Remus Lupin's Disappearing Act, Remus/Sirius
Title: Remus Lupin’s Disappearing Act
Author: Liliths_Requiem
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Sirius Black, Remus Lupin
Pairings: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Era: October, 1976 (Maruader’s Sixth Year)
Word Count: 801
Story Summary: Remus and Sirius at the beginning, or at what would constitute as a beginning, if there was actually something to begin.
Warnings:Okay, it isn’t a happy beginning. And maybe you think the roles should be reversed. But this is how I see it happening.
Author’s Notes: I don’t think this’ll be a story, per se, just more of a bunch of one-shots that somehow make sense. (Like their relationship, yeah?)
“I don’t want to make you stay,” Remus whispers, his voice painting Sirius’s bones with heat and sending fear and guilt and desire straight to his groin. It’s pathetic, how he can get off on making himself feel horrible. Remus calls it masochism; Sirius thought it had nothing to do with psychological disorders and everything to do with being a Black.
He doesn’t whisper. He is loud and boisterous and his voice is always an octave too high and a mile too deep. It’s just the way he is, the way he’s always been, a negative trait brought on by trying to stand out in a family he fit into all too well. The Blacks always whisper, hiding in the shadows and getting lost in the cunning spirit of the wind. He remembers Regulus’ voice, just barely a wisp of breath that made it only to your ears and then died. Mother used to speak like that too, before she started screaming.
“I don’t want you to make me stay either,” he replies, his voice completely Sirius, if not the other kind. “I don’t want you to run away either, which you will do, as you’ve done a thousand times before. I don’t want Prongs to come by in an hour and find me drunk and chain smoking on the bathroom floor. I don’t want Wormtail to tell me I’ve got to stop doing this to myself, like it’s my fault you’re afraid.” He runs a hand through his messy black locks, not really out of habit, but more because that’s what Sirius does. “You’re not making me stay, Moony. I’m staying because I want to.”
Remus nods, a movement almost imperceptible because his face his buried on the side of Sirius’ hip bone and his tongue doesn’t stop drawing out magnificent shapes as his heads moves up and down. Sirius strains, hoping for more contact, more skin on skin where he wants it most, but Remus remains steadfast in his slow, painfully slow, speed. If the black haired man didn’t love his lover like this, all strong and in control, then he would be shocked by the way Remus actually seems sure of himself for once.
Sirius likes confidence, which doesn’t explain his relationship with Remus, at all.
Finally, just as Sirius is about to pull out his own hair and tell Remus to hurry the bloody fuck up already, he feels a tongue just on the tip of his cock and he thrusts up, allowing Remus to swallow him whole. It’s one of those feelings you can’t buy with money and you can’t find anywhere else. Sirius has tried, time and time again, to find someone who feels half as good with their lips wrapped around his cock, but he’s failed. There is no one like Remus, and it has nothing to do with technique. Sirius Black is in love.
Not that Remus would ever allow either of them to say those words out loud.
As usual, it’s Remus who doesn’t stay, Remus who is gone before Sirius can even calm down from the shaking, stirring, painful orgasm the werewolf brings him to time and time again. They’re sixteen, they shouldn’t still be doing this, but neither of them can really stop. “Can we talk about this?” Sirius screams out, his voice still shaking and his nerve dancing frantically under his skin. “Please?” But by the time he asks this the door has slammed shut and he knows Remus is gone, just like Remus is always gone, or going.
Sirius lays in the bed alone, wrapping himself up in white sheets of surrender and groping for the bottle of Ogdens under the bed. He keeps cases under there, because every time Moony leaves the only way he can deal is with the fiery liquid sliding down his throat. (Which is nothing like Remus’ liquid sliding down his throat, salty and calming and good.) He gets lost in the way the memories dance across the inside of his eyelids and wonders exactly how much longer James and Peter will be serving detention and just how far away Remus had to run this time.
He’s tired of Remus running, of chasing, or fighting fighting fighting. He wants, almost, to go back to the way things used to be when they were fourteen and hadn’t thought about sex or kissing or any of those other things, at least, not with each other. He tells himself this is the last time as he throws the bottle across the room and lights a muggle menthol.
But Remus will come to his bed again tomorrow when they are both alone and he will kiss away any regret Sirius pretends to have about the two of them even as the other boy is going, going, gone.
Author: Liliths_Requiem
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Sirius Black, Remus Lupin
Pairings: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Era: October, 1976 (Maruader’s Sixth Year)
Word Count: 801
Story Summary: Remus and Sirius at the beginning, or at what would constitute as a beginning, if there was actually something to begin.
Warnings:Okay, it isn’t a happy beginning. And maybe you think the roles should be reversed. But this is how I see it happening.
Author’s Notes: I don’t think this’ll be a story, per se, just more of a bunch of one-shots that somehow make sense. (Like their relationship, yeah?)
“I don’t want to make you stay,” Remus whispers, his voice painting Sirius’s bones with heat and sending fear and guilt and desire straight to his groin. It’s pathetic, how he can get off on making himself feel horrible. Remus calls it masochism; Sirius thought it had nothing to do with psychological disorders and everything to do with being a Black.
He doesn’t whisper. He is loud and boisterous and his voice is always an octave too high and a mile too deep. It’s just the way he is, the way he’s always been, a negative trait brought on by trying to stand out in a family he fit into all too well. The Blacks always whisper, hiding in the shadows and getting lost in the cunning spirit of the wind. He remembers Regulus’ voice, just barely a wisp of breath that made it only to your ears and then died. Mother used to speak like that too, before she started screaming.
“I don’t want you to make me stay either,” he replies, his voice completely Sirius, if not the other kind. “I don’t want you to run away either, which you will do, as you’ve done a thousand times before. I don’t want Prongs to come by in an hour and find me drunk and chain smoking on the bathroom floor. I don’t want Wormtail to tell me I’ve got to stop doing this to myself, like it’s my fault you’re afraid.” He runs a hand through his messy black locks, not really out of habit, but more because that’s what Sirius does. “You’re not making me stay, Moony. I’m staying because I want to.”
Remus nods, a movement almost imperceptible because his face his buried on the side of Sirius’ hip bone and his tongue doesn’t stop drawing out magnificent shapes as his heads moves up and down. Sirius strains, hoping for more contact, more skin on skin where he wants it most, but Remus remains steadfast in his slow, painfully slow, speed. If the black haired man didn’t love his lover like this, all strong and in control, then he would be shocked by the way Remus actually seems sure of himself for once.
Sirius likes confidence, which doesn’t explain his relationship with Remus, at all.
Finally, just as Sirius is about to pull out his own hair and tell Remus to hurry the bloody fuck up already, he feels a tongue just on the tip of his cock and he thrusts up, allowing Remus to swallow him whole. It’s one of those feelings you can’t buy with money and you can’t find anywhere else. Sirius has tried, time and time again, to find someone who feels half as good with their lips wrapped around his cock, but he’s failed. There is no one like Remus, and it has nothing to do with technique. Sirius Black is in love.
Not that Remus would ever allow either of them to say those words out loud.
As usual, it’s Remus who doesn’t stay, Remus who is gone before Sirius can even calm down from the shaking, stirring, painful orgasm the werewolf brings him to time and time again. They’re sixteen, they shouldn’t still be doing this, but neither of them can really stop. “Can we talk about this?” Sirius screams out, his voice still shaking and his nerve dancing frantically under his skin. “Please?” But by the time he asks this the door has slammed shut and he knows Remus is gone, just like Remus is always gone, or going.
Sirius lays in the bed alone, wrapping himself up in white sheets of surrender and groping for the bottle of Ogdens under the bed. He keeps cases under there, because every time Moony leaves the only way he can deal is with the fiery liquid sliding down his throat. (Which is nothing like Remus’ liquid sliding down his throat, salty and calming and good.) He gets lost in the way the memories dance across the inside of his eyelids and wonders exactly how much longer James and Peter will be serving detention and just how far away Remus had to run this time.
He’s tired of Remus running, of chasing, or fighting fighting fighting. He wants, almost, to go back to the way things used to be when they were fourteen and hadn’t thought about sex or kissing or any of those other things, at least, not with each other. He tells himself this is the last time as he throws the bottle across the room and lights a muggle menthol.
But Remus will come to his bed again tomorrow when they are both alone and he will kiss away any regret Sirius pretends to have about the two of them even as the other boy is going, going, gone.