl
Title: Howl
Pairing: Sirius/Remus
Prompt: Is it considered infidelity to his motorcycle or Remus? He loves them both, and they always make him come
Rating: R
Wordcount: 187
Warnings: motorbike!sex?
Notes: More uncanon drabble-a-thon shenanigans! I've never ever ever written Sirius/Remus before. Yoink!
They are both solid beneath him: Remus, with his bones and muscle and scar-tissue; the bike, hot metal and vibration.
They are both bowed: Remus, with his convex cat-back arch, inviting Sirius to slide underneath and swallow him whole; the bike, concave like it's begging him to fuck it, choke it, tell it what to do.
They both howl for him, revving throats and engines, slicing the darkness into jagged pieces then letting him soothe them into a sated, whimpering peace.
They both make him hard, make him huge, make him need. He cannot sprawl across one without thinking of the other - skin and paint, heartbeats and horsepower - and this, at last, is his dilemma.
So Sirius solves it like he solves everything. He throws himself against them; he bends Remus over the handlebars, fucks him down into the filthy front wheel until he comes all over it, moaning Siriusssss like a Knockturn Alley whore. He breathes against Remus’s neck like there’s wind around them, like they’re flying, and when he collapses, wrecked and buzzing like an engine that won’t die, he knows he owns them both.
Pairing: Sirius/Remus
Prompt: Is it considered infidelity to his motorcycle or Remus? He loves them both, and they always make him come
Rating: R
Wordcount: 187
Warnings: motorbike!sex?
Notes: More uncanon drabble-a-thon shenanigans! I've never ever ever written Sirius/Remus before. Yoink!
They are both solid beneath him: Remus, with his bones and muscle and scar-tissue; the bike, hot metal and vibration.
They are both bowed: Remus, with his convex cat-back arch, inviting Sirius to slide underneath and swallow him whole; the bike, concave like it's begging him to fuck it, choke it, tell it what to do.
They both howl for him, revving throats and engines, slicing the darkness into jagged pieces then letting him soothe them into a sated, whimpering peace.
They both make him hard, make him huge, make him need. He cannot sprawl across one without thinking of the other - skin and paint, heartbeats and horsepower - and this, at last, is his dilemma.
So Sirius solves it like he solves everything. He throws himself against them; he bends Remus over the handlebars, fucks him down into the filthy front wheel until he comes all over it, moaning Siriusssss like a Knockturn Alley whore. He breathes against Remus’s neck like there’s wind around them, like they’re flying, and when he collapses, wrecked and buzzing like an engine that won’t die, he knows he owns them both.