Another fic, because I just don't think I'm calling enough attention to myself.
Sorry to all who were traumatized by the previous fic. In apology I offer you my first entry for the hp_tradeoff second wave. As that rockin' Thewlis icon would say: "Behold...PORN!"
Title: Domestic Bliss
Author: sethkyne_blue
Pairing(s): Sirius/Remus
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 2739
Content: PWP
Warnings/Kinks: intimations of cross-dressing, food!sex
Summary: Sirius promises Remus a special dinner.
Disclaimer: All HP characters and their universe belong to J.K. Rowling and her publishers. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author’s note(s): Written for hp_tradeoff’s second wave, Summer ’05. endaemion asked for “R/S being horribly domestic” and I got a bit out of hand. XD
Acknowledgements: Thanks to irish_lily for the speedy Beta in spite of sickness.
“Goddamnit, Sirius.”
“Oh, what is it now, Moony?”
“Don’t even start with that tone of voice.”
“What t-? Oh, bugger it. What seems to be the trouble, Mr Lupin?”
Brown eyes narrowed, unamused. “Sirius, the flat is in a right state.”
Sirius started to reply, but Remus overrode him.
“It’s filthy. If you’re going to insist on being unemployed, the least you could do is clean up the flat once in a while. Or cook, for God’s sake. We’ve had bad takeaway three nights this week alone. It’s Wednesday, Sirius. Not to mention-”
“All right.”
“What?” Remus looked decidedly incredulous.
“All right,” Sirius repeated, already regretting it. “Tomorrow,” Sirius said, “you will come home to a tidier flat and a special meal prepared by me.”
Remus snorted involuntarily.
“Keep up that attitude and I may just make an effort to dirty up the flat. Don’t tempt me.”
“Sorry.” Remus grinned and stifled a chuckle. “I just had the most insane mental image of you in a French maid’s costume, serving dinner. I’m not used to you being so willingly domestic.”
“I might surprise you, yet, Moony. Give me a bit of credit.”
“All right, then. I’ll be expecting my dinner at six sharp. Make sure my pipe and slippers are in order.”
“You don’t smoke a pipe.”
“I’ve always fancied them. Perhaps I’ll take it up in time for tomorrow evening.”
~*~
Remus let himself in the next night, a full hour late and weary to the soles of his feet. He was profoundly relieved to be home. He inhaled in tired satisfaction, his brow furrowing in confusion as he smelt the odour of scorched something hanging heavily in the air.
After a moment of fumbling about with his work things, it registered that all the lights in the flat were out. He gritted his teeth, ready to swear at Sirius for forgetting to send in the cheque for the electric again, when he noticed a fitful flickering to his left. On the rickety hallway table was a single stub of a candle, merrily melting into a spreading pool of wax. Also on the wooden surface were a folded note in distinct danger of being singed, and a glass of wine. Remus rescued both note and glass with a fond chuckle, although the glass did not part ways very willingly, having been set too near the liquefying candle and ending up partially adhered to the table. The note read:
Dining table.
Have a seat.
Light candles, but no peeking.
Intrigued, Remus did as was suggested, making his way to the corner of the main room where the dining table stood. Even in the dark he could tell that it was made up nicely with napkins and the tall silver candlesticks that were among the few Pureblood artefacts Sirius had kept over the years.
He lit the candles with a soft, “Incendio,” and sat back in one of the chairs to wait. It wasn’t very long before he heard Sirius’ speaking to him from the adjoining kitchen.
“You’re late.”
“Yeah. Sorry about that. I should’ve called or something.”
“Yes, you should have.” Sirius’ voice was annoyed and Remus rubbed tiredly at his eyes. He was not in the mood to deal with a pouting Sirius this evening. “Dinner’s spoilt,” came the voice again.
Remus sighed. “I’m sorry about that. I really should’ve-”
“No,” Sirius sounded increasingly unconcerned as his voice got closer, “I actually spoilt it a long time ago. You’re right. I’m pants at cooking.” He came into the room now, his shape dark with shadow and indistinct around the edges. His arms were curiously bare and it looked to Remus as if he were carrying bowls in each hand. “There’s takeaway curry on the counter.”
Remus grinned in exasperation and shook his head.
“But,” Sirius continued as he came slowly closer, “I thought we might start with our pudding.” As he finished this sentence he reached the table and the candlelight spilled down the lengths of his smooth, definitely-bare arms.
“What are you wearing?” Remus said through an uncertain chuckle as Sirius set down the bowls, which Remus now saw held ice cream.
Sirius smirked, stepping back into the light so Remus could admire him. Remus’ breathing stopped.
Sirius Black was wearing an apron. And little else.
It was white: the pertly-frilly, cotton-type of apron, square yoke framing his chest beautifully. His hair, always so glossy and unruly, tumbled over one eye, adding to his coquettish air. As he turned a bit and posed, Remus could see that Sirius was also wearing a pair of black boxer shorts underneath the apron. The candlelight slid down one long, pale leg, a slight shimmer of the fabric alerting Remus to what the boxers were made from: silk. Black silk. Oh God.
He hand never, to date, been able to resist the allure of silk on Sirius, especially when it clung to the lower half of his lovely body. Remus felt himself grow hard at the very thought of that fabric against his skin. And even more magical was the anticipation of feeling Sirius underneath that fabric.
“Where in Merlin’s name did you get that?” Remus intended this to sound stern and disapproving but his voice was rather too thin and shaky to convey the desired impression.
“Right. As if I’d give away that particular secret. Let’s just say that I have connections, and leave it at that. So, Remus,” Sirius smiled suggestively and leaned against the table just out of Remus’ reach, “fancy some dessert?”
Remus stared, unable to take his eyes off the strange but enticing sight before him. “You are an incorrigible slut, Sirius Black.” His words were hushed with arousal and tenderness.
“And you love it.” Sirius swung one slim leg over Remus’ thighs, settling back into position with his arse on the edge of the table. His knees were spread wide to accommodate the chair and Remus just knew that the front panel of Sirius’ boxers were pulled up tight against him under that tantalizing drape of ruffled cotton. Remus’ fingers itched to slip under the skirt of the apron so he could press his palm to the hot flesh of Sirius’ inner thigh, then to slide upwards, caressing just under the edge of the shorts.
Sirius let his head hang forward a bit, his hair falling to cover most of his face. His quickened breath stirred the dark strands gently. “What do you want to do, Remus? Whatever it is, go ahead. Anything.”
Remus got up, pushing his chair back as he stood, and moved forward into Sirius. He smiled gently and leant in to place a single kiss on one bare, muscle-round shoulder. His arms came around Sirius to the tie in the back of the apron. “This does look lovely on you, but I’m afraid it would only get in the way.” One determined pull and the bow came undone, the ties slithering free to the table’s surface. He lifted it off over Sirius’ head, pausing to drop another kiss on the point of his jaw. And then he was just Sirius again - in black silk boxers, to be sure - Sirius, all velvety skin and shining hair, sneaky smile and bitten bottom lip. Remus cleared the place-settings off the table with a haphazard sweep of his arm.
Dishes and silver clattered to the carpet with muted sounds. “Lie back,” he whispered, pressing at the centre of Sirius’ chest with one warm hand. Sirius went over with no resistance, his pale skin lovely against both the black of his shorts and hair and the dark wood of the tabletop. Remus surveyed the expanse of Sirius’ flesh with avid eyes.
His gaze kept traveling down the slope of Sirius’ stomach to the path of fine black hairs that led from his navel to underneath and beyond the waistband of the boxers. The fabric shone faintly in the candlelight and looked amazingly soft. Remus decided to find out for certain. He bent over, kissing his way from Sirius’ stomach towards his hip. As he reached the boxers he took a deep breath and carefully re-angled his head.
The silk was damp and slippery as Remus slid a cheek across it. It was as hot as skin and clung maddeningly to Sirius’ obvious erection when Remus nudged against it with his nose.
There was a sharp intake of breath and a quiet moan of surprise from Sirius. “Tease,” he murmured.
“Oh, you haven’t seen the half of it, yet.” Remus straightened with a grin and reached for one of the abandoned bowls. He peered into it suspiciously, then looked at Sirius.
“Praline. Your favourite,” he answered breathlessly.
“Yes. And soon to be yours as well, I’d imagine.” He dipped a finger in, tasting the ice cream with undiguised pleasure. “Mmm. Lovely. Have some?” He scooped up a bit and fed it to Sirius slowly, watching ardently as Sirius’ tongue came out to clear up the tiny dribbles below his lip. “More?”
A nod.
This time Sirius grabbed at his wrist before he could pull away, his clever mouth sucking at each of Remus’ fingers to get the very last traces. Remus groaned a little in the back of his throat and reached into the bowl again upon reclaiming his hand. He warmed a small amount in his fingers until it was soft and slightly runny, then smeared it in creamy circles over Sirius’ nipples and chest. He sucked it up then, lapping at the slow trails that slid along Sirius’ ribs. The bowl was dipped into several more times until Sirius was sticky-skinned and moaning under Remus’ tongue. “You think it feels good now? Just wait.” Tacky fingertips pulled the waistband of Sirius’ boxers out and down as Sirius braced his feet on Remus’ legs to raise himself slightly. The boxers were soon a forgotten lump of fabric on the floor.
“Oh fuck, you’re lovely.” Remus breathed thickly and leant down again, swallowing Sirius’ cock in one go. Sirius’ legs curled over Remus’ shoulders and held him steady as he slowly worked Sirius’ length with his mouth. He was so hot and hard that Remus knew he must have been nursing an erection since first putting on the boxers and apron. It made his own cock jerk to think of Sirius here, all alone, waiting for him, annoyed, but hard with expectation at the night ahead. He pulled back, easing Sirius’ thighs away and moving to remove his own clothes.
Sirius spread out like this on the dining table was a sight he wouldn’t soon forget. He had an inkling that eating at this table might be an interesting lesson in restraint for the next week or two. He pulled off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, eager as hell to get himself pressed against Sirius as soon as possible. He’d only just taken his trousers and pants down before he decided that things were really taking a bit too long and it wasn’t strictly necessary to be completely undressed. He leant back over Sirius and slid one hand underneath to the cleft of his arse, teasing, stroking as Sirius shifted his hips upwards and panted.
“Now, if we just had-”
“Accio oil,” Sirius murmured, a squat glass bottle flying to his hand from the sideboard.
“Well, we did think of everything, now, didn’t we?” Remus remarked, taking the bottle with a pleased smile and pouring some into his palm. He rubbed his hands together quickly and slipped fingers back down to tease at Sirius’ opening. Only a few moments of agile exploration and he was flushed and ready. Remus climbed cautiously onto the table, kicking off his trousers and levitating the candlesticks out of harm’s way in a last moment of practicality. He paused as the table considered whether or not to support their combined weights. It groaned, but held, and Remus threw all other thoughts aside as he lifted Sirius’ thighs and slid his well-slicked cock into Sirius’ arse.
The sensation was mind-boggling. They hadn’t fucked in weeks and Sirius was so hot, so tight, so bloody eager that Remus nearly lost himself in the first couple of thrusts. Remus determinedly settled his weight down onto Sirius to slow their movements as much as possible. The gluey remnants of the ice cream caused their skin to stick more than slide, but as a fine layer of sweat sheened both their bodies, the going became easier and the feeling more pleasant.
The table squeaked and creaked with every thrust, an odd counterpoint to Sirius’ breathy gasps of pleasure. Remus kept his movements as languorous as possible, wanting to draw every tiny sound of desire out of Sirius that he could. It wasn’t as if they did this all the time anymore, and Remus wanted both Sirius and the table to remember it for a long time coming.
Remus deepened and slowed his thrusts even more until Sirius started making that sound and Remus muscles went tight with overwhelming excitement. There was a noise that only Sirius made (not that Remus had slept with everyone in the entire world and so was completely sure of this estimation, but nevertheless he’d never heard of anyone else who made it): it was a low, rough sound, dark and desperate and it had never failed to bring Remus almost immediately to orgasm. It was, simply put, the singularly most arousing sound Remus had ever heard. Whether this was because it only came from Sirius, or whether Sirius making said sound simply made it even more arousing than it would be ordinarily was a matter best left to a team of researchers, none of whom would ever get the chance to fuck Sirius Black into oblivion on a dining table.
“Oh, God, Moony, yes. Oh, just there. Oh fuck, I missed your cock.”
It was no use. Remus gave up slyness and put his back into it, his hips rocking fiercely until, again - that sound - and it was no more than a matter of seconds before Remus was moaning and jerking and coming in a wash of shudders. As he tipped over into the rapid blur of orgasm he could tell Sirius was close enough, but not quite there. A haphazard fist did the job in no more than two strokes and Remus finally collapsed into Sirius’ neck, his breath humid and laboured, sweat, semen and ice cream slick-sticky between them.
For a long space of time the only sounds were satisfied panting and the periodic little uh noises Sirius often made in the first few minutes following orgasm.
When he felt his limbs start to go a bit too heavy, Remus drew up and disengaged himself from Sirius. He considered the logistics of getting himself down off the table while being quite sure that his legs wouldn’t currently carry his weight. He abandoned the idea and simply sat on the table-edge as comfortably as he could. “Well. We certainly haven’t done that in a long time.”
“Mmmm,” was all Sirius said, stretching slowly, a beatific smile overtaking his face.
Remus couldn’t help chuckling at the incongruous sight: Sirius, naked, stretched out and smiling on the dining table. “Wouldn’t this be a spectacle for someone to walk in on?”
“Hush. M’basking.” His voice had a lazy slur to it.
“Basking?”
“N’th’ afterglow, twit.”
“No. If I know you, Padfoot, you’re about to fall asleep. And I am not carrying you to the bedroom if you do. It’ll be a long, cold night out here on the table.”
“Spoilsport.”
“Yes. I’m horrible, aren’t I?”
“Mmmm.” Sirius’ eyes were still closed and he rubbed his face sleepily against his arm.
“Up, you lazy bastard.” Remus coaxed Sirius first into a sitting position and then onto his feet. He swayed and leaned heavily into Remus’ shoulder as they both stood. “I often forget how boneless you go after sex.”
“Hmm.” Sirius snuffed and giggled into Remus’ neck, haltingly following his lead towards the bedroom.
“I didn’t get my dinner and I still ended up doing almost everything,” Remus grumbled with mock severity. “I fed you ice cream, undressed us both and fucked you. That’s a full night’s work.”
“Yes. Werewolf’s work s’never done.”
“You’re such a stupid tit,” Remus added as he moved to shut the bedroom door.
“Mmmm,” Sirius murmured dreamily.
The door latched shut with a soft click.
Title: Domestic Bliss
Author: sethkyne_blue
Pairing(s): Sirius/Remus
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 2739
Content: PWP
Warnings/Kinks: intimations of cross-dressing, food!sex
Summary: Sirius promises Remus a special dinner.
Disclaimer: All HP characters and their universe belong to J.K. Rowling and her publishers. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author’s note(s): Written for hp_tradeoff’s second wave, Summer ’05. endaemion asked for “R/S being horribly domestic” and I got a bit out of hand. XD
Acknowledgements: Thanks to irish_lily for the speedy Beta in spite of sickness.
“Goddamnit, Sirius.”
“Oh, what is it now, Moony?”
“Don’t even start with that tone of voice.”
“What t-? Oh, bugger it. What seems to be the trouble, Mr Lupin?”
Brown eyes narrowed, unamused. “Sirius, the flat is in a right state.”
Sirius started to reply, but Remus overrode him.
“It’s filthy. If you’re going to insist on being unemployed, the least you could do is clean up the flat once in a while. Or cook, for God’s sake. We’ve had bad takeaway three nights this week alone. It’s Wednesday, Sirius. Not to mention-”
“All right.”
“What?” Remus looked decidedly incredulous.
“All right,” Sirius repeated, already regretting it. “Tomorrow,” Sirius said, “you will come home to a tidier flat and a special meal prepared by me.”
Remus snorted involuntarily.
“Keep up that attitude and I may just make an effort to dirty up the flat. Don’t tempt me.”
“Sorry.” Remus grinned and stifled a chuckle. “I just had the most insane mental image of you in a French maid’s costume, serving dinner. I’m not used to you being so willingly domestic.”
“I might surprise you, yet, Moony. Give me a bit of credit.”
“All right, then. I’ll be expecting my dinner at six sharp. Make sure my pipe and slippers are in order.”
“You don’t smoke a pipe.”
“I’ve always fancied them. Perhaps I’ll take it up in time for tomorrow evening.”
~*~
Remus let himself in the next night, a full hour late and weary to the soles of his feet. He was profoundly relieved to be home. He inhaled in tired satisfaction, his brow furrowing in confusion as he smelt the odour of scorched something hanging heavily in the air.
After a moment of fumbling about with his work things, it registered that all the lights in the flat were out. He gritted his teeth, ready to swear at Sirius for forgetting to send in the cheque for the electric again, when he noticed a fitful flickering to his left. On the rickety hallway table was a single stub of a candle, merrily melting into a spreading pool of wax. Also on the wooden surface were a folded note in distinct danger of being singed, and a glass of wine. Remus rescued both note and glass with a fond chuckle, although the glass did not part ways very willingly, having been set too near the liquefying candle and ending up partially adhered to the table. The note read:
Dining table.
Have a seat.
Light candles, but no peeking.
Intrigued, Remus did as was suggested, making his way to the corner of the main room where the dining table stood. Even in the dark he could tell that it was made up nicely with napkins and the tall silver candlesticks that were among the few Pureblood artefacts Sirius had kept over the years.
He lit the candles with a soft, “Incendio,” and sat back in one of the chairs to wait. It wasn’t very long before he heard Sirius’ speaking to him from the adjoining kitchen.
“You’re late.”
“Yeah. Sorry about that. I should’ve called or something.”
“Yes, you should have.” Sirius’ voice was annoyed and Remus rubbed tiredly at his eyes. He was not in the mood to deal with a pouting Sirius this evening. “Dinner’s spoilt,” came the voice again.
Remus sighed. “I’m sorry about that. I really should’ve-”
“No,” Sirius sounded increasingly unconcerned as his voice got closer, “I actually spoilt it a long time ago. You’re right. I’m pants at cooking.” He came into the room now, his shape dark with shadow and indistinct around the edges. His arms were curiously bare and it looked to Remus as if he were carrying bowls in each hand. “There’s takeaway curry on the counter.”
Remus grinned in exasperation and shook his head.
“But,” Sirius continued as he came slowly closer, “I thought we might start with our pudding.” As he finished this sentence he reached the table and the candlelight spilled down the lengths of his smooth, definitely-bare arms.
“What are you wearing?” Remus said through an uncertain chuckle as Sirius set down the bowls, which Remus now saw held ice cream.
Sirius smirked, stepping back into the light so Remus could admire him. Remus’ breathing stopped.
Sirius Black was wearing an apron. And little else.
It was white: the pertly-frilly, cotton-type of apron, square yoke framing his chest beautifully. His hair, always so glossy and unruly, tumbled over one eye, adding to his coquettish air. As he turned a bit and posed, Remus could see that Sirius was also wearing a pair of black boxer shorts underneath the apron. The candlelight slid down one long, pale leg, a slight shimmer of the fabric alerting Remus to what the boxers were made from: silk. Black silk. Oh God.
He hand never, to date, been able to resist the allure of silk on Sirius, especially when it clung to the lower half of his lovely body. Remus felt himself grow hard at the very thought of that fabric against his skin. And even more magical was the anticipation of feeling Sirius underneath that fabric.
“Where in Merlin’s name did you get that?” Remus intended this to sound stern and disapproving but his voice was rather too thin and shaky to convey the desired impression.
“Right. As if I’d give away that particular secret. Let’s just say that I have connections, and leave it at that. So, Remus,” Sirius smiled suggestively and leaned against the table just out of Remus’ reach, “fancy some dessert?”
Remus stared, unable to take his eyes off the strange but enticing sight before him. “You are an incorrigible slut, Sirius Black.” His words were hushed with arousal and tenderness.
“And you love it.” Sirius swung one slim leg over Remus’ thighs, settling back into position with his arse on the edge of the table. His knees were spread wide to accommodate the chair and Remus just knew that the front panel of Sirius’ boxers were pulled up tight against him under that tantalizing drape of ruffled cotton. Remus’ fingers itched to slip under the skirt of the apron so he could press his palm to the hot flesh of Sirius’ inner thigh, then to slide upwards, caressing just under the edge of the shorts.
Sirius let his head hang forward a bit, his hair falling to cover most of his face. His quickened breath stirred the dark strands gently. “What do you want to do, Remus? Whatever it is, go ahead. Anything.”
Remus got up, pushing his chair back as he stood, and moved forward into Sirius. He smiled gently and leant in to place a single kiss on one bare, muscle-round shoulder. His arms came around Sirius to the tie in the back of the apron. “This does look lovely on you, but I’m afraid it would only get in the way.” One determined pull and the bow came undone, the ties slithering free to the table’s surface. He lifted it off over Sirius’ head, pausing to drop another kiss on the point of his jaw. And then he was just Sirius again - in black silk boxers, to be sure - Sirius, all velvety skin and shining hair, sneaky smile and bitten bottom lip. Remus cleared the place-settings off the table with a haphazard sweep of his arm.
Dishes and silver clattered to the carpet with muted sounds. “Lie back,” he whispered, pressing at the centre of Sirius’ chest with one warm hand. Sirius went over with no resistance, his pale skin lovely against both the black of his shorts and hair and the dark wood of the tabletop. Remus surveyed the expanse of Sirius’ flesh with avid eyes.
His gaze kept traveling down the slope of Sirius’ stomach to the path of fine black hairs that led from his navel to underneath and beyond the waistband of the boxers. The fabric shone faintly in the candlelight and looked amazingly soft. Remus decided to find out for certain. He bent over, kissing his way from Sirius’ stomach towards his hip. As he reached the boxers he took a deep breath and carefully re-angled his head.
The silk was damp and slippery as Remus slid a cheek across it. It was as hot as skin and clung maddeningly to Sirius’ obvious erection when Remus nudged against it with his nose.
There was a sharp intake of breath and a quiet moan of surprise from Sirius. “Tease,” he murmured.
“Oh, you haven’t seen the half of it, yet.” Remus straightened with a grin and reached for one of the abandoned bowls. He peered into it suspiciously, then looked at Sirius.
“Praline. Your favourite,” he answered breathlessly.
“Yes. And soon to be yours as well, I’d imagine.” He dipped a finger in, tasting the ice cream with undiguised pleasure. “Mmm. Lovely. Have some?” He scooped up a bit and fed it to Sirius slowly, watching ardently as Sirius’ tongue came out to clear up the tiny dribbles below his lip. “More?”
A nod.
This time Sirius grabbed at his wrist before he could pull away, his clever mouth sucking at each of Remus’ fingers to get the very last traces. Remus groaned a little in the back of his throat and reached into the bowl again upon reclaiming his hand. He warmed a small amount in his fingers until it was soft and slightly runny, then smeared it in creamy circles over Sirius’ nipples and chest. He sucked it up then, lapping at the slow trails that slid along Sirius’ ribs. The bowl was dipped into several more times until Sirius was sticky-skinned and moaning under Remus’ tongue. “You think it feels good now? Just wait.” Tacky fingertips pulled the waistband of Sirius’ boxers out and down as Sirius braced his feet on Remus’ legs to raise himself slightly. The boxers were soon a forgotten lump of fabric on the floor.
“Oh fuck, you’re lovely.” Remus breathed thickly and leant down again, swallowing Sirius’ cock in one go. Sirius’ legs curled over Remus’ shoulders and held him steady as he slowly worked Sirius’ length with his mouth. He was so hot and hard that Remus knew he must have been nursing an erection since first putting on the boxers and apron. It made his own cock jerk to think of Sirius here, all alone, waiting for him, annoyed, but hard with expectation at the night ahead. He pulled back, easing Sirius’ thighs away and moving to remove his own clothes.
Sirius spread out like this on the dining table was a sight he wouldn’t soon forget. He had an inkling that eating at this table might be an interesting lesson in restraint for the next week or two. He pulled off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, eager as hell to get himself pressed against Sirius as soon as possible. He’d only just taken his trousers and pants down before he decided that things were really taking a bit too long and it wasn’t strictly necessary to be completely undressed. He leant back over Sirius and slid one hand underneath to the cleft of his arse, teasing, stroking as Sirius shifted his hips upwards and panted.
“Now, if we just had-”
“Accio oil,” Sirius murmured, a squat glass bottle flying to his hand from the sideboard.
“Well, we did think of everything, now, didn’t we?” Remus remarked, taking the bottle with a pleased smile and pouring some into his palm. He rubbed his hands together quickly and slipped fingers back down to tease at Sirius’ opening. Only a few moments of agile exploration and he was flushed and ready. Remus climbed cautiously onto the table, kicking off his trousers and levitating the candlesticks out of harm’s way in a last moment of practicality. He paused as the table considered whether or not to support their combined weights. It groaned, but held, and Remus threw all other thoughts aside as he lifted Sirius’ thighs and slid his well-slicked cock into Sirius’ arse.
The sensation was mind-boggling. They hadn’t fucked in weeks and Sirius was so hot, so tight, so bloody eager that Remus nearly lost himself in the first couple of thrusts. Remus determinedly settled his weight down onto Sirius to slow their movements as much as possible. The gluey remnants of the ice cream caused their skin to stick more than slide, but as a fine layer of sweat sheened both their bodies, the going became easier and the feeling more pleasant.
The table squeaked and creaked with every thrust, an odd counterpoint to Sirius’ breathy gasps of pleasure. Remus kept his movements as languorous as possible, wanting to draw every tiny sound of desire out of Sirius that he could. It wasn’t as if they did this all the time anymore, and Remus wanted both Sirius and the table to remember it for a long time coming.
Remus deepened and slowed his thrusts even more until Sirius started making that sound and Remus muscles went tight with overwhelming excitement. There was a noise that only Sirius made (not that Remus had slept with everyone in the entire world and so was completely sure of this estimation, but nevertheless he’d never heard of anyone else who made it): it was a low, rough sound, dark and desperate and it had never failed to bring Remus almost immediately to orgasm. It was, simply put, the singularly most arousing sound Remus had ever heard. Whether this was because it only came from Sirius, or whether Sirius making said sound simply made it even more arousing than it would be ordinarily was a matter best left to a team of researchers, none of whom would ever get the chance to fuck Sirius Black into oblivion on a dining table.
“Oh, God, Moony, yes. Oh, just there. Oh fuck, I missed your cock.”
It was no use. Remus gave up slyness and put his back into it, his hips rocking fiercely until, again - that sound - and it was no more than a matter of seconds before Remus was moaning and jerking and coming in a wash of shudders. As he tipped over into the rapid blur of orgasm he could tell Sirius was close enough, but not quite there. A haphazard fist did the job in no more than two strokes and Remus finally collapsed into Sirius’ neck, his breath humid and laboured, sweat, semen and ice cream slick-sticky between them.
For a long space of time the only sounds were satisfied panting and the periodic little uh noises Sirius often made in the first few minutes following orgasm.
When he felt his limbs start to go a bit too heavy, Remus drew up and disengaged himself from Sirius. He considered the logistics of getting himself down off the table while being quite sure that his legs wouldn’t currently carry his weight. He abandoned the idea and simply sat on the table-edge as comfortably as he could. “Well. We certainly haven’t done that in a long time.”
“Mmmm,” was all Sirius said, stretching slowly, a beatific smile overtaking his face.
Remus couldn’t help chuckling at the incongruous sight: Sirius, naked, stretched out and smiling on the dining table. “Wouldn’t this be a spectacle for someone to walk in on?”
“Hush. M’basking.” His voice had a lazy slur to it.
“Basking?”
“N’th’ afterglow, twit.”
“No. If I know you, Padfoot, you’re about to fall asleep. And I am not carrying you to the bedroom if you do. It’ll be a long, cold night out here on the table.”
“Spoilsport.”
“Yes. I’m horrible, aren’t I?”
“Mmmm.” Sirius’ eyes were still closed and he rubbed his face sleepily against his arm.
“Up, you lazy bastard.” Remus coaxed Sirius first into a sitting position and then onto his feet. He swayed and leaned heavily into Remus’ shoulder as they both stood. “I often forget how boneless you go after sex.”
“Hmm.” Sirius snuffed and giggled into Remus’ neck, haltingly following his lead towards the bedroom.
“I didn’t get my dinner and I still ended up doing almost everything,” Remus grumbled with mock severity. “I fed you ice cream, undressed us both and fucked you. That’s a full night’s work.”
“Yes. Werewolf’s work s’never done.”
“You’re such a stupid tit,” Remus added as he moved to shut the bedroom door.
“Mmmm,” Sirius murmured dreamily.
The door latched shut with a soft click.