Of charmed trains, biscuits and baths!
Title: Of charmed trains, biscuits and baths!
Author: RaeLouise
Rating: Adult
Pairing: Sirius/Remus
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters involved in this story, or this setting/the canon references. This is a work of fiction in it's entirety, inspired by the work of JK Rowling.
Word count: 3, 030
Warnings: Age play- both characters are of age but once takes on the role of a child.
Summary: Written for a prompt at hp_kinkmemes- Age-play, with Sirius as the "little boy." With bath time, play time, and perhaps a tantrum or two to keep Remus on his toes.
When Remus finds himself almost tripping over a tiny train as he lets himself into Sirius’ flat- the toy whistling as it whirs past; a blur of glossy painted wood and wheels powered by a charm- he knows exactly what sort of evening he’s in for and he can’t help but chuckle to himself. It’s lucky he loves his boyfriend, it really is, because when Sirius falls into this headspace... Well, it can be quite easy to see why Walburga had to employ five consecutive nannies in as many years for her oldest son. Bless him.
“Sirrriussss,” He calls, drawing the boy’s name out like a line from a song and choosing to follow the train, which toots and scoots off back the way it came. Back towards the bedroom, where no doubt there’s a whole station of trains and a maze-like map of track, “Sirius, what ya dooooin?”
“Playing!” Comes the reply- an octave or so higher than Sirius’ usual voice and fizzing like a Whizzbee, “Trains! Come see, come see! I’m making them go faster, faster!” Remus fondly pictures his lover cross-legged and bouncing, dramatically disheveled hair flying in all directions.
“I do hope you’re not using magic unsupervised!” Remus admonishes in a tone which treads the line between mock serious and genuine as he peers around the door. He catches sight of Sirius waving his wand haphazardly so that engines flee in all directions- swirling plumes of smoke up from their chimneys and likely to crash where the track overlaps. He creases his brow into a tired frown, rubs his fingers over his temple- he’s mostly acting, though.
“Um,” The dark-haired boy’s eyes go terribly wide and quick as a wink he has his wand hand hidden behind his back, his head shaking slowly and carefully, “Nu-uh... um, they’s muggle toys,” He lies, biting at his lip, “They run off that um, electricity stuff.” His head cocks hopefully, simperingly, but Remus isn’t buying it for a second and Sirius knows it.
With a fatherly sigh, Remus picks his way towards Sirius, mindful not to crush any of the boy’s toys underfoot, and holds out his hand. It’s not a threatening gesture, since he’s a gentle babysitter when the time calls for it, but he still knows to take charge and it is best he takes the wand for now. For Sirius’ own good.
“Pass it over, buddy,” He demands, then arches an eyebrow, a sudden thought coming to him, “Hey! Maybe if you don’t put up a fuss we can check the biscuit barrel?”
It’s a struggle. Sirius Black has a stubborn streak, both when he’s a big boy and a little boy. Being the brattish marauder that he is, he’s itching to leap up and race off with a cheeky giggle, practically begging for a spanking. But biscuits? And didn’t they buy some coated in Honeydukes dark chocolate just the other day? He watches Remus with childish eyes, considering, and seems to come to the conclusion that sugary snacks aren’t worth risking. Even for a game of chase. Still, for good measure, he huffs with all the melodrama of a three year old as he passes his wand across; makes sure to stomp his maroon and yellow socked feet against the carpet as he heads off to the kitchen.
Their size difference isn’t quite great enough for Remus to actually lift Sirius onto the counter top but he can guide him up with strong werewolf hands and get him settled before he fetches the biscuit barrel. Sirius knocks his heels rhythmically against the cupboard doors and smiles cheerfully as he waits, all traces of his pouting forgotten now. Grown up Remus, rooting through for the best biscuits, is his absolute favourite. Better even than when he’s a big boy and James calls ‘round with a lethally large bottle of fire whiskey and muggle weed.
“Milk too?” Remus asks, eased all the way into his role now, “In your new cup? As long as you use two hands, remember?”
They settle on the sagging couch together for snack time, sharing stories about their day. Or, in Sirius’ case, absolute nonsense tales which make Remus laugh out loud and affectionately ruffle his hand through the tangles of Sirius’ uncombed hair. Remus sits up nice and proper, nibbling at the edge of his biscuit, but Sirius lazes with all the grace of a lolling puppy in his boyfriend’s lap [Remus holding Sirius’ cup to his lips whenever he needs to wash down cookie, deciding that Sirius is far too fidgety to be left with the milk unsupervised].
Indeed, Sirius kicks his legs out here and there and wriggles as though he has itching powder in his underwear; he manages to smear the majority of the chocolate over his cheeks and gets crumbs all down his front. But he does so with such delightful enthusiasm that Remus can’t bring himself to comment. Truthfully- even when he’s eighteen, Sirius isn’t always the neatest eater and at least this way Remus can get a wet wash cloth to his face at some point without risking being bitten. Or worse, hexed. Usually, Sirius actually asks for a bath and Remus never quite manages to hide how excited that bit gets him. Bubbles, touching, bedtime.
The request for tub time comes soon enough and Remus doesn’t need his little lover to ask twice. They traipse off to the bathroom, singing some silly song that Sirius makes up on the way. Remus draws up the bath; warm, deep and topped with a snow drift of magical opalescent bubbles that refuse to pop and as he tests the temperature with his wand, Sirius roots around for all of the bath time toys they’ve managed to accumulate. There’s the friendly family of rubber ducks who quack and bob along on the frothy water’s surface; a little fish that zooms about beneath and tickles Sirius’ toes and a miniature pirate ship. Even Remus can see that that one’s pretty special. It has sails which create their own little breeze and the Jolly Roger grins fiendishly as the boat chugs along, occasionally aided by Sirius’ hand [he likes to bounce it off of his own belly and giggle].
“Let’s see, my little one, can’t get a bath in all of your clothes now, can you?” Remus finds that he’s still sing-song-ing, that he can’t seem to help himself when Sirius’ face is grimy with chocolate and eager with innocence. It’s almost like one of those damn muggle Disney films. “Arms up, top off.”
Sirius for once, thank Merlin, does as he’s told with no bother. He reaches up to the ceiling with wiggling fingers so that Remus can tug off his jumper, and he leans in, nuzzles in, against Remus to steady himself as he steps out of his jeans, his boxers. He then falls to the floor with a heavy thud when it’s time to take off his socks, all childish squeals as his legs shoot up in the air. It’s a position that leaves very little to the imagination [Remus isn’t sure how intentional that is] and it earns Sirius some hungry glances from his werewolf as he pinches each of his lover’s striped sock between his finger and thumb. The boy’s raised legs guide Remus’ eyes perfectly to his cock. Flaccid right now, but no less tantalizing for it.
For a moment, there’s a stillness which catches between awkward and seductive, but it’s shot through when Sirius scrambles back up onto his feet and dives spontaneously into the tub. Little Sirius never pays much mind to consequences and Remus has horrid visions of him smacking his head against the porcelain- disaster! Luckily, Sirius manages to sit himself up right and just giggles, both hands immediately around a rubber duck and the ship. All of his guards go down when he’s like this and Remus supposes that’s what he gets from it. After all, Sirius didn’t have much of a real childhood; too immersed in dark pure blood traditions that supposedly moulded him into an heir. Right now, he’s hidden up to the waist by the bubbles and it’s a precious sight to behold. He sticks out his tongue and crosses his eyes when he catches Remus staring. It’s no less precious.
“You’re such a mucky pup!” Remus remarks with a twinkle in his eye. He feels older, just as Sirius feels younger, when they do this but he doesn’t mind it so much. Really, he thinks of it as an exaggeration of their every day.
“Woof woof woof yes!” Comes Sirius’ reply, with more enthusiastic nodding than is strictly necessary, a splash of his hands sending droplets of warm water raining down over Remus.
Sirius contents himself with playing, humming and chuckling as the ducks dance and the fish below swims ticklishly against his squirming toes. Remus dips the wash cloth down into the water, wetting it and sudsing it up before he begins to methodically work the soft scrap of fabric over Sirius’ bare body. Flawless skin even smoother beneath the water than it is in bed. With a little hitch to his breathing, he starts with his lover’s face and kisses Sirius nose when he splutters, blowing raspberries at the flannel; he scrubs behind his ears, up under his inky hair and beneath his chin because little boys never remember that those bits get dirty, too. He takes his time over his arms, admiring the slender strength of them and forgets his self control for a moment when it comes to the masculine curves of Sirius’ back, the sharp bones of his shoulders. He utters a swear word, something about how fucking delectable the sight is, and hears Sirius gasp.
Remus should apologise but he doesn’t. Instead, he guides the flannel right down over the ridges of Sirius’ elegant spine until he can brush it against the cleft of his arse, “Stand up for me, little one, quickly now.”
“No.” Sirius says quite defiantly, hiding the way he jumps by flicking his boat so that it suddenly speeds up and careers into the curved wall of the bath, “I wont. You said a bad word, you’re naughty.”
“Stand up, right this instant!”
“I shan’t!”
“Up! Sirius Black, you do not want to make me mad!”
Sirius growls like an irate puppy but the hardening flesh between his thighs gives him away and once he’s up on his feet, toes scrunching against the base of the bath so that he doesn’t slip, his cock is almost fully erect and flushing red against his white belly. His growls lessen to whimpers and he looks a little ashamed until again, he feels the cloth teasing between the supple cheeks of his bottom.
“There there now, see, it’s okay,” Remus’ tone is soothing and despite the fact that he’s fully dressed and Sirius is soaking wet, he leans in to hug him as the cloth catches at the other boy’s puckered entrance, “I just have to clean your down below bits and it’s much easier if they’re not hidden.”
As it had when he’d been caught out earlier, Sirius’ lower lip finds it’s way back beneath his top teeth, and his eyes go like saucers again- “Are we allowed?” He asks, as he always asks when they do this. His voice is far softer than usual, delicate in it’s naivety. It does funny things to Remus that make the werewolf slightly pink.
Rosy cheeked, Remus nods, “We’re allowed, it’s good for little boys to be all clean, isn’t it?”
“I s’pose...” Sirius tries ever so hard not to smile and blinks instead, his long lashes creating quite the dramatic effect, “And they can’t manage it all by their owns.”
Remus’ heart skips a beat as he watches Sirius and then the thud of it seems to slip right down to the pit of his belly. Merlin, if this isn’t the most aroused he’s been in a week. He chooses not to speak again, guessing that he’d manage little more than a croak, and instead sets to work with the cloth. He strokes over the curve of Sirius’ backside, into the hidden heat there and without needing to be asked, Sirius knows to wriggle his feet further apart so that Remus can take a good few minutes breathing slow and tenderly washing the other’s inner thighs. They are terribly sweet and still have a boyish fleshiness, despite the ropes of muscle towards Sirius’ calves. Sirius is built lean and taught, aristocratically masculine, but his bottom and his thighs are a little softer. They’re rounder and his boyfriend adores it, loves nothing more than to rub and pinch at the skin when he gets the chance.
“Turn around, kiddo,” Remus whispers eventually, giving Sirius’ bottom a fatherly pat that makes Sirius shiver before he twists on the spot. Remus swallows hard when he is met with the sight of his little lover’s erection. Pre-come beading stickily at the tip, the flesh dark as a bruise and so desperate. Sirius had done well not to whine, “Oh my baby boy, I bet that hurts doesn’t it? You’ve been a good little boy tonight.”
“Mhmm. Yes. Hurts,” Sirius whispers woefully, nods all slow and serious, “Make it better?” The look he gives Remus is heart stopping in it’s pureness despite the request.
Remus drops the flannel and swirls his hand through the water before finally- and really, it’s been building to this moment since Sirius first laid himself out over Remus’ lap- curling his fingers around Sirius’ length. The dark-haired boy shudders with a jolt, lets out the crooning whimper that had been building in his chest and rocks onto his tip-toes towards the touch. A sweet bliss seems to come over him, a comfort. Remus used to feel terribly guilty about this part of the game until he learned to recognise the relieved looseness in Sirius’ limbs that followed it.
Sirius exhales, “Like that, more please, more.”
Tightening his hand just so, Remus finds the right grip and then the right rhythm after the first few strokes of his palm to the other’s shaft. Sirius, after all, is his baby, he’s long since learned how to drive him wild. This Sirius is a little easier, too. The tug of Remus clasped fist is none too sophisticated but it’s determined and urges the most deliciously innocent groans from the boy. He strokes deftly at the slippery, solid flesh and he bumps his lips against Sirius’ temple to whisper babying sweet nothings; such loving and reassuring words in contrast to the sordid action of his hand below. Sirius ruts unevenly, grinds up into the tightness of Remus’ fingers. He whines lowly and after a sharp inhale of breath, reaches out to hold Remus shoulders, knowing that he wont let him fall down when he goes dizzy.
“Is it feeling all funny now baby boy, in your tummy?” Remus asks, concerned. He’s learned how to read the different volumes of Sirius’ sex noises, “Is it tight, hmmm?”
Sirius nods but it’s distracted and he doesn’t speak, just grunts and really fucks Remus’ hand for the last moment before his release explodes. The waxy hot ribbons leave him on the cusp of a shaky gasp and he quakes against Remus as he’s milked through his orgasm, toes curling tightly, eyes pressing closed. He has to squeeze his lover more and noses all the way into the safety of his neck. He hides there as his come coats his own belly and his boyfriend’s fist and in that moment he seems so needy and childish.
“There we go, there we go,” Remus coos, his heart swelling, “You must of needed that, huh?”
Sirius nods and exhales against his boyfriend’s throat. His unsure expression brightens into a smile which Remus feels curving over his skin, “Got you all sticky and all wet,” Sirius giggles, the sound light as though he’s floating.
“It seems so, yes,” Remus rubs his hand over Sirius back, not caring at all that he’s damp. He’s even able to ignore the tenting at his crotch because Sirius is all post-orgasm soft and Remus knows that soon enough he’ll be sleepy. He’ll fix himself up then, once he’s got the little one to bed, “I think we need to scrub you all over again, get those toothies brushed and head to bed?”
Sirius doesn’t even argue- he’s been surprisingly tantrum free tonight- just purrs and nods and slides back down into the bath water. It’s luke warm now but it feels nice against his prickly-hot skin and there a still many glassy bubbles. He accepts a sloppy kiss on the cheek from Remus, beams brightly and resumes playing with his toys. He’s quite sure that the poor duckies have felt abandoned- they’re quacking a lot. Remus resumes washing him all over with the cloth., paying particular attention to the mess between his legs which makes him think of the hardening hotness between his own. He could have Sirius touch it, teach him how to wank it with both of his hand over the boy’s, but on some nights he prefers to just watch Sirius settle down. Likes to lay beside his sleeping form, fucking his own fist while Sirius’ Gryffindor-coloured pajamas hug his behind and his thumb drifts close to his puckered lips.
“Do I get a story?” Sirius asks suddenly, as if the matter is terribly urgent.
Remus cough lightly, his hand with the cloth faltering over Sirius’ belly. “It’ll have to be a short one, but yes.”
For a second after he gets his answer, Sirius looks as though he might argue- or worse yet, aim one of the ducks at Remus’ head in protest. Miraculously, however [Remus wonders if someone spiked his morning coffee with Felix Felicis] he just perks up with an adorable little, “I love you, lots,” followed by his sweet lips forming the wide 'oh' of a yawn.
Author: RaeLouise
Rating: Adult
Pairing: Sirius/Remus
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters involved in this story, or this setting/the canon references. This is a work of fiction in it's entirety, inspired by the work of JK Rowling.
Word count: 3, 030
Warnings: Age play- both characters are of age but once takes on the role of a child.
Summary: Written for a prompt at hp_kinkmemes- Age-play, with Sirius as the "little boy." With bath time, play time, and perhaps a tantrum or two to keep Remus on his toes.
When Remus finds himself almost tripping over a tiny train as he lets himself into Sirius’ flat- the toy whistling as it whirs past; a blur of glossy painted wood and wheels powered by a charm- he knows exactly what sort of evening he’s in for and he can’t help but chuckle to himself. It’s lucky he loves his boyfriend, it really is, because when Sirius falls into this headspace... Well, it can be quite easy to see why Walburga had to employ five consecutive nannies in as many years for her oldest son. Bless him.
“Sirrriussss,” He calls, drawing the boy’s name out like a line from a song and choosing to follow the train, which toots and scoots off back the way it came. Back towards the bedroom, where no doubt there’s a whole station of trains and a maze-like map of track, “Sirius, what ya dooooin?”
“Playing!” Comes the reply- an octave or so higher than Sirius’ usual voice and fizzing like a Whizzbee, “Trains! Come see, come see! I’m making them go faster, faster!” Remus fondly pictures his lover cross-legged and bouncing, dramatically disheveled hair flying in all directions.
“I do hope you’re not using magic unsupervised!” Remus admonishes in a tone which treads the line between mock serious and genuine as he peers around the door. He catches sight of Sirius waving his wand haphazardly so that engines flee in all directions- swirling plumes of smoke up from their chimneys and likely to crash where the track overlaps. He creases his brow into a tired frown, rubs his fingers over his temple- he’s mostly acting, though.
“Um,” The dark-haired boy’s eyes go terribly wide and quick as a wink he has his wand hand hidden behind his back, his head shaking slowly and carefully, “Nu-uh... um, they’s muggle toys,” He lies, biting at his lip, “They run off that um, electricity stuff.” His head cocks hopefully, simperingly, but Remus isn’t buying it for a second and Sirius knows it.
With a fatherly sigh, Remus picks his way towards Sirius, mindful not to crush any of the boy’s toys underfoot, and holds out his hand. It’s not a threatening gesture, since he’s a gentle babysitter when the time calls for it, but he still knows to take charge and it is best he takes the wand for now. For Sirius’ own good.
“Pass it over, buddy,” He demands, then arches an eyebrow, a sudden thought coming to him, “Hey! Maybe if you don’t put up a fuss we can check the biscuit barrel?”
It’s a struggle. Sirius Black has a stubborn streak, both when he’s a big boy and a little boy. Being the brattish marauder that he is, he’s itching to leap up and race off with a cheeky giggle, practically begging for a spanking. But biscuits? And didn’t they buy some coated in Honeydukes dark chocolate just the other day? He watches Remus with childish eyes, considering, and seems to come to the conclusion that sugary snacks aren’t worth risking. Even for a game of chase. Still, for good measure, he huffs with all the melodrama of a three year old as he passes his wand across; makes sure to stomp his maroon and yellow socked feet against the carpet as he heads off to the kitchen.
Their size difference isn’t quite great enough for Remus to actually lift Sirius onto the counter top but he can guide him up with strong werewolf hands and get him settled before he fetches the biscuit barrel. Sirius knocks his heels rhythmically against the cupboard doors and smiles cheerfully as he waits, all traces of his pouting forgotten now. Grown up Remus, rooting through for the best biscuits, is his absolute favourite. Better even than when he’s a big boy and James calls ‘round with a lethally large bottle of fire whiskey and muggle weed.
“Milk too?” Remus asks, eased all the way into his role now, “In your new cup? As long as you use two hands, remember?”
They settle on the sagging couch together for snack time, sharing stories about their day. Or, in Sirius’ case, absolute nonsense tales which make Remus laugh out loud and affectionately ruffle his hand through the tangles of Sirius’ uncombed hair. Remus sits up nice and proper, nibbling at the edge of his biscuit, but Sirius lazes with all the grace of a lolling puppy in his boyfriend’s lap [Remus holding Sirius’ cup to his lips whenever he needs to wash down cookie, deciding that Sirius is far too fidgety to be left with the milk unsupervised].
Indeed, Sirius kicks his legs out here and there and wriggles as though he has itching powder in his underwear; he manages to smear the majority of the chocolate over his cheeks and gets crumbs all down his front. But he does so with such delightful enthusiasm that Remus can’t bring himself to comment. Truthfully- even when he’s eighteen, Sirius isn’t always the neatest eater and at least this way Remus can get a wet wash cloth to his face at some point without risking being bitten. Or worse, hexed. Usually, Sirius actually asks for a bath and Remus never quite manages to hide how excited that bit gets him. Bubbles, touching, bedtime.
The request for tub time comes soon enough and Remus doesn’t need his little lover to ask twice. They traipse off to the bathroom, singing some silly song that Sirius makes up on the way. Remus draws up the bath; warm, deep and topped with a snow drift of magical opalescent bubbles that refuse to pop and as he tests the temperature with his wand, Sirius roots around for all of the bath time toys they’ve managed to accumulate. There’s the friendly family of rubber ducks who quack and bob along on the frothy water’s surface; a little fish that zooms about beneath and tickles Sirius’ toes and a miniature pirate ship. Even Remus can see that that one’s pretty special. It has sails which create their own little breeze and the Jolly Roger grins fiendishly as the boat chugs along, occasionally aided by Sirius’ hand [he likes to bounce it off of his own belly and giggle].
“Let’s see, my little one, can’t get a bath in all of your clothes now, can you?” Remus finds that he’s still sing-song-ing, that he can’t seem to help himself when Sirius’ face is grimy with chocolate and eager with innocence. It’s almost like one of those damn muggle Disney films. “Arms up, top off.”
Sirius for once, thank Merlin, does as he’s told with no bother. He reaches up to the ceiling with wiggling fingers so that Remus can tug off his jumper, and he leans in, nuzzles in, against Remus to steady himself as he steps out of his jeans, his boxers. He then falls to the floor with a heavy thud when it’s time to take off his socks, all childish squeals as his legs shoot up in the air. It’s a position that leaves very little to the imagination [Remus isn’t sure how intentional that is] and it earns Sirius some hungry glances from his werewolf as he pinches each of his lover’s striped sock between his finger and thumb. The boy’s raised legs guide Remus’ eyes perfectly to his cock. Flaccid right now, but no less tantalizing for it.
For a moment, there’s a stillness which catches between awkward and seductive, but it’s shot through when Sirius scrambles back up onto his feet and dives spontaneously into the tub. Little Sirius never pays much mind to consequences and Remus has horrid visions of him smacking his head against the porcelain- disaster! Luckily, Sirius manages to sit himself up right and just giggles, both hands immediately around a rubber duck and the ship. All of his guards go down when he’s like this and Remus supposes that’s what he gets from it. After all, Sirius didn’t have much of a real childhood; too immersed in dark pure blood traditions that supposedly moulded him into an heir. Right now, he’s hidden up to the waist by the bubbles and it’s a precious sight to behold. He sticks out his tongue and crosses his eyes when he catches Remus staring. It’s no less precious.
“You’re such a mucky pup!” Remus remarks with a twinkle in his eye. He feels older, just as Sirius feels younger, when they do this but he doesn’t mind it so much. Really, he thinks of it as an exaggeration of their every day.
“Woof woof woof yes!” Comes Sirius’ reply, with more enthusiastic nodding than is strictly necessary, a splash of his hands sending droplets of warm water raining down over Remus.
Sirius contents himself with playing, humming and chuckling as the ducks dance and the fish below swims ticklishly against his squirming toes. Remus dips the wash cloth down into the water, wetting it and sudsing it up before he begins to methodically work the soft scrap of fabric over Sirius’ bare body. Flawless skin even smoother beneath the water than it is in bed. With a little hitch to his breathing, he starts with his lover’s face and kisses Sirius nose when he splutters, blowing raspberries at the flannel; he scrubs behind his ears, up under his inky hair and beneath his chin because little boys never remember that those bits get dirty, too. He takes his time over his arms, admiring the slender strength of them and forgets his self control for a moment when it comes to the masculine curves of Sirius’ back, the sharp bones of his shoulders. He utters a swear word, something about how fucking delectable the sight is, and hears Sirius gasp.
Remus should apologise but he doesn’t. Instead, he guides the flannel right down over the ridges of Sirius’ elegant spine until he can brush it against the cleft of his arse, “Stand up for me, little one, quickly now.”
“No.” Sirius says quite defiantly, hiding the way he jumps by flicking his boat so that it suddenly speeds up and careers into the curved wall of the bath, “I wont. You said a bad word, you’re naughty.”
“Stand up, right this instant!”
“I shan’t!”
“Up! Sirius Black, you do not want to make me mad!”
Sirius growls like an irate puppy but the hardening flesh between his thighs gives him away and once he’s up on his feet, toes scrunching against the base of the bath so that he doesn’t slip, his cock is almost fully erect and flushing red against his white belly. His growls lessen to whimpers and he looks a little ashamed until again, he feels the cloth teasing between the supple cheeks of his bottom.
“There there now, see, it’s okay,” Remus’ tone is soothing and despite the fact that he’s fully dressed and Sirius is soaking wet, he leans in to hug him as the cloth catches at the other boy’s puckered entrance, “I just have to clean your down below bits and it’s much easier if they’re not hidden.”
As it had when he’d been caught out earlier, Sirius’ lower lip finds it’s way back beneath his top teeth, and his eyes go like saucers again- “Are we allowed?” He asks, as he always asks when they do this. His voice is far softer than usual, delicate in it’s naivety. It does funny things to Remus that make the werewolf slightly pink.
Rosy cheeked, Remus nods, “We’re allowed, it’s good for little boys to be all clean, isn’t it?”
“I s’pose...” Sirius tries ever so hard not to smile and blinks instead, his long lashes creating quite the dramatic effect, “And they can’t manage it all by their owns.”
Remus’ heart skips a beat as he watches Sirius and then the thud of it seems to slip right down to the pit of his belly. Merlin, if this isn’t the most aroused he’s been in a week. He chooses not to speak again, guessing that he’d manage little more than a croak, and instead sets to work with the cloth. He strokes over the curve of Sirius’ backside, into the hidden heat there and without needing to be asked, Sirius knows to wriggle his feet further apart so that Remus can take a good few minutes breathing slow and tenderly washing the other’s inner thighs. They are terribly sweet and still have a boyish fleshiness, despite the ropes of muscle towards Sirius’ calves. Sirius is built lean and taught, aristocratically masculine, but his bottom and his thighs are a little softer. They’re rounder and his boyfriend adores it, loves nothing more than to rub and pinch at the skin when he gets the chance.
“Turn around, kiddo,” Remus whispers eventually, giving Sirius’ bottom a fatherly pat that makes Sirius shiver before he twists on the spot. Remus swallows hard when he is met with the sight of his little lover’s erection. Pre-come beading stickily at the tip, the flesh dark as a bruise and so desperate. Sirius had done well not to whine, “Oh my baby boy, I bet that hurts doesn’t it? You’ve been a good little boy tonight.”
“Mhmm. Yes. Hurts,” Sirius whispers woefully, nods all slow and serious, “Make it better?” The look he gives Remus is heart stopping in it’s pureness despite the request.
Remus drops the flannel and swirls his hand through the water before finally- and really, it’s been building to this moment since Sirius first laid himself out over Remus’ lap- curling his fingers around Sirius’ length. The dark-haired boy shudders with a jolt, lets out the crooning whimper that had been building in his chest and rocks onto his tip-toes towards the touch. A sweet bliss seems to come over him, a comfort. Remus used to feel terribly guilty about this part of the game until he learned to recognise the relieved looseness in Sirius’ limbs that followed it.
Sirius exhales, “Like that, more please, more.”
Tightening his hand just so, Remus finds the right grip and then the right rhythm after the first few strokes of his palm to the other’s shaft. Sirius, after all, is his baby, he’s long since learned how to drive him wild. This Sirius is a little easier, too. The tug of Remus clasped fist is none too sophisticated but it’s determined and urges the most deliciously innocent groans from the boy. He strokes deftly at the slippery, solid flesh and he bumps his lips against Sirius’ temple to whisper babying sweet nothings; such loving and reassuring words in contrast to the sordid action of his hand below. Sirius ruts unevenly, grinds up into the tightness of Remus’ fingers. He whines lowly and after a sharp inhale of breath, reaches out to hold Remus shoulders, knowing that he wont let him fall down when he goes dizzy.
“Is it feeling all funny now baby boy, in your tummy?” Remus asks, concerned. He’s learned how to read the different volumes of Sirius’ sex noises, “Is it tight, hmmm?”
Sirius nods but it’s distracted and he doesn’t speak, just grunts and really fucks Remus’ hand for the last moment before his release explodes. The waxy hot ribbons leave him on the cusp of a shaky gasp and he quakes against Remus as he’s milked through his orgasm, toes curling tightly, eyes pressing closed. He has to squeeze his lover more and noses all the way into the safety of his neck. He hides there as his come coats his own belly and his boyfriend’s fist and in that moment he seems so needy and childish.
“There we go, there we go,” Remus coos, his heart swelling, “You must of needed that, huh?”
Sirius nods and exhales against his boyfriend’s throat. His unsure expression brightens into a smile which Remus feels curving over his skin, “Got you all sticky and all wet,” Sirius giggles, the sound light as though he’s floating.
“It seems so, yes,” Remus rubs his hand over Sirius back, not caring at all that he’s damp. He’s even able to ignore the tenting at his crotch because Sirius is all post-orgasm soft and Remus knows that soon enough he’ll be sleepy. He’ll fix himself up then, once he’s got the little one to bed, “I think we need to scrub you all over again, get those toothies brushed and head to bed?”
Sirius doesn’t even argue- he’s been surprisingly tantrum free tonight- just purrs and nods and slides back down into the bath water. It’s luke warm now but it feels nice against his prickly-hot skin and there a still many glassy bubbles. He accepts a sloppy kiss on the cheek from Remus, beams brightly and resumes playing with his toys. He’s quite sure that the poor duckies have felt abandoned- they’re quacking a lot. Remus resumes washing him all over with the cloth., paying particular attention to the mess between his legs which makes him think of the hardening hotness between his own. He could have Sirius touch it, teach him how to wank it with both of his hand over the boy’s, but on some nights he prefers to just watch Sirius settle down. Likes to lay beside his sleeping form, fucking his own fist while Sirius’ Gryffindor-coloured pajamas hug his behind and his thumb drifts close to his puckered lips.
“Do I get a story?” Sirius asks suddenly, as if the matter is terribly urgent.
Remus cough lightly, his hand with the cloth faltering over Sirius’ belly. “It’ll have to be a short one, but yes.”
For a second after he gets his answer, Sirius looks as though he might argue- or worse yet, aim one of the ducks at Remus’ head in protest. Miraculously, however [Remus wonders if someone spiked his morning coffee with Felix Felicis] he just perks up with an adorable little, “I love you, lots,” followed by his sweet lips forming the wide 'oh' of a yawn.