Lupin Love for Lupercalia: Periapsis (HP; Sirius/Remus)
This isn't quite the story I'd planned on posting; in fact, this isn't that story at all, as that one is still unfinished and I just wrote this one today.
Happy Lupercalia. I know Sirius and Remus are celebrating somewhere with nekkidity and whips.
This is the third year I've done this; last year it was your skin like a whole almond, and the year before, Falling Is Like This.
And this year's model is...
Periapsis
HP | Sirius/Remus | Adult | 1,015 words
Remus has an apparently endless supply of hot water in his flat. Sirius takes advantage.
~*~
Periapsis
When Sirius had started his shower, Remus was still asleep, so Sirius is a little surprised to hear him puttering around the bathroom, and even more surprised when he pushes the yellow plastic curtain (with ducks on, Sirius had mocked, but Remus had just smiled serenely) back and climbs into the tub.
Remus is not a morning person and he doesn't usually begin to function until well after his first cup of tea (and a cigarette, but he's given up smoking, just one more change Sirius is adjusting to these days, like the wiry grey hairs he finds on Remus's chest, the old-but-new scars silvering on his skin), so he doesn't so much speak as mumble something Sirius doesn't quite catch before he presses Sirius back against the tile and kisses him.
The contrast between the cool tile and the wet heat of Remus's mouth startles a groan out of him, and Remus pulls back, laughing a little, eyes alight with mischief Sirius remembers all too well, even if so many other things have changed.
"You've been in here forever," Remus murmurs against his throat. "I'm beginning to think you only want me for my endless supply of hot water."
"It is one of your most attractive features," Sirius answers, hands skating over the planes of Remus's shoulders, dusted with freckles, the elegant line of his clavicle, his bony chest. Remus is much thinner than Sirius remembers -- even during the worst times of the first war, one of them (Lily, when Sirius had lost his faith) had always made sure he was fed regularly and well, but twelve years of poor nutrition and one hundred and forty-eight full moons spent alone have taken their toll.
One hundred and forty-eight.
Sirius knows the number, sees it carved on Remus's skin, the way he'd carved it into the walls of his cell in Azkaban, into his own flesh with ragged, dirty fingernails, the recurrence of the full moon the only way he knew that time was passing at all, the earth still spinning while he was locked away.
"Sirius?" Remus's voice is gentle, his touch light on Sirius's face, and Sirius shakes away the gloom. It has no place in Remus's bright little bathroom, with its ugly yellow tile, cheeky plastic ducks, and amazing water pressure.
Sirius grins and turns to kiss the palm of Remus's hand, licks up the line of his middle finger, and then sucks it into his mouth. Remus's eyes flare and he rolls his hips, making Sirius gasp. Sirius is still getting used to this again -- the heat rushing under his skin, the slow coiling need in his belly, the relentless ache of his erection -- so much sensation after so many years without.
Where they once would have rushed, frantic for release, for each other, now they take their time. Remus presses kisses to the corners of Sirius's mouth, to the side of his nose, the spot beneath his ear. Sirius lets his hands glide over Remus's skin, parchment pale and scattered with freckles and scars, and enjoys the way Remus rubs against him, luxuriating in the touch. Sirius wants to touch and kiss every inch of him, map out this rediscovered country and learn it all once more by fingertip, tongue and heart.
Remus seems intent on doing the same to him, and Sirius panics for a moment. In the few days he's been here, this is the first time they've been together like this in the daylight, and he's not the fit bloke he was before Azkaban. Though Remus doesn't seem to mind, Sirius can't quite keep his hands from shaking at the thought. He's always been a bit vain.
"All right?" Remus asks, pushing Sirius's wet hair off his face, stroking a thumb along the arch of his cheekbone, closing a firm hand upon his shoulder.
"Yeah." He conjures up a grin, though it feels odd, awkward, like a shirt that's too tight across the shoulders and too short in the sleeves. Remus kisses him again, tenderly, and licks some of the moisture from his face, the rough velvet of his tongue making Sirius shiver again, though not from fear this time. Had they ever been this gentle with each other before? He can't remember; he doesn't think so, but he hopes, because they both needed it badly then. Need it badly now, as well.
His hands settle on Remus's narrow hips, pulling him closer, ever closer, while he thrusts, heat and pleasure blooming through him until he is nothing but heat and pleasure, the reckless, inexorable pulse of need and the high breathless ache of desire as the tension shatters and, head tipped back against the tile, he comes, warm and white over their bodies.
Remus shudders against him, and even through the haze of afterglow, Sirius remembers to open his eyes, to watch as Remus comes, to see the look on his face, wreathed by steam and glowing with need, pleasure, love. It never fails to move him, to make him believe in impossible things, because for a few moments, the guarded, weary façade drops away and he sees Remus, the man he is, instead of the mask he wears.
Remus buries his face in the crook of Sirius's neck, lips moving against Sirius's skin in magic words more powerful than spells, words like love and mine and always, words neither of them ever speak. Sirius holds him close, and answers with kisses to his temple, his forehead, to the hair plastered against his flushed skin, kisses that say, yours, love, forever.
They stay that way for a few moments, and then Remus shivers.
"I guess we've found the limits of the hot water heater," he says, laughing, and Sirius notices for the first time that the water hitting his skin is cool.
They wash quickly, and Remus produces small, white, threadbare towels that don't do much at all to warm their now-chilled bodies. They huddle together, Sirius wrapped in Remus's arms and Remus wrapped in the towels, and Sirius wishes they could stay this close forever.
end
***
Feedback is worshipped. Libations are poured and everything.
***
Happy Lupercalia. I know Sirius and Remus are celebrating somewhere with nekkidity and whips.
This is the third year I've done this; last year it was your skin like a whole almond, and the year before, Falling Is Like This.
And this year's model is...
Periapsis
HP | Sirius/Remus | Adult | 1,015 words
Remus has an apparently endless supply of hot water in his flat. Sirius takes advantage.
~*~
Periapsis
When Sirius had started his shower, Remus was still asleep, so Sirius is a little surprised to hear him puttering around the bathroom, and even more surprised when he pushes the yellow plastic curtain (with ducks on, Sirius had mocked, but Remus had just smiled serenely) back and climbs into the tub.
Remus is not a morning person and he doesn't usually begin to function until well after his first cup of tea (and a cigarette, but he's given up smoking, just one more change Sirius is adjusting to these days, like the wiry grey hairs he finds on Remus's chest, the old-but-new scars silvering on his skin), so he doesn't so much speak as mumble something Sirius doesn't quite catch before he presses Sirius back against the tile and kisses him.
The contrast between the cool tile and the wet heat of Remus's mouth startles a groan out of him, and Remus pulls back, laughing a little, eyes alight with mischief Sirius remembers all too well, even if so many other things have changed.
"You've been in here forever," Remus murmurs against his throat. "I'm beginning to think you only want me for my endless supply of hot water."
"It is one of your most attractive features," Sirius answers, hands skating over the planes of Remus's shoulders, dusted with freckles, the elegant line of his clavicle, his bony chest. Remus is much thinner than Sirius remembers -- even during the worst times of the first war, one of them (Lily, when Sirius had lost his faith) had always made sure he was fed regularly and well, but twelve years of poor nutrition and one hundred and forty-eight full moons spent alone have taken their toll.
One hundred and forty-eight.
Sirius knows the number, sees it carved on Remus's skin, the way he'd carved it into the walls of his cell in Azkaban, into his own flesh with ragged, dirty fingernails, the recurrence of the full moon the only way he knew that time was passing at all, the earth still spinning while he was locked away.
"Sirius?" Remus's voice is gentle, his touch light on Sirius's face, and Sirius shakes away the gloom. It has no place in Remus's bright little bathroom, with its ugly yellow tile, cheeky plastic ducks, and amazing water pressure.
Sirius grins and turns to kiss the palm of Remus's hand, licks up the line of his middle finger, and then sucks it into his mouth. Remus's eyes flare and he rolls his hips, making Sirius gasp. Sirius is still getting used to this again -- the heat rushing under his skin, the slow coiling need in his belly, the relentless ache of his erection -- so much sensation after so many years without.
Where they once would have rushed, frantic for release, for each other, now they take their time. Remus presses kisses to the corners of Sirius's mouth, to the side of his nose, the spot beneath his ear. Sirius lets his hands glide over Remus's skin, parchment pale and scattered with freckles and scars, and enjoys the way Remus rubs against him, luxuriating in the touch. Sirius wants to touch and kiss every inch of him, map out this rediscovered country and learn it all once more by fingertip, tongue and heart.
Remus seems intent on doing the same to him, and Sirius panics for a moment. In the few days he's been here, this is the first time they've been together like this in the daylight, and he's not the fit bloke he was before Azkaban. Though Remus doesn't seem to mind, Sirius can't quite keep his hands from shaking at the thought. He's always been a bit vain.
"All right?" Remus asks, pushing Sirius's wet hair off his face, stroking a thumb along the arch of his cheekbone, closing a firm hand upon his shoulder.
"Yeah." He conjures up a grin, though it feels odd, awkward, like a shirt that's too tight across the shoulders and too short in the sleeves. Remus kisses him again, tenderly, and licks some of the moisture from his face, the rough velvet of his tongue making Sirius shiver again, though not from fear this time. Had they ever been this gentle with each other before? He can't remember; he doesn't think so, but he hopes, because they both needed it badly then. Need it badly now, as well.
His hands settle on Remus's narrow hips, pulling him closer, ever closer, while he thrusts, heat and pleasure blooming through him until he is nothing but heat and pleasure, the reckless, inexorable pulse of need and the high breathless ache of desire as the tension shatters and, head tipped back against the tile, he comes, warm and white over their bodies.
Remus shudders against him, and even through the haze of afterglow, Sirius remembers to open his eyes, to watch as Remus comes, to see the look on his face, wreathed by steam and glowing with need, pleasure, love. It never fails to move him, to make him believe in impossible things, because for a few moments, the guarded, weary façade drops away and he sees Remus, the man he is, instead of the mask he wears.
Remus buries his face in the crook of Sirius's neck, lips moving against Sirius's skin in magic words more powerful than spells, words like love and mine and always, words neither of them ever speak. Sirius holds him close, and answers with kisses to his temple, his forehead, to the hair plastered against his flushed skin, kisses that say, yours, love, forever.
They stay that way for a few moments, and then Remus shivers.
"I guess we've found the limits of the hot water heater," he says, laughing, and Sirius notices for the first time that the water hitting his skin is cool.
They wash quickly, and Remus produces small, white, threadbare towels that don't do much at all to warm their now-chilled bodies. They huddle together, Sirius wrapped in Remus's arms and Remus wrapped in the towels, and Sirius wishes they could stay this close forever.
end
***
Feedback is worshipped. Libations are poured and everything.
***