All the fallen angels by sazzlette
Title: All the fallen angels
Author: sazzlette
Summary: Sirius is making the rounds, of course, and has left him stranded at the bar again. He clings to it like a rock in an ocean of glitter and heavy-lidded eyes and curving lips.
Rating: R
Recipient: sojisaanaru
A/N: Title and quotes are taken from the song Fallen Angel by Elbow. I don't think I've covered your request at all here, but I do hope you like it nonetheless.
***
All the fallen angels
You don't need to sleep alone
The club is dark and smoky and Remus doesn't like it. The place feels too cramped. Too hemmed in. Like the walls are slowly crushing him. Sirius is making the rounds, of course, and has left him stranded at the bar again. He clings to it like a rock in an ocean of glitter and heavy-lidded eyes and curving lips.
A man with too much facial hair and sweat patches on his t-shirt tries to buy Remus a drink but he shakes his head and grabs the nearest bottle. It's some sugary alcopop but it's still half-full which is what matters. He waves it at the man and shakes his head again before pretending to take a sip, mouth closed against the neck of the bottle.
Shrugging, the man moves on down the bar, looking for a more willing victim. Remus sighs and dumps the bottle back on the bar, then turns to scan the room for Sirius. He can hardly see for the swathes of silver and red and velvet. Everything about the place screams sex, from the groans in the bathroom stalls to the sixteen year-old boys pouting and wrapping their arms around each other's waists.
Remus shuts his eyes and then there's the imprint of fingertips on the back of his neck and another hand tracing the shiver down his spine. He knows Sirius from the others, they in their gaudy finery and shimmering colours. Sirius is always in Black. And Black is always in.
Shifting on the stool and laying his palm flat on the smooth cool surface of the bar, Remus leans back slightly. He doesn't need to look or even smell him to know that this is Sirius because his fingers feel like nobody else's.
After a moment Remus feels himself being pulled to his feet and he slips off the barstool, turning 'round in Sirius' arms and blinking slowly while Sirius brushes at his cheek and then leans into him, rubbing his chin along the line of his neck.
-We're going, Sirius says.
Not would you like to go? but -Come on, we're going.
You bring the house down
They stumble through the door, clumsy kisses against each other's throats and hands stealing into clothing.
-Bed or sofa? mutters Sirius, reaching for his belt.
-Why not right here? Remus replies, shoving Sirius up against the door and dropping to his knees on the dusty floorboards. He fumbles with the belt, pulling the buckle and slowly drawing the length out of the belt loops on Sirius' jeans with a rasping whisper.
He knows Sirius isn't wearing any underwear, more because he knows him so well than because sliding his nails up Sirius' thigh he can feel the lack of anything underneath his jeans. The zip slides down slowly, jerkily, catching every other time it moves.
-Christ, Moony, come on
Remus reaches around and hooks his fingers in Sirius' back pockets, slowly pulling the jeans down over too-slim hips. Sirius' cock is hard against his cheek, smooth as he turns his face and lets the tip rub against the corner of his mouth.
-Patience is a virtue, he whispers against the head of Sirius' prick before curling his tongue around it and slowly drawing it into his mouth. Sirius makes a choked sound and his fingers weave into Remus' hair, pulling too tightly and Remus warns him with blunt nails digging into the pale skin of his thigh.
The couple in the flat below are arguing again and their shrieks echo up through the floorboards. Remus shuts his eyes and draws his tongue along the underside of Sirius' cock. The skin is impossibly hot and tastes of smoke and sweat and Remus breathes in deeply, searching for Sirius underneath the sex and the smoke.
Sirius trembles but Remus realises he's just fumbling for something in his jacket pocket. He hears the flick of a lighter and then the sound of Sirius breathing in deeply. A strong, sickeningly familiar smell filters slowly down to him and he wonders where the hell Sirius got the stuff this time. Opening his eyes, he cuts his glance upwards, watches Sirius flick ash onto the floorboards beside him and lean his head back against the door, neck arching and pale against his t-shirt.
Remus hates it when he smokes. Sirius knows how much he hates it. But he also knows how much it turns him on. Sirius with a fag in his mouth in inexplicably sexy. Remus thinks Sirius will give himself lung cancer just from the desire to exploit his weaknesses.
-Good boy Moony, mutters Sirius around a stream of smoke, fingers of his free hand touching Remus' cheekbone. His hips shudder momentarily, thighs trembling under Remus' fingers. Remus swallows twice, hands sliding around the curve of Sirius' arse.
Choose your favourite shoes
Sirius looks like a ghost with his pale skin and dark eyes outlined in far too much black, and though he never stops eating he's still much too skinny. Remus has just woken up and gone to the kitchen to make coffee. Sirius is on the sofa where he collapsed the night before, arm slung over his face. His laces are untied but his shoes are still making a mess of the cushions Lily gave them.
Clink of the mugs being set down on the glass coffee table and then Sirius flinches when Remus goes to pull his shoes off him; he has ticklish feet. Kneeling beside the sofa, Remus curls his fingers under the hem of Sirius' t-shirt and leans forward to nose at his cheek. Sirius still smells of stale smoke and sex and he brings his arm down, hooking it around Remus' shoulders and stroking the back of his neck with his fingertips.
The heating's on the blink and Sirius' fingers are icy cold. Remus clambers onto the sofa, pulling the tatty blanket off the back and curling himself around Sirius while he spreads the blanket over them. He presses his mouth against Sirius' neck and forgets about the coffee going cold on the table.
And keep your blues on cruise control
Sirius sits on the windowsill, legs dangling. Remus watches him over the top of the Daily Prophet, watches the stream of smoke that curls slowly in the cold air, and the lock of hair that keeps falling into his eyes no matter how many times he brushes it away.
He isn't wearing black today but an enormous old dressing gown with cigarette burns in the left sleeve. With fingers gently curving he brings the cigarette to his mouth again and inhales, cheeks hollowing and eyes falling shut.
As he pulls himself back inside and shuts the window, Remus folds his newspaper and stands up. The floorboards creak in a familiar pattern and the couple downstairs are arguing again whilst he buries his face in Sirius' neck and slides a hand inside his dressing gown.
-Bed or sofa? asks Sirius.
Author: sazzlette
Summary: Sirius is making the rounds, of course, and has left him stranded at the bar again. He clings to it like a rock in an ocean of glitter and heavy-lidded eyes and curving lips.
Rating: R
Recipient: sojisaanaru
A/N: Title and quotes are taken from the song Fallen Angel by Elbow. I don't think I've covered your request at all here, but I do hope you like it nonetheless.
***
All the fallen angels
You don't need to sleep alone
The club is dark and smoky and Remus doesn't like it. The place feels too cramped. Too hemmed in. Like the walls are slowly crushing him. Sirius is making the rounds, of course, and has left him stranded at the bar again. He clings to it like a rock in an ocean of glitter and heavy-lidded eyes and curving lips.
A man with too much facial hair and sweat patches on his t-shirt tries to buy Remus a drink but he shakes his head and grabs the nearest bottle. It's some sugary alcopop but it's still half-full which is what matters. He waves it at the man and shakes his head again before pretending to take a sip, mouth closed against the neck of the bottle.
Shrugging, the man moves on down the bar, looking for a more willing victim. Remus sighs and dumps the bottle back on the bar, then turns to scan the room for Sirius. He can hardly see for the swathes of silver and red and velvet. Everything about the place screams sex, from the groans in the bathroom stalls to the sixteen year-old boys pouting and wrapping their arms around each other's waists.
Remus shuts his eyes and then there's the imprint of fingertips on the back of his neck and another hand tracing the shiver down his spine. He knows Sirius from the others, they in their gaudy finery and shimmering colours. Sirius is always in Black. And Black is always in.
Shifting on the stool and laying his palm flat on the smooth cool surface of the bar, Remus leans back slightly. He doesn't need to look or even smell him to know that this is Sirius because his fingers feel like nobody else's.
After a moment Remus feels himself being pulled to his feet and he slips off the barstool, turning 'round in Sirius' arms and blinking slowly while Sirius brushes at his cheek and then leans into him, rubbing his chin along the line of his neck.
-We're going, Sirius says.
Not would you like to go? but -Come on, we're going.
You bring the house down
They stumble through the door, clumsy kisses against each other's throats and hands stealing into clothing.
-Bed or sofa? mutters Sirius, reaching for his belt.
-Why not right here? Remus replies, shoving Sirius up against the door and dropping to his knees on the dusty floorboards. He fumbles with the belt, pulling the buckle and slowly drawing the length out of the belt loops on Sirius' jeans with a rasping whisper.
He knows Sirius isn't wearing any underwear, more because he knows him so well than because sliding his nails up Sirius' thigh he can feel the lack of anything underneath his jeans. The zip slides down slowly, jerkily, catching every other time it moves.
-Christ, Moony, come on
Remus reaches around and hooks his fingers in Sirius' back pockets, slowly pulling the jeans down over too-slim hips. Sirius' cock is hard against his cheek, smooth as he turns his face and lets the tip rub against the corner of his mouth.
-Patience is a virtue, he whispers against the head of Sirius' prick before curling his tongue around it and slowly drawing it into his mouth. Sirius makes a choked sound and his fingers weave into Remus' hair, pulling too tightly and Remus warns him with blunt nails digging into the pale skin of his thigh.
The couple in the flat below are arguing again and their shrieks echo up through the floorboards. Remus shuts his eyes and draws his tongue along the underside of Sirius' cock. The skin is impossibly hot and tastes of smoke and sweat and Remus breathes in deeply, searching for Sirius underneath the sex and the smoke.
Sirius trembles but Remus realises he's just fumbling for something in his jacket pocket. He hears the flick of a lighter and then the sound of Sirius breathing in deeply. A strong, sickeningly familiar smell filters slowly down to him and he wonders where the hell Sirius got the stuff this time. Opening his eyes, he cuts his glance upwards, watches Sirius flick ash onto the floorboards beside him and lean his head back against the door, neck arching and pale against his t-shirt.
Remus hates it when he smokes. Sirius knows how much he hates it. But he also knows how much it turns him on. Sirius with a fag in his mouth in inexplicably sexy. Remus thinks Sirius will give himself lung cancer just from the desire to exploit his weaknesses.
-Good boy Moony, mutters Sirius around a stream of smoke, fingers of his free hand touching Remus' cheekbone. His hips shudder momentarily, thighs trembling under Remus' fingers. Remus swallows twice, hands sliding around the curve of Sirius' arse.
Choose your favourite shoes
Sirius looks like a ghost with his pale skin and dark eyes outlined in far too much black, and though he never stops eating he's still much too skinny. Remus has just woken up and gone to the kitchen to make coffee. Sirius is on the sofa where he collapsed the night before, arm slung over his face. His laces are untied but his shoes are still making a mess of the cushions Lily gave them.
Clink of the mugs being set down on the glass coffee table and then Sirius flinches when Remus goes to pull his shoes off him; he has ticklish feet. Kneeling beside the sofa, Remus curls his fingers under the hem of Sirius' t-shirt and leans forward to nose at his cheek. Sirius still smells of stale smoke and sex and he brings his arm down, hooking it around Remus' shoulders and stroking the back of his neck with his fingertips.
The heating's on the blink and Sirius' fingers are icy cold. Remus clambers onto the sofa, pulling the tatty blanket off the back and curling himself around Sirius while he spreads the blanket over them. He presses his mouth against Sirius' neck and forgets about the coffee going cold on the table.
And keep your blues on cruise control
Sirius sits on the windowsill, legs dangling. Remus watches him over the top of the Daily Prophet, watches the stream of smoke that curls slowly in the cold air, and the lock of hair that keeps falling into his eyes no matter how many times he brushes it away.
He isn't wearing black today but an enormous old dressing gown with cigarette burns in the left sleeve. With fingers gently curving he brings the cigarette to his mouth again and inhales, cheeks hollowing and eyes falling shut.
As he pulls himself back inside and shuts the window, Remus folds his newspaper and stands up. The floorboards creak in a familiar pattern and the couple downstairs are arguing again whilst he buries his face in Sirius' neck and slides a hand inside his dressing gown.
-Bed or sofa? asks Sirius.