FIC: Love's Labour's Lost. Remus/Sirius. Rated NC-17.
Title: Love's Labour's Lost
Rating: NC-17
Betas: starkiller and suzene
Warnings: Angst, felching.
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters. They are the property of JK Rowling and her associated people.
Summary: It's the year before the Potter's deaths, and Remus and Sirius need to work on their communication.
Author's Notes: This was written for the joint_gifts Christmas exchange, for cmere. The title comes from the Shakespeare play of the same name. Alas, that's where the similarity ends, since this is decidedly not a poetic comedy in three scenes.
~*~
When Remus walks into the flat, fresh from his latest mission for the Order, it's one in the morning and the place is pitch dark. He dumps his bag in the hallway and turns the light on, walking into the empty living room. He doesn't call out any greetings, because he knows very well there's no one there to welcome him home.
The harsh fluorescent light of the kitchen flickers into life, illuminating a sink full of dirty dishes and the remnants of what looks to have been bangers and mash on the stove. The frypan contains only congealed fat, and the saucepan used for the potatoes only has the barest scraping of them left on its sides. He eats half a burned sausage off the plate that's been left beside the stove, and three or four forkfuls of mash, all of what's been left. He doesn't touch the half bottle of Muggle beer that's there, or count the empties on the floor next to the bin. He turns away from it all, turning the lights out and not even pretending to himself that he's going to stop in the bathroom and wash before going to bed. He sits on the edge of the bed and undresses, leaving his clothes in a pile on the floor on top of his boots before lying down and pulling the covers up to his chin, too exhausted to do anything but fall asleep as soon as his head touches the pillow.
He's awakened he doesn't know how much later by Sirius tripping over the bag that he left in the hallway. There's swearing, and a noise suspiciously like a bag being kicked across the living room before there's the sound of footsteps heading towards the bedroom. Remus has his back to the door when it opens, and doesn't turn around when Sirius sways into the room, reeking of beer and smoke and sweat. He doesn't move at all, even when Sirius, after more swearing and what sounds like a mammoth struggle with his shoes and clothes, climbs into bed and presses up behind him, kissing at his neck and scratching the bare skin of his shoulders with what feels like three day old stubble, whispering Remus' name and several other things that these days he doesn't say unless he's drunk. Remus stays still as Sirius starts to rub against him, his cock hardening against Remus' backside, his breath coming quicker and his kisses harder before he groans and shoves suddenly, pushing Remus face down on the mattress and rolling on top of him, grinding down hard, his cock sliding back and forth along the cleft of Remus' arse. His kisses along Remus' shoulders and neck become bites, and Remus gasps and writhes when Sirius closes his lips over the sensitive spot just below his ear and sucks hard. Sirius growls at that and pins Remus' arms with his hands, thrusting harder and faster against him as he bites Remus' neck again and again. Remus can't help but move now, rubbing his own cock into the mattress as he moves his hips in counterpoint to Sirius' thrusts, creating maximum friction and making Sirius growl again. The crack of his arse is slick with sweat and Sirius' pre-come, and it makes him ache to have Sirius inside him, his cock throbbing against the rough cotton of the sheets as he rubs against them, the muscles of his entrance clenching in anticipation as he moans Sirius' name and pushes back against him again. Sirius has other ideas, pinning Remus to the bed with his whole body now and thrusting hard against him, grunting into his ear with every thrust, his movements getting more and more jerky and erratic until he climaxes with a guttural groan, his come warm as it splashes onto the small of Remus' back and slips down into the crack of his arse. Sirius lies panting, boneless and heavy on top of him, but after a minute or two he stirs, lifting his head to nip at the nape of Remus' neck before rolling off him, turning his back to Remus and curling up to go to sleep. Remus lies still, breathless and shaking, listening for any further signs of life from Sirius. He hears none until a few minutes pass, and then there's soft snoring; Remus sighs and closes his eyes for a minute, then shifts onto his side, facing away from Sirius. He jerks himself off quietly, more so that he can go to sleep than anything else. Even after he finds release, the birds outside the window are twittering to welcome the dawn by the time he finally closes his eyes and sleeps.
Remus is showered and brushing his teeth the next morning, carefully avoiding looking at the bruises on his neck in the mirror, when Sirius comes in, brushing past him on his way to the toilet. He stands with his feet wide apart and an arm against the cistern to brace himself, swaying a little despite it and not looking anywhere but down into the bowl. When he's done, he flushes and leans over the bath, shoving his head under the tap and wetting his whole head before standing up and brushing past Remus on his way back out, leaving a trail of water droplets behind him as he goes. When Remus hears the bedroom door shut again he spits and rinses his mouth out, wiping his face on a towel and putting his toothbrush back into the holder. He goes into the kitchen, magics all the dishes clean, and goes out for the morning paper. He doesn't tell Sirius where he's going, because they stopped asking and answering that question long ago; there are only two answers to it anyway, Out and Away. He's just been Away, and now he's going to go Out, and that's the long and the short of it. Not that Sirius cares anymore anyway.
He gets the morning paper and a cup of tea from the café down the street, and doesn't come back until it's almost dark. When he does come back the flat's empty, and he's not surprised, because hair of the dog has always been Sirius' philosophy in more ways than one. After two hours of searching, Remus finds him, in a Muggle pub that in happier days they used to go to all the time, because it was near King's Cross station and had darts, snooker and Guinness, not necessarily in that order. What he doesn't expect to find there is James, Lily and Peter, sitting with Sirius in a booth near the snooker tables. He covers up the stab of hurt at not being invited to what was obviously a pre-planned thing by smiling insipidly at their excuses about not knowing whether he'd be back and going to the bar to buy everyone a pint and a packet of crisps, which he puts in the middle of the table with the others. Sirius sits across from him and doesn't meet his eyes. Lily and James look tired and drawn, and there are shadows in Lily's pretty eyes that don't move even when she tries to smile. Remus drinks his pint and doesn't ask where the baby is. Peter buys the next round and Remus takes a handful of crisps and his drink over to play darts, sick of trying to avoid Sirius' eyes and all of the things they're not allowed to talk about anymore. Peter follows and they play best of five. They get to three and Sirius is at the bar chatting up some tarty blonde bird; he's leaning close to her, whispering, and she laughs and strokes her hand down his arm. Remus declares Peter darts champion and goes back to the table to get his coat, giving James and Lily the same sorts of weak excuses they gave him, not caring that they probably see right through them, just like he had theirs.
He's halfway down the alleyway round the back of the pub and about to apparate away when he hears quick footsteps behind him. He reaches for his wand and turns to hex, but too late; one hissed expelliarmus later and his wand is flying out of his hand, and Sirius is pushing him against the wall, between a skip filled with rotten garbage and the empty kegs from the pub piled up at their back door. Remus isn't worried about the smell the minute Sirius kisses him, rough and urgent. Sirius' hands are in his hair and Remus moans shamelessly, grabbing the waistband of Sirius' jeans and yanking him closer, until they're pressed hard against each other from chest to hip. Remus' hands snake around to Sirius' backside and squeeze, kneading hard and pushing Sirius' cock against his own. Sirius breaks their kiss and starts biting down Remus' neck, making him gasp and moan as his teeth graze the bruises from the night before. Remus lets go of Sirius' arse with one hand and shoves it down the front of his jeans instead, palming Sirius' cock roughly, fingers pressing against his balls. Sirius groans and presses against him, and the next thing Remus knows he's facing the wall, cheek pressed against the grotty bricks as Sirius holds his shoulders with one arm, his free hand fumbling at the fastenings of Remus' trousers. Remus gasps when his trousers and pants are yanked down to his knees, and again when his feet are kicked apart as far as they'll go. He moans and presses back against Sirius when he hears the zip on Sirius' jeans being lowered, but then there's a noise to their left and Remus jerks his head around to see the back door of the pub starting to open. A tight arm around his waist is the next thing he feels, and the press of Sirius' cock against his arse, and for a minute he thinks that Sirius is going to go ahead and do it anyway, but then the alleyway melts away to blackness and the sickening pressure of apparation.
The flat has barely materialised around them before Sirius is bending him over the arm of their old sofa, summoning the lube from the bedroom with a whispered word. Sirius slicks himself and drops the bottle to the floor, and Remus barely has time to be grateful before Sirius is pressing against him, pressing into him, his fingers digging into Remus' hips hard as he swears and sheathes himself balls-deep in Remus' heat. There's a few breathless seconds of stillness, the only sound their ragged breathing, before Sirius moves, pulling back and thrusting in again, hard, pushing Remus further over the arm of the sofa. Remus braces himself against the cushions, arms outstretched and elbows locked, and Sirius starts thrusting in earnest, hard and deep, wringing desperate, grunting cries from deep within Remus' chest with every thrust. Remus' hand goes to his cock and he jerks himself roughly, his cries getting louder as Sirius speeds up, his balls and hips smacking hard against Remus' arse. Sirius starts talking then, swearing and groaning and telling Remus how tight and hot and fucking amazing he feels, his thrusts getting shorter and more erratic with every word. Remus moans and jerks himself harder as Sirius comes with a strangled groan, pushing him over the sofa arm again with the force of his final thrusts. Sirius is only just beginning to soften when he slips out of Remus and drops to his knees behind him, spreading Remus' cheeks with his hands and pressing his face to Remus' hole, licking and sucking at it, pressing his tongue inside to taste his own seed, moaning as he laps it up.
The feel of Sirius' tongue inside him, of Sirius eating him out, makes Remus come hard, thrusting uncontrollably into his hand, too overwhelmed to even make a noise as he spills himself all over his hand and the sofa cushions. When he collapses boneless against the edge of the sofa Sirius pulls him down to the floor, and Remus turns towards him, burying his face in his neck as the last of the shudders of his orgasm wrack him. Sirius holds him for a minute, then takes hold of his hand, licking the come off it slowly and sensuously before laying him out on the floor and moving down his body to do the same to his cock. When he moves up again he moves up behind Remus, taking him in his arms gently. Remus turns his head for a kiss, the taste of both of them shared between them now. He sighs deeply as the kiss ends and turns back around, thinking as he lets himself drift off to sleep warm in Sirius' arms that it might be that things are going to get better now, for them. Between them.
When he wakes up Remus is still on the floor, but Sirius is gone. He is sore and stiff and cold, his trousers and pants still bunched around his ankles. He sits up, rubbing at his face blearily and running his hands through his hair. He pulls his trousers up so that he can at least walk around, then stands up. Even though he knows what he's going to find, he still feels compelled to look in every room of the house, but he's really alone, with Sirius nowhere to be found. He showers then, the water hot to almost scalding, and scrubs himself red raw. He's dressed and sitting in the chair next to the fire drinking a cup of tea and trying to forget everything when the fireplace bursts into life. It's Dumbledore, with a mission for him; unusual amounts of werewolf activity around a small town in Wales, that needs immediate attention. It goes without saying that he's the only man for the job. He finishes his tea and picks up his bag from where it had landed when Sirius kicked it the night before. He goes into the bedroom and empties the dirty clothes out of it onto the floor in the corner of the room, then packs fresh clothes before putting shoes and some extra layers on himself. He notices his wand on the dining room table when he goes back out; he picks it up and walks out the door, leaving the come stain on the sofa, and no note to say where he's going or when he'll be back.
Rating: NC-17
Betas: starkiller and suzene
Warnings: Angst, felching.
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters. They are the property of JK Rowling and her associated people.
Summary: It's the year before the Potter's deaths, and Remus and Sirius need to work on their communication.
Author's Notes: This was written for the joint_gifts Christmas exchange, for cmere. The title comes from the Shakespeare play of the same name. Alas, that's where the similarity ends, since this is decidedly not a poetic comedy in three scenes.
~*~
When Remus walks into the flat, fresh from his latest mission for the Order, it's one in the morning and the place is pitch dark. He dumps his bag in the hallway and turns the light on, walking into the empty living room. He doesn't call out any greetings, because he knows very well there's no one there to welcome him home.
The harsh fluorescent light of the kitchen flickers into life, illuminating a sink full of dirty dishes and the remnants of what looks to have been bangers and mash on the stove. The frypan contains only congealed fat, and the saucepan used for the potatoes only has the barest scraping of them left on its sides. He eats half a burned sausage off the plate that's been left beside the stove, and three or four forkfuls of mash, all of what's been left. He doesn't touch the half bottle of Muggle beer that's there, or count the empties on the floor next to the bin. He turns away from it all, turning the lights out and not even pretending to himself that he's going to stop in the bathroom and wash before going to bed. He sits on the edge of the bed and undresses, leaving his clothes in a pile on the floor on top of his boots before lying down and pulling the covers up to his chin, too exhausted to do anything but fall asleep as soon as his head touches the pillow.
He's awakened he doesn't know how much later by Sirius tripping over the bag that he left in the hallway. There's swearing, and a noise suspiciously like a bag being kicked across the living room before there's the sound of footsteps heading towards the bedroom. Remus has his back to the door when it opens, and doesn't turn around when Sirius sways into the room, reeking of beer and smoke and sweat. He doesn't move at all, even when Sirius, after more swearing and what sounds like a mammoth struggle with his shoes and clothes, climbs into bed and presses up behind him, kissing at his neck and scratching the bare skin of his shoulders with what feels like three day old stubble, whispering Remus' name and several other things that these days he doesn't say unless he's drunk. Remus stays still as Sirius starts to rub against him, his cock hardening against Remus' backside, his breath coming quicker and his kisses harder before he groans and shoves suddenly, pushing Remus face down on the mattress and rolling on top of him, grinding down hard, his cock sliding back and forth along the cleft of Remus' arse. His kisses along Remus' shoulders and neck become bites, and Remus gasps and writhes when Sirius closes his lips over the sensitive spot just below his ear and sucks hard. Sirius growls at that and pins Remus' arms with his hands, thrusting harder and faster against him as he bites Remus' neck again and again. Remus can't help but move now, rubbing his own cock into the mattress as he moves his hips in counterpoint to Sirius' thrusts, creating maximum friction and making Sirius growl again. The crack of his arse is slick with sweat and Sirius' pre-come, and it makes him ache to have Sirius inside him, his cock throbbing against the rough cotton of the sheets as he rubs against them, the muscles of his entrance clenching in anticipation as he moans Sirius' name and pushes back against him again. Sirius has other ideas, pinning Remus to the bed with his whole body now and thrusting hard against him, grunting into his ear with every thrust, his movements getting more and more jerky and erratic until he climaxes with a guttural groan, his come warm as it splashes onto the small of Remus' back and slips down into the crack of his arse. Sirius lies panting, boneless and heavy on top of him, but after a minute or two he stirs, lifting his head to nip at the nape of Remus' neck before rolling off him, turning his back to Remus and curling up to go to sleep. Remus lies still, breathless and shaking, listening for any further signs of life from Sirius. He hears none until a few minutes pass, and then there's soft snoring; Remus sighs and closes his eyes for a minute, then shifts onto his side, facing away from Sirius. He jerks himself off quietly, more so that he can go to sleep than anything else. Even after he finds release, the birds outside the window are twittering to welcome the dawn by the time he finally closes his eyes and sleeps.
Remus is showered and brushing his teeth the next morning, carefully avoiding looking at the bruises on his neck in the mirror, when Sirius comes in, brushing past him on his way to the toilet. He stands with his feet wide apart and an arm against the cistern to brace himself, swaying a little despite it and not looking anywhere but down into the bowl. When he's done, he flushes and leans over the bath, shoving his head under the tap and wetting his whole head before standing up and brushing past Remus on his way back out, leaving a trail of water droplets behind him as he goes. When Remus hears the bedroom door shut again he spits and rinses his mouth out, wiping his face on a towel and putting his toothbrush back into the holder. He goes into the kitchen, magics all the dishes clean, and goes out for the morning paper. He doesn't tell Sirius where he's going, because they stopped asking and answering that question long ago; there are only two answers to it anyway, Out and Away. He's just been Away, and now he's going to go Out, and that's the long and the short of it. Not that Sirius cares anymore anyway.
He gets the morning paper and a cup of tea from the café down the street, and doesn't come back until it's almost dark. When he does come back the flat's empty, and he's not surprised, because hair of the dog has always been Sirius' philosophy in more ways than one. After two hours of searching, Remus finds him, in a Muggle pub that in happier days they used to go to all the time, because it was near King's Cross station and had darts, snooker and Guinness, not necessarily in that order. What he doesn't expect to find there is James, Lily and Peter, sitting with Sirius in a booth near the snooker tables. He covers up the stab of hurt at not being invited to what was obviously a pre-planned thing by smiling insipidly at their excuses about not knowing whether he'd be back and going to the bar to buy everyone a pint and a packet of crisps, which he puts in the middle of the table with the others. Sirius sits across from him and doesn't meet his eyes. Lily and James look tired and drawn, and there are shadows in Lily's pretty eyes that don't move even when she tries to smile. Remus drinks his pint and doesn't ask where the baby is. Peter buys the next round and Remus takes a handful of crisps and his drink over to play darts, sick of trying to avoid Sirius' eyes and all of the things they're not allowed to talk about anymore. Peter follows and they play best of five. They get to three and Sirius is at the bar chatting up some tarty blonde bird; he's leaning close to her, whispering, and she laughs and strokes her hand down his arm. Remus declares Peter darts champion and goes back to the table to get his coat, giving James and Lily the same sorts of weak excuses they gave him, not caring that they probably see right through them, just like he had theirs.
He's halfway down the alleyway round the back of the pub and about to apparate away when he hears quick footsteps behind him. He reaches for his wand and turns to hex, but too late; one hissed expelliarmus later and his wand is flying out of his hand, and Sirius is pushing him against the wall, between a skip filled with rotten garbage and the empty kegs from the pub piled up at their back door. Remus isn't worried about the smell the minute Sirius kisses him, rough and urgent. Sirius' hands are in his hair and Remus moans shamelessly, grabbing the waistband of Sirius' jeans and yanking him closer, until they're pressed hard against each other from chest to hip. Remus' hands snake around to Sirius' backside and squeeze, kneading hard and pushing Sirius' cock against his own. Sirius breaks their kiss and starts biting down Remus' neck, making him gasp and moan as his teeth graze the bruises from the night before. Remus lets go of Sirius' arse with one hand and shoves it down the front of his jeans instead, palming Sirius' cock roughly, fingers pressing against his balls. Sirius groans and presses against him, and the next thing Remus knows he's facing the wall, cheek pressed against the grotty bricks as Sirius holds his shoulders with one arm, his free hand fumbling at the fastenings of Remus' trousers. Remus gasps when his trousers and pants are yanked down to his knees, and again when his feet are kicked apart as far as they'll go. He moans and presses back against Sirius when he hears the zip on Sirius' jeans being lowered, but then there's a noise to their left and Remus jerks his head around to see the back door of the pub starting to open. A tight arm around his waist is the next thing he feels, and the press of Sirius' cock against his arse, and for a minute he thinks that Sirius is going to go ahead and do it anyway, but then the alleyway melts away to blackness and the sickening pressure of apparation.
The flat has barely materialised around them before Sirius is bending him over the arm of their old sofa, summoning the lube from the bedroom with a whispered word. Sirius slicks himself and drops the bottle to the floor, and Remus barely has time to be grateful before Sirius is pressing against him, pressing into him, his fingers digging into Remus' hips hard as he swears and sheathes himself balls-deep in Remus' heat. There's a few breathless seconds of stillness, the only sound their ragged breathing, before Sirius moves, pulling back and thrusting in again, hard, pushing Remus further over the arm of the sofa. Remus braces himself against the cushions, arms outstretched and elbows locked, and Sirius starts thrusting in earnest, hard and deep, wringing desperate, grunting cries from deep within Remus' chest with every thrust. Remus' hand goes to his cock and he jerks himself roughly, his cries getting louder as Sirius speeds up, his balls and hips smacking hard against Remus' arse. Sirius starts talking then, swearing and groaning and telling Remus how tight and hot and fucking amazing he feels, his thrusts getting shorter and more erratic with every word. Remus moans and jerks himself harder as Sirius comes with a strangled groan, pushing him over the sofa arm again with the force of his final thrusts. Sirius is only just beginning to soften when he slips out of Remus and drops to his knees behind him, spreading Remus' cheeks with his hands and pressing his face to Remus' hole, licking and sucking at it, pressing his tongue inside to taste his own seed, moaning as he laps it up.
The feel of Sirius' tongue inside him, of Sirius eating him out, makes Remus come hard, thrusting uncontrollably into his hand, too overwhelmed to even make a noise as he spills himself all over his hand and the sofa cushions. When he collapses boneless against the edge of the sofa Sirius pulls him down to the floor, and Remus turns towards him, burying his face in his neck as the last of the shudders of his orgasm wrack him. Sirius holds him for a minute, then takes hold of his hand, licking the come off it slowly and sensuously before laying him out on the floor and moving down his body to do the same to his cock. When he moves up again he moves up behind Remus, taking him in his arms gently. Remus turns his head for a kiss, the taste of both of them shared between them now. He sighs deeply as the kiss ends and turns back around, thinking as he lets himself drift off to sleep warm in Sirius' arms that it might be that things are going to get better now, for them. Between them.
When he wakes up Remus is still on the floor, but Sirius is gone. He is sore and stiff and cold, his trousers and pants still bunched around his ankles. He sits up, rubbing at his face blearily and running his hands through his hair. He pulls his trousers up so that he can at least walk around, then stands up. Even though he knows what he's going to find, he still feels compelled to look in every room of the house, but he's really alone, with Sirius nowhere to be found. He showers then, the water hot to almost scalding, and scrubs himself red raw. He's dressed and sitting in the chair next to the fire drinking a cup of tea and trying to forget everything when the fireplace bursts into life. It's Dumbledore, with a mission for him; unusual amounts of werewolf activity around a small town in Wales, that needs immediate attention. It goes without saying that he's the only man for the job. He finishes his tea and picks up his bag from where it had landed when Sirius kicked it the night before. He goes into the bedroom and empties the dirty clothes out of it onto the floor in the corner of the room, then packs fresh clothes before putting shoes and some extra layers on himself. He notices his wand on the dining room table when he goes back out; he picks it up and walks out the door, leaving the come stain on the sofa, and no note to say where he's going or when he'll be back.