day 19
Haha, I'm catching up. :3 Aaaaand another hard R, oh well. I also don't seem to be able to write anything short lately... and, I mean, we are talking about me here. Heh. Oh, I just noticed a third parallel. I totally seem to dig passive!Remus at the moment. Which is really weird because I normally like both. /rant
Getting Loud
Heavy cold rain veiled the pallor of the stars, ate through the snow in the streets. Like a curved mark left by sharp and yellow teeth: the moon (between clouds) - brighter than the sun had been today, and the kitchen window cut a black rectangle out of the waning wintry world. From where Sirius sat, he could see the churned-up purple sky and, if he leaned a little to the left, one of Remus’s ankles rising just above the line of his too-small socks.
Absently, he picked at his fingers until the old scratches bled again, scratches he kept like souvenirs: one from their flat, one from the record shop, one from the park and one from a trip to Scotland. (And the last two, which were those he gently ripped open every time they even started to heal because one was from a fight with Remus and one from his brother who’d still been alive back then.)
“What are you doing?” he finally asked when he couldn’t hold it in anymore, but Remus didn’t answer. The slender foot drew back, probably to steady him as he stood up straight again. “Well, screw you too”, Sirius muttered and kicked at a chair. “I’m not the one who’s got the problem.”
There was a bang, and the echo was worse than the noise itself. “At least I don’t have sex with bloody strangers in the room next to yours”, Remus yelled back, conjuring up mock-sounds in Sirius’s fantasyheated mind (of Remus crying out his name just behind the wall, of Remus whimpering as he came) that made him flush angrily.
“At least I’m not being a girl about it!” Sirius shouted and stood up so abruptly that he almost fell over the table in the process. He swore, pressed a hand to his stomach and closed his eyes. “At least you still let me share a bed with you on rough days”, he whispered as the pain slowly lessened to a dull ache.
“At least I don’t stick my prick into every willing hole”, Remus grumbled on his way back to the living room. He stamped his feet, tore open doors, and Sirius loved how sometimes he was really loud - and yet quietly so. Raindrops surged against the window, making a mess of the night outside; Sirius almost wished he could shove Remus’s head into the icy downpour until he stopped being such a prat (until he finally became jealous).
He frowned and tried to forget those distracting thoughts (of Remus’s curls sliding through his fingers, of an untidy groan and a stuttered apology, rain-blurred lashes and shy eyes). “At least”, he began, then noticed how small his voice was; “AT LEAST I’M NOT A VIRGIN ANYMORE!”
His stomach twisted at the cruelty of these words, but nevertheless he felt a bitter satisfaction when they rolled from the back of his mouth and left behind a tingle of hoarseness from the shouting. The blend between noise and then complete silence was so natural it took Sirius a few moments to notice that he wasn’t hearing anything from the living room.
Carefully, he made his way over to where the last sound had emanated, and found Remus sitting on the floor with his knees drawn up tight to his chest - red-faced, breathing hard, staring into space. “Hey?” Sirius whispered. He was clutching the doorframe with trembling and scratched fingers, smearing a little blood on it, and his insides curled up painfully like burning paper at seeing Remus like this.
“Listen…”, he said, stopped. “I’m an idiot.“ Remus shrugged, a feeble movement of one bony shoulder. Slowly, Sirius came over and crouched down in front of him, and before he could turn his head away, he gripped his chin (just lightly, like a sigh of touch, and yet it worked). “That was mean and I shouldn’t have said it. Okay? You can hit me now, if you want.”
There was a slight upwards twitch in the corner of Remus’s mouth, but he shook his head, still red in the face. “Come on, hit me. I’ve been a bad dog and I deserve it. Hit me.” This time, Remus nearly failed at calling back his grin.
“You only say that because you like it when they hit you”, he muttered a little sullenly and Sirius could feel him relax under his hands. He thought of his dream from last night (tangling under sheets, sweat and going slow, slow, taking up forever and longer just to, just to…), let go of Remus and leant back on his hands.
Remus was watching him curiously as he smirked and spread his legs.
“Oh, you don’t know how many nights I’ve dreamed of being spanked by my flatmate”, he cried dramatically and tossed back his head, all the while waiting for reactions: the surprised parting of lips, the light gasp, the flushed grin - and most of all, the forward motion in his body, his shoulders.
It nearly made him cross his legs again.
“Are you flirting with me, Sirius?” And he thought the whole fight had been worth hearing him laugh like that, amused, confused and a little abashed, and still just slightly curious. Usually, Remus would have joined in the silly game, but Sirius found that he didn’t really mind.
Warmth swirled in his belly like the weather, his heart beat much faster than he thought was appropriate. “And what if I am, my dearest Mr Moony?” he grinned (and kept his legs apart since Remus was as good as sitting between them anyway). In moments like these, he could really mean it (and best of all, imagine Remus meant it, too) without revealing anything at the same time, like telling him in a language Remus didn’t understand.
“Well then I’d say that girl must have been very drunk to sleep with a guy who’s this bad at chatting up people”, Remus said, always talking in sentences that seemed longer than his tongue. Sirius simply shrugged and smiled. “She fell for my astral body, that’s all”, he said, and Remus snorted.
“Are you sure you’re not confusing that with your astral ego?”
“No, that would be the one you’re missing.”
“Watch it, Black. I do bite if I must.”
“Yes please!”
Sirius leant back all of a sudden until he was lying sprawled out on the floor, Remus still between his legs and his shirt riding up to reveal his bruised hipbone that Remus flinched at. “Ouch, how did you get that?” he asked and let his fingertips hover above it, the mere possibility of touch exploding into a thousand colours in Sirius’s belly. He squirmed a little, wanted to push his hips off the floor and close that not-quite-distance, but he held back.
“Thought about you fucking me over a table”, he answered and smirked boldly at him. Deep inside, another part of him that hadn’t yet been transformed into self-confidence by a childhood in the Black family house screamed itself hoarse at him for always jumping out the window first and then making use of the broom, but for now, he just wanted to fantasize a bit.
Remus’s eyes had widened at first, then he laughed and went down on all fours above him. “You’re really flirting with me, are you.” His voice was a butterfly whisper, shy and simple, dipping low one moment and fluttering away the next. Sirius didn’t reply, only looked at him and hoped he would be able to control the warmth until he was safely locked away behind a silencing charm in his room, but at the same time, he had to bite his lip and wonder what would happen if he didn’t.
“Come on Padfoot, stop fooling around.”
He turned his head away and shrugged, “didn’t do anything”, he muttered, and yet he was not ready to give up now. “Why not?” he said suddenly and went back to staring at him. “Tell me, why not.” Words like fingertips, running along Remus’s flushing cheek, collecting in his parted mouth.
“Why not what?”
Sirius hesitated. “Why not do it with someone who knows. Someone… who’s not disgusted.” And after a small pause, he added: “Someone like me.”
Someone who’s fascinated by the way you walk. Someone who fights with you just to hear you get loud. Someone who’s listened to you wanking at night in the dorm, and sometimes stayed up waiting for those soft sounds.
Someone you try to trust again.
For a while, Remus’s lips moved silently, and his bright morning eyes stared down at him like the eyes of a child. “W-why?” he finally managed to choke out, but he didn’t withdraw from where he kneeled between his thighs. Sirius raised a hand to his temple, imagined pulling silvery strands of thought out: why, no, never, how.
“Because”, he said, “I would make you cry out just by running my fingers along your scars.” He shifted a little on the floor, slowly pulled down the zipper of Remus’s cardigan and dipped his thumb into his collarbone. “Because”, he continued, “I would be gentle.”
Remus made a small noise (sounding surprised and overwhelmed and perhaps a bit aroused), brought his hips a few inches closer to Sirius’s and let him slip the cardigan off his shoulders. “Because”, Sirius whispered and sat up, “because I’d love to be your first.” Remus shut his eyes at that, and his face flickered bitter-sweet as Sirius unbuttoned his trousers and leant in to kiss his neck.
At first, Sirius simply massaged his belly through his shirt and placed a hand at the base of his skull to hold his head. Softly, he touched the tip of his tongue to the skin on Remus’s neck, and when he moaned quietly, he let his other hand slip lower, all the while continued the gentle circling motions. “How’s that”, he whispered into his ear and tried to smile, but the warmth that was pooling in his own stomach made the ground beneath them crumble from time to time.
“G-good”, Remus murmured shyly. His hands were hooked around Sirius’s back, he kept making those little noises even though he obviously fought to swallow them. I’m going to make you get loud again, Sirius thought before he pushed his hand down the front of Remus’s trousers (feeling hardening warmth, skin, soft thick hair), and the groan he got in response vibrated in his body for decades after.
It went pretty quick from there. Remus’s hands curled up to fists in his shirt, his breathing became rushed, irregular and shallow, bursting on his jawbone like tidal waves. “Shh, relax”, Sirius whispered and slowed down his movements to make him feel every touch, every contact, every bit of friction. (Just the way he usually liked it himself.) Remus bucked his hips once, twice (he sped up), then buried his face in Sirius’s neck and cried out helplessly while his hands clutched at his shirt as if he’d drift away if he let go.
Further down, Sirius felt thick liquid warmth spill into his palm, and he smiled. Rain drummed against the window, setting the rhythm for their heartbeats, and Sirius was delighted to hear that Remus was still panting and gasping for air and that his breath carried pieces of his voice (whimpers and softer moans and broken little vocals).
He, too, would get loud later under the careful touch of Remus’s trembling hands, and together on the couch, they would DROWN OUT THE RAIN.
Getting Loud
Heavy cold rain veiled the pallor of the stars, ate through the snow in the streets. Like a curved mark left by sharp and yellow teeth: the moon (between clouds) - brighter than the sun had been today, and the kitchen window cut a black rectangle out of the waning wintry world. From where Sirius sat, he could see the churned-up purple sky and, if he leaned a little to the left, one of Remus’s ankles rising just above the line of his too-small socks.
Absently, he picked at his fingers until the old scratches bled again, scratches he kept like souvenirs: one from their flat, one from the record shop, one from the park and one from a trip to Scotland. (And the last two, which were those he gently ripped open every time they even started to heal because one was from a fight with Remus and one from his brother who’d still been alive back then.)
“What are you doing?” he finally asked when he couldn’t hold it in anymore, but Remus didn’t answer. The slender foot drew back, probably to steady him as he stood up straight again. “Well, screw you too”, Sirius muttered and kicked at a chair. “I’m not the one who’s got the problem.”
There was a bang, and the echo was worse than the noise itself. “At least I don’t have sex with bloody strangers in the room next to yours”, Remus yelled back, conjuring up mock-sounds in Sirius’s fantasyheated mind (of Remus crying out his name just behind the wall, of Remus whimpering as he came) that made him flush angrily.
“At least I’m not being a girl about it!” Sirius shouted and stood up so abruptly that he almost fell over the table in the process. He swore, pressed a hand to his stomach and closed his eyes. “At least you still let me share a bed with you on rough days”, he whispered as the pain slowly lessened to a dull ache.
“At least I don’t stick my prick into every willing hole”, Remus grumbled on his way back to the living room. He stamped his feet, tore open doors, and Sirius loved how sometimes he was really loud - and yet quietly so. Raindrops surged against the window, making a mess of the night outside; Sirius almost wished he could shove Remus’s head into the icy downpour until he stopped being such a prat (until he finally became jealous).
He frowned and tried to forget those distracting thoughts (of Remus’s curls sliding through his fingers, of an untidy groan and a stuttered apology, rain-blurred lashes and shy eyes). “At least”, he began, then noticed how small his voice was; “AT LEAST I’M NOT A VIRGIN ANYMORE!”
His stomach twisted at the cruelty of these words, but nevertheless he felt a bitter satisfaction when they rolled from the back of his mouth and left behind a tingle of hoarseness from the shouting. The blend between noise and then complete silence was so natural it took Sirius a few moments to notice that he wasn’t hearing anything from the living room.
Carefully, he made his way over to where the last sound had emanated, and found Remus sitting on the floor with his knees drawn up tight to his chest - red-faced, breathing hard, staring into space. “Hey?” Sirius whispered. He was clutching the doorframe with trembling and scratched fingers, smearing a little blood on it, and his insides curled up painfully like burning paper at seeing Remus like this.
“Listen…”, he said, stopped. “I’m an idiot.“ Remus shrugged, a feeble movement of one bony shoulder. Slowly, Sirius came over and crouched down in front of him, and before he could turn his head away, he gripped his chin (just lightly, like a sigh of touch, and yet it worked). “That was mean and I shouldn’t have said it. Okay? You can hit me now, if you want.”
There was a slight upwards twitch in the corner of Remus’s mouth, but he shook his head, still red in the face. “Come on, hit me. I’ve been a bad dog and I deserve it. Hit me.” This time, Remus nearly failed at calling back his grin.
“You only say that because you like it when they hit you”, he muttered a little sullenly and Sirius could feel him relax under his hands. He thought of his dream from last night (tangling under sheets, sweat and going slow, slow, taking up forever and longer just to, just to…), let go of Remus and leant back on his hands.
Remus was watching him curiously as he smirked and spread his legs.
“Oh, you don’t know how many nights I’ve dreamed of being spanked by my flatmate”, he cried dramatically and tossed back his head, all the while waiting for reactions: the surprised parting of lips, the light gasp, the flushed grin - and most of all, the forward motion in his body, his shoulders.
It nearly made him cross his legs again.
“Are you flirting with me, Sirius?” And he thought the whole fight had been worth hearing him laugh like that, amused, confused and a little abashed, and still just slightly curious. Usually, Remus would have joined in the silly game, but Sirius found that he didn’t really mind.
Warmth swirled in his belly like the weather, his heart beat much faster than he thought was appropriate. “And what if I am, my dearest Mr Moony?” he grinned (and kept his legs apart since Remus was as good as sitting between them anyway). In moments like these, he could really mean it (and best of all, imagine Remus meant it, too) without revealing anything at the same time, like telling him in a language Remus didn’t understand.
“Well then I’d say that girl must have been very drunk to sleep with a guy who’s this bad at chatting up people”, Remus said, always talking in sentences that seemed longer than his tongue. Sirius simply shrugged and smiled. “She fell for my astral body, that’s all”, he said, and Remus snorted.
“Are you sure you’re not confusing that with your astral ego?”
“No, that would be the one you’re missing.”
“Watch it, Black. I do bite if I must.”
“Yes please!”
Sirius leant back all of a sudden until he was lying sprawled out on the floor, Remus still between his legs and his shirt riding up to reveal his bruised hipbone that Remus flinched at. “Ouch, how did you get that?” he asked and let his fingertips hover above it, the mere possibility of touch exploding into a thousand colours in Sirius’s belly. He squirmed a little, wanted to push his hips off the floor and close that not-quite-distance, but he held back.
“Thought about you fucking me over a table”, he answered and smirked boldly at him. Deep inside, another part of him that hadn’t yet been transformed into self-confidence by a childhood in the Black family house screamed itself hoarse at him for always jumping out the window first and then making use of the broom, but for now, he just wanted to fantasize a bit.
Remus’s eyes had widened at first, then he laughed and went down on all fours above him. “You’re really flirting with me, are you.” His voice was a butterfly whisper, shy and simple, dipping low one moment and fluttering away the next. Sirius didn’t reply, only looked at him and hoped he would be able to control the warmth until he was safely locked away behind a silencing charm in his room, but at the same time, he had to bite his lip and wonder what would happen if he didn’t.
“Come on Padfoot, stop fooling around.”
He turned his head away and shrugged, “didn’t do anything”, he muttered, and yet he was not ready to give up now. “Why not?” he said suddenly and went back to staring at him. “Tell me, why not.” Words like fingertips, running along Remus’s flushing cheek, collecting in his parted mouth.
“Why not what?”
Sirius hesitated. “Why not do it with someone who knows. Someone… who’s not disgusted.” And after a small pause, he added: “Someone like me.”
Someone who’s fascinated by the way you walk. Someone who fights with you just to hear you get loud. Someone who’s listened to you wanking at night in the dorm, and sometimes stayed up waiting for those soft sounds.
Someone you try to trust again.
For a while, Remus’s lips moved silently, and his bright morning eyes stared down at him like the eyes of a child. “W-why?” he finally managed to choke out, but he didn’t withdraw from where he kneeled between his thighs. Sirius raised a hand to his temple, imagined pulling silvery strands of thought out: why, no, never, how.
“Because”, he said, “I would make you cry out just by running my fingers along your scars.” He shifted a little on the floor, slowly pulled down the zipper of Remus’s cardigan and dipped his thumb into his collarbone. “Because”, he continued, “I would be gentle.”
Remus made a small noise (sounding surprised and overwhelmed and perhaps a bit aroused), brought his hips a few inches closer to Sirius’s and let him slip the cardigan off his shoulders. “Because”, Sirius whispered and sat up, “because I’d love to be your first.” Remus shut his eyes at that, and his face flickered bitter-sweet as Sirius unbuttoned his trousers and leant in to kiss his neck.
At first, Sirius simply massaged his belly through his shirt and placed a hand at the base of his skull to hold his head. Softly, he touched the tip of his tongue to the skin on Remus’s neck, and when he moaned quietly, he let his other hand slip lower, all the while continued the gentle circling motions. “How’s that”, he whispered into his ear and tried to smile, but the warmth that was pooling in his own stomach made the ground beneath them crumble from time to time.
“G-good”, Remus murmured shyly. His hands were hooked around Sirius’s back, he kept making those little noises even though he obviously fought to swallow them. I’m going to make you get loud again, Sirius thought before he pushed his hand down the front of Remus’s trousers (feeling hardening warmth, skin, soft thick hair), and the groan he got in response vibrated in his body for decades after.
It went pretty quick from there. Remus’s hands curled up to fists in his shirt, his breathing became rushed, irregular and shallow, bursting on his jawbone like tidal waves. “Shh, relax”, Sirius whispered and slowed down his movements to make him feel every touch, every contact, every bit of friction. (Just the way he usually liked it himself.) Remus bucked his hips once, twice (he sped up), then buried his face in Sirius’s neck and cried out helplessly while his hands clutched at his shirt as if he’d drift away if he let go.
Further down, Sirius felt thick liquid warmth spill into his palm, and he smiled. Rain drummed against the window, setting the rhythm for their heartbeats, and Sirius was delighted to hear that Remus was still panting and gasping for air and that his breath carried pieces of his voice (whimpers and softer moans and broken little vocals).
He, too, would get loud later under the careful touch of Remus’s trembling hands, and together on the couch, they would DROWN OUT THE RAIN.