ficlet: so let us melt (our two souls therefore, which are one)
A little bit of porn to lift my spirits...
so let us melt | remus/sirius | 535 words | R
***
So Let Us Melt
It’s raining again, and Grimmauld Place, never warm to begin with, takes on a glum chill as the autumn evening falls, earlier each day than the last.
Remus doesn’t care, though, not right now, when Sirius’s hands and lips and tongue are setting him on fire, each touch a lightning flash of heat and desire. He reaches out blindly, trying to get Sirius as close as possible, hands landing on narrow hips, thumbs caressing the groove where leg joins body.
"Wait, wait," Sirius whispers.
"No," Remus answers, arching up off the bed so he can rub his cock against Sirius’s, "no more waiting."
Sirius grinds down and, oh god, yes, Remus loses his train of thought in the rush of how good it feels, how familiar and yet utterly new.
They are not the same men they were fifteen years ago, but time and grief fall away when they come together like this, whenever they are alone together. There is no need for talking, no chance for regrets and recriminations and angry words to creep in when they are naked and aching for each other’s touch.
Sirius twines his fingers round Remus’s and moves their joined hands down to circle their thrusting cocks, slick with sweat and pre-come, the friction almost unbearable.
Sirius’s body may be thin, and his eyes shadowed, but his hands are still long-fingered and deft, his lips still full and warm, his tongue like the sweet, firm flesh of plums in Remus’s mouth, headier than the finest wine.
Remus breathes him in, love and air and Sirius, fuck, please, and Sirius laughs against his skin, vibrating and vibrant, so full of joy in these few stolen moments.
They move together, two parts of a larger whole, and Sirius murmurs things that sound an awful lot like promises, and Remus says, yes, and yes, and please, until the words are lost and meaningless and only the soft sound of skin on skin, the thrust and groan of two bodies becoming one fills his ears.
Remus comes in a rush, unable to hold back, hips bucking off the bed. He tries to keep his eyes open to hold Sirius’s gaze, promise him everything he can’t put into words, but the pleasure is too intense, almost painful, and his eyes close against it. Sirius is coming, too, his mouth hot and wet against Remus’s neck, and Remus holds him tightly as they both shake apart and put each other back together, fewer pieces missing each time they do this.
Sirius collapses on top of him and Remus strokes his back, runs fingers through his hair, the elation he feels at coming home to Sirius, at having Sirius to come home to after so many years, almost beyond bearing. Sometimes he thinks it is too much joy, that he will burst with it, with keeping it between them instead of shouting it to the world, as the news he gathers grows darker and less hopeful. He clutches it fiercely to himself, used to keeping secrets, but he whispers in Sirius’s ear every chance he gets.
Yes, Remus says, and, yes, again. Mine, and yours, and ours, and, he hopes Sirius knows he means it, always.
end
***
Title from "A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning" by John Donne, one of my favorite poems of all-time, which I almost had Remus quote, but refrained at the last minute. *g*
Feedback, as always, is treasured.
so let us melt | remus/sirius | 535 words | R
***
So Let Us Melt
It’s raining again, and Grimmauld Place, never warm to begin with, takes on a glum chill as the autumn evening falls, earlier each day than the last.
Remus doesn’t care, though, not right now, when Sirius’s hands and lips and tongue are setting him on fire, each touch a lightning flash of heat and desire. He reaches out blindly, trying to get Sirius as close as possible, hands landing on narrow hips, thumbs caressing the groove where leg joins body.
"Wait, wait," Sirius whispers.
"No," Remus answers, arching up off the bed so he can rub his cock against Sirius’s, "no more waiting."
Sirius grinds down and, oh god, yes, Remus loses his train of thought in the rush of how good it feels, how familiar and yet utterly new.
They are not the same men they were fifteen years ago, but time and grief fall away when they come together like this, whenever they are alone together. There is no need for talking, no chance for regrets and recriminations and angry words to creep in when they are naked and aching for each other’s touch.
Sirius twines his fingers round Remus’s and moves their joined hands down to circle their thrusting cocks, slick with sweat and pre-come, the friction almost unbearable.
Sirius’s body may be thin, and his eyes shadowed, but his hands are still long-fingered and deft, his lips still full and warm, his tongue like the sweet, firm flesh of plums in Remus’s mouth, headier than the finest wine.
Remus breathes him in, love and air and Sirius, fuck, please, and Sirius laughs against his skin, vibrating and vibrant, so full of joy in these few stolen moments.
They move together, two parts of a larger whole, and Sirius murmurs things that sound an awful lot like promises, and Remus says, yes, and yes, and please, until the words are lost and meaningless and only the soft sound of skin on skin, the thrust and groan of two bodies becoming one fills his ears.
Remus comes in a rush, unable to hold back, hips bucking off the bed. He tries to keep his eyes open to hold Sirius’s gaze, promise him everything he can’t put into words, but the pleasure is too intense, almost painful, and his eyes close against it. Sirius is coming, too, his mouth hot and wet against Remus’s neck, and Remus holds him tightly as they both shake apart and put each other back together, fewer pieces missing each time they do this.
Sirius collapses on top of him and Remus strokes his back, runs fingers through his hair, the elation he feels at coming home to Sirius, at having Sirius to come home to after so many years, almost beyond bearing. Sometimes he thinks it is too much joy, that he will burst with it, with keeping it between them instead of shouting it to the world, as the news he gathers grows darker and less hopeful. He clutches it fiercely to himself, used to keeping secrets, but he whispers in Sirius’s ear every chance he gets.
Yes, Remus says, and, yes, again. Mine, and yours, and ours, and, he hopes Sirius knows he means it, always.
end
***
Title from "A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning" by John Donne, one of my favorite poems of all-time, which I almost had Remus quote, but refrained at the last minute. *g*
Feedback, as always, is treasured.